#i almost cried with henry

[itsgonnagetinspiringsoon]

FUCK

[wordsofhoneydew]

y’all ever read a fic that fucks you up so bad that you just have to put down your phone and sit in silence for a good 10 minutes……….

[oneawkwardcookie]

Don't insist on leaving today Just keep on sitting close to me Don't insist on leaving today

I'm probably gonna make a full video of this song, but I started playing around with this scene and just letting it run and it works too

[mulderscully]

lately either making a horny firstprince gifset or a insanely sappy firstprince gifset

[jellyfishbeansontoast]

i almost recommended u something but it is tragic 😭💀

stay away i’m not emotionally stable enough ❌❌⛔️🚫

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[jaroftears]

Joel & Ellie laughing hysterically at the diarrhea joke:

Me:

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 833 words | briefly a little suggestive

When the boys get home, you're in the kitchen finishing up some soup. You don’t want Henry to get sick with the changing weather and him starting school, so you’ve gone a bit overboard with the veggies. The front door slams shut, and you hear the low timbre of James' voice followed by a high-pitched whine from Henry. No doubt, James is reminding him to take off his shoes. You can easily picture him crouching down, gently encouraging Henry to do it himself in that low, soothing voice of his.

“Mama!” Henry shrieks, and your heart tightens at the sound of it. Months ago, you and James had sat him down, letting him know he could call you “mama” if he wanted to. Ever since then, he'd stopped calling you “darling,” and hearing the new name still tugs at your heartstrings every time.

You set the ladle down, ready to bend down and scoop Henry up. But the moment you see him, you freeze, lips parting in surprise. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch James stepping into the kitchen, leaning against the counter, silently watching the scene unfold.

“Do you like them?” Henry bounces on his toes, his big brown doe eyes—made even larger by his glasses—blinking up at you. A lump forms in your throat as you take in the sight.

“I love them.” You gasp, bending down as Henry shuffles toward you, grinning and bobbing his head side to side, proudly showing off his new blue frames. You're certain James told him not to touch the lenses, judging by how his little hands fidget at his sides, resisting the urge to reach up and adjust them.

You wrap your arms around him, scooping him up to get a better look. 

“Do I look like a big boy? Daddy said I did.” As he asks, you’re hit with the realization of just how grown-up he looks. He’s no longer the baby James would frantically call you about when he was sick, or the mischievous toddler who loved yanking the scrunchie from your hair, giggling uncontrollably as you pretended you didn’t know who had stolen it.

“You do. You look just like daddy.” You murmur, eyes flickering over to James, who is watching you both with a soft look. 

Henry squirms in your arms, “I need Mr. G!” He exclaims suddenly, and you let him down so he can run and get his stuffed rabbit that wore a pair of glasses. You figure so he can have dinner with the three of you.

You watch him run off before turning your gaze to James, “You didn’t tell me he was getting glasses.”

“We wanted to surprise you.” James says with a smile, pushing away from the counter to meet you. His hands gently cup your cheeks, tilting your face up to meet his gaze as your arms instinctively wrap around his waist.

“He’s so grown up, Jamie.” You sigh, your voice thick with emotion. James gives you a soft, knowing smile.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I nearly had a meltdown in the office the first time he put them on.”

The room falls quiet for a moment before James leans down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your lips. It’s short-lived, though, as Henry suddenly cries out that he can’t find his bunny and needs help. James sighs against your lips, his forehead resting against yours for a beat longer before pulling away with a quiet chuckle.

“Look at that—he's not all that grown up yet. He still needs us.” James says, a fond smile tugging at his lips. You smile softly in return, reluctantly letting him go so he can search for Mr. G.

“I love seeing him grow up, but I oddly miss the baby phase.” You sigh, and James nods in understanding.

“As hard as it was, the baby stage was my favorite. Probably because you were by my side the whole time.” James winks, then turns to head toward the stairs.

You watch him as he goes, his movements deliberate, but you catch his attention with a teasing edge to your voice. “Maybe we should have another one then.”

The words slip from your lips with a soft smile, and you can't help but laugh when James almost stumbles on the steps, his foot catching awkwardly as he spins around, his breath hitching in his chest. His eyes lock on yours, wide and searching, as if he’s trying to gauge whether you’re serious.

“You'd better not be messing with me, darling.” He breathes out, his voice low and thick with desperation. After nearly a year of dating, and given that he’s known you for almost a decade, with you having embraced the role of Henry’s mum from the very start, he's been waiting patiently to hear those words.

Your stomach twists in a way that sends heat coursing through you, and you offer him a slow, knowing smile. “I’m not,” you reply, your voice soft but certain.

please please please consider reblogging and/or commenting. it keeps me motivated to continue writing and reblogging spreads my work 🤍

[starful-emporium]

that finale made me so emotional. i cried at all of their scenes in Ankarna's realm. anyway, here's some bad kids senior year head canons.

Kristen: Her wish for a sister is filled by Bucky, crying in her room late at night and praying together. After talking to Jawbone they learn that there are grounds to remove Bricker and Cork from their parents' home. Kristen is the only one given the option of emancipation--instead, she asks Jawbone to adopt her as well.

She falls back onto old patterns with Tracker. But they're a little older and wiser, so they see it happening and take a step back. Not a break up, but a readjustment. With her academics finally not reliant on deadlines, Kristen dedicates herself to her pantheon. They work with Lucy to bring Ruvina back to her sister, and Kristen finds herself in awe of the dedication she sees.

Fig: She puts all her time into the Bottomless Pit, something it desperately needs. Often she tells Sandra-Lynn she's sleeping at Gilear's, and vice versa, and stays with Ayda instead. On her 18th birthday her parents sit her down and explain that she can live with Ayda officially, if she wants to. Just as long as she remembers she'll always have a room with both of them.

