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breaniebree · 1 year ago

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Hi.

I am so fucking sorry if this is weird.

But I stumbled across ASC in one of my old SD cards and couldn’t resist seeing if you’d actually managed to finish that giant story - and apparently you did. Kudos to you.

When I first read ASC I was in a seriously (Siriusly, because that joke is obligatory at this point) bad place. COVID was still in its early stages, I was newly thirteen and had no idea who I was, my anxiety had reached a new high and my OCD ruled my life. I was literally scared to get out of bed and half the time I wouldn’t. I sanitized everything on sight and then some, and it still wasn’t enough to get rid of the crawling feeling inside me. I can now admit that I was depressed. And on top of that I was going through an identity/gender crisis and questioning my sexuality for the first time in my life, hating myself while at it - being an ally is one thing, but being an actual member of the LGBTQ+ community is quite another, especially when you live in an country where being gay isn’t even an option and your mother is homophobic af. Basically I was majorly fucked up.

ASC wasn’t some huge life-changing thing. It was just a random fanfic I found while scrolling through HP tags. I was intrigued, mostly, at this monster of a fic that was over two hundred chapters long, and since I was looking for free books at the time, I gave it a try. Finished the first thirty or so chapters in one sitting. And, once I got over my shock at the sex scenes (I’d never even been on a date and honestly my sexual awakening was partially triggered by this - I was like, ‘If the fact that these people shagged for hours straight, and my only concern is how possible it is to manage that position for any length of time, then I’m probably going to have to sit myself down for a soul-search’) and violent scenes (your mind is a terrifying place and I am sincerely thankful you aren’t planning world domination just yet) I was hooked.

I did comment every now and then, under varying pseudonyms - SavvySpirit was one, obviously. WarrioroftheWolves was another (thirteen-year-old me was obsessed with large predators, mainly since they were everything I wasn’t) and Raindrops & Flowers is quite possibly my least original name ever. There were a few other one-time names I can’t recall. But it was a brief respite in the craziness of ’20 and most of all it was something that was mine - to hold close to my heart, to hate when plot lines threw me for a loop, to cry over and giggle over and laugh over. I printed out the entire thing using my pocket money, in minuscule script and fitting eight pages per sheet, both sides. I think I reread that story at least twice a month - entire thing, back to back as I waited for the next time my parents would let me use the computer for longer than three minutes. I got attached to characters I barely gave second glances to. Viktor. Pansy. Dean. Padma. Mandy. Theo. Him especially, since I relate so much to him it almost hurts to see him hurt.

I stuck with ASC until around the time when Finn died and Ginny was put under bloodlust. I don’t remember exactly why I stopped checking for updates - maybe it was just a lack of time, maybe it was my refilling schedule coupled with my fear of humans. Maybe it was something deeper, who knows. But I stopped at one point and just reread (imo) the best bits every now and then.

I guess, story-wise, things got a little too real too fast for me. I’d known Cedric and Sirius was going to die, and Viktor’s death wasn’t as much of a shock as Finn’s was - because it was so unexpected and so out of the blue (I cried and screamed and cursed your name for thirty minutes straight after that last mo grá. Seriously, Breanie? You just had to go and ruin things just when they were getting good? I was looking forward to seeing Finn’s POV, and seeing them mature and fight over everything from Finn’s overprotectiveness coupled with Theo’s independence to shopping problems and flavours of ice cream, to see them go through troubles and overcome them both individually and as a couple. I was so freaking excited to see more of Tara and your take on a fairy realm, to see how Finn’s pseudo-immortality and Theo’s past demons would come into play. I wanted so much more development on Finn’s character, his flaws and quirks, his skeletons in the closet since we’d never really had his POV. I even had hopes of a storyline where Voldemort tries to get into Tara(because of the so-called immortality, duh) and gets horribly burned in the process. I wanted a Feo love child, dammit(Ciara would be such a cool aunt! And with the Weasleys and Blaise/Draco on one side of the family and Tiernan and the royal court on the other than kid would be the best protected, most spoilt kid in existence). I had hopes, Breanie. Dreams. And you destroyed them all with that single scene.) and so. Fucking. Tragic. And like ten chapters later you put Ginny under bloodlust where she hates Harry and wants to kill him (this was a seriously fucked up idea and I applaud your imagination. And sincerely hope you never become a investigator, because that would be scary.) and I read this bit with my heart in my throat because even if I don’t really like book or movie Hinny(Ginny seems too much of a side character and has so little personality, as I’m sure you know) but I adore fandom Hinny and YOU ARE NOT GOING TO RUIN YET ANOTHER OF MY FAVOURITE SHIPS IN THIS FIC DAMMIT but I chickened out and never read past that to see if she got cured. She did, right? She’s not dying slowly from poison in her bloodstream or anything? Right? Don’t correct me if I’m wrong though, I prefer to remain oblivious and happy in a world where nobody dies and everybody gets therapy.

But anyway, the point of me spilling my life story to you here was to thank you. You may not have intentionally made this fic for me, but it was a lot more effective than most of my therapy sessions since I could get my thoughts and feelings out in a roundabout way. ASC may not be a major part of my life currently, but it’s still a large part of who I am, and I am indebted to you for making this safe space. I turned fifteen and came out as panromantic/asexual. I turned sixteen and came out as a demigirl. I have career aspirations and I’m actually working on them. I’m working on long-term plans, which I never could’ve imagined having three years ago. And though I lost hearing in one ear last month, I didn’t consider ending things, not even once. Still haven’t. I have midterms but I’m not stressing myself to the max over them, and I actually have a social life now. And it’s not all completely thanks to you, but there is still a large part of my sanity that owes itself entirely to the fanfiction writers of 2020. And a slice of that pie is yours. So - thank you. For everything. You’re a truly gifted writer.

And before I forget - does Theo like, ever get closure? Hypothetically the fae have realm glasses. Which might come into use. Can fae get reborn? Just asking.

And does Zee ever date again? Like - I know Sirius was her person, but when the kids get older and she grows older…

One more question: how does someone like Delta turn out to be evil?! She was so freaking supportive when Hermione was researching human rights. Another question: Blaise survives, right? Because that guy is a riot. And another: I reread chapters 200-272 for this and realized that Finn just randomly carries around a pair of golden handcuffs? Like what was the story behind that. Did he get cornered one day and decide that ‘henceforth, I shall carry handcuffs’? And Crouch’s ‘wives’…do Millie and Hestia ever escape? My last random question: whatever happened to Arnold the Pygmy Puff?

Also is there any way I can send you a virtual fruit basket?

Hi, @savvyspirit

Wow! Thank you very much for sharing so much for me. I'm honoured my story had such a profound impact on you personally. Good for you for being honest and open with yourself about who you are. Nothing is more important. Thank you so much for sharing that my story helped you in a roundabout way. That's very cool to hear.

I understand that the story took a darker turn and did get too real too fast, but I do hope you go back to it now that it's complete and now that I'm finishing up the trilogy. Harry and Ginny are definitely getting their happy ending, that I can promise.

Finn was an important part of Theo's life and an important part of the story, but unfortunately he wasn't who Theo was meant to spend his life with. That's someone else and if you keep reading, I promise you'll see him much happier than he ever was with Finn. Yes, he does get closure. As to Zee, well... yes, she does find love (you have to keep reading to find out). Delta aka Belladonna was a lot of fun to have be evil the whole time and you learn more about her how and why as the story goes on. Blaise does survive and we get to know more about him too. Finn carried around handcuffs because he was part of the Royal Guard of Tara. Millie and Hestia do survive. Arnold is still around, promise.

Ha, as to a virtual fruit basket -- I'll take those in story reviews on Ao3 or ff.net please and thanks.

Thank you very much for sharing this with me and I sincerely hope you delve back into the world of ASC because I really do think it's worth it. Thank you!

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ceceliaknowsbest · 1 year ago

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"Sometimes I think that they encourage us to foster these talents after we win but most of us are teenagers when we win...who's to say that our interests don't change over the years," she mused. Cecelia wasn't so sure that the Capitol cared about her original talent only because the television show kept her under their thumbs. Cecelia nodded and smiled when she thought of her wedding. It had been a day just for her and Sterling and their families. It was one of her last memories with her father before the 'accident'. "It was a day just for me and Sterling," she murmured softly, wondering if Katniss understood what she was saying. Her one rebellion against the Capitol. Marrying a man President Snow hated and didn't approve of. She didn't regret it for a second, even if she thought she would have to pay for her choice for the rest of her life. "I'm sure that you are learning so much from Cinna. It took me years to feel confident in making things and I grew up in the factories." Cecelia did wonder if Katniss actually enjoyed it, but would never say anything. It wasn't her business, and truthfully she thought that the talents were stupid. "Maybe," she agreed, but she highly doubted it. President Snow would never let it stop. "I worry that the Capitol loves us a little too much to ever let us go."

Cecelia understood. If she could have kept her family out of the Capitol's eye, hidden them away somewhere so that the Capitol never knew of them, she would have in a heartbeat. There had been a time when she was newly pregnant that she had thought that maybe she could hide it. But she had been far too popular a victor in the Capitol for her to ever hide her pregnancy and her children. "I like to think of my two lives as separate too, even if it probably seems crazy, what with the show. But when the cameras aren't around...I think of that as my real life." The show was a highly exaggerated and faked version of her life, it wasn't real, and she preferred it that way. Cecelia listened carefully to Katniss when she spoke about her family. What was it like in Twelve? Probably similar to how it was in Eight. Had they dealt with the restrictions that had been enacted in Eight after the rebellion during Katniss and Peeta's victory tour? "A healer, that's wonderful. Has there been a lot of need for her services lately?" Cecelia asked innocently, although she had a feeling that Katniss might understand what she was getting at. Even though rebellion terrified her, she wanted to know. Needed to know. "Maybe your sister can study to be a doctor one day. I'm sure they are always in need." It was sweet, the way that Katniss spoke of her sister. It had touched all of them, the way that she had volunteered in her sister's place last year. "I used to spend a lot of time in the Capitol when I was younger before I married Sterling. There were times when I practically did live here." Cecelia hated thinking about those days. "But no, we've never been asked, except for Caesar on occasion but he asks us all."

"Younger. Three brothers. I spent a lot of time in charge of them when we were younger, both of my parents worked long hours in the factories." She had a feeling that Katniss would understand. Even though she didn't know Katniss's story, she saw a lot of herself in the younger woman when it came to their siblings. "The dress was very pretty. I try to call my mom when I can when we come into the Capitol. Even after all these years, she likes to hear from me." The trauma that the Games inflicted on their families was long-lasting and impossible to get past. But Cecelia did try. She tried desperately to push it away. Nightmares from her time in the arena still plagued her after all of these years. "Have you and your family settled into your new home? I always wondered if your victor's village looks like mine "

it was difficult the not worrying about it. while she may not be entirely concerned about anything capitolite, it seemed she had to if she wanted her tributes to make it out of the games, if she wanted herself and her family to keep breathing, because they were capitol playthings now, just like every other victor katniss may have turned her nose about. how cecelia has done it for over a decade, katniss can not tell. but she presses her lips a bit tighter, and tries to appreciate the gesture with a soft nod; she doubts she would ever feel comfortable to discuss anything real with this woman while they're under capitol roof, but she is grateful for her kindness. "thank you." she adds, just in case — sometimes her actions do not speak as much as she wants them to, which is something she should be working on.

she is a bit more alert and willing to speak when it comes to the talent that they seemingly share. "oh, i ain't know it can be somethin' you grow out of." does it mean that in a few years they'd expect her to be just like cecelia, showcasing her bunch of kids on tv? the thought alone was enough to make katniss think of running away (possibly into the nearest tall window), so she tries not to think of it, and focus instead on the story the mentor tells. "that's huge, your own wedding dress." so she hadn't been forced, and maybe it had even been a very happy situation for her. "i've — right. cinna gotta take the credit for it. he's the mastermind, i'm just takin' baby steps." and phoning in, and putting her name to some collection cinna will release under their own line. katniss tries not to grimace as she hopes cecelia hasn't noticed she almost gave away her minimal — if non existent — interest in fashion. oh well. "hopefully you can get rid of the cameras, then. if makin' clothes and children make you happier." of course, that's wishful thinking, and perhaps some self-inserting; if cecelia managed to stop her show, to have a proper life away from more capitol imposition, maybe katniss would be able to do so in some years. a decade? would that be enough?

katniss can not help the frown — and the way her neck become rather pink — at cecelia's assurance that she's liked. yes, katniss had been told to make friends, but it is a weird feeling, sometimes, to have people so willing to have her, and when people are this nice, like cecelia is being, poking holes at their motives can be harder. "it's two different lives. i ain't think they mix at all." at least, that's what she thinks would work best, the practical way. it must be harder when there's so many feelings, so many years, the children. how do they handle all that, she wonders? maybe one day (if the day they can talk away from the capitol's gaze ever happens), she could ask. "um, my mother is a healer. we ain't have any kinda doctors, so she mends who needs to be mended in twelve. and prim is only sixteen, so she's at school, but she's good at healin' too. i think she could be a proper doctor one day." that comes with a smile, but it is a sad one. the possibility of primrose becoming an university graduated doctor was slim, unless katniss bended in ways she wasn't even sure was possible. plus, could she ever bear to let her sister stay in the capitol for longer than a day or two? "have you two been asked? about movin' in here?" caesar had poked her about it, and the president before him. it made her shudder to even consider it, but if primrose was to ever study here, wouldn't it be better if she was with her? katniss doesn't now if she could bear it, but hasn't she gone through horrible trials for her sister?

"you got siblings? older?" she had already rambled about prim — she does that a lot — so she tries not to add too much to that other than a "last i called 'er, last nigh', she was fine. complimented the dresses, and this stuff" because prim had done that, as she always does, if only to lighten the mood between their phone calls. katniss tries to muster some of her sister's courage and light-heartedness now, shaking her head as cecelia apologizes, needlessly. it hadn't been cecelia the one to make all of this happen, after all. it was snow. and if katniss' gut was right, he may be behind bad things in cecelia's own life, however bright this woman tries to paint them. cecelia is way better at that, actually. the way she talks about wanting hazelle to win makes katniss looks at the screen, at the man who had also received a four and who, by all purposes, had as much chance to win it as her "aunt". "thanks. maybe that will happen. we can visit each other's houses, if that happens." this time, it's not as much wishful thinking as it is the attempt at delusion she was supposed to display while in this city.

#( interactions. )#( interaction. katniss everdeen )#eventideevent03 #eventidepast #death tw #forced prostitution tw

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duckapus · 3 years ago

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The Terratrix

Like I mentioned in the original post, the version of Dr. Animo in my Candace 10 AU managed to make a functioning Omnitrix knockoff that’s full of mutant animals instead of aliens and gave it to the one-off character Wendy/Snail from Unfair Science Fair. While it’s a lot less glitchy than other attempts, it lacks a lot of the extra features the original has, like a scanner or universal translator. Additionally, since it’s main purpose is to let Snail be Candace’s rival, Animo only adds new mutants to the roster whenever he finds out that Candace has unlocked new aliens.

Starting Playlist

Note: it starts with eleven because Snail debuts as a villain after Candace meets Vilgax and unlocks Inkydink.

Blastropod- A humanoid snail that’s able to make her mucus sticky, slippery, or explosive.

Nemesis P- A platypus. The DNA sample was taken from Perry.

Lumbear- A Kodiak bear mixed with a redwood tree. She tol is what I’m sayin’.

Crazy Eights- A giant spider that can create holographic illusions with her webs, and also has hallucinogenic(but otherwise harmless) venom.

Splitz- A duplicating squirrel. Candace doesn’t like this one very much.

Lycanloche- A bipedal wolf waterbender that always smells like wet dog.

Simiscreech- Howler monkey but moreso.

Cheetorque- An anthropomorphic cheetah that’s as fast as XLR8

Da Bomb- A stink bug/pill bug/dung beetle hybrid that has the same powers as Ball Weevil.

Microtaur- A minotaur with the ability to shrink. The smaller she is, the stronger.

Bird Brain- A giant super-genius owl.

#phineas and ferb #ben 10 #crossover #au #dr animo #omnitrix #omnitrix knockoff #perry the platypus #wendy specifically asked for one of her forms to be snail-based #she took one poorly timed bit of smack-talk and ran with it #animo and snail didn't know about candace's fear of squirrels but they're sure gonna use it now #i'm very proud of bird brain's name actually #now the good guys get to find out how annoying perry is to fight #crazy eights would be terrifying in real life #every starting playlist needs the one that smells weird #if that isn't a rule it should be

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bingoboingobongo · 2 years ago

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task force 141 + santa claus

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Warnings: debates over santa's reality

A/N: off topic but könig definitely believed in and was terrified of krampus (same)

simon "ghost" riley:

alright so kinda sad but simon never believed in santa

when he was a kid his mom used to tell him about santa and how he brought gifts to good people

but simon never believed it because both his brother and father got gifts during christmas and in simon's opinion they weren't good people

plus he spent a lot of his nights staying up reading under the covers as a child

and one night when he was around eight or nine years old he heard a lot of shuffling in the middle of the night on christmas eve

so he went out to investigate and what did he see?

his mom setting up christmas presents under the tree

(mb i did not mean for that to rhyme)

it wasn't really shocking to him because he knew santa wasn't real by then

but he had never really put together that it was just his mom buying the gifts

he never said anything about it though because he didn't want to give his mom a harder time

later on as he got older a lot of the magic around christmas started dying too because his parents would fight about finances and stuff

but honestly as he grew up and met the 141 christmas has started to take on a new kind of magic

and he prefers that to santa any day

john "soap" mactavish:

alright so soap's mom definitely tried to use santa as a parenting technique for soap bc he was a real problem child

she'd always tell him he had to do this or that or else santa wouldn't get him gifts, etc.

none of it really worked on soap though

maybe when he was really young he believed in santa

but then one day he was hanging out around the park and he overheard some older kids talking about how santa wasn't real

and little soap had his mind blown

but he wasn't really disappointed by it

moreso he was like... enlightened?

basically in young soap's mind, older kids = cool kids

so therefore if they don't believe in santa, then he shouldn't believe in santa so he can be cool too

so then whenever his mom would try to get him to do stuff and use santa as leverage he'd always smirk to himself because he knew it wasn't true

didn't make a fuss over it though because he definitely was aware of everything his mom did for him and he didn't want to make her life harder

off topic but why do i feel like soap's dad was out of the picture so it was just him and his mom

definitely went to school and told everyone santa wasn't real though

and yes he thought he was super cool for doing so

kyle "gaz" garrick:

honestly i don't think gaz's family ever really talked about santa

like it just wasn't a thing in his house

like obviously he knew who santa was conceptually

but his parents never tried to pretend that santa was a thing or anything so he had no reason to believe in it

he always went gift shopping for his mom with his dad when he was younger so he knew where the presents came from

however when it comes to his younger siblings

gaz most definitely wants them to believe santa exists

he's always using it as leverage when they're acting out too and it works like a charm

he also does elf on the shelf with them too

whenever he returns home for the holidays he always stays up late so he can readjust the elf into crazy positions because he knows they go crazy over it

he also has one at his house and he tapes little trinkets like lightsabers or captain america's shield to it

he never had that kind of magic as a kid so he just wants to recreate it for his siblings

john price:

alright so price probably has the most basic relationship with santa

he believed in him up until he was around ten or eleven

and then he stopped believing

also price can definitely relate to the whole 'i saw mommy kissing santa claus' thing

i feel like his dad used to dress up as santa claus whenever he set up the presents

and one christmas eve he couldn't sleep so he went downstairs for a glass of milk

i think you can imagine his surprise when he saw his mom giving santa claus a kiss in front of the fireplace

the next morning he also ran to tell his dad that his mom was in an affair with santa claus

to which his dad just chuckled and ruffled his hair ofc

price then went on to tell people at his school when he returned from break and that's when someone told him santa wasn't real

he definitely with through like twenty existential crises that year

definitely was terrified his parents were gonna split up over it

he eventually figured it out after a while though

however if given the chance he would also dress up as santa claus when he set up gifts for his future family

alejandro vargas:

alright so like gaz i don't think alejandro's family talked about santa much

but then one day he went to school and he heard rudy talking about santa and his mind was blown

he was definitely skeptical at first about the logistics of it all

and he was definitely the kind of kid that pointed out how creepy the concept of someone perpetually watching you was

but rudy was so enthusiastic about it he let himself he convinced

that day he went home and he told his parents about santa

and they just chuckled and told him santa wasn't real

but alejandro trusted rudy so he just assumed his parents were lying

that year he and rudy established a grand scheme to capture santa as proof that he did in fact exist

they had everything planned out too

and then on christmas eve they set everything up and waited

ofc santa wasn't showing up and he could tell rudy was getting discouraged

so he told rudy to sleep and he would take watch

ofc he ended up falling asleep too

but when they woke up all the presents were there

at that point alejandro had realized that santa wasn't real but he didn't want to ruin it for rudy so he kept pretending

they ended up coming up with new plans to catch santa every year

none of them worked but it was some of the best memories he had with rudy so he has no regrets

rodolfo "rudy" parra:

alright so honestly rudy's family didn't go very hard on santa but rudy did

the first time they told him about it it was sorta casual but rudy latched on and latched on hard

it worked out because he was always a good kid because he was terrified of getting coal in his stockings

his parents also had to make his siblings swear not to tell him the truth too

so everyone was just enabling his santa belief

it got to the point where even if someone tried to tell him the truth he simply wouldn't believe them

i mean he was so into the idea of santa claus

this man talked about him like he was the second coming of christ fr

besides his favorite part of the year was having a christmas eve sleepover with alejandro as they tried to stay up all night and catch santa claus

ofc they always ended up falling asleep at some point so it wasn't very effective

at a certain point though, maybe when rudy was twelve or maybe even thirteen, he just sorta stopped believing in santa

but he didn't say anything to alejandro because he really liked their sleepovers

eventually though it turned into less catching santa sleepovers and more just hanging out sleepovers

he would definitely try to keep the magic alive though for any kids he comes across

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tragictrainmen · 3 years ago

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Hello. I don't post in fandom often but I've gotta put in my two cents. Yes. It is me. The Ingo Hisui team headcanon dude. I made a whole ass side blog. 😔

Ngl I think that Emmet reaching the 'he's dead' closure is a compelling path to take, and one I think a lot of people are just- avoiding because of a fear of grief. But listen ok lemme explain.

Tw: I'm going to talk about real trauma now. Including death (albeit vaguely)

Like- ok. What if it has been 10 years? Let's look at this based on reality. Not some 'Emmet has to hold on!' 'Emmet would go crazy looking everywhere!!' bullshit. Like. Let me put this plainly for those who have been lucky enough not to lose someone you love.

I have lost loved ones. And not just because of death. I don't talk about this. But I relate to the Submas twins because I have personally been separated- abruptly- from my siblings with very little contact. I literally didn't see or talk to one of them for 2 straight years (she still lives in another state miles away to this day.) On top of this, I just watched my mom's best friend lose her husband 6 months ago. I've watched this woman's journey through that grief and trauma. Hell, I lost my grandfather 5 years ago. I'm lucky to still have my grandma in my life at 29.

So...Yes. The pain of losing the person you care about is horrific. The pain of having the world come between you and someone you thought you'd never lose? My sister isn't even dead. But the 8 years of separation have been a permanent and unchanging part of our lives. It hurt. We mourned her like she died. There are 5 of us and I only introduce 4. The 5th one isn't here. She will never be here. I am not exaggerating when I say I know for a fact she will never come back home.

And listen- I'm saying this as someone who's had Eight years to grieve. The truth is.. after that second year... You move on. Whether you want to or not.

Your brain adjusts to the fact that something that big in your life is no longer there. You have a paradigm shift, and the repetivity of the days in which you must exist without them become your new normal. Year 3 and memories are rarer. They don't hurt like they used to. You don't wince anymore. 5 years and the memories are something you hold fondly, but no longer occur without prompt. 10 years? You've reached a new normal. No matter how painful it was. It's old news now. The hurt just. Isn't there.

Like. I can talk about my sister being separated comfortably because I have had 8 years to reach this point. I literally forget she exists. And I'm only ashamed to say this because there are people out there who just. Don't know that this is normal. Who would read that sentence and call me a monster. My grandpa only died 5 years ago and. I just don't even feel anything painful when I say it. It's a fact I've moved past. A benchmark in my life.

So what I want to say is- Imagine it's been 10 years now. An Emmet that's moved through this. Gone to therapy even. Because fuck. I did. Losing a close sibling is traumatic. But he's an adult. He has a job and a life. Maybe this curt, polite, maybe even a little peppy veteran trainer even trained the next successors for the battle subway and has retired. He's talked about fondly and is hugely respected.

(Talk about Ingo adopting Akari what about Emmet being the cool older sensei dude in every coming of age 90's training montage. Hello kinda strict but soft-hearted weird new dad)

An Emmet that's accepted that there's only one now. And he has to be okay with that. He is okay with that. He has learned to be Emmet without Ingo and still be a whole person.

I know it hurts to think about. That for many people, moving on is it's own form of pain. From Ingo? terrifying. But... Can you Imagine that Emmet.... Seeing Ingo again? As two older men who have had 10 years to learn to be themselves confidently without the other for wildly different reasons, finally getting to fill a hole they both accepted was behind a closed door. Locked for good?

Ok like. So for me? That's a concept worth rotating in my head. That has so much potential. For fresh grief, but even better.. imagine the utter disbelief, the joy. There's so much to unpack after 10 years, and they still have the next 40 years of their lives together. Together. Having someone bury the word alone after 10 years of carrying it on your shoulders. The sweet relief of being two halves of a whole after thinking there really was only one. Emmet being emotionally mature about Ingo's memory and having a new goal after all these years of retirement...

I could go on.

Think about it.

Disclaimer: I know about the XX explanation and I don't even personally headcanon Ingo has been gone this long. I just think... It's worth approaching. It's worth letting your brain chew on. Don't shy away from it. Grief can be ok actually. Moving on from grief is not bad. It is a part of life.

#submas #subway bosses #ingo #emmet #ingo pla #ingo and emmet #pokemon emmet #blankshippers dni

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midnightwinterhawk · 3 years ago

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I put together a little collection of Sterek and Steter fics for funsies. “Just a few fics”, I thought, “nothing too crazy.” Thirty fics later I had to cut myself off and finalize the list. You can thank @the-cookie-of-doom for the inspiration.

These primarily fall under the Hurt Stiles Stilinski category because I apparently like to see my comfort characters suffer. Most of these have hopeful/happy endings but mind the tags. For reals.

Placed under a cut since I have no self control and this turned into a long post.

Sterek

adore to see your eyes fly by @1001cranes

(11,309 l E)

stiles is a pyromaniac, derek is a sociopath. a match made in some kind of heaven. teen wolf kink meme fill.

take my heart from me by @areiton

(23,188 l NR)

He didn't really mean to adopt Derek's pack of puppies. He didn't mean to make himself important to them.

To Derek.

He just wanted to keep them all safe.

That's all Stiles ever wanted.

"Why Can't You?" by @asterekmess

(3,602 l T)

Now. This was happening now, and he couldn’t be less prepared.

After a long night, things between Stiles and his father come to a head.

And You Say You're Alone by bi_leigh_bi

(30,314 l E)

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter's untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

A Victory March by @churkey

(2,688 l T)

When Stiles is eight he learns that nothing will be the same. His dad comes home one day after work and sits Stiles down for a talk. He explains that werewolves and all the monsters are real.

They're real and not hiding under anyone's bed.

Bury the Moon by darthjamtart

(16,592 l M)

First things get bad. Then they get worse. Stiles doesn’t know what he’s sacrificed until it’s too late.

Dying is the easy part.

Love's Violent Delights by @dexterous-sinistrous

(10,685 l E)

Derek caught the way the man’s eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted.

Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerk’s head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek.

Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. “Ever look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and I’ll slice your eyes out with my claws.” He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.

Empty by @discontentedwinter

(48,034 l M)

Jordan Parrish is the new sheriff of Beacon Hills, a town haunted by its past.

Your Vision Borrows Mine by hazyascent

(188,781 l E)

Stiles has encountered a fair share of monsters before, way out of his league - the kinds that children are afraid are hiding in their closets and under the bed.

He’d even become one himself when he was void. The nogitsune was in his house, his body, and his mind.

But the worst monster he’s ever faced took even more from him and got away with it.

It’s why Stiles has never really been as terrified of werewolves and kanimas and darachs as he should have been. They’re really not that scary, relatively speaking, and he has a whole team on his side. They always found a way to win - until they lost someone they really loved.

Stiles doesn’t know how to be normal, not after everything he’s done and everyone he’s hurt. The nogitsune is gone, but another monster is on its heels.

His uncle is back. And Stiles has never felt more alone.

It Was a Wednesday by @isthatbloodonhisshirt

(80,129 l M)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?”

Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping.

Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death.

“Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least.

“Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

Tiny Houses by @ohmyjetsabel-blog

(77,183 l E)

"So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.

God, he dreams.

He dreams of fire and swollen bellies and that scene in Alien, of giving birth to jackals through his urethra, the whole horrific nine yards. His head is a terrible place to be, he can’t imagine his stomach is much better, why anyone would want to put a thing inside of it."

I'm There in the Water by @spaceprincessem

(15,878 l T)

“But it’s—” Derek paused, his words unsure, “it’s not like us,” he swallows hard, chin dipping to his chest in frustration, “it’s like a…”

“An abomination,” Stiles finished, nodding his head as he finally lets his gaze really look at Derek since Scott had pulled them from the water.

He suddenly wished he hadn’t because the way Derek looks at him makes Stiles feel like he is ten years old again. Like Derek is seeing him for the first time since they accidentally fell into each other’s orbit all those years ago. Like Stiles isn’t a burden or invisible.

Like he is enough.

Or five times Stiles felt like he was drowning and the one time he finally caught his breath

Gunplay is Not Really Our Kink by theroguesgambit

(2,577 l M)

“The rules to the game are simple. One bullet, six chances. You pick it up and take turns pulling the trigger on the other man, or we gun you both down right now. You play along, only one of you has to die. Fun game, huh?”

Derek and Stiles are captured by a group of hunters and forced to play a twisted game that only one of them might walk away from.

The Price by theroguesgambit

(18,452 l M)

Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town… and no one can figure out what it was.

Nieważny by Zethsaire

(2,037 l E)

The pack is gone, everything they've ever cared for destroyed. Now Stiles and Derek hunt the hunters, taking revenge in the only way they know how; blood.

Steter

Make Me Bleed by @asarcasticwitch

(2,304 l E)

Peter’s expression contorts, impressed or surprised, Stiles can't decipher, but the grin on his face proves he’s not exactly disappointed with the unexpected turn of events.

“Which bite exactly were you hoping for, hm?” The older man curls one hand around the back of Stiles’s neck, trailing his thumb along his pale, fragile throat.

Stiles tilts his head back in unyielding submission, giving the wolf no room to debate his sincerity. “I’m sure you can figure it out, Alpha.

Two Roads Converge in a Graveyard Town by @cywscross

(15,645 l T)

The Deadpool brings one more assassin to Beacon Hills. A man's gotta eat after all.

when you're going through hell (keep going for me) by cywscross

(57,022 l T)

Peter is abandoned in the aftermath of the fire, and Eichen House takes ruthless advantage. Six years later, when he's finally able to move again, he finds himself in a cell with a boy in a straitjacket.

(Kate’s biggest mistake was letting Peter live. Eichen House’s biggest mistake was letting Peter meet Stiles.)

Don't Fail Me Now by @discontentedwinter

(36,315 l E)

Stiles goes to Derek looking for help.

He finds Peter instead.

Peter takes what he's wanted for a very long time.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

(56,525 l M)

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Bite Down by EclipseWing (@shadow-of-the-eclipse)

(27,586 l M)

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

Into Eden by @graciebirdie

(12,232 l M)

Stiles deciding to bring home the stray alpha he'd hit with his jeep probably made him certifiable, if it hadn't turned out Peter was as crazy as he was.

Before you let go (and the light takes you in) by Issay

(4,032 l E)

Stiles makes one last errand - goes to leave flowers on all the other graves. Fuck, so many graves. The grief is as endless and as inescapable as the sky.

He goes home and there is a thing wearing his father's face, waiting for him in the kitchen.

Call My Name by KouriArashi ( @gingersnapwolves )

(81,370 l M)

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Hide my tears in the rain. by MrsRidcully

(6,865 l M)

After years spent successfully dodging werewolves, evil spirits and wendigos, it was a drunk driver who stole his Dad, a drunk driver with a suspended license and a record sheet as long as Stiles’s arm. Stiles would have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been so busy screaming.

In My Veins Like Disease by romanoffbarton

(1,140 l T)

He tries to leave once.

Foreshock by @twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(22,816 l E)

The day Stiles’ mom died, he almost leveled his house.

Not on purpose. Not even by mistake, really. More by instinct.

Since then he's dug his fingers into everything his has left, holding on with desperation.

Desperation never stopped an earthquake.

Your Touch is My Choice by twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(2,171 l T)

The first time John does it, Stiles is two years old and about to run into the road.

“Mieczysław!” Heart pounding, John grabbed him by the back of his neck and got a hand around his tummy, snatching him back. “No, you have to stay away from the road,” he said firmly.

Shameful Company by Whispering_Sumire (@whispering-sumire755)

(38,779 l E)

"Did I turn into a unicorn?" Peter asks dryly, and Stiles glares at him for a moment before the laughter bubbles up, unbidden, nearly unwilling, and he looks so surprised at the sound, his shock dimming it for a moment before it bursts through with even more trembling ferocity. A long, thin, willowy hand curls into a soft fist over his mouth, and he's shaking, frail, more tears falling, but the copper of his eyes are glowing, crinkling around the edges and scrunched with mirth.

"No," Stiles chokes, chuckling wetly. "No, fuck you, a unicorn? What, like, Rainbowcreep? Zombiesparkle?"

[About a year before the fated Hale fire, Peter starts having nightmares that involve a woman with red hair. The nightmares lead to a spell that brings a man back through time, and, eventually, though the time-traveler is traumatized in the most horrific ways, and Peter's never been good with or for people, in general, they develop a bond that neither of them expects.]

Would You Forgive Me If I Called You Hope, Peter Hale? (Hope, By Any Other Name) by Whispering_Sumire

(10,099 l T)

Stiles has scars. He owns that, he accepts it, he's cataloged and memorized every single one, he's hyper fucking aware of them all.

"What do you want, Peter?" Having the more untrustworthy of the Pack getting protective weirds him the fuck out, leaves an odd fluttering in his chest, like moths, waiting perilously and suicidally to be burned.

He doesn't like it.

"You're injured," the man says, "and whatever it is, it's put you in enough pain that I nearly fainted when I-"

"- Used your werewolf mojo on me without my permission?" Stiles smirks, and Peter gives him a black look, crossing a leg over his knee and smoothing out some invisible wrinkle on his pants.

"Tell me the truth Stiles, how bad is it?"

[Or: The one where Stiles has scars, is more than a little fucked up, and Peter notices. He helps.]

#hurt/comfort #angst #dark #hurt/no comfort #angst with a happy ending #fic rec #be kind to yourself and mind the tags #Sterek #Steter #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Peter Hale #hurt Stiles Stilinski #Sterek fic #Steter fic #to the pain

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queensoybean0724 · 3 years ago

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Succession Chapter 11 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fanfic

Title: Succession Chapter 11

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader

Rating: NC-17 for sex and language (cunniligus, fingering, P in V, unprotected sex *wrap it up, kids*, creampie)

Summary: you discover a long lost relative has died and made you his sole beneficiary. While flying to collect your inheritance, you crash in a village in Romania.

Author’s Note: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village. This is a work of fiction. Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter 11

You and Heisenberg sat side by side against the headboard as he told you everything. The bed sheet was pulled up to his waist while you pulled it higher, covering your nakedness. He reached for a cigar and lighter on his nightstand, puffing and exhaling in between the story. You kept your eyes focused forward: on your legs under the sheets, on your hands in your lap, anywhere but turning your head to look at him.

It took him almost an hour to relay everything to you. His story started over 100 years ago when the woman you now knew as Mother Miranda lost her daughter Eva. You listened as he told you how she discovered an unknown organism under the village known as the Megamycete. Heisenberg stopped periodically, puffed his cigar, and asked if you wanted a break or if you had any questions. All you could do is shake your head and bid him to keep talking.

Your heart broke hearing him talk about how Mother Miranda kidnapped him from his family and infected him with Cadou. The name of the organism sounded familiar, then you remembered that it was the thing in the jar that Moreau had in his laboratory. Heisenberg explained that the Cadou drastically changed an individual...either physically, mentally, metaphysically, and sometimes in every way imaginable. He told you that the Cadou is what gave him the ability to move metal objects with his mind. He also shared the fact that he was able to manipulate electric fields and communicate through electronics like radios, televisions, and the overhead PA system that was installed in the factory.

He shared that the Cadou was why Moreau was trapped in the prison that is his mutated body.

Tears slid down your cheeks at the thought of Moreau being in constant pain and turmoil because this “mother,” as he lovingly called her the last time you were with him, turned him into a monster. But your heart also ached at the thought of Karl being taken as a child, experimented on, and left alone with a family that was not his family. You could only imagine how scared and alone he must have felt, how much he must have missed his family, and how his real family must have searched for him for years until they all eventually died off one by one.

Heisenberg came to the end of his story, stubbed his cigar out in the ashtray, and slowly turned his head to look at you. A part of him was scared, scared that you wouldn’t believe him, or worse, that you would run as far away from him as possible. It was a thought that tied his stomach into knots. He had wanted you from the moment he set eyes on you and had just gotten you into his arms and into his bed...he didn’t want to lose you now.

You shifted next to him and he waited for you to rise from the bed, put your clothes back on, and demand to be taken somewhere where you could call for rescue. He was surprised when instead you looped your arm under his and held his bicep, resting your head on his shoulder. He sighed in relief, a slow smile spreading over his face as he lifted his hand and placed it on your outer leg, pulling your legs closer to him.

“So what do you think?” Heisenberg asked, pressing his lips into your hair.

“It’s unbelievable,” you murmured, “but then again, I’ve seen enough of this village to know that unbelievable things happen and reside here. I should have known when I saw that thing that looked like a tree reach up and rip off the wing of the plane..”

Heisenberg furrowed his brow at your words. A tree? Then it dawned on him that you were referring to the mold. He came to the conclusion that you must have looked out of the plane window and saw it strike. He could only imagine how terrifying it was to be on a plane and experience it not only crashing, but also being the only survivor.

“The mold...the thing you saw is called the mold. I saw it retreating back into the village after your plane crashed. I knew if there were any survivors that Mother Miranda would find them and infect them in hopes that one would bring her daughter back into this life. When I saw you...you looked so frightened, so fragile...and you were so beautiful. You never know what the Cadou will do to a host, Moreau and the lycans being the disastrous part of the spectrum. So I grabbed you, told Moreau I would kill him if he told anyone, and here you are.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder and looked up at him. His penetrating gaze, the scars that peppered his face, his long hair that fell to his chin, and his beard...Heisenberg was incredibly handsome. His physical body was not adversely affected by Mother Miranda’s experimentation. And even though he didn’t tell you why he brought you here at first, you were grateful that he finally confided in you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, smiling at him, “I understand now why you brought me here and why you were so secretive. I would never have believed you at first and automatically would have written you off as crazy. And the bodies in the factory...you need an army to stop Miranda. The bodies from the cemetery, the bodies from the plane crash...you need all the help you can get. It’s...it’s tough to think of Bruce and the others being turned into mindless soldiers, but I understand why you need them…”

Heisenberg’s eyes searched yours. His hand squeezed your leg reassuringly. “I’m so sorry you had to see your friend like that. I didn’t know you had gotten to know him on the plane. To me, they were always just tools to aid me in my battle with Miranda...but they were once people. They had families, friends...I promise you when this is over, I will put their bodies to rest.”

You nodded. “I’ll help you...help you bury them, say a few words...convince their ghosts not to come back and haunt you for all eternity…”

He chuckled and leaned in, kissing your lips softly. You lifted your hand and caressed his cheek, feeling the scruffiness of his beard. A surprised groan formed in his throat as you pushed your tongue out to lick his lips. Both of his hands lifted, cupped your face, and deepened the kiss.