She brings Sandra-Lynn on Complicated Women, first to interview, and then as a permanent guest host. They talk about womanhood as something living and changing and queer and complicated. It's her mom who encourages her when Lola Embers drops Ruben. They rally all the rock-hating souls and cordon off part of the recording studio. Fig never goes in there, but from what she's heard, his music has gotten better in the absence of Kipperlilly's judgement.

Fabian: Somehow, he ends up being the one to train the new dog. The Hangman is jealous to a ridiculous degree, so he spends a lot of time managing that. He starts looking into a sea-worthy vessel for after graduation, spends hours at the Compass Points Library learning how to navigate. Learning sea shanties is part of all that, of course, and has nothing to do with the way his baby sibling stares at him while he practices.

Mazey teaches dance to kids while he finishes school. She's so kind it almost hurts, and Fabian has no choice but to learn to accept love. He "lets" Gorgug skip Bloodrush under the condition of weekly movie nights, which only sometimes are expanded to the rest of the Bad Kids. The radio in his room crackle to life sometimes, with little messages from Bill when he's close enough to the material plane.

Riz: Appointed as vice president, he quits all but the AV club. He makes a bedtime pact with Sklonda, and for the first time in a very long time, they are both getting enough sleep. Someone mentions ace and aro identities to him, and he's awake enough for it click.

He finds a new scholarship for Aguefort students, and it looks scam-y so he does some investigating. It easily traces right back to Seacaster gold and Fabian. He's thankful for the cover and accepts the money with an understanding that they won't talk about it. He doesn't check, but the scholarship is offered every year after that.

Adaine: She spends the summer with Aelwyn tracking down their mom. She doesn't need revenge, but she needs to know her mom will never hurt anyone ever again. She feels Ankarna in the hot sun and wonders if that's the difference between revenge and justice. They take the long way back to Solace, the Hand-van paddling across the ocean.

When school starts, she works with Kristen to turn her inheritance into resources. Student who can pay for some of their components still do, but everyone gets what they need to learn. On the first day of class, she's asked about her summer prophecies, and tells off Tiberia for relying on her for lessons.

Gorgug: His senior year MCAT is signed on the first day by Lydia, who's teaching barbarian classes for the year. She gives him permission for independent study, and Henry gives him a shop key so he can do classwork whenever he wants. The rest of his time is spent perfecting Barbificer skills and creating a program to run at Aguefort the next year.

Mary Ann offers her quokky pet skills to help remodel his homonculous. The result is much cuter and more functional than before. She still names her highest level pet Cloaca in honor of the original, much to Gorgug's chagrin.

After graduation, the Bad Kids move in trios and pairs, and they always reconvene on the Summer Solstice, the anniversary of Ankarna's resurrection.

Kristen splits her time between Solace and Fallinel and Mountains of Chaos, the places where temples to her pantheon stand. Adaine and Riz rent an apartment in Bastion City, where they both continue school. Gorgug stays in Elmville, teaching at Aguefort and working on the side to start his own school. Fabian takes to the sea, bringing Fig and Ayda and Mazey with him.

They save the world again, a few times, but only when they want to.

[pretty-little-mind33]

dad!James Potter x wife!reader

Summary: When your eleven-year-old son comes home for Christmas break in tears, you and James are instantly worried.

Genre: Fluff, Hurt and Comfort

Warnings: mentions of blood-purity and prejudices, swearing, their son Henry is nicknamed as Harry ;)

happens in the same universe as Santa Baby

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Your husband has always been dramatic, but when your oldest comes home from school in his first-year with frustrated tears streaming down his cheeks, James almost loses his shit.

Henry slams the door behind him and discards his shoes in the hallway, "Fuck," He mutters when he hears you call his name from the living room. You, James, and Emmie had been waiting for him to come home from the train-station. Emmie sits impatiently on your lap, making small gurgling noises as you bounce her on your knees. James had cooked (burnt) Henry's favorite dinner and he stands up, frowning when he hears his son curse.

"Harry?"

You stand up too, worried, as you hold Emmie in your arms. You hear Henry's footsteps run up the stairs. James looks puzzled as he looks back at you. You shrug and walk up next to him, handing him Emmie as she clings happily to his arms. "I'll talk to him," you pat James's forearm and walk up the stairs to Henry's room.

Gently, you knock on the door and then open it a little. Your heart shatters when you see Henry laying on his stomach, his arms around his pillow as he muffles his cries.

He's always been sensitive and you're cautious as you sit near him. "Honey? What's wrong? Can you tell me what's happened?"

Henry shakes his head, only turning it to mutter, "Go away, mum. I don't wanna talk."

Your eyebrows scrunch and you reach out to touch him, but hesitate and stand up. "Do ya' wanna talk to dad?" you ask, knowing Henry sometimes wants James instead.

Henry doesn't answer for a moment until he nods. You nod too, closing the door behind you as you make your way downstairs again. James is standing at the end of the stairs, Emmie on his hip, as he looks at you concerned. You reach him and take Emmie from him. "He wants you," you whisper.

James's eyes soften and he kisses your cheek, soothing a hand over your hair and down your cheek. You know it's usually a "man problem", as James calls them, when Henry wants James instead of you. Still, James knows your heart breaks when you can't help your baby boy.

James walks upstairs and disappears into Henry's room. You return to the living room and place Emmie down on her play-mat.

James and Henry don't talk for long as you hear hurried footsteps come down the stairs. "Honey?" you call, confused, and you stand.

He doesn't answer and just grabs his coat, his cheeks flushed a dark crimson. He looks beyond pissed. You turn to Emmie, you don't want to leave her unsupervised and she usually starts to cry when she sees her dad this upset so you know you can't carry her to him either.

"James!" you shout after him.

Henry runs down the stairs, his tears now gone as he follows James outside. "Henry!" you shout once more but neither of them listen to you. You feel helpless as you hear the car start in the driveway. You don't understand. You hold Emmie in your arms and sit on the couch, stomach in knots.

After what seems like an hour, the front door opens and Henry's laughter fills the room. You've put Emmie to sleep so you run to the door, hugging Henry to your chest as you tug a hand through his dark curls. James follows behind him, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees your expression.

"Where were you?" you say, narrowing your eyes at your husband.

"Oh, mum, you should have seen dad! The way he shouted at Liam's dad because of what he said at the station—it was awesome!"

"What did Liam say at the station, baby?" you ask him quickly.

"No, not Liam, his dad. He saw me come off the train and he made some comment about you, mum. About you being weird and how it must have passed on to me. He also called you a Mudblood but I didn't understand what that meant and dad won't— " James stops Henry with a hand on his head and you look up at your husband.

Your heart feels like it's beating hard. Weird. Mudblood. You've heard worse but something about it hearing it come from your son's mouth—knowing someone had said that in front of your son makes you ache.

Liam's dad went to school with you and James and he's always been a jerk, but that doesn’t make it excusable. James kisses Henry's head and sends him upstairs. You look at James, teary eyed as you try to find the right words. James just hugs you to his chest, his hand on the back of your head. "Shh," he whispers, "it's okay," he promises but you shake your head.

"It's not okay," you wipe at your tears, "Richard called me that in front of my son. It's humiliating," You bury my face in my hands. James's expression twists and he looks upset.

He cups your cheeks gently, kissing your nose. "I'm so sorry I left so quickly, my love, but he had to know I won't stand for anyone messing with my loves," he says sternly.

While his anger isn't directed at you by any means, it hangs in the air.

"I- I don't know what to say to Henry," you whisper, voice shaky, as you lean your head on James's chest. James's heart sinks at your tone and he holds you close.

He nuzzles his nose in your hair. "You don't have to say a thing, darlin'."

"Yes, I do," you pull away and look into your husband's eyes, "I'm his mother. I have to explain to him what that word means before he hears it at school again. Which, I'm surprised he hadn't already," you try to sound brave but James sees through you.

He always does.

"Hey, it's okay," he says as he runs a hand up and down your shoulders. He kisses your head gently and continues, "We'll talk to Harry, okay? Can you warm up dinner while I get him?"

Your shoulders relax a little and you nod. With your mind still fuzzy, you walk up to the pot where James had been making pasta and scrunch your nose. It's all burnt and cold by now. You glance at your wand on the counter, but instead, you decide a frozen pizza should do nicely.

After a few minutes, James comes back in with Henry hanging from his arm like he would as a little boy. Seeing you, your son jumps down and runs over. He hugs you and leans on his tip-toes to kiss your cheek. "I love you, mum," he smiles and your heart melts. Henry's smile widens when he smells the pizza in the oven.

"How many sweets did dad bribe you with to say that," you tease, ruffling Henry's hair.

Henry shoots James an unsure look but then smiles up at you, "None," he says confidently and you pretend to believe him. You look at James with a look that says, 'stop bribing our son with candy'. James just smirks and swoops in, resting his hand on Henry's shoulder.

"Harry, your mum and I wanna talk to you about something important, alright," he looks at you and pauses so you can take over.

You nod and crouch down to Henry's eye level. You hold his hands, "Honey, what Liam's dad said wasn't okay, you know that right?" Henry nods, listening intensely. "Mudblood is a very mean word that's used for witches and wizards who are Muggleborn—that come from muggle families—like me."

"I know you do—grandma and grandad don't understand magic," Henry grins.

James chuckles and smoothes his hand in Henry's hair and says, "Yeah, exactly, bud. But, you must never use that word, understand?"

Henry nods seriously and looks up at James. "What am I then? If mum's a Muggleborn and dad's family is—"

"In technical terms, you're a half-blood, honey," you say, standing and kissing his head gently, "It's all nonsense anyways. It really doesn't matter at all because you're a wizard. As long as you can do magic, then that's all that matters."

"Yeah, and you know your mum is way better at magic than I am," James says with a pretend pout, "so really, blood-status is a bunch of bogus," Henry looks at his dad and laughs at his dramatic display of feeling sorry for himself. You roll your eyes and push on James's arm, but you're secretly grateful for him lightening up the mood.

Once the talk is over and Henry is tucked into his bed, his stomach full of pizza, you finally exhale. You sit at your vanity, brushing your hair, and James is changing into his pajamas. He sits on his side of the bed and fiddles with Emmie's muggle baby monitor.

"I can hear you thinking, my lovely," he hums. He stands and makes his way over to you. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and kisses your cheeks. His hands caress up and down your arm as he whispers, "Henry understands. He's smart. You're raising him well."

"We're raising him well," you remind James as you turn to look him in the eye.

James chuckles. "I bribed him with candy. You taught him a valuable lesson."

You scrunch your nose and stand, wrapping your arms around James's torso as you hold him close. Your husband eagerly pulls you into him and inhales the scent of your hair. He leans his cheek on your head and you nuzzle into him.

As much as hearing other wizards and witches talk down on you hurts—like they've done all your life—one solace is that you have the most wonderful husband, who never cared about something as silly as blood-statues, and said wonderful husband gave you the most beautiful children you could have asked for.

"Thank you," you whisper, thanking James for being himself, "I love you." You've never meant anything more.

"I love you more," James finishes and kisses your head.