The two of you sat there, kissing and making out like a pair of horny teenagers. You released the sheet that covered your breasts and it pooled in your lap. One of Heisenberg’s hands went around to your back, pulling you closer, as his other hand stayed pressed to your cheek.

He pulled away from the kiss, which made you whimper. He laughed before growling playfully and moving to his knees. Pulling the sheets off of your body, he grabbed your thighs and pulled your body forward, making you lie back on your pillow. “Karl!” you squealed as he made quick work of spreading your legs and lying on his stomach between them.

“I’ve only briefly tasted you...now I want to devour you…” he growled. Both of his arms wrapped under and around your legs as his lips kissed the soft skin of your inner thighs. You sat up on your elbows, your mouth going dry and your heart beating wildly. As you watched him kiss up and down one thigh before moving to the other, you felt your arousal accelerate. You had been intimate before, but you had never had a man go down on you. It had been a fantasy for a long time. You fantasized about it over and over as you pleasured yourself. And now, here is this mysterious, strong man between your legs, moving achingly slow towards your pussy.

“Karl…” you whispered, your thighs trembling on either side of his face. His lips spread in a grin as he hovered over your pussy, blowing softly on your clit. Your lips parted and you moaned loudly, arching your hips up to his mouth. Heisenberg laughed and kissed along the flesh of your labia, his teeth gently nibbling on it. Desire and arousal churned in your stomach and you could feel your wetness pooling out of you.

“Do you like that, doll face?” he asked, kissing around your clit, “does it feel good?”

All you could do was nod your head and move your hips. He was mercilessly teasing you, tormenting you with his skilled mouth and never truly giving you what you wanted.

“Mmmm...you smell so good…” Heisenberg murmured, pressing the tip of his nose to your clit and nuzzling it softly.

“Karl, for fuck’s sake...please...please…” you begged, grabbing the sheets in your fists. His gaze fixed on yours and he smiled, slowly extended his tongue, and circled around your clit.

You tossed your head back and cried out, your lower back arching off the bed. You panted and moaned his name as his tongue curled and flicked over the swollen nub. The pleasure that coursed through your body was unlike anything you had ever felt before. The feel of his hands spreading your thighs wider and his fingers sinking into your skin almost drove you insane.

“Karl...Karl...oh fuck...yes...yes...don’t stop…” you whimpered. Heisenberg chuckled softly, closing his lips around your clit and sucking. One hand released the sheets and shot up to the headboard, grabbing onto one of the railings for dear life. Your body undulated and gyrated on his bed as his mouth gave you pleasure beyond anything you had ever felt before.

Heisenberg became drunk with power as he looked up at you. The way you moved and the sounds that slid past your lips made him unbelievably hard. He found himself grinding his solid cock into the bed, desperate for friction. Your reaction to his mouth was better than any pornographic image he had seen in his long life. His eyes darkened as ideas flowed through his mind. He made mental notes of all of the things he wanted to do to you right here in his bed...and all of the ways he would make you scream his name and shout your ecstasy.

He moved his right hand from your thigh to your dripping pussy. He pulled away his mouth momentarily in order to softly caress your opening with the pads of his fingers. You continued to moan and pant.

“I’m going to make you cum on my tongue over and over again…” Heisenberg promised, “and I’m going to shove my fingers inside of you...fingering you and tasting every part of your delicious cunt…”

Both of your hands were on the headboard railings, your body twisting amongst the sheets. Your hips bucked uncontrollably against his face as he pushed his index and middle fingers inside of you. His mouth went back to your clit, flicking it thoroughly as he rubbed your G-spot back and forth.

“Karl...you’re gonna make me cum...I wanna cum on your fingers...on your face...let me cum on your fucking face!!” you shouted, all manners and discretion completely thrown out of the window. Heisenberg growled and gave you what you wanted. His fingers pushed in and out of your wet opening noisily, the squelching sounds of your wetness audible to the both of you. His tongue flicked your clit hard and fast and within seconds your lower back was arched completely off the bed and your orgasm shook your entire body. You screamed his name over and over until his mouth slowly brought you back down to reality.

Aftershocks shook you as Heisenberg crawled up your body, chuckling against the skin of your stomach. You released the railings and brought your hands to his head, tangling your fingers in his hair.

His lips met yours and you kissed him hard. You felt his skin pressed against yours as his arms wrapped around your body and held you tight. The sensation of your retreating orgasm followed by his strong arms made your heart surge in your chest. You felt wanted, desired, and protected. He had given you more pleasure than you had ever been given by any other guy or even yourself for that matter. The connection you were feeling with him was growing...you hoped that Heisenberg felt it as well.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he rolled his hips against your wet cunt. His hard cock rubbed back and forth between your pussy lips, making your desire accelerate all over again.

Heisenberg’s tongue explored your mouth, sliding and nudging yours into submission. His hands slid up your back and to your shoulders, hugging you close. Arousal and the growing need of his body increased. His lips kissed down your neck and to your chest, licking the thin sheen of sweat that settled on your flesh.

“Karl…” you whispered, moving one hand down along his shoulder blades as your other hand stayed tangled in his hair.

“I love hearing your beautiful voice say my name…” he moaned, kissing down between your breasts. You arched your hips and spread your thighs wider, aching to feel him inside of you. Heisenberg pushed himself up on one hand while his other reached down to grab his cock. He rubbed the tip up and down along your pussy, teasing you mercilessly.

“Karl...please fuck me again...fuck me…” you said, arching your hips higher. You were desperate to feel him, to feel his cock stretch you out and to feel his hips hammering down against yours.

He pushed inside of you and the both of you moaned loudly. His left hand moved up to the headboard, holding it tight as the other hand wrapped around your leg, hiking it higher up on his hip.

The feel of his hips hammering you into the bed was enough to drive you mad. His cock pushed deeper, faster, and harder. It was like he could no longer help himself...now that you were under him, he was possessed.

Your hands reached around to his lower back, moving up and down in time with his thrusts. Your pussy walls clenched around his cock every time he pushed inside of you and his grunts became louder because of it. You gripped him like a vice and he had to hold himself off from cumming too soon. He wanted you to cum again, but this...he wanted to feel it, experience it, memorize every fucking part of your cunt.

“Y/N...oh god pussycat, you’re killing me...your fucking cunt...it’s so damn tight and wet...god dammit!!” he yelled, tossing his head back. Looking up at him losing control and fucking you harder and desperately...you wanted to give him as much pleasure as he was giving you.

His hand released your leg and went to the back of your head, making you look down at his cock thrusting in and out of you. His other hand pressed to the bed, gripping the sheets. “Look at how your cunt is taking my cock...taking my cock like a good little girl…”

Your orgasm was close as you watched his hips crashing down on yours, his cock moving quickly in and out of you. You gripped his hips and screamed his name again and again. Heisenberg moved forcefully, the bed banging against the wall.

“Fuck, Y/N! Fuck!!! Oh fuck, your amazing pussy is gonna kill me!” Heisenberg shouted. You looked up into his face, his features twisted into pleasure so primal and hedonistic. His hair fell in his face, his mouth dropped open, and his eyes were fused to yours.

“Cum inside of me, Karl,” you begged, squeezing his cock tightly inside of you.

“OH FUCK ME!!!” he shouted, tossing his head back. You felt him cum, his cock twitching inside of you and in seconds you came as well, your body bucking wildly, holding tight to his hips. Heisenberg continued to curse and grunt as he pumped every drop of cum inside of you. You trembled under him, moving your hands up his sides, down his chest and stomach, and up his back. He released a shaky breath as he slowly lowered himself onto his elbows, burying his face into your neck.

His body rocked on top of you, still thrusting slowly. You kissed along his shoulder and nuzzled his skin with your nose. The feel of his hot breath on your neck and his sweat-slicked skin against yours was incredible. You never wanted him to let you go.

Heisenberg rolled to his side, pulling you with him, his cock still inside of you. You lifted your leg and rested it atop his hip. His fingers slid up and down your spine, making you shudder.

“You’re amazing, Y/N,” Heisenberg whispered, his lips pressed to your forehead, “so, so amazing…”

You closed your eyes, a smile spreading across your face, as you fell asleep in his arms.

#resident evil village #resident evil village fanfic #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg fanfic #daddy heisenberg #house heisenberg #succession fanfic #succession heisenberg fanfic

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years ago

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dry me off and hold me close

Summary: Derek has finally relented and is bringing his boyfriend Spencer to meet the rest of the team. That means, though, he has to finally tell them about his boyfriend's disability. Terrified that they'll react badly, he puts it off until he can't anymore. Turns out he was worried for nothing.

Tags: so much fluff, protective derek, disabled spencer, caretaker derek, au: spencer is not in the bau, team as family, hurt/comfort, light angst, est. rel, day to day disabled life, physical disability/chronic illness

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 5.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Hello! I am nervous to share this one, I won't lie. It's incredibly personal. It was a pain in the arse to write but I love how it turned out and I hope you do, too. Just a note: this may be triggering for some people - there is description of nausea and severe chronic pain, as well as frequent references to ableism towards wheelchair users.

As soon as Rossi brings up the prospect of a fully-catered family dinner at his ‘mansion’ this weekend, Derek’s heart sinks. They’re on their way home from a pretty gruelling case and it’s well-deserved of course, but he knows what comes next, knows what question will be asked of him, and he’s dreading it. There’s only so long he can go on avoiding answering.

“Please tell me you’ll finally let us meet Spencer, Derek,” JJ asks, levelling him with a look to rival one of Penelope’s. “At this point I’m starting to think you’ve made him up.”

Spencer is very real. He’s a very real, very sexy, very intelligent man who Derek has no doubt would get on brilliantly with the team. But Spencer also happens to be disabled. And while his boyfriend has had decades to get to terms with broaching such a sensitive, taboo topic, Derek has not. He’s far from ashamed of Spencer — that’s not it at all — he’s just so protective of him, and the idea of others being touchy or patronising or outright rude around him is an idea he’s never been able to get used to, no matter how many times he’s witnessed it.

Derek’s laugh is strained as he rubs his face awkwardly, trying to find the words to politely decline, but the others are pouncing on him before he can speak.

“You’ve put it off enough times now, Morgan,” Emily says, siding with JJ. “If he’s even half of what you say he is then we’ll love him. Just bring him along. Rossi doesn’t mind.”

“Oh no, I’m dying to meet the man who could finally tie Derek Morgan, ladies man extraordinaire, down,” Rossi chimes in.

“He definitely sounds like my kind of guy,” Alex agrees. “I’m impressed you managed to land such an educated man, Derek.”

He looks sort of desperately towards Hotch who raises his hands guiltily. “I would actually like to meet him, too, Morgan,” he says reluctantly, a rare smile playing across his face.

Derek groans and throws his head back against his plane seat. He can only be glad Penelope isn’t on the flight because she’d be absolutely relentless in such a conversation.

As hesitant as he is to let his team in, maybe it is time to finally get over himself and bring Spencer to meet them. After all, none of them have ever given him actual cause to be so nervous, and he knows they’d all inevitably fall in love with him almost as quickly as Derek did, so really it’s his own fears and fierce protective instincts keeping Spencer away from his second family.

“Fine,” he relents, anxious butterflies not easing. “He’s home this weekend, and apart from planning lectures I think he’s free, so I’ll ask him. But I can only promise to ask, I won’t promise he’ll agree.” It’s a pointless caveat; Spencer’s been bugging him to meet the team almost as long as they’ve been bugging him to meet Spencer, he’ll jump at the chance to go to dinner with them.

“Finally,” JJ groans, pretending to collapse against Emily in relief, who giggles fondly at her antics.

“I’m sure we’ll love him, Derek,” Rossi says reassuringly, a proud fatherly look on his face that has his chest clenching painfully.

As everyone settles down, his stomach churns anxiously as he stares back out of the jet window. He knows everyone will love Spencer; he just doesn’t know how to tell them what to expect. What if Spencer has a fainting episode or gets nauseous at dinner time? What if he can’t keep his energy up or is too photosensitive to have the lights on? What if meeting that many people at once overwhelms him? Spencer always tells him he worries too much, but he can’t help it — not when the love of his life is involved.

He’s brought out of his nervous stewing by Hotch. “You know, Morgan, if you really don’t want to bring Spencer, you don’t have to,” he says softly, making him look up to see everyone staring at him guiltily.

“We didn’t mean to pressure you,” JJ says hesitantly, and the others agree, all clearly having noticed his pensive expression.

He forces himself to take a calming breath and bite the damn bullet already. Spencer would be rolling his eyes at him. “Okay. There’s something I haven’t told you,” he starts carefully. He hasn’t had to introduce the concept of Spencer’s disability to anybody since he told his family. “Spencer is disabled. He has a chronic condition that impairs his mobility along with bringing a whole host of other symptoms, and while he’s had it for most of his adult life, I’m still not used to broaching the topic and I didn’t know how you would react. He already experienced enough difficulties in life, he doesn’t need my co-workers, hypothetically, being patronising or weird about it. So, I put it off.”

It feels like a weight off his chest once it’s out in the air, but the surprised looks on his team’s face make him briefly wonder whether telling them was a mistake after all. “Spencer will really look forward to coming though,” he rushes to continue. “He’s on his own a lot of the time and struggles to make it out of the house except for work if I’m not there, so he can feel quite isolated. It will be nice for him to spend time with other people, and finally meet you guys.”

By the time he’s finished speaking, everyone seems to have mostly recovered from their immediate shock, and look relaxed and intrigued again — far more appreciated expressions on Derek’s end.

“Well,” Rossi starts, and he feels like holding his breath in anticipation, “will he need any accommodations?” Relief spreads warm and thick across Derek’s chest as he feels himself physically relax. Of course immediate support would be the response from his team; he was stupid to think otherwise.

“His mobility fluctuates daily. Sometimes he can walk small distances okay, other times — and more frequently — he needs aids like forearm crutches or his wheelchair. Can I text you on the day and let you know?”

“Of course,” Rossi promises, a warm smile on his face, “whatever you and Spencer need.”

“There is one more thing, if Spencer’s coming it will need to be earlier in the evening… think more six rather than eight. He’ll be too exhausted later in the evening and he needs to be home early to get the amount of sleep he needs.”

“That’s fine,” Rossi agrees immediately, “six it is.”

“Sorry for pressuring you, Derek,” JJ says, tilting her head as she looks across the table at him. “But we’ll love Spencer, this won’t change anything.”

“Yeah, fuck you for thinking we’d be assholes about it,” Emily chuckles, punching him softly in the arm.

Derek grins at her before shaking his head. “I’m just too protective of him,” he explains a little guiltily. “He thinks it’s ridiculous but I can’t help it. We’ve been together nearly five years now and I’ve seen the things he has to go through, professionally and in his day to day life. I just saw an area for potential harm, no matter how slim the chances, and immediately bricked it up in my mind. It’s hard to tear walls down like that.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Alex says in her signature gentle tone, smiling at him.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Hotch agrees and Derek gives them all another quick smile before they settle in for the rest of the flight.

It’s late by the time Derek unlocks the door to his and Spencer’s home and he knows his boyfriend will already be in bed. It had been a weird adjustment when they’d first started dating, Spencer having to be home by 10pm so Spencer could get at least nine hours of sleep, topped up by regular naps during the day. Now though, he’s completely used to operating around Spencer’s sleep schedule; it’s just routine.

He makes his way through the house quietly, toeing his shoes off and shedding his coat before dumping his bag in the living room and padding up the stairs. The house is dark but their room is dimly lit by Spencer’s night lamps, there to ease him off to sleep and keep him company when bouts of painful insomnia torment him. There was a time Derek used to mind, but those days seem so long ago now. He climbs carefully onto the mattress, taking off his trousers and socks but not bothering to change into anything new.

As gentle as he is with his movement, Spencer still stirs beside him. “Derek?” He blinks sleepily over at him in the soft light of the bedroom and Derek immediately scoots over and wraps him in a hug. It might be gone midnight but he misses Spencer like crazy when he’s away and physical contact is very much essential business right now.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispers as he relishes the feeling of Spencer’s small frame against his own. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay. Just glad you’re home. Missed you.”

“I promise I missed you more,” Derek murmurs as the warmth of the room and comforting presence of his boyfriend wrapped around him finally break down the walls he’s been holding back the sleepiness working a 5 day case inevitably brings.

“Make me pancakes in the morning?”

Spencer doesn’t need to ask, it’s a tradition for Derek to make pancakes for breakfast the day he gets back from the case, but it makes him smile anyway. “Anything for you, baby boy,” he yawns. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

⭐️

Derek waits until dinner the next evening to bring up the subject of the dinner party. It’s just a simple takeaway on the sofa of the house Derek had renovated for them, but even five years into their relationship, every moment shared with Spencer feels like a date.

“How would you feel about going to a dinner party with the team?” Derek asks when there’s a lull in their conversation. Spencer’s just finished explaining a complicated debate he’s having with one of his colleagues about kinetic particle theory and Derek has no idea how to respond. Moments like these used to make him feel stupid and inadequete when they first got together, but now he just stares fondly at his genius boyfriend and wonders how on earth he got so lucky.

Spencer lowers his fork. They’re eating chinese but he still hasn’t mastered chopsticks, and it never fails to make Derek smile. “Are you serious?” he says, an excited grin spreading across his face.

“I am.” He quirks an amused eyebrow as he takes in Spencer’s eager expression. God, he’s so fucking in love.

“Well obviously I want to go,” he giggles, “you know that. When is it?”

“Saturday.”

Spencer just launches himself into Derek’s lap in lieu of response, not that he has far to move on their cosy sofa, slotting himself against his body as they melt into one another. “Thank you for finally getting over yourself,” he says with his face buried in Derek’s neck.

Derek’s responding laugh jostles both of them as he wraps his arms around Spencer’s small frame, loving the way he fits in the palms of his hands. “I’m sorry it took me so long, baby,” he says, tone transitioning into sincerity. “But they can’t wait to meet you, and you’re going to love them.”

“I know,” Spencer says drily, pulling back to look him in his eyes. “Why do you think I’ve been pushing to meet them for the last five years?”

Derek answers with a squeeze to Spencer’s waist and a kiss to his shoulder. “Go on,” he says, lifting him off his lap to sit on the sofa next to him. “Finish your dinner.”

“Mm, I think I’ve had enough,” Spencer hums nonchalantly, busying himself with putting the carton on the coffee table as if Derek doesn’t know him like the back of his hands.

“This is your favourite dish from your favourite Chinese and you’re expecting me to believe you’ve just had enough,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” Spencer says, but he sounds winded and Derek isn’t stupid. He levels him with a look. “Okay… I just feel a bit sick is all.”

“Floor, sofa, or bed?” He’s aware of the nausea protocol, and he moves his own dinner aside as he springs into action.

“Floor.” He’d been surprised the first time his boyfriend had crawled onto the floor and lay curled up until the nausea passed, but it was second-nature now. Apparently, the flat, firm surface was the most comfortable when such intense sickness consumed him.

“Okay, baby, let’s go.” He gently lifts Spencer off the sofa and down onto the floor, taking care not to jostle him too much. His eyes stay closed, face screwed up as he tries to weather the waves of nausea crashing over him. It never fails to make Derek’s heart twist in pain. “Are you actually going to be sick?” The majority of nausea spells usually pass on their own with no vomit to speak of, and Spencer’s usually very good at telling which kind it is.

“No,” he whispers, reaching his hand slowly towards Derek’s and gripping it tightly. He gets the message and lays down next to him, stroking his hair softly as they wait in silence for Spencer’s body to right itself. It only takes about twenty minutes to pass, and when it does, Derek carries him to bed, bringing him his toothbrush and a flannel as they follow another of their set routines that have been established over so many years of being together.

“I love you so much, Spencer Reid,” Derek murmurs as they lay in bed together that night, the soft light of their bedroom catching on Spencer’s cheekbones.

“I love you more, Derek Morgan,” Spencer whispers back, voice slurred as he cuddles further into the arms of his boyfriend.

“Not possible,” Derek insists, but Spencer’s already dropping off to sleep.

⭐️

Spencer wakes up on the day of the dinner party in what Derek can clearly see is nothing short of agony. He doesn’t try to hide it, they’re mostly past that now — although he still sometimes convinces himself he can handle smaller symptoms by himself, no matter how many times Derek insists they’re a team — but he doesn’t say much either. The morning is spent on the sofa, using numerous heated blankets and painkiller combinations until he can at least think straight.

“How do you feel about this evening?” Derek asks as lunchtime approaches, rubbing Spencer’s good arm gently as he leans against him, legs outstretched on the chaise.

Spencer hums. “I’m gonna take a nap after lunch,” he decides after a moment of deliberation, “and then decide. I think with meds and the wheelchair, I’ll be okay.” He pauses for a moment as he nibbles nervously on his bottom lip. “Do you think they’ll be weird about the chair?”

“No, baby,” Derek says decisively. Really, he can’t believe he ever thought anything different, but he was scared and fear easily spirals into irrationality. “They won’t even blink. Especially since I warned them about the mobility aids. I think they’d be more surprised if you walked into the Rossi mansion.”

“You sure?”

It hurts Derek’s heart to hear him so anxious and uncertain, and it’s only more painful because he knows it's rooted in experience. He’s had to fight for most of his life to be seen as a competent adult, equal to his peers despite his disability, and people can be cruel. “I’m sure. And even if for some reason they were dicks about it, I’m there, okay? Nobody’s gonna get away with being anything other than an angel towards you when I’m around.”

Spencer giggles at that, turning his head into Derek’s chest. “You turn into the hulk when you’re protecting me.”

“I do,” he agrees, chuckling at the sound of Spencer’s adorable laugh, “and for good reason. No-one hurts my baby. You know that, and everyone else knows it, too. We’re gonna be just fine, pretty boy.”

Spencer sighs, reassured by Derek’s words. “Love you,” he whispers, twisting a bit to press a kiss to the side of Derek’s neck.

“I love you more,” Derek promises, lifting a hand to rest on Spencer’s cheek.

“Not possible.”

The rest of the day passes slowly as Spencer takes it easy, deciding that he’s definitely up to it after a decent nap curled up against a reading Derek. They get ready together, Derek helping him shower when his arms hurt too much to wash his hair and getting him dressed in his favourite outfit before dressing himself.

By the time six thirty rolls around, Spencer’s feeling a little bit better, his meds are hitting the spot and they’ve mastered all the wheelchair adaptations to make his life as easy as possible over the years. His cushions and heated seats connected to the wheelchair’s motor, which he uses to help self-propell at work, ease the pain as much as they can and the built in phone charger always makes him popular whenever they go out with friends. Plus, his cane and crutches connect neatly to the back of the chair, giving him more options, which is especially helpful on nights like this.

“Comfy?” Derek asks as he pushes him out of the apartment and into the hallway, locking the door behind them.

Spencer hums in affirmation, wiggling a little as he settles into the warm support of the chair. They have a ground floor apartment for safety reasons: Spencer needs to be able to exit the building if the lifts stop working, but it’s also convenient. They get down to the garage quickly and Derek helps him into the passenger seat before packing the wheelchair in the boot.

He spends the journey in contemplative silence and Derek can’t keep himself from shooting worried looks his way. His hand makes its way onto Spencer’s knee and he rubs his thumb gently against the skin, before stilling the digit, all too conscious of how painful repetitive stimulus can be, especially on days like these.

“Stop worrying, baby,” he says, ten minutes into the drive when Spencer still hasn’t said a word. His bottom lip is chapped from the worried chewing it has endured for most of the day. “They’re going to love you, I promise.”

“You really think so?”

Derek’s about to answer quickly but he looks over and sees how absolutely dead serious Spencer is. He sighs. “Let me tell you exactly why. Alex is a fellow academic with the softest streak of anyone in the BAU field team. Emily and JJ have the ability to befriend literally anyone, and Penelope already is in love with you, just from what I’ve said about you. She’s told me so multiple times. Rossi immediately accommodated you and wasn’t at all fazed when I mentioned your disability. Hotch is a gentle fatherly type when he’s talking to good people and the rest of the team, so he’ll just be interested in you as a person. There’s no-one I’m worried about, okay?”

“Okay,” Spencer whispers eventually, finally sounding like he actually believes him.

“Besides, you’ve already got one member of this team whipped,” Derek smirks, glancing over at him again.

He considers it a win when Spencer rolls his eyes, and his grin couldn’t be wider when he hears him mumble, “arrogant asshole” under his breath.

Derek’s grateful Rossi doesn’t have a gravel driveway as he gets Spencer out of the car and into his wheelchair, before pushing him the short way to the front door. They’d battled some tough terrain over the years, and gravel was absolutely his least favourite. As they approach the house, though, he notices that Spencer’s grip on his armrest is tight enough that his knuckles are white, and it hurts Derek’s heart that he’s only this nervous because real people and real experiences have given him genuine reason to be.

Before he gets to knock, though, the door is thrown open by an uncontainably excited Penelope. “You’re here!” she shouts, and completely bypasses Derek to shake Spencer’s hand. He’s glad she doesn’t crouch, just leans down a little so he doesn't have to reach up so far. “You must be Spencer. I’m Penelope. It is a crime that Derek has kept us apart for so long, but none of that matters now. Would you like me to push you in through to meet the others?”

“Um, it’s nice to finally meet you, Penelope,” he says, smiling at her genuinely. “Would you mind if Derek keeps pushing me, though?”

“Oh, no, that’s fine!” Her smile doesn’t drop a bit. “Come through, everyone’s already in the living room. Oh, and hi Chocolate Thunder.” She sends him a quick wink.

“Hi, Mama,” he says, rolling his eyes. He’s grinning, though. So far, so good.

They follow Penelope further into the house after Derek closes the door behind them, and the girls get up first. “Spencer, oh it’s so good to meet you,” Emily says, coming up and shaking his hand. “I’m Emily, this is JJ.”

“Hi,” JJ says, shaking his hand too, giving him a conspiratorial look. “I’m glad we finally bullied Derek into bringing his oh-so-secret beau to meet us.”

Derek just grins. “What can I say? I’m protective of my baby.” He reaches down and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Ignore this caveman,” Spencer laughs, and Derek is sure he rolls his eyes again. “I’ve been dying to meet you all, too.”

“Well, it’s our pleasure,” Alex says, coming up for her turn. “I’m Alex. Your paper ‘How Thinking Makes Us Write’ you published a couple of years ago is incredible; I used it in my Psychology of Writing class last year and only just realised it was written by Derek’s top-secret boyfriend! I’d love to talk to you more about that later.”

“That’s so cool, wow, yeah I’d love that.” He smiles at her, clearly feeling a little flattered by the immediate praise of his work. Derek thinks it’s the least he deserves.

“I’m Aaron, but everyone calls me Hotch,” Hotch says as he and Rossi step forward, a warm smile on his face. “Sorry to overwhelm you with all these introductions, but it’s lovely to meet you. It really is a shame Derek’s been so secretive.”

Spencer smiles up at him. “Are we all going to dunk on Derek all night? Because if that’s the case, I’m glad I came,” he laughs, twisting around slightly to look at Derek.

“Yeah, yeah, keep talking, pretty boy,” he says, raising a brow. “Two can play at that game.”

“You’re too whipped, I’m not worried,” Spencer dismisses him, before touching his hand lovingly, letting him know that he’s only teasing.

“I don’t doubt it,” Rossi says. “I’m Dave, or Rossi, whichever you prefer. I actually own this house, despite being the last in line for a formal introduction. I’m sorry I didn’t greet you at the door, Penelope had been waiting on the stairs for half an hour so she could be the first to greet you.”

“That true, baby girl?” Derek chuckles, looking over at her.

She doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed, but then Derek doesn’t know what else he expected. “This is on you,” she defends herself, “if you hadn’t waited so long to introduce me to baby genius here, I wouldn’t have been so desperate to meet him.”

Spencer laughs at their interaction, turning his attention back to Rossi. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “Derek told me you were really accommodating, so thank you for that.”

He waves the thanks aside with a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing. Speaking of which, though, would you rather eat in your wheelchair or transfer to one of the dining chairs.”

Derek knows what’s about to happen even before he sees Spencer tense up. “Give us one second,” he says, wheeling him out into the hallway. Decisions are really hard for Spencer to make on bad days, especially those that pertain to his health or needs, and being under the eyes of so many people was not about to make that an easy interaction.

“Derek…” Spencer says anxiously, looking at him for help as he feels his mind spiral into fogginess at the question.

“Okay, it’s okay, baby,” he says soothingly, crouching down in front of him to be at eye level. He takes his hand and kisses it gently. “Do your hips need a break from the chair or would it be more painful to transfer?”

Phrasing questions like Rossi’s as directly applicable choices is always more digestible for Spencer and he sees him visibly relax at his words. “Hips need a break.”

“Great,” Derek says. “Do you want to go back in or do you need a minute to yourself?”

“No, I’m fine,” Spencer says, and he believes him. He instantly relaxed at having made a decision. “Let’s go back in.”

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

They walk back into a room full of vibrant conversation and laughter. “Oh, Spencer, Spencer,” Emily says, immediately roping him back into the conversation without making a big deal of him having to leave the room, “we’re debating whether Derek’s really the slob Alex insists he is. You need to help us settle it.”

“I shared a room with him once, okay,” she says, “it was a state!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Spencer agrees. “At home, he’s so anal about ‘everything in it’s place’ and won’t even let a mug sit on the counter without being washed up. But whenever we go away, he can’t keep the place clean, it’s the weirdest thing. It’s like his suitcase vomits its contents all over the room.”

“Hey, I didn’t know this dinner was gonna be all about airing my dirty laundry,” Derek laughs.

“Literally,” JJ points out.

“Right,” Rossi says, interrupting the laughter filling the room. “Dinner is ready, so we should eat. Did you come to a decision about seating, Spencer?” Derek’s impressed at how much he knows about accommodating disabilities. He probably has someone close to him who’s been through something similar to Spencer.

“I’ll transfer,” he confirms.

“Great, we can just move your wheelchair to the hall once you’re settled so it’s not in the way, if that’s okay?”

At Spencer’s nod, they all file into the kitchen/dining area and choose their places. Penelope bags the seat to Spencer’s left, Derek sitting to his right, as the other girls sit opposite them. Hotch and Rossi sit at Derek's end of the table. He holds hands with Spencer under the table all through the delicious pasta primavera, helping to ground him, reminding him he’s right there.

Conversation and laughter flows with the wine Rossi serves, and Derek doesn’t even mind his embarrassing stories being shared with the team, because it’s Spencer, and he’s so far gone for this man that he could slice him open and with his dying breath, Derek would thank him.

“I love you, really,” Spencer grins up at him, after he’s just revealed his Nina Simone shower concerts to everyone sitting around the table, everyone cracking up as the tough exterior Derek’s built up at work over the years slowly disintegrates, his own boyfriend fuelling the fire.

“And I love you, baby,” he says, leaning over to kiss him briefly, before pulling back. “Even when you spill my deepest darkest secrets.”

“Well, aren’t you two just the cutest,” Alex says fondly. “You’re a lucky man, Derek.”

“No, I’m the lucky one,” Spencer insists. “Do you know what he said when we first met? We were at the supermarket, and I was reaching for some baby carrots. He said ‘whoa, pretty boy, don’t get those ones. They go off far too quickly. Someone as beautiful as you deserves better than that’. No mention of the wheelchair or bags under my eyes. He didn’t see Disabled Spencer, he just saw Spencer. Asked for my number then and there.”

“You were irresistible,” Derek says fondly, brushing a thumb against his cheek. “I knew right at that moment I would spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Stop,” Penelope begs, “my heart is literally a puddle on the floor. This world needs more Derek Morgans.”

“I’ll toast to that,” JJ says, her face just as soft as Penelope’s.

“A real toast,” Hotch says, raising his glass with a happy smile on his face. Derek very rarely sees such a relaxed expression on his face, and as much as they have their disagreements, it’s a nice thing to see. “A toast to Derek and Spencer. May your happiness live long and be as contagious as it is tonight.”

Everyone toasts to his words, and Spencer buries his face in Derek’s shoulder, a little embarrassed at the attention. They sit around the table a little longer, but Spencer slowly sags against his body, finding it painful to keep himself upright.

Noticing this, Penelope claps her hands. “Shall we move back to the living room? I bought chocolate and Rossi has wine.”

“This is true,” Rossi says as they all get up. He grabs Spencer’s wheelchair from the hall and Derek helps him back into it as they head back to the sofas.

“It’s weird using my chair inside,” Spencer laughs as Derek pulls him into his chest so he doesn’t have to keep himself steady upright, everyone else settling themselves around the room.

“Do you not need it often?” Hotch asks.

“No, I need it quite a lot. I just don’t usually have to. Derek’s usually fairly insistent on carrying me around our apartment.”

“We’ll never live in a big house,” Derek says, chuckling along with anyone else. “I couldn’t haul this big lug around a Rossi mansion, now could I?”

“Hey!” Spencer smacks his side lightly.

“You’re 6 foot tall, baby,” Derek defends himself. “You might be tiny but there’s still a lot of you.”

“Fair enough,” Spencer acquiesces, laying his head just under Derek’s chin.

“Right,” Rossi says, coming back into the room, “I have more of your non-alcoholic wine, Spencer, and more of the real stuff for everyone else. Hand out the chocolates, Penelope, and we’ll have ourselves some satisfied guests.”

“I don’t live here, old man,” Penelope says, raising an eyebrow but getting up from her seat cuddled against Emily and JJ anyway.

“Hey, you answered the door to pretty much everyone today; you’re co-hosting.”

“Can’t argue with that, Penelope,” Emily says drily, looking on amusedly as she huffs but hands out the chocolates anyway.

Derek discreetly pops two painkillers out in his pocket and hands it to Spencer, who swallows them down with a sip of his non-alcoholic wine, relaxing as they start to take effect. They all chat leisurely for a while, enjoying each other’s company in a non-pressured environment where they’re not surrounded by high profile cases and serial killers.

Eventually, though, Spencer starts to fall asleep on his chest, clearly feeling relaxed enough in the warm room, pressed up against his boyfriend and surrounded by the reassuring conversation of people he trusts. As soon as Derek notices, though, he knows it’s time to get him home and into bed before any true crisis of pain or fatigue takes place.

“I think we’ll need to get going, guys,” he says quietly, drawing everyone’s attention to Spencer’s dozing form. He watches as their faces soften and conversation quietens, everyone clearly enamoured with his boyfriend. It occurs to him that he feels no jealousy, only pride that he gets to call this wonderful man his, that he’ll be going home with him tonight, tucking him into bed and cuddling him until he falls asleep.

He shakes Spencer gently, and the others start to get up, tidying or just moving through to the kitchen so as not to embarrass him when he opens his eyes. “Sorry,” he murmurs sleepily, as he looks up at Derek. “I’m tired.”

“I know, baby,” he says softly, feeling so fond his heart could burst. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Everyone’s sad to see him go, gathering at the front door to say their goodbyes.

“You are invited to every BAU event from hereon in,” Penelope asserts confidently as she leans down for a gentle hug. She whispers, “you’re better company than Derek, anyway.”

“I heard that, Mama,” he says, poking her in the side.

“You were meant to,” she says, sending him a pointed look, before dropping the act and wrapping him in a hug as the others say goodbye to Spencer.

“It was so nice to finally meet you, Spencer,” Hotch says warmly. “Derek had better not keep us from seeing anymore of you.”

“I’m not sure I could possibly get away with that anymore,” he sighs. “Guess I’ll have to share my baby with you assholes.”

Spencer rolls his eyes at that, stifling a yawn. “Come on, caveman,” he says, rolling his eyes again. “I need to get home.”

“Anything for you, my highness,” he chuckles, before lifting his chin with his knuckle and bending down to kiss him briefly.

“Bye, lovebirds,” Emily calls as they make their way to their car.

“Drive safely,” JJ shouts, which makes Derek laugh fondly. He does love his team.

“See you on Monday,” he calls back as he helps Spencer into the passenger seat. They drive home in the comforting darkness of night, illuminated by the car and street lights of the city, and satisfaction pools in his stomach as he reflects on such a perfect evening as Spencer falls asleep against the passenger window. It really couldn’t have gone any better, and the relief he feels is staggering: the two most important facets of his life finally integrated after far too long.

While his whole life feels like it’s finally falling into place, all that really matters is that the man who is his entire world is happy, a small smile on his sleeping face as the shadows of the city brush their way over his cheekbones. He has to force his eyes back to the road, but he can’t resist the hand he slips into Spencer’s, or the smile that lights up his face as even in his sleep, Spencer’s fingers curl themselves around his.

Spencer's symptoms in this fic could fit any number of neurological conditions, but his unnamed condition was modelled on my own experience with fibromyalgia. I have a rather severe case, as would Spencer if he was diagnosed with this illness. The symptoms could also fit these conditions in one way or another: Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (M.E.), Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), Lupus, Rheumatoid Arthritis or Axial Spondyloarthritis, as well as others I'm sure I'm forgetting.

Everything about Spencer’s disability is true to the chronically ill/disabled experience as I know it, and to learn more please visit the end notes on AO3 where I explain in a little more detail some of the features of Spencer’s symptoms and condition.

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taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @hotchgans @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith

#my writing #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #moreid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #moreid fic #moreid fluff #moreid au #criminal minds au #disabled spencer reid

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shoutaaizawas · 4 years ago

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↳ keigo takami x reader → ❝our house❞

summary: you and hakws get your happily ever after word count: 2,852 tags/warnings: slight manga spoilers!!, family themes, kids, fluff a/n: i started this like over a month ago and finally was in the mood to finish it. enjoy~ (inspired by the song our house by crosby stills nash and young)

Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains of your bedroom window. You stretch out, stiff muscles relaxing as you let out a yawn. You can’t move very much considering your husband has his cheek resting on your stomach, his weight pressed across your body. A soft smile warms your face. This is his favorite position to lay in, he claims your better than any pillow but you’re sure that it’s because he prefers to not lay on his wings.

His wings are pulled close against you, enveloping you in their warmth. You reach up and gently run your hand along with them, they flutter under your touch and you can feel him nuzzle into you. You always admired his wings so much, stunning and strong, adding to his roguish charm. He teases you that you would have never fallen for him without them, you assure him that it was the windswept hair that got you and he always laughs.

There was a time you thought he lost his wings, after his fight with Dabi. They were gone, burnt down to the skin, what was left of the skin on his back. You didn’t think he would stay alive much less retain his quirk. By some miracle, they grew back. It wasn’t easy recovering from his injuries, it took months for them to even start growing back. Even then they looked different, scarred, torn, and patchy in some places but just as beautiful to you. If anything more beautiful because he was still alive.

You try not to think about it, there’s no use in remembering such dark times. As traumatic as it was for the both of you it was a blessing in disguise. With his quirk seemingly gone the hero commission decided he was useless and dropped him from their tight grasp. At the time you were still scared, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Would Dabi return? Would the commission send someone to kill him even if they said he was free? It couldn’t be that easy.

You could remember that day like it was yesterday, he had finally been released from the Hospital. You were going to take him to his apartment but he said he needed to do something alone first, as terrified as you were at what that could be he insisted you wait for him at his apartment. You didn’t want to leave him alone, not after his injuries and his quirk being gone but he wouldn’t let you go with him.

It was the longest hour of your life, sitting on his couch paying no attention to what the TV had on, foot bouncing restlessly. Finally, the door opened and he stood there looking exhausted. You ran over to his side before you could get a word in he spoke.

“Run away with me.” He said almost breathless.

“What?” You said confused. He stepped forward grabbing your arms pulling you close to him.

“I said run away with me.” He repeated. “Let’s get out of here, away from these ‘heroes’, away from these villains, away from anything that could stop us from being together.”

It was a lot to process but after a moment you were surprised that you felt the same way. Being a hero felt like bile in your throat after learning how dark it was behind the scenes. You weren’t completely jaded, you knew there were still good people who were heroes but you couldn’t stomach the thought of being one anymore after seeing everything the commission did to Hawks.

“Yes,” You said with a nod. “Let’s do it, let’s run away together.”