[gulnarsultan]

more yan!henry VIII pls. i’m in my the tudors phase rn 🤞🏻🤞🏻 (maybe something with him being crazily in love with the reader that he's willing to do anything for her??)

Hello dear. I hope you like it. I love this guy too.🤭🤗❤

( Please do not underestimate what obsessive Henry can do for you. Believe me, this man can go to such lengths that he can go down in history as "The Cruel".)

(Nswf)

Yandere Henry viii and Princess reader.

~ You were the Princess of Scotland. You were the last child and only daughter of James III of Scotland and Margaret of Denmark. You were the apple of your parents', brothers' and the palace's eye. You easily managed to win everyone's love. Everyone said you were the most perfect Princess in the world.

~ When Margaret Tudor came to Scotland as a bride, you became a sister and a close friend to her. You were truly precious to Margaret. You supported her when she lost her brother Arthur, then her mother and her newborn sister. You helped her stand up against the losses.  You helped with each of her pregnancies and the care of her children.

~This also causes Margaret to write a lot of letters to her family about you. These letters especially catch the attention of her brother Prince Henry. Soon Henry starts exchanging letters with you. As they continue to write, he finds himself drawn to you. After seeing the portrait of you that Margaret sends him, he falls obsessively in love.

~ He practically begs his father and grandmother to arrange a marriage between the two of you. King Henry does not turn down his only son's request. The negotiations between the two countries soon end positively. It is arranged for you to be sent to England in a short time. It was difficult for you to say goodbye to your family on the day you were to leave. However, you held your head high like a Princess. You set off on your journey with a loaded and ostentatious robe and the group that accompanied you.

~ When you arrived in England, you were welcomed at the port and escorted to the Palace. You were excited, anxious and a little scared on the way to the Palace. What would this marriage bring you? Love? Happiness?  Power? You honestly didn't dare to think about the bad consequences. When the carriage stopped, you took a deep breath. When you got out of the carriage, the Royal Family of England stood in front of you. You respectfully bowed.

~ The wedding would be held in a week. And until the wedding, you would stay in a beautiful tower close to the Palace. As the days passed, you tried to control your excitement. However, Prince Henry's hungry and obsessive gaze at their first meeting had scared you. However, you tried not to think about it too much. Your wedding was very fancy and there were many guests. After the wedding, you moved to your bedroom, which had been prepared for the two of you in the Palace.

~ Henry was kind to you on the wedding night. It wasn't as scary as you feared. However, every second in the bedroom with Henry in the following days was full of lust, desire and desire. There were days when you even had difficulty walking in the mornings. After marrying Henry, you were locked in a golden skull. You couldn't leave your room without Henry by your side and you weren't allowed to write letters or communicate with others without him by your side.

~ Even your maids and bridesmaids were no longer close to you. They spoke to you formally. So your only friend was your husband Henry. Your husband soon ascended to the throne. Your coronation ceremony was lavish. At this time, you were almost seven months pregnant. Henry had cried tears of joy when he heard the news of your first pregnancy. Henry was paranoid about your health and safety.

~ He made sure you were eating right, drinking fluids, resting and sleeping. He had a habit of caressing your belly and feeling the baby kick. Your first baby was a healthy boy and Henry was very happy. He named your firstborn son "Henry". After the birth of Prince Henry, you gave birth to two more healthy sons, Prince Richard and Prince Edward. You gave birth to three healthy Princesses and a Prince, Princess Cecily, Princess Mary, Prince John and Princess Elinor.

~ He spoils you with the most expensive gifts.  He has jewels (crown, ring, earring, necklace, bracelet and brooch) and dresses specially prepared for you. He allows you to go out for your duties as Queen. For example, documents and letters come to your room. Those who want to see you can only see you when Henry is with you.

~ Henry was a wonderful father to your children. He never had a mistress or a lover. He remained loyal to you and your marriage until his last breath. For some, the King's obsession was the love of fairy tales. For others, this obsession was the golden skullcap of a Princess.

[de4dlyniightshade]

I need sweetheart Spencer headcannons. I gotta hear about this guys sweet little habits and his love language frfr

i can yap abt domestic shit with spencer for YEARS

really listens to you like if you mention even briefly a brand you like he buys you it, flowers you like, always a vase of them in his or your place for you.

if you mention you don't like the smell of his laundry detergent or anything like that she changes it immediately for you.

learns how to make your favourite coffee, no matter how elaborate, will even buy the expensive tools to make it for you every morning.

thrifts trinkets and silly things for you that he thinks you'd like, just cute little ornaments and cups, mugs, bottles, anything he sees that makes him think of you.

tucks you in at night, every night, even if you're still awake he makes sure to tuck the duvet around your neck to keep you cosy.

on the same lines, always has a blanket within reach for when you fall asleep on the couch, carefully laying it on you and pressing a kiss to your head.

plays your favourite music in the morning while he makes your coffee so you wake up to something that you enjoy.

hand holder always, his hand is never out of your when you're going places, one of his worst fears being you getting separated from him in a crowd or worse, his job making him slightly paranoid about you getting kidnapped.

loves dancing with you to old music.

such a cliche gentleman, always opening doors for you and will literally race you to your side of the car to open the door for you and will tell you to wait so he can get out and open it for you too. also always pulls your chair out for you and takes your jacket.

loves to talk about you but always feels shy around the team because he knows how they'll tease him, all but penelope who asks about you daily and lets spencer ramble about everything you told him since the second he saw you.

you once got a call from penelope which worried you since she gave you her number in case something happened to spencer so you answered really worried but it was just for her to tell you that spencer finally admitted that he wanted to marry you.

always has to have skin on skin contact while he sleeps, even if it's just his leg touching you, he just needs to know you're there.

very proudly introduced you to his mother, beaming with pride because he knew she'd love you because he knew you loved him and that's all diana ever wanted for him.

humming. always. he's always humming some tune while he does anything, especially cooking or making coffee in the morning.

almost cries when jj brings her kids over and he looks over to see you with henry on your hip, humming a tune you'd heard him hum while bouncing him to the tune.