The smile that beamed from him made your heart melt, even with the bandages that still covered his face. You hugged him as tight as you could without hurting him or his injuries, one hand wrapped behind him the other resting on his chest as you closed your eyes taking at the moment. You didn’t even notice his fidgeting until you felt something slide onto your finger.

“If we’re going to run away together it only seems right.” He said, close to your ear, you could feel a shiver down your spine. You opened your eyes looking at your hand and the newly placed ring on it. It was stunning, simple but beautiful, and somehow everything you could ask for in a ring. You knew Keigo was observant but didn’t realize just how good he was at paying attention to you. “Marry me.” He whispered into your ear.

You teared up, overwhelmed by all the emotions of the day.

“Yes, Keigo. There’s nothing that would make me happier.”

After that you didn’t look back, you missed the people you left behind but it felt good to get away from the danger and stress of it all. Maybe it was selfish but after all, you and Keigo had been through didn’t you deserve to do something for yourselves for once in your life. Keigo had everything taken away from him as a child the least he deserved was some happiness and solitude as an adult.

You reached forward, careful not to wake him, gently running your fingertips across the scar on the side of his face. It was a reminder that you almost lost everything before you had it, and to never take for granted the life you had. Your hand tangled in his hair, running your hand down it soothingly. He was so handsome, so perfect, you were so happy that you had him in your life. It was easy to drown in your feelings for him in these moments. They were overwhelming, even after all the time you had been together. You couldn’t imagine not being head over heels in love with him.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer.” His sleep ridden voice drove you crazy in the best way. His eyes opened, revealing his golden eyes, their beauty only intensified by the golden light through the windows.

“Why would I when I always have the real thing right here?” You returned. He smirked, pushing himself up and hovering over you. His face was right over yours and you couldn’t stop the blush on your face. His wings stretching out and shaking before pulling in and caging you in along with his arms. It didn’t matter how long you had been together it didn’t take much from him to get you blushing.

“Hmm, you have a point.” He said leaning closer and closer to you, lips brushing together barely. He loved to tease you, lean in, and see how long it took before you got annoyed. You were about to lean up and close the distance when you were interrupted.

“Mommy! Daddy! Mochi had an accident!!” A shrill voice yelped as your bedroom door flew open. Your youngest son, five years old, stood there, his tiny wings fluttering, holding up the puppy on display. He had your hair color and the feathers of his wings were black. He had Keigo’s striking golden eyes that you loved so much.

You and your husband let out a sigh as he climbed off you and got out of bed. He stepped towards your son, scooping up him and the puppy up to one smooth movement.

“Well let’s get that fixed then, little man.” He said kissing him on the forehead and patting the puppy on the head. He gave you a warm smile before walking out of the room.

It wasn’t unusual for your calm mornings to be cut short, unfortunately, all of your children had the habit of getting up early and getting right to starting chaos. You were sure the others were up to something. You put on your robe and got up heading to the kitchen to find your eleven-year-old son using his wings to reach the highest shelf in the cabinet.

“No flying in the house!” You scolded, your son startled by your presence dropped the bag of flour he was holding. It hit the ground, flour going everywhere. You placed a hand on your face taking a deep breath. It was too early for this.

“Mom, I’m sorry I was trying to make you and dad breakfast.” He said looking guilty. You held your arms out and he was quick to fly into your arms. You let out a grunt, he was getting so big you didn’t think you would be able to hold him much longer.

“That’s very sweet baby but I don’t want you getting hurt. If you dropped some glass you could cut yourself, or if you fell.” You told him, stroking his soft golden locks. He was the spitting image of his father, something that brought a smile on your face. “Can I help you make breakfast, what did you have in mind?”

“Yeah!” He said excitedly. “I wanted to make waffles.”

“Ambitious boy, just like your mother,” Keigo said as he entered the kitchen followed by your youngest son and his puppy. You smiled at them both.

“Dad! Mom!” Another voice called, your daughter, eight years old entered with a drawing in hand. “Look, look! I drew you guys.” She said presenting the picture proudly. Your heart warmed, she had drawn you and Keigo holding hands in a big heart.

“That’s amazing, princess,” Keigo said, kneeling to give her a kiss on the head. “I don’t know about you, babe but I think this deserves to go on the fridge.” He said looking at you.

“We might have to get a frame for it.” You said with a big smile. You put down your eldest son before giving your daughter a big hug. “It’s perfect.”

“What happened with the flour?” Keigo asked looking at the mess questioningly.

“Our darling son was trying to make us breakfast but there was a flying incident.” You explained.

“Hey, you know you not supposed to fly in the house.” He said.

“I know.” Your son said looking down.

“I already told him.” You assured your husband. “C’mon, love. Let’s make breakfast but first clean up that mess. I’ll get everything we need out.”

He nodded and got to work cleaning it up, Keigo helped him with the dustpan as he swept it up. You grabbed out eggs, bacon, milk, and some fruit. By the time you had it all set on the counter, they had finished cleaning up the mess.

You helped your eldest son start making the batter before you started cutting up the fruit. You felt arms wrap around your waist as Keigo settled his head against your shoulder.

“I think my morning kiss was interrupting.” He said before pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Well, that happens when you bring strays home.” You said keeping your focus on the task at hand. Keigo had found the dog on a rainy day while he had gone to the store. He insisted they take care of it for the day at least, you couldn’t leave a puppy out in the cold. One day turned into weeks and your family demanded the puppy stay. You could hardly deny them it. Besides, it was a pretty cute puppy.

“C’mon you know you love the thing.” He said in a teasing voice as he nuzzled his nose against your neck.

“I do but I like giving you a hard time.” You tell him, turning your head to meet his pressing a kiss to his cheek. He let out a hum of contentment before lifting his head to meet your lips with his.

“Gross!” Your daughter shouts.

“I’m sorry we weren’t asking for any commentary.” Your husband teases giving your daughter a smug grin.

“Why don’t you help your brother set the table.” You offer her a task.

Life was peaceful and domestic, far from what you face years ago. No more lies or danger. No more heroes or villains. Just the love of your life, safe and happy, and the family you built with him.

You were able to create what you both didn’t have growing up. A house full of love and happiness, with loving parents who took care of their children and loved them as much as any human being could love another.

The house you lived in was perfect. An English cottage style house secluded away from the busy city. Between what you and Keigo made while working as heroes you had more than enough to buy the house and the property with it. The greenery around the house was beautiful and there were plains of green grass for miles around you. It was cozy and warm especially with all the life your family brought to it.

You spend your days in the garden you adore, tending to the plants there. Sometimes Keigo watches you and helps you with whatever you want him to. When the kids aren't at school they help out or they play in the yard, chasing each other around pretending to be whatever they want to that day.

Between Keigo bringing home strays and the kids loving animals you ended up with a farm. Keigo helped you build a chicken coop, he looked after them. It wasn’t unusual to find him in the coop talking to the birds. They always flocked to him and followed him around happily.

Then there were the stray cats that had shown up at your house, you caught your oldest son feeding them leftovers from dinner. You told him if he wanted to feed them that he should feed them cat food. You always made sure to keep some at home. They eventually all warmed up to the family and would stay by you while you garden. Sometimes they would even sit on your lap if you were relaxing outside.

Then there was the goat. Keigo and your daughter had been out for the day. When they returned they did so with a goat. Keigo claimed that it was out in the road alone and was in danger. Later he admitted that it was being sold for meat and your daughter started crying at the thought of the little goat being eaten. He could never stand to see his children cry, he would do whatever he could to stop it. Even if it meant bringing home a goat. The goat was friendly but loved to eat anything and everything it got its mouth on. Especially when it came to your beloved garden. It was worth it when you saw how happy your daughter was with the animal.

Evenings were spent watching movies or playing games together. Your youngest always somehow beat everyone at Mario Party without fail and it never ceased to impress you. Dinner was usually a group project, the kids liked helping out but some nights Keigo or you would make dinner while the other spent time with the kids.

You don't tell your children about your past as heroes, simply that you used to help people for a living. You figure that explaining why you stopped being a hero is too much for kids their age. They don't need to know about that kind of corruption so young.

They never question their father's scar, you know that they understand it's not something normal once they get older but in their eyes he's perfect. The boys ask why his wings look different than their own. Keigo doesn't want to tell them at first, worried that any form of the truth would scare them but you assure him that they'll understand if he explains it right.

Keigo explains that he lost his wings once, a villain took them away. The boys nod and accept it without question. Your husband assures them that no one could ever hurt them, he would never allow it.

"Of course you would keep us safe, daddy." The youngest says with full confidence. You smile, comforted that your children understand just how far you would both go to keep them safe.

At night after the kids are all tucked into bed you sit down with Keigo in the living room, sometimes you watch whatever show you’re catching up on, other nights you let music fill the room as you talk about the day or anything that you want to express.

You find sanctuary in his arms, pressed into his chest, with a glass of your favorite wine in hand. He watches intently as you tell him about how the squash is growing good this year. You look up at him, enamored by the loving look in his eyes. You reach up to pull him down to kiss you, the taste of wine on his lips.

Keigo is perfect and the life you’ve built together is perfect. You cherish the time to spend with him on these quiet nights. You melt in his embrace, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He smiles down at you and whispers against your ear how much he loves you and how thankful he is for you.

You both know there will never be enough words to fully express the love and happiness you feel with each other but it never stops you from trying.

taglist: @sugarmaplewings-fics @lilkiwisfinest @ewwis @kandy1410 @moonlightaangel @winnies-headcannons @bakugousidehoe @paintedr0ses1 @toobsessedsstuff @spellboundxizi @ourladyofseijoh @x0doodlebug0x @katsushimaa @mooncademia

#hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #keigo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #hawks #keigo takami #mha #my writing

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broadstflyers · 4 years ago

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A/N: I am so excited to be starting my first ever series. This is inspired by Taylor Swift’s “Cardigan” because her music creates stories in my head that I must write down on (digital) paper. Please keep in mind this chapter is written in past tense, and the story probably won't be in present tense for at least another few chapters. Let me know what you think! If you want to be on the tag list for the next chapter, or drop any (constructive) feedback, you can take this survey here.

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: None

Summary: They say at fourteen you’re too young to know you’re in love. But what if you aren’t?

Navigation: chapter two

Grade: 9 Age: 14 --------------------------------- As sure as you are that spring comes after winter, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, and seconds turn into minutes, you know you are in love with Joel Farabee. Not the gushy “I want to hug you and kiss you and never let you go” love, the intense “I want to burst at the seams because I just want to scream it on the rooftops and tell you and it literally crushes my heart that I can’t” love.

Yeah, that love.

The problem?

You were only fourteen when you knew.

Yes, the grand old age of fourteen. The age you were supposed to be nervously texting multiple boys, wondering if you were going to be asked to the ninth grade dance and worrying about who your first kiss was going to be, or even the first person you were going to hold hands with.

It started on the first day of school, but the start of it all was less than romantic. You shuffled up the hallway with one of your best friends, your feet felt like lead.

“What’s wrong?” Luna whispered in your ear.

“I really hate math,” you huffed. It was the last period of the day, eighth period, and you had to spend it in what was probably going to be a room full of rambunctious athletes who would be itching to burst out of the room at the very sound of the bell. How did you know this? Because you had been stuck in a class like that ever since the beginning of middle school. It made for some laughs, yes, but for some reason a pessimistic attitude bitterly swarmed around you in dark circles. Also, math in general made you anxious, and it didn’t help that the last few years you had to fend for yourself because of your lack of friends in said class.

“Well, at least you’ll have me this year,” Luna attempted to reassure you and your looming anxiety.

“Yeah, but I wonder who’s going to be in our class this year,” you mumbled. Your stomach swarmed with butterflies, but you’d rather call them icky moths.

Luna opened her mouth to respond, but you reached the door frame before her. Before you could even make it through the entrance, you made eye contact with a group of rowdy boys sitting at a table directly in front of you. You stopped dead in your tracks. They paused in their shouting to turn and look at you and Luna, since you were only about seven or eight feet away.

You scanned their faces, and you recognized most of them. They were mostly hockey players that played for the local team that looked for a shot at the NTDP in just a few short years. It was Syracuse, hockey was a pretty big deal there. There was also the prospective varsity quarterback and his star wide-receiver, these labels given to them at just fourteen. Of course, more athletes. Suddenly, you locked eyes with this boy you strangely have never seen before. His hand was hovering in air over his friend’s head with what you could only assume is his friend’s pencil in a lame attempt to keep him from grabbing it.

He blinked a few times, and you might have blinked a few times, you honestly couldn’t remember.

You snapped out of your trance and looked over to the board that said, “Welcome class! Pick your seats for the first day!”

“Hey,” Luna nudged you and grabbed your arm, “let’s sit over there.”

She lead you to a table adjacent to the boys’ table, despite your unheard protests of being “too close” to them.

You took your seat huffing, and you pulled out your binder and got ready for class, something you wished the crazy boys would pick up on. Thankfully the bell rang, your teacher shut the door, and class began.

That’s the first time you saw him. Not very eventful, but hey, you two were awkward fourteen year olds just entering grade nine. Of course things were not going to be all fireworks and love at first sight.

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

A few classes went by, and the only disturbance that occurred was when the class was taking one of those horrible diagnostic tests. See, you really hated disturbances, interruptions, anything relating to that matter.

So when this dude named Joel (you learned his name when he was yelled at for playing rap music in the middle of class) started fooling around with his friend while you were trying to figure out why letters were in math now, you weren’t happy, to say the least.

And when he locked eyes with you and made a silly face, yours did not move in a rather unamused manner. You simply blinked and looked back down at your test.

You missed his face slightly fall, but it was short lived when the teacher yelled his name from across the room and made everyone jump ten feet. He was quiet after that.

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

It was a random Tuesday in late October.

You and Luna were chatting about your previous classes, until you both stopped in your tracks and you raised an eyebrow. Everyone in your class was standing up and congregating away from tables. You could hear the ominous music creeping over everyone’s heads.

“Oh no,” you whined to Luna.

She winced. “We’re being assigned seats, aren’t we?”

You nodded. You both stood in the sea of kids and awaited your fate.

“Alright, everyone,” your teacher said. “You guys have been extremely chatty lately.” She paused to side-eye Joel and his friends.

He opened his mouth to protest, but he quickly shut it when she frowned.

“So you leave me no choice, but I must assign seats,” she dramatically said as she unveiled the new seating chart on the board.

Everyone pushed and shoved to the front to see where their name lied in the cards of fate. You heard some soft celebrations and loud protests.

You nudged your way in and scanned up and down the board. Luna wasn’t at the same table, but she was sitting facing towards you at another table. Hopefully you and her would be able to make eye contact. You scanned until you see your name fall right next to someone who you would rather forget you treated so poorly. It was there in bright, bold red.

Joel Farabee.

“Aw man,” you and a voice said in unison. You looked up at your side to see that it’s him. Oh dear brother. Did you both just admit out loud that you don’t want to sit next to each other? You and him rolled your eyes at each other, huffing that you’ll be forced to be in each other’s presence.

And you knew he was thinking some sort of variation of what you were: how dare your teacher.

You trudged over to your seat and plopped down. He threw down his stuff and sat next to you. You could sense his extreme dislike for your rather serious demeanor. Hey, you could crack a smile.

Just not around him. And for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why. It’s almost like if you did, you knew you would never stop...

You both avoided eye contact, you played with your pencil as he yelled to one of his friends across the classroom about some stupid video game.

And that’s just how it was for weeks. You’d both come in, sit down, he’d scream to his friends, you’d fight shooting him a really dirty look.

Until one day, you accidentally did. Now, later when you told Luna, you swore up and down you didn’t mean to, and it was just the fact that seventh period gym was terrible (but when was it not). Okay, so maybe you were fed up with him yelling about whatever rap song came out, or whatever Instagram model popped up on his feed (that made you shutter).

But what you did wasn’t really admittedly the nicest.

“Joel, do you always have to yell so freaking loudly?” you snapped.

He feigned a stunned expression, or maybe he really meant it, who knows what goes on in that boy’s seemingly empty head.

“Do you have to be such a downer…like all the time? Kinda ruins the vibe bro.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks Joel, because the number one thing I care about is ruining your ‘vibe’,” you put that word in air quotes, “and not getting any work done in this class, bro.”

Now he rolled his eyes. “Look, you could benefit from loosening up a little, you know? You’re kind of just, not a fun person.”

A look of real hurt flashed across your face. One that he caught. “No,” you punctually state. Then you turn your seat so you completely have your back to him and you’re facing the board.

Meanwhile Luna and your table-mates watched the whole situation unfold. Okay, and maybe most of the class.

And when the bell rang and he called your name, you simply decided you didn’t hear it.

“He’s calling you,” Luna prodded.

You just shook your head as you continued down the hallway to the bus. On the bus, you had some thinking to do.

Did he really think of you as...boring? You usually didn’t let the immature words of boys get to you, but this, this really hurt.

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

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” Luna insisted that evening while lying on your bedroom floor that same Friday evening.

“Yes he did, and he’s kind of right,” you begrudgingly conceded. “I haven’t been the nicest to him,” you sigh into your hands, “and maybe I should be.”

“Well, what’s stopping you?” Luna curiously asked.

“I, I don’t know.”

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

The following Monday, you winced and leaned into Luna as you approached the classroom. To say you were terrified is an understatement.

But you took a deep breath, held your head high, and locked your face into a neutral expression. You never let anyone get the best of you, and you weren’t going to let Joel out of all people be one of the first.

Luna offered a small sympathetic smile as she made her way to her seat.

Your heart beated out of your chest anticipating his arrival. Sure enough, you caught him out of the corner of your eye. He took his time and strutted around the room to talk to all the friends he had. He was obviously looking to avoid you, too.

Coward.

Eventually, he made his way to his seat. He cleared his throat, but you didn’t budge. Ever heard of being saved by the bell?

“I’m going to hand back everyone’s quizzes from last class,” your teacher announced. You audibly groaned. That quiz did not go well. Who puts diamonds and boxes and something called factoring in math?

Sure enough, she shoved a C- into your sweaty hands.

“Dang,” you whispered.

You glanced over at Joel’s paper. 100%.

Are you kidding me?

His prying eyes had the audacity to spot your C-, as if you didn’t pry on his paper seconds before.

“That’s rough,” he said, trying to make eye contact with you.

“I- um, yeah, it is,” you choked out with your eyes still glued on your paper.

His heart broke when he heard your wavering voice. He had to do something.

“Can I see it?” He quietly asked, when quiet usually isn’t typically his demeanor.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “Uh, sure?”

He took the paper and started drawing stars around the C- mark, very messily, may you add.

You went to take the paper back, but he moved it away from your grasp.

“One second,” he pleaded. He stuck his tongue out in concentration.

You tried to see how badly he was defacing your quiz, but the position of his arm prohibited you from peering over to see.

“Done,” he proudly said as he slid the paper back over to you.

Instead of a plain old C-, there was now...a C- with stars around it.

“Joel, this is very lovely and all, but why the stars around the C-?”

He smiled with his sickeningly sweet toothless grin, and your heart absolutely backflipped into oblivion.

“That’s not a C-,” he goofily joked, “that’s the moon, y/n,” he said through a smile. “See it?”

You looked up from your paper and looked at him in the eye. Your hands shook from adrenaline, your heart was fluttering, goodness, you didn’t know how you could feel any lighter.

That smile was going to be the death of you.

“Yeah, Joel,” you cracked a smile, “I do see it. Thank you,” you sincerely said.

Crack a smile.

You cracked a smile.

His heart skipped a beat. He knew instantly he was going to do whatever it took to keep that smile on your face for as long as possible. He didn’t care what he would have to do.

He smiled once more, and he turned to his buddies to shield his face from you. He didn’t want you to see how red it was turning. He proceeded to explain to them how perfect his stars were and how no one could top them. Something along the lines of “Bro, you have to see this one, it’s so perfect bro…” He also told them how he made you feel better while slapping his chest, for some reason, as in yeah, I made the mopiest girl in school smile. He sounded like he was priding himself on it.

His smile, the way he talked about you, those freaking stars. You’d let him draw those all over your arm instead any day.

At that age, you may not have known why there were letters in algebra, but you knew that the way he made you feel wasn't the same as you did with your two other crushes back in middle school. This just felt...absolutely weird.

But absolutely right.

And that’s the story of how at just fourteen years old, you knew you were absolutely screwed.

#joel farabee #joel farabee imagine #joel farabee x reader

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little-mad · 4 years ago

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Downsides of Thievery Pt. 2

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

Despite being a criminal, Gavin could still attempt to maintain a dignified appearance. He could hold his head high and walk right into the cage the giant had set down in front of him. Doing so would prove to both the federal agents and the alteon that Gavin was a man of honor. But instead of doing any of that, Gavin turned tail and ran.

Was it sensible? Definitely not. Was it rational? No way. Was it the only thing Gavin’s instincts were urging him to do? Yes, absolutely.

His sights were set on the door that would lead him back into the building and away from that cage wielding colossus. Of course, with a rooftop of armed agents there was no chance he would make it very far. Gavin was expecting to be tackled or tazed at any moment. What he hadn’t been expecting was for something to snag the back of his gray jumpsuit and lift him up off the ground.

There was a moment of confusion where Gavin wondered how the hell someone had managed to pick him up so easily. And then he remembered, “oh yeah, there’s an eighty foot giant standing a couple yards away.”

Rael nearly let slip a snigger when he witnessed the human criminal start to scurry away from the cage that had been placed in front of him. The sight was reminiscent of the rats that would wander into the palace kitchens and quickly get chased off by the resident guard cat. Surely this human must know he had no hope of escape? Catching him would be effortless, and that was something Rael intended to make quite clear.

After swiftly lowering himself into a crouch, Rael reached out and carefully pinched the fabric of the prisoner’s garment between thumb and index finger. As he lifted the miniature man up into the air, he couldn’t help but silently marvel at how insignificant the weight was. It was remarkable how a creature, who supposedly possessed near the same level of sentience as alteons, could be handled as easily as a wooden doll.

It was impossible not to notice the fearful looks on the other humans’ faces as they watched a member of their race get plucked up. “They knew what I came here for, and yet they act surprised,” Rael thought derisively. He hoped these people weren’t humanity’s best and bravest, because if they were so visibly shaken by his simple movements, then surely they could hardly handle any real conflict.

With an easy rotation of his wrist, Rael turned the criminal gripped between his fingers around to face him. He figured it was time he addressed the human that would be in his charge.

When Gavin was ten, his best friend made him watch The Exorcist during a sleepover. He was absolutely terrified and had haunting nightmares for weeks. For the longest time he’d claimed that the experience of watching a 70s horror flick in the basement of a suburban home was the most scared he had ever been.

Well, as Gavin was being dangled in front of the face of a giant, held up only by a two finger grip on the back of his collar, he decided something had finally topped The Exorcist incident.

It was difficult to breathe, and it felt as though his heart had lodged itself in his throat. His heart was hammering like crazy, but his body was practically frozen solid.

Gavin was someone who was rarely rendered speechless. Whether or not it was clever or well thought out, he usually had at least something to say. But how the hell was he supposed to talk to a giant?! It was like talking to a damn mountain!

The alteon’s teal eyes almost looked to have a hint of disdain in them as they focused in on Gavin. His eyebrows were raised as if to say “are you done yet?” Shockingly, it seemed like he hadn’t been impressed by Gavin’s half baked escape attempt.

“My name is Rael, and I am responsible for delivering you to the Emperor.” Gavin flinched when the alteon began to speak. His voice was smooth, and a fair bit higher than the deep, thunderous bass Gavin had been expecting. “While you are in my custody you are to follow my every command,” the alteon--Rael stated. “If you intend on engaging in any stunts like the one you just pulled, I suggest you adjust your plans.”

Gavin felt a chill run across his skin. Rael’s voice was fiercely authoritative, and his words held hidden promises of retribution were Gavin to ever step out of line. Were it coming from a human, or you know, someone that wasn’t taller than a building, then he could have easily just rolled his eyes and scoffed. But Rael was incredibly, terrifyingly huge. Gavin had no doubt the giant man could snap him in half without even straining a muscle.

When the human showed no intention of responding to the warning he’d been given, Rael sighed. The little man was practically motionless as he stared with wide eyes that Rael now could see were of a hazel color. The only indication that the figure gripped between Rael’s fingers was alive, was the occasional blink as well as the rising and falling of his small chest.

While Rael was initially a bit frustrated by not receiving a response, he reminded himself that a silent human could be a good thing in the long run. If the man remained quiet the whole time, it would certainly make Rael’s job a lot less annoying.

“May as well get on with it then. The sooner we leave, the sooner I’m done with this assignment,” Rael thought to himself.

Considering the human had already blown his chance to enter the cage of his own accord, it fell on Rael to forcibly relocate him. Without hesitating, Rael used his freehand to grab a hold of the human’s body. As his fingers wrapped around the man’s tiny form, Rael couldn’t help but notice how powerful the action made him feel. This “Gavin Stone” was entirely at his mercy, and his life was quite literally in his hands.

Rael wasn’t able to dwell on those thoughts for long though, because the human had seemed to finally remember how to move again. Though it wasn’t effective in the slightest, the little man was squirming wildly in Rael’s fist. With his arms pinned to his sides as they were, there really wasn’t much the human could do but thrash around like some kind of fish out of water.

Rather than scold him, Rael decided just to tighten his grip ever so slightly around the human to send the message. The man let out a soft gasp and his struggling instantly ceased.

Satisfied that the human had been successfully reigned in, Rael reached down to the rooftop to pick up the iron cage. The door was already open, so it was easy for him to simply drop the man inside before shutting the door with a clang of finality.

Not bothering to wait for the human to orient himself, Rael moved the cage down towards his hips and reattached it to his belt. He was sure it would be a bumpy ride for the small man, considering he would be bouncing against Rael’s thigh as he walked, but the comfort of a little thief was far from being a priority.

With Gavin Stone taken care of, Rael turned his attention to the remaining humans standing on the rooftop. They all continued to stare at him as if they were looking at some kind of monster. Whatever, if they wished to view him as a monster, then so be it. The opinions of humans mattered little to him.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Rael stated as he straightened back up to his full height. “The Emperor will be pleased,” he added while reaching into his pocket to pull out the talisman that would allow him to travel back home.

Having a giant hold you up by the back of your collar? Horrible, awful, would not recommend. Having a giant hold you in their fist? Somehow more horrible, more awful, and even less recommended.

Gavin didn’t like being confined, well most people didn’t like being confined, but Gavin especially disliked it. He hadn’t liked being locked up in a jail cell, but he would pick that over being trapped in someone’s fist any day.

The heat emanating off of Rael’s skin, the feeling of his massive pulse surrounding him, and the knowledge that all it would take was a firm squeeze for his life to be snuffed out...it was all enough to make Gavin finally snap out of the daze he had been in.

Fight or flight instincts had kicked in. Of course, when the threat was over eight stories tall, the obvious choice was flight. But since Gavin couldn’t flee while stuck in the giant’s hand, he needed to fight his way out first. Logically, he knew trying to break free of the solid grip around his body was fruitless. Unfortunately, the thing about instincts is that they don’t always care about what’s logical.

Gavin had been in the middle of desperately struggling when suddenly the fist in which he was imprisoned began to clench. The gasp he had let out in response was more due to shock than actual pain, although he had a feeling he’d be sporting a few new bruises tomorrow.

Shortly after that, Rael had stuffed him into the cage and hooked said cage onto his belt like it--and by extension Gavin, was some kind of fashionable accessory.

Gavin was in the middle of attempting to pull himself up to his feet when suddenly he was sent sprawling back to the floor of the cage by Rael’s massive movements. He let out a low moan. This shit was like being on one of those janky traveling carnival rides where it always felt like there was at least a 40% chance you wouldn’t make it to the end.

When Gavin finally was able to drag himself up to his feet, he looked out of his cage and realized the cause of his latest fall had been Rael standing up straight. Gee, nothing made a guy feel more tiny and powerless than being seriously affected by someone else’s normal, everyday movements.

Even though he was only at the giant’s hip height, Gavin still felt so far away from the rooftop he had just been standing on. The agents below already looked pretty small from this perspective, he could only imagine what they looked like to Rael.

There was a part of Gavin that wanted to be mad at the people who had just handed him over to a literal giant, but at the same time, he knew they were just following orders. Even the ones in charge who had okayed his extradition to the alteon dimension weren’t really to blame. Gavin had to imagine it was hard to say no to the request of a giant Emperor.

So instead of shooting the agents below a middle finger or a particularly nasty glare, Gavin offered them a sad little wave. After all, they may very well be the last humans he would ever see. He wouldn’t want his final interaction with his species to be negative, right?

None of the agents waved back, though Gavin could see several of them wearing sorrowful looks on their faces. “I hope they cry about me tonight,” he thought. Surely he deserved to occupy their minds for a little while. Maybe they’d have to talk to a priest or a therapist about him….yeah, that would be nice.

Gavin was tugged out of his fantasizing when he noticed his alteon captor was holding some sort of smooth stone with engravings etched on one side. Rael held it up to his face while he muttered what sounded like some sort of chant in a language Gavin couldn’t understand.

For a moment, he wondered whether the alteon was completely cuckoo, it would be just Gavin’s luck to get stuck with a crazy giant. However, he then remembered something he’d seen on a documentary on TV while he had been flipping through channels. The smooth, British voice of the documentary’s narrator had explained that alteons could travel from their dimension to the human dimension through the use of magic. It was for this reason that humans had no way of opening dimensional portals.

Whatever Rael was doing must be part of some kind of magical ritual to open up the door to the alteon dimension, Gavin determined. And sure enough, a few moments later a massive shimmering circle appeared out of nothingness.

Gavin stared slack jawed at the portal that towered even taller than Rael. While the edges of the thing glittered a vibrant blue, in the center of the hoop was what appeared to be the image of a lush forest.

In theory, Gavin had been aware that alteons could do magic--and not the kind of magic humans did, somehow he couldn’t imagine Rael pulling a rabbit out of a hat. But seeing something happen before his very eyes that defied the logic and science that his world was governed by...it was more than a little stunning.

“Farewell then,” Rael’s voice rumbled from above. Gavin looked up through the bars of his cage to see the giant offer the federal agents a short nod before pocketing the engraved stone.

And then abruptly, Rael turned towards the waiting portal, the sharp motions once again sending Gavin tumbling down into a heap. He managed to pick his head up off of the floor just in time to see they were headed straight for the doorway into the alteon dimension.

“Goodbye, Earth. It was nice knowin’ ya.”

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: Gavin Stone #oc: Rael

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mldrgrl · 4 years ago

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Broken Things 24/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes**

**Additional notes to follow in a separate post

Epilogue

There’s a bookcase in their room built by Luke Doggett that Mulder has filled with books of all kinds. He’s glad they decided to extend the bedroom out when they did the expansion because it takes up a lot of space. He’s also glad for the extra room because it means, while Katherine paces back and forth, he can follow behind and not bump into too many things.

Katherine stops suddenly and leans onto the bookcase. She moans deeply and Mulder holds her from behind and rubs her hips.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Monica says. “Just breathe through it. Keep breathing.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to lie down?” Mulder asks. “Just for a little while.”

Katherine hisses through her teeth and shakes her head. Her forehead wrinkles and she moans again and clutches Mulder’s hand so tightly he’s sure it might break. Monica comes over and puts her hand on Katherine’s belly.

“I think having a lie down might be a good idea about now,” Monica says.

Mulder puts his arm around Katherine and moves her to the bed. He helps her to sit while Monica stacks the pillows up at the head of the bed.

“You’re the first husband I’ve had at a birth,” Monica says.

“I’m not leaving.”

“It’s fine by me if it’s fine by Katherine.”

“Don’t go,” Katherine whispers to him.

“I won’t,” he tells her.

“I need him here,” Katherine says to Monica.

“Whatever you need, you’ll have.” Monica nods and then she helps move Katherine up to the pillows and she tells her to shift down a bit and bring her knees up so she can check the baby’s progress.

The miraculous arrival of the twin fillies is the only birth that Mulder has attended in his life. He skimmed through one of Katherine’s textbooks on obstetrics to have an idea of what he might be in for, but he found it to be so terrifying he had to stop reading. It doesn’t seem possible, even though he knows it has to be.

He’s never seen his wife as scared as she’s been throughout this pregnancy. She’s been terrified of losing the baby and he understands her fears. Every night he’s gently caressed her growing belly and whispered to the baby how wonderful the world will be when he or she arrives. You’ll have your own cradle made especially for you by Luke Doggett. You’ll have your own horses to play with and one day I’ll buy you a pony with a little cart, would you like that? You’ll have all the picture books I can find and I’ll read to you every night. You’ll have the very best, most brave, most wonderful, most beautiful, most special, most loving, most fierce, most smartest Mama in all of the world. But, you just stay nice and cozy where you’re at for now. Stay until the time is right, okay?

Katherine grits her teeth and then comes up away from the pillows onto her hands and whimpers pathetically. Mulder looks at Monica who is nodding encouragingly and rubbing Katherine’s belly.

“When it grips you again like before, you go ahead and push,” Monica says. “Mulder, why don’t you give her a nice place to lean into to help.”

Mulder scoots closer so that Katherine can lean back into his chest. She’s breathing hard and there’s sweat beading across her hairline. He holds her hands and then her body grows stiff and she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Push, Katherine,” Monica says. “That’s it.”

Katherine groans and then she falls limp in Mulder’s arms. He feels the same helpless panic he felt when he was trying to help the horse drop her foal. He knows he’s utterly useless and he can’t stand to be. When Katherine’s body goes stiff again, he drops his head and starts to whisper the same things he whispered to Mary.

“You’re the only one that can do this,” he says. “But, you’re strong and you’re brave and I believe in you. You can do it.”

“Just a little more,” Monica says. “You’re doing great.”

“Almost,” Mulder whispers. “You can do it.”

Katherine lolls a little against Mulder’s chest and then she takes a deep breath and pushes again. Her face grows red with exertion and she cries out before she deflates. A different kind of shivery little cry fills the room. Monica laughs and begins toweling off the squalling infant as quickly as possible and then passes the little bundle into Katherine’s arms.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new little filly,” Mulder whispers.

Katherine starts crying and brings the baby up to kiss her head. She has little wispy blonde curls that Mulder runs his hand over. The baby looks at him and he swears one of her eyebrows lifts inquisitively just like her mother’s.

“Look at those blue eyes,” he says.

“All babies have blue eyes,” Katherine murmurs.

“This blue? They look like the ocean.”

“Well, what are you gonna call her?” Monica asks.

“I want to name her after Mulder’s aunt,” Katherine answers.

“Oh that’s sweet. What was your aunt’s name?”

“Hortense,” Mulder answers, and then laughs at the look on Monica’s face. “Emeline was her name. But, I think we agreed on Emily Eliza if it was a girl.”

Katherine nods.

“Hey…” Mulder eases out from behind Katherine. “What day is it?”

“I heard the clock in the hall chime at midnight a little while ago,” Monica answers. “September 9th, 1888. She’s a seven. She’s going to be very contemplative.”

“It’s two years to the day from when we first met,” Mulder says.

“Only two years?” Katherine wonders. “It feels as though we’ve been together forever.”

“Forever is ahead of us, not behind.” Mulder smiles as the baby yawns and reaches out to touch her tiny hand. She curls her fingers around his with a tight grip.

↭

The year before Emily was born they took a trip to Boston with a stop in New York City to see the electrical lightbulbs that Katherine had wanted to see. She was definitely impressed by the invention, but will always prefer the softness of lamplight to the glow of a bulb. Of all people, she will be the most reluctant to modernize their home while it’s Mulder that will marvel at the on and off switches that bring light and darkness and later, he will never get enough of the telephone, sometimes simply picking up the handset to chat with the switchboard operator in town just because he can.

Three years after Emily is born, William Abbott, known by all as Liam, will come along. By then, Emily’s blonde hair will have turned dark, like her father’s, but she’ll keep her deep blue eyes. Mulder will often turn and think he sees the ghost of his sister running towards him as she grows. Liam inherits his mother’s red hair and freckles, but his father’s hazel eyes and mischievous sense of humor that keeps everyone on their toes.

Doctor Black makes Katherine an offer that Mulder tells her she’d be crazy to refuse. He sponsors an apprenticeship for her in lieu of formal schooling and after five years time, she receives her medical certificate. When he retires, Katherine takes over the practice and the lady doctor that drives her own carriage through town becomes the pride of the town.

Emily will follow in her mother’s footsteps in some ways, her interest in science and medicine apparent from a very young age, but her love of animals pulls her in a different direction. She studies to become a veterinarian. When her husband is taken in World War I, she will come back to the ranch with her own young daughter in tow, seeking the peace and comfort of her childhood.

Liam takes a keen interest in literature and tears through all the books on his mother’s bookshelf before he’s eight years of age. His favorite thing to do is to listen to the stories his father tells, ones he can’t quite determine are real or exaggerated, but that are always about how brave and strong and magical his mother is.

“Kids,” Mulder will say as they sit on the porch. “Did I ever tell you about the time your mother shot a panther?”

“There aren’t any panthers in Texas, Daddy,” Emily will tell him.

“That’s because they got wind of your mother’s aim and they all packed up and moved to Mexico.”

“Mulder, you weren’t even there.” Katherine will roll her eyes when he starts his tales.

“I had gone to Fort Worth to pick up some horses and your mother stayed behind with Pappy Melvin…”

Liam will take these stories and write them down and turn them into Fawkes Publishing House’s number one bestselling children’s series of the 1920s called Amazing Kate, about a young girl living on a ranch in the Texas plains who can do anything and everything. He marries a suffragette he meets while tending to family business in Boston. One of their sons will pen a biography of his E. M. Abbott, sending shockwaves through the literary community and winning a Pulitzer.

When the children are small, Katherine will often wonder about her sister’s and where they are and if they’ve married and if they have children of their own. Mulder will offer time and time again to track them down, but ultimately, Katherine decides against it. She has made her own family here and Monica and Susannah are close enough to her to feel like the sisters she lost. Mary Katherine Scully was her past and she has put it behind her. She is and will forever now be Kate Mulder.

The ranch is only ever moderately successful and the need for trained horses dies out with the expansion of the railroad and the popularity of the automobile. It suits Mulder fine and they simply become a haven for abused and neglected animals.

Ranch hands come and go. Trevor discovers a talent for building furniture through Luke Doggett. Mulder sponsors their talents by starting them up with a business in Fort Worth where they form a successful partnership and their furniture is sold world-wide. Richard announces one day that he thinks it’s about time he moves on, and then he just disappears. Jesse and Jimmy are offered positions as lead trainers in a traveling rodeo that they hesitate to accept, but Mulder tells them they’d be crazy not to take the opportunity to travel the country. Melvin stays with them until he passes on and they bury him beneath the magnolia tree that in twenty years time, has reached an impressive height of forty feet and blooms pink at the start of every summer.

The years go by and Mulder and Katherine will be alone on their porch sometimes, sitting side by side watching the sunset. Mulder will reach out and Katherine will take his hand and he’ll give it a squeeze.

“Just think where we might have ended up if Faithful Jenny hadn’t thrown that shoe that day,” he’ll say to her, for maybe the hundredth time since they’ve been married. “The day that changed my life forever.”

Katherine will roll her eyes at him, also for the hundredth time. “Any number of things had already changed your life forever,” she’ll say.

“But, specifically, if Faithful Jenny hadn’t thrown that shoe…”

“And if you didn’t leave Massachusetts, and if your father hadn’t sent you to live with your aunt, and if your aunt never bought you that pony for your birthday…”

“So, you agree, A leads to B, leads to C, leads to Jenny throwing that shoe.”

“I think we’d still be right here on this porch. That’s what I think.”

“Kate, are you admitting you believe in fate?”

“I’m admitting nothing.”

Mulder will smile and squeeze her hand as she twists her wedding ring around her finger with her thumb.

The End

#i wrote this #broken things #chapter 24 #MSR #AU

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nyxocity · 3 years ago

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Fic Writer Questions!

Thanks to @redmyeyes for the tag!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

82, although that's not even close to my actual total. There's a bunch on LJ that have never been transferred (all shorter works)

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,780,805 (over 2mil on LJ)

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Mostly three, plus a couple dips into a few other pools. X-Men Comic Book fandom, Buffy & Angel fandom (they kinda count as one since it's the same universe), and Supernatural & SPN RPF. Dips have included Dragon Age, Firefly, a tiny bit of TVD, a Sons of Anarchy crossover.