[haileylnmt]

Random Flyboys Headcanons

—

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell- Has a secret sweet tooth, at least he thinks it’s a secret. It was until he was drunk one night and about sobbed because there were no good desserts around

Nick “Goose” Bradshaw- Incredibly defensive about his mustache. He only shaved it one time and Bradley cried. Mav almost did too and it took Carole a while to look him in the eye

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky- He has a little teddy bear that he takes with him on deployments that no one knows about. I will not elaborate

Ron “Slider” Kerner- Deeply considered becoming a fitness instructor instead of going into the Navy. Probably has a few mugs with corny gym sayings

Rick “Hollywood” Neven- Not only does he have good looks but he can sing really well. One drunk karaoke night at the O Club and everyone was stunned

Leonard/Henry “Wolfman” Wolfe/Ruth- He’s a sleepwalker. Has given Hollywood many near-heart attacks. He’s also freaked out Iceman, he doesn’t like to talk about it

Charles “Chipper” Piper- Many think that his call sign came from a combination of his name. He actually slipped on the ice one winter and broke a tooth

Marcus “Sundown” Williams- Has an irrational fear of ladybugs. Only ladybugs. He finds other bugs pretty neat

[mulderscully]

not to be horny on main pero i'm thinking how sweaty alex and henry are after the paris scene and the two used condoms (with a third one still in the bag) and the lube by the bed. do you think they had really soft and sweet sex until henry suddenly realized alex is fucking him? and alex realizes he's making love to henry? alex who henry has pined over seemingly hopeless for years? who he loved so much because he was free in a way he thinks he can never be? and henry who alex (canonically) in two verses stares at in magazines? and thinks hated him for all those years when all he wanted was to be liked by the prince he had a crush on???

do you think henry wrapped his thighs around alex's waist and dug his heels into his ass and alex felt the mood change and shoved his knees to his chest? do you think they were making love and suddenly they were fucking and then they were doing both at the same time because they're wasting so much energy pretending what they have wasn't always love? DO YOU THINK THEY BOTH ALMOST CRIED AFTER THEY CAME AND ARE JUST HOLDING EACH OTHER??? do you think they felt like their own people for the first time? who exist outside of their titles and what the public and their families expect of them??

so for them sex and love cannot be seperate things bc from their first time it was how they expressed their feelings bc words weren't allowed and a future together seemed completely unrealistic? and those two things tie into and feed off of each other??! casey mcquiston and matthew lopez i am under your bed AND i have a bat

[frankingsteinery]

victor is one of the most psychotic characters i have ever read in literature and it all feels both surprisingly accurate and relatable given the time period; i have been meaning to make a proper analysis on victor's psychotic symptoms for awhile now, but have, ironically, been delayed due to my own psychotic symptoms, so here's more of an informal list--

i'll be breaking down victor's: 1. negative symptoms (loss of functioning)

2. positive symptoms (hallucinations)

3. disorganized thinking and speech/behavior

victor's psychotic symptoms, as well as his initial psychotic break during the creation of the OG creature, are brought upon by the stressors of creating the creature(s), both before, during and after the creation process. the first of these symptoms were negative symptoms.

negative symptoms of psychosis are a loss (thus--"negative") or reduction of normal functioning, and can include restricted emotional expression, lack of speech or monotone speech, difficulty thinking, reduced motivation and/or desire to initiate activities, reduced socialization and social withdrawal, and an inability or decreased ability to experience pleasure. they most commonly occur in the prodromal (initial) phase before the acute phase (characterized by hallucinations, delusions, and confused thinking) and in the recovery phase, which is true of victor's case.

andehonia (lack of pleasure):

"...but I did not watch the blossom or the expanding leaves—sights which before always yielded me supreme delight, so deeply was I engrossed in my occupation... But my enthusiasm was checked by my anxiety... I became nervous to a most painful degree" (paranoia, too) -- Vol I, Chapter III

"It was a most beautiful season; never did the fields bestow a more plentiful harvest, or the vines yield a more luxuriant vintage: but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature" -- Vol I, Chapter III (1818)

"By very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses, that alarmed and grieved my friend, I recovered. I remember the first time I became capable of observing outward objects with any kind of pleasure..." -- Vol I, Chapter IV (1818)

asociality (social withdrawal) & alogia (impoverished speech):

"And the same feelings which made me neglect the scenes around me caused me also to forget those friends who were so many miles absent, and whom I had not seen for so long a time. I knew my silence disquieted them..." Vol I, Chapter III (1818)

"Study had before secluded me from the intercourse of my fellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial..." -- Vol I, Chapter V (1818)

"This state of mind preyed upon my health, which had entirely recovered from the first shock it had sustained. I shunned the face of man; all sound of joy or complacency was torture to me; solitude was my only consolation—deep, dark, death-like solitude." -- Vol II, Chapter I (1818)

additionally, and in general, victor becomes incapable of initiating activities (avolition) while being cared for by henry at ingolstadt.

victor hallucinates several times throughout the novel. these hallucinations are almost exclusively visual, and primarily of the creature:

“'Do not ask me,” cried I, putting my hands before my eyes, for I thought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room; “he can tell.—Oh, save me! save me!” I imagined that the monster seized me; I struggled furiously, and fell down in a fit." -- Vol I, Chapter IV (1818)