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

This is tough if I go by numbering. Homework Verse has the most kudos scattered across all parts, but Stranger Than Fiction has the most as a single story. Anyway...

Homework Verse (J2 RPF, 200k+ words) - My very first RPF fic, Supernatural or otherwise. Two of my online fandom friends basically TOLD me I was going to write Teacher/Student J2, and I kept protesting that I drew the line at RPF. They didn't care. 200k later, here we are. This story was a game changer for me; it made me fandom famous. I still love those boys with my whole heart, and they still talk to me sometimes.

Stranger Than Fiction (Sam/Dean, 50644 words) - This story idea took root immediately following the episode The Monster at the End of This Book. I quit the Big Bang I'd already begun writing for that year (which was Who Watches Over Me, which I finished and posted for BB the following year) to write this story. It just took hold hold of me and took over. I wrote it in 6 weeks and it was easily the most fun I ever had writing anything--I cackled like a madwoman most of the time.

Who Watches Over Me (J2 RPF, 96591 words) - This story was, at the time, the toughest thing I'd ever written. Little did I know that would become the norm and not the exception, as I began to write more complex stories. It was by far the longest story I had ever posted all at once in its entirety (rather than chapter by chapter) and I had no idea if people would like it. Fortunately a lot of people did.

Like Staring Into the Sun (Sam/Dean, 23243 words) - Ah, my very first hardcore Wincest fic. I remember writing the first chapter of the story (meant to be a one shot honestly), and just sitting there, at 5am, being terrified to post it. It was twisted, dark and intense and SO porny I was scared people might think I was weird. There wasn't anything like it out there at the time. As it turns out, people loved it so much I ended up writing eight more parts.

Like a Fish Out of Water (Sam/Dean, 59498 words) - I have a lot of love for this story. It didn't come to me easily, but it was fun to write. I remember smiling a lot and just having a nice, warm cozy feeling the whole time. I had no idea if anyone was interested in reading this many words of what amounted to a dramedy curtain fic

Of course there are other stories that I feel deserve love, but I can't argue with these.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do. And by that, I mean I try. I don't always succeed in answering them all, but I answer as many as I have time and energy for. Life is busy and there is writing to do as well. I read every comment I get (multiple times) and I feel guilty for all the ones I don't answer, because they mean SO MUCH TO ME. Like you took time to leave this beautiful, well thought out comment, or even a keysmash, or a heart, in response to something I wrote. That means the world.

I WISH there was a reaction function for comments on Ao3, so I could heart things, or laugh in response. Replying with emojis without words feels weird. So yeah, a reaction function would be amazing. But in the meantime, I do my best.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hmm. Probably A Touch of Evil. Interestingly, it's also a HAPPY ending, so there you go lol. It's a serial killer love story with a happy ending that comes at an exorbitant price.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I'm not sure why the OG post skips from 6 to 8 lol . So, yes, I have written a few minors crossovers. Mostly Faith in the SPN verse with the boys, nothing too crazy, because she fits right in. But for long stories, I have written all of ONE crossover. It's Dean Winchester/Jax Teller (SPN / Sons of Anarchy). My crossovers so far have tended to make sense to crossover, so I don't think any of them are crazy.

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. I got some hate on a Buffy/Xander fic back in the day. I got really excited and had fun with it. Like yeah, now I'm SOMEBODY! You're no one til someone hates you lol Most of that was people who were haters of the ship, or were like, gross, they're like brother and sister (they weren't, they were FRIENDS). I've gotten nasty comments here and there on some of my SPN fic. My favorite was the person who accused me of having a "Top Dean Agenda". I STILL laugh about that one. I don't respond to that crap.

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Have you MET ME? LOL If I ever post a story without smut just put me out to pasture, because I'm done. And all kinds. Het, Gay, PWP, Plotty porn, mostly super kinky but some vanilla (but intense). I used to challenge myself regularly to see if I could up my kink game--like hmm, but could I write THIS? I haven't written really kinky sex in a long time, though. Might be time to do that.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Several times. Who Watches Over me was stolen by someone and converted to One Direction Lourry fic. Literally just did a name change. Someone else stole a bunch of my one shots and passed them off as their own. I know there were a couple other instances but I only vaguely remember. I never got too deep into it, most of the time the people who discovered the theft already told everyone else too, and the plagiarist had been hammered by them so hard that I didn't have to step in before they took it down.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes. I used to get requests so often that I just posted my usual response in my profile for people to read instead of replying. Definitely into Russian and Chinese for most of the stories listed with most kudos above.

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

A few times on one shot fics. SO MUCH FUN. I love co-writing with people.

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

Sam/Dean. Easily. Hands down. I just love their unique relationship, bond and love so much.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Well I finally finished A Touch of Evil after posting 3 chapters in 2009 and never touching it again until 2017. And I never thought I'd finish that. So never say never, I say. That said, there's the third and final part of my X-Men comic book epic that remains unfinished by about five (shorter) chapters, and it HAUNTS ME. But I don't think I'll ever finish it.

16) What are your writing strengths?

NOW we get to the hard questions. I'm really good at dialogue, bouncing banter back and forth between characters, and I have a sense for how long a scene should be. I just KNOW when it's going on too long, even if there's more that needs to be said, and I try to tighten it up in that case.

A friend of mine once told me "Porn is my gift". I don't write as much of it as I used to, but yeah, I shine in that area.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

So I always reach a point after writing so many words in an unpublished fic where I'm like, I have no idea if this is even any good/makes sense/hangs together etc. Beyond that, I've been writing for so long that I've had so much practice that I've strengthened a lot of my weaknesses. I'm sure I still have some, but I don't FEEL them like I used to anymore. That said, there are things I simply will not write. Like historical pieces. Because I would research the fuck out of every detail trying to get it perfect and then I would still doubt myself completely.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I mostly try to avoid it, because there's no way I would ever get the language correct. I usually write it in English and then explain that they're saying it in another language. Like, "What are you doing?" the man asks, speaking in Chinese. Then reiterate in the continuing dialogue in various ways that they're speaking in Chinese.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

X-Men Comic Book fandom. I was reading a lot of Remy/Rogue fic back in 1996-1997, and one day I was like, you know what? This person did a pretty good job on this story. It's not great, but it's pretty good, and if they can have the guts to put it out there, then I can do it, too.

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

This is a tough question. I don't love all my children equally, but I love them all a lot in different ways lol

Remembering favorite is different than which one I think is BEST... Homework Verse is probably my favorite. I was learning so much about writing then, I was really growing, and discovering, and pushing my limits. Those characters lived and breathed in me, I swear they spoke through me from some alternate universe. They feel so REAL to me. There's so much of what I've learned in life in that story, like really, big, life changing ideas and understandings that happened to me that I put into that story. There's so much of me in that story, and yet there's so much of THEM, too. It's their story, but it's also mine. It's raw and not entirely perfect and it feels like home to me.

So that's it, that's my piece. I feel like EVERYONE has been tagged since it took me 3 days to have time to do this, but I'm basically tagging any of you writers out there who haven't done this yet!

#my stories #about me #writing #on writing

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wellhellotragic · 3 years ago

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These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal 3/4

Summary: It’s not her fault. She’s still new and doesn’t know. He’s not flawless. Not anymore. He’s got scars, ones she’s seen first hand. Ones she helped tend to. His body is covered in them. There’s a thin red line where he took a bottle to the face during his early beat cop days. There’s another angry red mark on his torso from where he was stabbed with a knife in his ribs. The one where he had his hand slammed in a locker as a teenager has long since faded, only the barest hint remaining, only visible in just the right lighting.

There’s two oval scars now too. One in his stomach and one on his chest. Those are from the worst day of her life.But none of those scars compare to the ones he carries on the inside. The self-inflicted cuts he makes to his soul never quite healing over. He blames himself. It’s not his fault.

There’s a scar on her soul now too. One he left. A piece of her heart forever missing.

Rating: Mature (mostly for language)

A/N: Guy, I suck so hard core. I don't even know how I let so much time lapse between chapter 2 and now, and then to really top off my suck-o-meter, I realized that there's going to have to be a chapter 4 because I can't fix what I've done so easily. Not realistically at least. I promise, and happy ending is coming though, and it won't take me another 8 months to get it up. I hope to have it up and finished by the weekend.

The AO3 version

It’s been a hell of a night. She’s not sure where exactly it falls on her list of worst days ever, but it’s in her top five. It has to be. It’s not the worst, that honor is saved for the night she almost lost Killian, but it’s still up there. She’s spent hours now going through all of the details over and over again with Graham and Lance, her story never changing. Getting poked and prodded by EMTs, despite telling everyone that she’s fine.

She’s not, but they can’t stitch up her insides.

David, her partner, on the other hand has a bullet hole in his leg. Better than his head though.

She’s not even sure if she can fully reconcile everything that happened. She and David were investigating the death of a low profile importer, a nobody, interviewing some dock workers that had found the body. Some gruff looking men who easily blended in with the usual fishmongers and cargo sorters.

But they weren’t. She realized it just a second too late, right before a bag was pulled over her head. She fought like hell, but she was at a disadvantage. From what she heard, David had put up a fight as well, but in the end, it was useless, and she lost consciousness with a sharp blow to the head.

She woke up strapped down to a chair with David the same a few feet beside her. She shouldn’t have been surprised, Jefferson had always given her a bad feeling, but she never actually thought he’d go dirty. She certainly never expected to be facing the wrong side of his department issued sidearm.

Even now, everything is still a blur. Graham assured her it’s the shock, that it’ll fade once the adrenaline wears off; that everything will clear up after a good night's rest. She’s not sure about that though. It’s four in the morning now and the adrenaline seems to be hanging on for dear life still and she knows she's not going to rest any time soon. Humbert offered to drive her home but she declined, choosing to wait for August to finish wrapping up his report.

She’s not sure what time it is when they finally arrive at her apartment. The battery in her cell phone died ages ago. Neither of them even make a move for the fridge, choosing to bypass the beer she keeps stocked for the hard nights. Instead, the two of them move in silence to her room. She plugs in her cell before crawling in bed next to him, like when they were kids in Ingrid’s foster house. She’s not sure who’s comforting who at this point, but she knows that she just needs to be with family.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t, but she knows she needs to or it’ll eat her alive. She’s tried that once already and it ended up with her almost having a complete nervous breakdown and a three week leave of absence with daily Archie sessions.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

It’s true. So much has happened in the last twelve hours, there’s no one easy to pinpoint place to begin. So August goes first. He fills in the blanks that he can, so that she might be able to piece together the rest. He tells her about Killian sending him undercover, about Jefferson and missing drugs and money. How Jefferson was helping to conceal evidence that would link Walsh and the Nikko empire to a wide distribution of pixie dust.

Some of it is just speculation, that Jefferson must have figured out they were closing in on him and that’s why he went for Emma, and David was probably just collateral damage. How he most likely picked Emma because he knew how much she meant to him , and while he didn’t say Killian’s name specifically, the implication hung over her like a heavy cloud.

“Before you got there, he told Killian to choose. Between me and David I mean. To pick which one of us would live and which one would die. And then he just started laughing and screaming in this crazed voice that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.”

It was the single most terrifying thing she’d ever heard. The mania that accompanied it. She already knew that it was going to haunt her for months to come, if not longer.

It’s a real Gracie’s choice. Gracie’s choice Killian. GRACIE’s CHOICE!!!

She felt August shift next to her.

“Gracie was his daughter. She died while he was undercover with a Southie Gang. Killian was undercover with Cruella at the time. It was a freak accident, a gas leak and the house went up in flames, but he was convinced that she was killed by one of the De Vil boys. He told me once that he knew Killian had given him up as a snitch to prove his worth. The De Vil’s had nothing to do with the Southie boys, but he’d twisted it up in his mind. I never thought he’d do anything about it though. It was just crazy drunk venting one night.”

She knows August. Knows that he’s blaming himself for what happened tonight, but she ignores it. Nothing she says will stop him from tormenting himself, and she’s not done.

“I told him to choose David. He has this whole perfect life, you know. An adoring wife and a new baby, all of these people that would miss him if he were gone. I told Killian to save David, and I-” She hates how small she feels when she cries, but she can’t hold back the tears. “He gave me this look. He’s been cold, but this was something different. There was just so much anger in his eyes.”

And that’s when she breaks. Knowing that hated her was one thing, but watching him train his gun on her. Seeing the pure darkness in his eyes. She doesn’t know how to voice it to August, but she knows that if August hadn’t arrived when he did, she knows he would have done as she asked. That he wouldn’t have had to think twice about it. And it’s that knowledge that sliced open the last piece of her heart that had been hanging on by a thread, even after all that time.

August holds her through the tears, until she finally exhausts herself enough to sleep. And so she drifts off, completely unaware of the new voicemail alert waiting for her.

________________________________

The February air is cooler on the water and he kicks himself for not bringing a heavier jacket. It’s been ages since he’s been out on this boat, and time has helped him to forget everything except for the things he wishes he could. Liam always used to tease him, so much so that Killian would reject any offers of warmth from his brother just to prove a point. He wasn’t some silly kid that needed to be minded anymore. He was capable of doing everything on his own, except for bringing an extra coat. He forgot everytime, and today was no exception.

Luckily for Killian, the spare that Liam kept on the boat just for him is still in its place, folded neatly in a small storage locker below deck. It hits him in the gut a little, that Liam could be so right about some things and incredibly wrong about others.

It’s eating Killian alive, not talking to his brother. Not being able to express himself because despite everything Emma has done for him, Liam still doesn’t approve of her. Liam often still thinks of him as the teenage boy, awkward and desperate for approval from anyone that will give it to him, even if it means getting taken advantage of.

He’s not that kid anymore though. He isn’t letting his crush steal his essays and letting her claim this as her own. He isn’t using all of his hard earned money to buy her jewelry that she’s just going to pawn for cash later. He isn’t following after Emma like a lost puppy dog.

He’s in love with her, and he has a sneaking suspicion that she feels the same way. But at this rate, he’s never going to get Liam’s blessing, the only approval he needs anymore.

He shouldn’t be thinking about this now. He really shouldn’t. Not when he and Liam are sitting in a rented dilapidated loft across from an abandoned fabric warehouse waiting for the Canal Street Cutter to emerge. There had been a lot of chatter that morning about where he might be hiding and Liam assembled teams throughout South Boston hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

Emma and August were stationed about eight blocks over. Lance and Arthur were on the edge of South Boston and Waterfront. Other teams were scattered, but too far away to get to if they needed assistance.

Killian had tried to tell Liam that it was a bad idea to spread everyone so thin, but the elder Jones brother had been instant and headstrong as ever. It would have been a career making arrest, and Liam, ever aspiring to be more just wouldn’t let that chance pass him by.

“I just think that you have other obligations that require your attention right now.”

“If this is the bros before hoes speech you can just save it.”

“Killian,” The exasperation evident in his brother's tone, “you know I detest such vile language. It's crude and you are better than that little brother.”

“What obligations?” He has to quash his desire to correct his brother’s description of him.

“I just think that you are meant for so much more in this life and I worry that you gave up so much when you left the narcotics division to follow her into homicide. You were a rising star there and now you’re having to cut your teeth all over again.”

“It’s not as if I’m starting all over. For God’s sake Liam, I just made Lieutenant. But there’s more to life than a job.”

His brother takes his gaze away from the binoculars to turn to Killian.

“Look at father and all of his vices. It strayed him from the path. But you, Killian, you persevered and now everything you've wanted is in your grasp.”

“This isn't the same thing and you know it. Emma isn't some pathetic man’s addiction. Liam, I'm in love with her.”

“Killian,” Liam pauses, taking a deep breath. “She's a distraction. Think of all that you’ve accomplished in the year that you were undercover. You brought down an entire crime syndicate. You did that without her taking your attention away.”

“I didn't bring the De Vil family down because ‘we’ were apart. I did it because we were ‘apart’ and I knew the only way I'd be able to see her again without putting her in harm's way would be to find the evidence and make the arrest.”

“Fine, if you need another reason, have you thought about working directly with her, or even over her in a supervisory position? Have you considered how your personal relationship with a subordinate could affect your judgment?”

“It’s not-”

Liams sees movement in the distance, cutting off Killian’s rebuttal, but his view is obscured so he motions for Killian to follow him, to leave the safety of their little room. They stay silent as they walk downstairs and head out a propped-open door leading to an alleyway. They had to wind through hallways to get from the loft outside and now they’re further away from the warehouse with no cover.

Killian even tries pointing out how visible they are, but Liam shuts him down, determined to close the case. He’s halfway sure that Liam’s trying to prove a point about how Killian can’t be successful and be in a relationship with Emma. He’s seen it before, the way professional jealousy destroys couples. But Emma’s not like that. She wouldn’t see his success as her failure.

They try to skirt the perimeter and he knows he should keep his mouth shut, this just isn’t the time, but he’s just so frustrated that he can’t keep holding it in.

“Please don’t make me choose between you.” It’s an angry whisper, more to himself than anything, and even though he did his best to keep his volume low it’s still enough that Liam’s heard and turns back to him, missing sight of the empty beer bottle at his feet.

The glass battering against the gravel echoes through the night as they both stay silent, waiting to see if they’ve been heard. The air is still around them, and Killian thinks they just might have lucked out.

And then he hears the gunshots ring out.

Liam is on the ground before Killian has time to register what’s happened. He runs to Liam, but gets knocked to the ground before he can get to him. His body hurts and he can see blood covering his hand from where he just touched his abdomen. He’s always heard people say that the shock blocks out the pain, but they must all be liars, because the longer he lays there, the more the pain intensifies.

It takes everything he has to pull himself behind a dumpster, half crawling, half slithering like a snake.

The shock eventually did kick in though, because even to this day he has no memory of radioing in for help. Just the vague memories of Emma leaning over him. The look in her eyes as she tried her best to hold back tears.

The same tears he fought back the night he left Boston, like the coward he was. But Archie was right. He needed to get his head on straight, to distance and center himself. He had to leave, for her.

He’s still wrestling with the guilt. He talked about it with Archie, how she begged him to kill her and save David. And that he actually considered it for about two full seconds. Not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t want her feeling the way he did. The burden of knowing that someone else was dead, and knowing that no matter how good you are, how hard you try, that you’ll never live up to them. He didn’t want her hating herself the way he did. Didn’t want her to destroy herself like he had.

But then something snapped inside of him and rage bubbled up. The audacity of her to beg him to kill her. For her to try and force that decision on him, with no regard to him or his feelings.

It was at that moment that he finally realized what he’d been doing to her ever since Liam had passed away. He finally understood the choice she’d been forced to make that night. And he knew - he knew that despite it all - he could never live with himself if he’d chosen anyone but her. That he couldn’t let her go just like she didn’t with him.

The only thing that saved him was Boothe. In the moments that passed after August arrived, while the two of them tried to wrestle the gun away from Jefferson, he felt the weight of Liam’s death wash over him. And then he heard a shot ring out and there was nothing but panic. Panic and guilt.

It felt as though ages had passed as he searched for Emma in the smoke filled room. The SWAT team had moved in at some point, but he’d been too focused on fighting off Jefferson to notice. He pushed through the sting in his eyes and the tightness of his chest as he looked for her, but all he saw through the haze were armored cops everywhere.

It wasn’t until he was forcibly escorted outside the building that he saw her, saw that she was safe, and then his stomach turned. He ran around a corner away from all of the prying eyes, and for the first time in his career, he gave in and let the night overcome him.

It’s been nearly a year since that night and he’s been running ever since. Some days are better than others. The anger is mostly behind him, but some nights he still wakes up in a sweat clutching his bed sheets, ready to fight. But there’s never anyone around to take a swing at, because he’s all alone. He’s pushed away anyone that ever mattered and isolated himself on that damn boat.

He thinks of Emma, wonders if she’s moved on or not. He’s too cowardly to call her, partly because he has no idea what he will say if she answers, but mostly because he’s terrified that she won’t answer. So he broods. He takes to the local bars as he sails the coastline and drinks a little too much before stumbling back to Liam’s boat alone. It’s a wonder nobody’s robbed him yet for what a careless sot he’s been.