"The form of the monster on whom I had bestowed existence was for ever before my eyes, and I raved incessantly concerning him..." -- Vol I, Chapter IV (1818)

"I saw around me nothing but a dense and frightful darkness, penetrated by no light but the glimmer of two eyes that glared upon me. Sometimes they were the expressive eyes of Henry, languishing in death, the dark orbs nearly covered by the lids, and the long black lashes that fringed them; sometimes it was the watery clouded eyes of the monster, as I first saw them in my chamber at Ingolstadt..." -- Vol II, Chapter IV (1818)

"All pleasures of earth and sky passed before me like a dream, and that thought only had to me the reality of life. Can you wonder, that sometimes a kind of insanity possessed me, or that I saw continually about me a multitude of filthy animals inflicting on me incessant torture, that often extorted screams and bitter groans?" -- Vol II, Chapter IX (1818)

"Sometimes I entreated my attendants to assist me in the destruction of the fiend by whom I was tormented; and, at others, I felt the fingers of the monster already grasping my neck, and screamed aloud with agony and terror." -- Vol III, Chapter IV (1818)

beyond that, victor's positive symptoms also include delusions of guilt, grandeur and persecution. however, this is complex enough that it warrants its own separate post. for another time... (edit: find it here)

victor also experiences disorganized behavior, behaviors that are inconsistent, contradictory, or don't fit the situation; for victor, the most obvious of which is catatonia, a symptom of psychosis characterized by abnormal movements, behaviors, and withdrawal. he demonstrates both akinetic (staying still, appearing unresponsive, staring blankly, lack of speech) and excited/hyperkinetic (moving in a pointless/repetitive way, appearing agitated or delirious, pacing, etc) catatonia.

"Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room, and continued a long time traversing my bed-chamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep...I took refuge in the court-yard belonging to the house which I inhabited; where I remained during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest agitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I had so miserably given life." -- Vol I, Chapter IV (1818)

"...my spirits became unequal; I grew restless and nervous. Every moment I feared to meet my persecutor. Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground, fearing to raise them lest they should encounter the object which I so much dreaded to behold." -- Vol II, Chapter II (1818) 

"Then the appearance of death was distant, although the wish was ever present to my thoughts; and I often sat for hours motionless and speechless, wishing for some mighty revolution that might bury me and my destroyer in its ruins." -- Chapter 21 (1831)

he also displays inappropriate/unusual reactions, another example of disorganized behavior:

"I was unable to contain myself. It was not joy only that possessed me; I felt my flesh tingle with excess of sensitiveness, and my pulse beat rapidly. I was unable to remain for a single instant in the same place; I jumped over the chairs, clapped my hands, and laughed aloud... my loud, unrestrained, heartless laughter, frightened and astonished [Clerval]" -- Vol I, Chapter IV (1818)

victor shows disorganized speech through his "ravings" several times and there's quite a few examples of this but i can't be bothered to pull more quotes. here's just one:

"A fever succeeded this. I lay for two months on the point of death: my ravings, as I afterwards heard, were frightful; I called myself the murderer of William, of Justine, and of Clerval." -- Vol III, Chapter IV (1818)

as a side-note, in the 1800s, the term "fever" was used loosely in comparison to its modern definition, and the health of the mind and body was often viewed as interconnected--thus victor's "fevers" after periods of high stress that triggered psychosis��while being nursed back to health by henry, during his time in prison, etc.—could easily be viewed as mental illness rather than an actual physical sickness, or some combination thereof.

lastly, victor experiences disorganized thinking, which includes racing thoughts, flight of ideas, confusion, trouble keeping track of thoughts, difficulty concentrating, time processing disturbances, etc.

in general, victor experiences dream-like perceptions that leads to difficulty being present, concentrating, and processing reality, what he himself refers to as “strange thoughts” (Vol II, Chapter IX, 1818). for example:

“All pleasures of earth and sky passed before me like a dream, and that thought only had to me the reality of life.” – Vol II, Chapter IX (1818)

additionally, victor is known to lose time and “awaken to understanding” weeks or months later several times:

“What then became of me? I know not; I lost sensation, and chains and darkness were the only objects that pressed upon me…by degrees I gained a clear conception of my miseries and situation, and was then released from my prison. For they had called me mad; and during many months, as I understood, a solitary cell had been my habitation.” – Vol II, Chapter VI (1818)

“But I was doomed to live; and, in two months, found myself as awaking from a dream, in a prison…It was morning, I remember, when I thus awoke to understanding: I had forgotten the particulars of what had happened, and only felt as if some great misfortune had suddenly overwhelmed me.” — Vol II, Chapter IV (1818)

“I seemed to have lost all soul or sensation but for this one pursuit. It was indeed but a passing trance, that only made me feel with renewed acuteness so soon as, the unnatural stimulus ceasing to operate, I had returned to my old habits.” — Vol I, Chapter III

he also demonstrates flight of ideas, a thought disorder that involves rapid shifting of thoughts that are expressed in language. people with flight of ideas may speak quickly and jump between ideas that are not connected in a way that is difficult to follow, illogical, or nonsensical. this occurs just before alphonse visits him in prison:

“I know not by what chain of thought the idea presented itself, but it instantly darted into my mind that the murderer had come to mock at my misery, and taunt me with the death of Clerval, as a new incitement for me to comply with his hellish desires… “Oh! take him away! I cannot see him; for God’s sake, do not let him enter!’” — Vol III, Chapter IV

to which mr. kirwin “regards [victor] with a troubled countenance” in response.

aaand that's a wrap.

there's no real point to all this i just wanted to outline most of his symptoms so i could have it all in one place. i'll probably expand on this sometime with more actual thoughts and ideas of substance as well as building on the implications of a reading of frankenstein where victor experiences psychosis (and how actually acknowledging victor's mental illness forces a much more sympathetic interpretation of victor... which is why people tend to talk around it). do with this what you will!

[earth4angels]

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲

𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when she saw him, she was only twelve with a bag of bread crumbs for her birds in the park. she thought he was beautiful and funny, he saw the world differently and there was never a moment he didn’t show her the beauty of it , she just didn’t think just how much pain he held inside.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: character death, blood, bullying, mentions of murder, gun violence, depression, hurt & comfort. childhood friends to lovers (kinda). miscommunications.

You first met Oliver Hide on a spring day, which ended up being a gloomy day. You did not mind, you loved to take walks after school to feed the birds at the park. It was always quiet, chirping and the low sounds of the wind was all you heard so when you found a boy around your age with his knees pressed against his chest, you stopped.

To question was wrong, but you couldn’t help to wonder why was he so sad? Why was he crying? You figured it was best to leave him be, your parents taught you to never meddle into anything that didn’t concern you. This was also a stranger.

As you backtracked, the leaves announced your departure. You winced when you saw the stranger’s head snap up from the bundle of sadness to look directly at you.

You offered a small smile filled with embarrassment, “I’m sorry.”

The stranger sniffed, wiping his eyes fast before he got up. His voice groggy, raspy from the crying he had released. “Ts’ alright…”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. You shouldn’t, you really should go home and get home before dinner but you just didn’t like the way this boy’s face was filled with so much anguish. The look did not fit him.

To hell with it.

You bit your lip before you spoke, “Are you… are you okay?”

He paused from grabbing his backpack, his eyes shaking. You saw the mental battle he was going through, the way he swallowed, or how his hands began to fiddle.

You knew better than to meddle into things that did not concern you. Mentally you slapped yourself, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t-“

His hand went up to stop you, “No! No it’s okay. Thank you.”

Your eyes met his again, and for some reason your heart broke at the sight of him. His eyes were blood shot, his nose red by the constant rubbing. You felt the need to hug him, to give him your comfort bunny that helped you when you felt sad.

“Do you.. do you know what helps me?”

He sniffed, the sleeve of his sweater wet yet he cleaned his runny nose. Timidly, he shook his head so slightly you almost missed it.

“Henry. My plush bunny. My mom gave me him when I broke my arm from doing cart wheels. I cried a lot but when I held him. I felt better.”

The stranger smiled with secrets you wanted to know. “That’s nice.”

You nodded with enthusiasm, you saw the way the sadness began to leave his face. So you took steps closer to him, extending your hand out with a smile on your face. You had succeeded in making his smile look more alive.

“I’m y/n! What’s your name?”

He was taller than you, his hair was nicely combed to the side with slight curls at the tips. His eyes were very pretty and you knew then, it looked better when it was filled with happiness. His hand met yours in an warm embrace, your palm smaller and warmer than his cold, bigger hand.

“Oliver. But, you can call me Ollie,” he spoke with a smile, a genuine smile that made him blush with the longer he held your hand.

You continued to smile, matching his. With your hand in his, and the sun peeking out the clouds, you felt a friendship bloom.

At the age of 12, you befriended a broken boy, who often climbed into your window to lay in your bed and whisper why he was so afraid of being alone. You made a promise one night as both of you laid side to side, watching the glowing stars you had pasted on your ceiling.

“For as long as I am alive, I will always be your friend Ollie.”

Ollie held your hand that night and with a shaky breath he pressed a kiss on the front of your hand. “Do you promise?”

You faced him, flicking his forehead, you giggled when he whined softly, “I pinky and double promise. Crossing my heart if I die, I will never leave you Ollie. I promise.”

From then, the friendship grew. Every day was a new adventure, and having you by his side made Ollie happier. He did not think so much about the problems at home or how his parents constantly neglected him. He was just glad he had you, the most prettiest girl with a bright smile and words that filled his heart with warmth. Every day, was another reason piled in his list to why it was so easy to love you.

Ollie Hide, was in love with you. And he never knew just how much you loved him. The feelings of rejection and a possible outcome where it can ruin an already beautiful friendship was all they could think of. The feelings stayed bottled inside as though every touch and every bonding experience only intensified the feelings felt deep within.

One night, as you guys finally had a sleepover, now both in freshman year of high school — you broke a news that hurt him completely. Your father had been given the opportunity to work abroad, meaning you had to leave for an year or two. That meant, leaving Ollie who was suffering yet again in quiet.

As you broke the news to him, you watched as he began to tear up. He was never afraid to cry in front of you, and you never belittled him, he was important and he made you feel comfort more than anything in the world.

“Whe-When?” he whispered, his heart felt as it stopped beating. He wished then, that when they had done surgery on his heart they made the option of feeling anything go away. His heart began to throb in such an agonizing way, he began to breathe heavily.

You wrapped your arms around him, never letting him go. That night as you cried into each others arms, you made another promise. One that was going to haunt you forever.

“Hey doofus,” you said sadly. Your heart breaking when he sniffled yet he hummed, acknowledging you. “Promise you will never forget me.”

Ollie pulled away, his tears running his pale cheeks, “How can I?”

You placed a hand on his cheek. Perhaps both of you were too young to understand how the universe worked but you knew your heart best, and down beneath all the doubt, you knew that it will always belong to Ollie.

Ollie leaned towards your palm, his eyes watching you. At 14, both of you felt the first heartbreak. And two days later, as he watched your parents drive you away from him, he cried like never before. The one thing that held him strong, and stopped all the thoughts in his head that called him useless, unwanted, a disgrace.