Tonight is one of those nights. He’s made his way down to Florida and back, only a few hours away from Boston, and his demons are screaming again. He’s hoping against all hope that the rum in the tumbler across from him will help quiet them. Just holding the small glass in his fingertips helps a bit. A placebo of sorts. He doesn’t want to be this man anymore though. This pathetic lonely human. He doesn’t want to feel this way anymore, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. Archie said that him realizing it was a good first step but he’s not sure if he agrees. He’s called Archie a lot over the last year. Somehow doing therapy over the phone as the boat sways back and forth under his feet has helped to ease his hesitancy. There’s something about knowing that he can hang up at any time if he wants, and that no one knows. No one will judge him.

They don’t talk about Emma, not in present tense at least. They’ve had conversations about the way he’s treated her in the past, about his complicated feelings for her, the way it’s all shaped him, but they never talk about her now. He’s not sure if it’s because Archie doesn’t know if he’s ready for that, or if Archie knows something that he’s absolutely not ready for.

Archie is here tonight though, the rum is.

He’s still twirling the amber in his hand as he hears the familiar scraping of a nearby barstool against a wooden floor. There’s a scent that follows, a floral perfume that doesn’t match with the musk of the dive bar. He doesn’t look at her directly, doesn’t need to when he can see her from the mirror behind the bar. Her top is low, flashing more skin that it’s covering. She’s closer than he thought.

“Is that for me?” She’s bold.

He’s reminded of those early days on the force, when he wouldn’t even have to talk to a woman. When he could just flash her a smile and she’d be on his arm heading out the door to her place. He’s not that guy though, he’s salty and cynical, and the look he flashes her is closer to a smirk.

“Excuse me?” “Well, you’ve been toying with it for almost twenty minutes. I just thought maybe you were waiting for me to walk into your life.”

Was he this bad at picking up women?

“Look, I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m not in the mood for woman.” “So you’re gay?”

It’s a good thing he hasn’t started drinking yet because he damn well might have chocked otherwise. He doesn’t get a chance to respond though. The bubbly blonde that served him his rum has returned with a spray bottle in hand. “Mary of Mothers. Didn’t I already have you escorted out of here tonight, Teresa?”

“Bite me, Tinkerbelle.”

The girl behind the bar might be all of five foot tall but there’s a beast inside her that towers over any man in that bar and before he knows what’s happening the bartender is drowning the girl in what smells like stainless steel cleaner and the words coming out of her mouth would make any Navy man blush.

The girl ends up running away and Killian isn’t sure what to make of any of it. He’s broken up bar fights before, but he’s never seen anything quite like that.

“Sorry about that. I know this little bar might not seem like much, but it’s all I’ve got and I’ll be damned if I let the likes of her selling her body in here.” “Oh, she wasn’t-” “Trust me, where you had agreed upfront or not, you would have been light whatever cash you have left in that wallet before the night was up. And I’ll bet you dollars to pennies you would have had a lovely little itch or two down there.” She nods her head towards his crotch before switching the subject like she hadn’t just implied the poor woman from before was an STD ridden whore. “So, I haven’t seen you here before. Where you from?”

He’s not sure how she’s disarmed him so quickly, but he finds himself telling her all about himself over the next hour. Business has slowed down and her other barmate seems to be more than capable of handling the few strays still walking in.

She makes him laugh too with her feisty spirit. It’s been far too long since he’s felt at ease like this. They talk and talk. Not about much in particular, just random conversation. She bought the bar about six years ago, and tells him about how it’s let her build the family she always wanted and never really got. She’s carved out her own little place in the world and he envies her that. The way she can just lay her whole life bare to a complete stranger while he can’t even talk to the people that know him best.

The night rolls on and it’s time to close up. He half expects that she’s going to invite him upstairs, to the little apartment she mentioned earlier, but she surprises him. She’s done that a few times tonight, but this one hits him in the gut. “So, what’s her name?”

This time he actually does chock on the water she’s poured for him.” “I’m sorry, what?”

“Killian, in the last few hours, you’ve told me your entire life story, everything from your shitty father to your arrogant brother, your job, your leave of absence, but you haven’t mentioned a girl one single time. You’re holding back, which means there’s something to hold back.”

“You don’t know that. I could be gay.” “Um, ya, I saw you check out Teresa’s rack earlier, definitely not gay. So what’s the deal.” He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he doesn’t want to be rude either. So he gives her as little as possible, but she sees through him. In fact, she actually asks him what the hell he’s waiting for as she pushes him out the door.

He doesn’t really know what he’s waiting for to be honest. He’s wanted to go back to Boston, but there’s just so many threads he left unravelled when he left.

#These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal #Captain Swan #captain swan ff #CS fanfics

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aweecrush · 3 years ago

Text

Prologue

Tuesday, October 16th 2007

“Jesus, I can’t believe you’re actually in the fucking plane - took you long enough! If I had known it took a wedding to get your arse back home, I would have had a couple by now, for God’s sake .”

“Michelle, you promised you wouldn’t start! ” Clare’s reproachful voice rose.

“Aye, first, I didn’t promise shit, and second, I told you, she’s not chickening out so chill out - right Erin?”

Despite the culpability and shame pricking at her skin, her heart warmed at their traditional bickering she wished she’d hear more often. At their voices. And, most of all, at knowing that in a few hours, she’d get to hear them for real.

Feck, she’d missed these eejits.

“Well, I’m not actually in the plane yet, we’re waiting to board. And then I still have that stupid long flight, and then the stupid long wait at stupid London, so don’t wait up - but yes, I’m definitely on my way,” she promised, earning herself an earful of high pitched cackles and happy swears.

Her heart welled up.

“So, how is the bride doing? She wasn’t home when I called earlier, and all Mammy could talk about was how the caterer was driving her crazy and how aunt Sarah almost set her own hair on fire trying a new hairdo she’d like to nail for the ceremony.”

Michelle snorted. “ Yeah, hilarious so it was. You should have seen your dad’s face, mental. ”

“It was terrifying,” Clare corrected, apparently still shaken.

Then, perked up. “Orla’s going to look so cute though - I can’t wait for you to see the dress!” Erin tried to ignore the sting of not having been there for such an important moment.

“We’re still trying to convince her out of drawing anything on it, but I’m not sure we’ll win this one, to be honest. Also, we’ve got everything almost ready to go for the bachelorette party, although I do need you to help me stop Michelle from bringing the tons of drugs she wants to, because - ”

“For feck’s sake Clare, Orla would love it! The girl is tying the knot, she deserves to get properly shit faced.”

“She said she wanted something small!”

“She said she would have liked to have a little something with just the five of us the night before. She never said anything about the actual bachelorette party being small - or fucking boring for that matter!”

“Just the five of us?”

The words spilled out before she could stop them, stupid that she was. At the other end of the line, the girls went uncharastically silent, and Erin cursed herself.

Feck.

“I mean, that’s grand. It’s cool, I thought it was just going to be one big night for the bachelorette party before the big day, but - I mean, that’s even better! Grand - cool.”

Christ on a bike, that was pathetic. She was.

“Yeah...The thing is, Orla wanted a wee night with just us Derry girls the night before the bachelorette party, hanging at the bar and stuff you know, because - Well, just because.” Poor Clare was rambling now, in a typical panicked Clare kind of way. “And we thought - Well, then we thought about it, and it turns out it’s not going to work, just timing-wise and stuff, so - “

“So the point is we dropped it.”

“Right. Yep.”

Again, silence, only betrayed by the hammering in her chest that she hoped her friends wouldn’t hear over her cellphone.

“Oh okay, well - that’s a shame.” Her casual slash over the top fake disappointment tone did nothing to help convince anyone, of course, herself included. She winced.

She promised herself it wasn’t going to be like this, though. She wasn’t going to ruin this for anyone - not a chance.

For God’s sake, catch yourself on Erin.

Pushing all dangerous thoughts aside, Erin took a deep breath. “In any case, I’m sure it’ll all be fine - really fine.”

There were another few seconds of silence, and she could just picture the worried look they were sharing - probably very similar to the one they had that particular, fateful day. To the one they had again when she told them she was moving away. Then -

“You bet it’ll be fine - feck, it will be absolutely brilliant is what it is! Wait til you see my dress, Erin - my tits look amazing in it.”

As it turned out, running all over the city for work for the past ten days and dangerously flirting with the limits of sleep deprivation did have a perk: her whole, eight hours flight, Erin slept like a log.

(Truth was, she could have done without the look of contempt and the ‘Miss? You have drool on your face’ from that stupid flight attendant who woke her up when they landed, but still - all in all, it went well.)

The wait at Stansted airport, however, was pure hell.

Because of the jitters, mostly.

Growing up, despite how much she loved to complain about them, Erin had never actually considered living away from her family. Well, not that far, at least - she’d always known she would leave Derry after high school, which they did, and it was glorious. War or not, she had a pretty nice life as a child and then a teenager, but those college years and the first ones that had followed - they were the best of her life.

Still, it was only Belfast at the time, and Belfast was a two hours drive from home. Erin knew that at some point, she wanted to go out in the world, maybe live abroad for a while, but this - New-York, all on her own, away for so long? She hadn’t planned that. Didn’t, really - it all went so fast, in the end.

It was a good thing too, because if she had stopped and thought about it for too long, she wasn’t sure she would have gone through with it.

(Then again, what else could she have done?)

Despite her dreams, and her need for independence, and her eagerness to see the world, Erin had never thought that she’d leave her family for that far, for that long. Orla had come to see her once, thank goodness, but Jesus -

On the last picture her Ma had sent her, Anna had grown so much, she almost looked like a wee woman. She’d forgotten the exact colour of that lipstick aunt Sarah wore all the time, she couldn’t remember each wrinkle on Granda’s beautiful face like she used to, and sometimes, she was afraid she was forgetting her Da’s smell and what her Ma’s voice sounded like in real life. She’d missed them so much, it hurt (a lot, often).

She just couldn’t wait any longer to get back to that crazy bunch, and those last, endless few hours? Torture so it was.

She was half considering starting to work on her next article to pass the time when across from her, Erin spotted a young couple bickering, their luggages next to their seats. She was a beautiful thing, red hair tied in a messy bun, and his brown curls fell above his forehead, all messed up.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could make out their accents. He looked like he was trying to make her smile, leaning over so he could kiss her, and she was doing everything she could not to laugh, weakly trying to escape his arms around hers, her pretense wavering with every second.

They were probably in their early twenties, just out of uni or something. They looked happy.

Her chest tightened, and suddenly, Erin felt the urge to cry.

Well, that was quick.

Shite. Shite shite shite.

It was okay, though - it was all fine. She knew herself by now - she was emotional as heck most days of the year (crazy, her Ma would say), but the day of her returning back home, with accumulated fatigue and an Atlantic crossing flight in her feet? Of course she'd get misty eyed at the first occasion. At anything, this just happened to be what, because they were very cute and - it was a coincidence, nothing more.

It was nothing.

The girl laughed, though, giving him a small slap over the head before she let him nuzzle his face in the crook of her neck. She brushed his forehead with her lips, a soft smile on them, and kept talking.

It was difficult, then, not to think about another time, another long wait, at the Bali airport this time. It was difficult, not to think about another English fella with wild, brown curls.

It was impossible, really, not to think about him.

Memories of a perfect trip came flooding back, of burnt skin and drunken smiles, of blue waters and green eyes. The tickles of the sun, the softness of his fingers over her exposed neck, her naked arms. Sweaty bodies pressed together during hot nights, slow breathes, so many new sights discovered, fingers intertwined.

Sometimes, the memory of his face hidden against her neck was so vivid, she could almost feel it. Just like she did now.

Her breath caught.

Sweet suffering Jesus.

Experience had taught her that she had to stop now - needed to, really, before her mind wandered to anything more. To everything else, every little thing that could, and would, make her heart ache even more than it already did.

(That’s another thing she’d found out: as it happened, the expression “heartbreak” wasn’t, in fact, an overly dramatic turn of words. Quite accurately descriptive it was, actually.

She often wondered when hers would stop feeling like it had been ripped into a million little pieces, but she was starting to lose faith that it ever would.)

Of course, she should have seen it coming, she knew that. She had, in fact. True to herself, she’d tried to ignore it, but she knew full well that with her coming back home, it would come back.

This painful, sneaky way every little thing seemed to remind her of before - of a life that felt so far away now.

Over the months, the many months since she’d been gone, she’d gotten it almost under control. Everyday life brought its distractions, particularly in a city like New-York: running between brunches and dinners, partying with her cool American friends, writing for a newspaper in the Big Apple, it was easy, forgetting what you wanted to, if only for so long. She was becoming a real life city girl, a full time one, and that was exactly what her busy brain - her treacherous heart - needed.

With time, every sight, every sound, every smell no longer reminded her of home - the place, the person. With time, she’d moved on.

Yes, sometimes - often - she’d wavered, but that was normal: having been close to someone meant that they lived with you forever, she couldn’t help that. At some point, it would just die down enough that she’d just be able to call it the past without her insides hurting.

(She thought it would, with Matt. Maybe not with the others before him, they were just passing through - but with him, she thought it would. She couldn’t really explain how it all made the permanent weight on her chest even heavier instead, somehow.)

But it hadn’t died down yet, and even though it was normal and okay and to be expected, six weeks ago, Erin had booked her tickets, and six weeks ago, she had lost the grip over the carefully built barriers she’d made sure to rise in the meantime for - well, self-preservation, really.

It started small. The song that had played this one special night, resonating through Starbucks as she waited for her drink. That sweatshirt her colleague bought one day that reminded her of another one. That scarf in the store that looked so much like Doctor Who’s.

But then...Then, it was every day, every damn day, just like the beginning - even worse, if she was being honest. Up until yesterday, when she boarded that damn plane.

Up until now, in this stupid airport where she didn’t want to cry.

Arms tightened around her own chest, Erin willed herself not to, even though it was becoming evident that there was no ignoring the memories and the aching now. Even though, just like she feared, it was becoming perfectly clear that there was no escaping anymore, no pretending that she wasn’t the worst person in this Goddamn country, that the worst hadn’t happened.

Even though she could feel the fear mixed with longing and excitement and dread and a million other emotions that had painfully, permanently taken residence in her stomach now that she was home.

(That had taken roots there ever since the day she left, so it did.)

Shite.

Sitting back up, Erin shook herself. No, no, no, no - she could do this.

She’d grown, she’d prepared herself. She’d even planned what to say if...She was ready. Responsable, mature, and ready. And she won’t have to face this alone.

In a few hours, she was going to see the people who raised her. In a couple of days, wee Orla was getting married. She’d come up with excuses after excuses not to come home, even for Christmas - babbling something about being overloaded with work even though it made her heart ache to know she’ll be alone for the holidays for the first time in her life. Even though she knew full well her Ma didn’t buy a single word, very aware of the real reason she was staying away. She didn’t say a single word, though, and Erin was grateful.

No more, though.

For months and months, Erin had found reasons to stay away for the exact reasons that were chipping away at her heart more and more by the second, but now her baby cousin was getting married, and she’d see her family, and they’ll hold her close, and she’ll find a way to bury all the stuff that was so, so much more difficult to ignore now that she was coming home.

Maybe - maybe it will be difficult, but they’ll be here to help her through it. She’ll be there for her family, and they’ll be here for her.

Fighting the urge to reach out for the folded photograph in her wallet (the one that brought so much comfort and so much else she’d rather avoid at the same time, the one she clinged to but pretended she didn’t), Erin just breathed, and moved to change seats.

Everything would be fine, in the end. It will be grand.

Except her family didn’t come.

No one did.

It was eight thirty in the morning, and, her cellphone penibly stuck between her ear and shoulder as she struggled to zip her jacket to protect herself from the freezing cold, Erin tried to swallow her disappointment.

“Aye I’m sorry love, it looks like you’re going to have to get a cab,” her Ma announced before yelling something at her Granda in the distance.

Erin couldn’t help but notice the fact that she didn’t seem that sorry, not at all in fact. “Your Da was going to come get you, but there’s a problem of some kind where the reception is, and he had to take Orla.”

Erin nodded, even though her Ma couldn’t see her. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just - ”

“We’ll give you the money back for the cab when you arrive. Alright, I gotta go love, we’re checking the hair accessories for the big day - see you in a bit.” And with that, she hung up.

Well.

Here went her big welcome home, eh.

Again, it was nothing, though, she reasoned. She was a grown up now, of course she understood that something had come up, and that this all delayed their big reunion from only an hour, tops. So really, there was no reason to get upset.

None.

She wished she wasn’t getting upset.

From what she told her, Clare would be putting together gift bags now, and there was absolutely no doubt that Michelle was still snoring. Pocketing her cell as best as she could, Erin bit the inside of her cheek and started looking for the only plan B she had left, ignoring the burning in her eyes. It really was nothing - she’ll be fine.

It didn’t matter that she took forever to get a cab, for some reason, or that her luggage fell over her foot when they tried to put it in the truck, or that her handbag crashed on the floor and spilled everywhere.

Erin did know she tended to be over dramatic - and yes, maybe borderline crazy, Ma wasn't completely wrong - but she was more mature now, so instead of getting riled up, instead of being crushed by the fact that her family didn’t seem to have missed her as much as she did them, and that the land she grew up on was sending her sign after sign that she wasn’t welcomed back, Erin breathed.

Instead of being violently overwhelmed by memories at every corner of the place she’d grown up in, the place where they met and it all began, she did - she tried to breathe, slowly, carefully, squeezing her scarf in her hand a little too tight.

(That was another thing about your close ones not coming to get you at the airport after you left your country to run away: there wasn’t much to distract you from the memories you were running away from.)

She wouldn’t cry. She was just tired, and being stupid, and she wasn’t coming home with puffy red eyes - no way.

They passed the mall they all used to hang out at, and her throat tightened so much, it felt like the air had left the inside of the car. She saw the movie theater he was always so eager to bring her to in the distance, and a familiar pang of missing shot through her chest. Her heart twisted that particular way when they drove by the hiding spot of their early days, but even though she wondered how she was still holding her tears, she did.

After what felt like an eternity, the car finally pulled up her street, and Erin hadn’t shed one silly tear. She’d done it. She could do it.

By the time she pushed their small barrier and started for the couple of stairs, all Erin wanted was to collapse into bed and black out. Orla and Da wouldn’t be home, Ana would probably still be asleep, and given the day and time, Grandda would have gone for his walk. She’d give a big hug to Ma and Aunt Sarah, pretext a headache, and go lie down.

As she struggled to get her bags through the door while keeping the damn thing open, Erin shouted, cursing herself at how strangled her voice sounded. “I’m home!”

Finally managing to get everything and herself inside, she collapsed on the wall behind her, only now taking in the wallpaper, the coat hangers, the shoes by the entry.

Damn - she was home.

The emotion was so striking, she didn’t quite have the time to stop the tears from welling up in her yes, taken by surprise.

She moved before it all became too much and shrugged off her coat, feeling her insides warm at the familiar surroundings, and yet her heart ache at not having the usual voices that went with it, the faces that she wanted so much to see. She shouted again, but there was still no response.

Ma and aunt Sarah must have had something to do, then. It was fine, she thought as she pushed the living door open. It was, she’d just grab a glass of water and -

“SURPRISE!”

And just like that, Saturday Night started playing from somewhere, overcoming the shouting and the party whistles that had broken the silence so suddenly, Erin had jumped out, her back hitting doorframe behind her. There was colours and and noise and arms waving in every direction, and Erin vaguely realized that she was covered in confetti that matched the balloons and the hats.

Somehow, she noticed that they all had one: Michelle, up on the sofa, Clare, jumping in place at the other side of the room, Orla and the giant teddy bear she was holding. Anna, her pink one stuck on top of her mass of blond hair. Aunt Sarah and Grandda, both holding hands and arboring the same green one. Her Ma, her Da, tears in their eyes, huge grins on their faces, red and yellow ones falling over.

Her brain had stopped functionning, so she couldn't be sure, but Erin thought that her legs were giving out.

Before they did, though, both her parents closed the distance and hugged her close, whispering things she couldn't quite make sense of just yet. Their voices in her ear, their smell surrounding her, Erin broke her promise to herself, and finally let the tears come flooding as she held them back as close as she could.

She was home.

#erin x james #james x erin #jerin #derry girls #fanfiction #mine

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