Ollie Hide, began to change. He lied in every text message he sent you, every video he sent you, he lied. He told you how sophomore year was amazing, and how many friends he had. He never once told you how they mocked him, the loner boy. The daddy’s boy from a weird dad.

He never once told you how he cried every night, and when he ended up in the hospital again due to stress. Rash, who noticed the symptoms, begged his father to check him in with a therapist. Ollie was silently begging to be seen again. His light was gone, you weren’t there to hold him, to distract him with your non stop rambles how the stars had a story.

You never doubted him. You never asked questions because you trusted him. He would never lie. However, Ollie from the good of his heart did not want to burden you. So he continued to lie, even when social media came for him and made him into a joke, he filmed videos of himself with a smile on his face.

You never doubted anything. But, Ollie… was not himself anymore. The longer the days went, the more his mental health declined. Rosa was gone, and it was as if every important person kept leaving him. His father deep lost in his work to avoid the issues at home never questioned him.

On the summer before Junior year, you had come back. You ran to his house and what you saw made you stop dead in your tracks. Ollie had grown out his hair, and what was his neutral, warm colored clothes, was now all in dark. His eyes had lost the shine, the spark that you had fallen for. In his eyes, he was dead, the eyebags were visible.

“Ollie?” you whispered, unsure.

He turned around slowly, refusing to believe you were there. There you stood, in your hands held a gift for him and you were beautiful. His eyes scanned you, his heart beating fast.

“Y/n?” Ollie questioned, his steps stumbling towards you before he ran towards you where he wrapped you into his arms. You began to sob as you tighten your hands around him.

“I’ve missed you.”

You laughed as tears rolled down your cheeks, “I have missed you doofus!”

“Yo! Ollie! Come on.”

You raised your head from his chest, noticing a boy standing a couple feet away. This boy gave your heart a tug, like a piercing sharp pain gutted you. He raised all the flags in your head.

Ollie swallowed, letting you go, he slightly smiled. You knew better, this smile was fake.

“I’ve gotta go, I’ll see you later?” Ollie asked, he was walking backwards, his eyes avoided yours now. You began to question his behavior, his appearance, where was the Ollie from a year and a half go?

You only nodded, your throat constricting. He left, his steps stomping on your confused heart. Something was wrong and you did not know what it was. Yet, you knew if there was something, Ollie would tell you. He never lied to you.

The summer ended, and you hardly saw him. There was always a different excuse, but you knew. Rob was always in the picture, and whatever he did, murdered the kind, pure heart your bestfriend carried.

“I don’t know why you can’t see it Ollie!” you screamed at him one afternoon after school. You only watched Ollie as he bit into his nail, his hand rubbing his neck in anxiety.

“See what? I don’t understand…” he spoke softly, igniting the fire you held inside. You were angry over the fact your bestfriend was changing and he himself could not see it.

You sighed annoyed, and you began to laugh in disbelief, “How?! How can you not see what’s going on?! You haven’t spoken to me all summer! You barely even acknowledge me!”

Ollie bit the inner skin of his cheek, his heart breaking. He couldn’t harm you, he couldn’t make you a target. He did not want the bullying to get to you just because you were his friend. You did not deserve that. You deserved more. You were more important than his needs. He needed you. He needed to tell you, to yell how much he loved you. How every letter, every photo you guys together he kept in a box where he could go through every night before bed and wonder what could be.

He did what he knew best, avoided the situation. “You know nothing Y/n. Please go home.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, disappointed, hurt and sadness swallowing your heart, you stepped away from him.

“You promised Ollie,” you reminded him. A tear finally slipping out your socket.

He looked down, he bounced on his feet, the anxiety eating him. He never once made eye contact, knowing that if he did, he would never let go.

“I’m keeping a promise,” he muttered, “So please, leave me alone.”

He turned and walked inside, leaving you outside with your second heartbreak and occuring non stop questions. Inside, Ollie slid down towards the floor, he began to sob. He was going to protect you with all he could. That was the promise he made to himself.

You never found out about the bullying Ollie suffered, and it was a shock. But, it also didn’t help that you avoided the shadowed boy. You stuck to yourself, ears plugged in as music blasted through them.

On a cloudy day, you went to your class. Natalia, who was a friend you met through Ollie two years ago, laughed about something funny she saw on a tv show. You feigned a laugh, your eyes scanning for a certain boy. Enough was enough.

You were going to snap some sense into Ollie, whether he liked it or not, but you were not going to lose him. As you settled in class, you forgot about Ollie, immersed into the debate your classmates were going through.

You pulled out your phone and sneakily, sent a message to the one that held your heart.

I am not letting go Ollie. Meet me after school by the treehouse.

As you and Ollie built your friendship, you built new places to hang out, and that included an abandoned tree house you found one day as you walked through the woods. Ollie, being the kindest boy offered to check it out first. Since then, the treehouse was your secret hide out.

You never received a response. You knew he had gotten it though and so you hoped, this was going to change his way of acting. Class was peaceful, of course not without Jack making loud comments about the lesson that had your teacher rolling her eyes every two seconds.

As you giggled over the comment your teacher said you heard a loud bang. Loud bangings. You jumped, your classmates became silent then. You couldn’t hear anything then. Until, yelling and scared chatters hit your ears. Something was happening.

Your teacher smiled as she kept the peace, “Alright guys, it’s probably nothing, stay here. Let me check it out.”

A ping had arrived to your phone then and as you pulled your phone to check the notification, you heard the sounds of glass shattering. You turned to look at Natalia who held the same expression you held — fear. This was a shooting.

Your teacher acted fast, she moved in a way you never seen her act before. She commanded the class to move underneath the desks, away from the windows that overlooked into the classroom. She shut the windows closed and had every single one of you quiet down.

You held onto Natalia’s hand, the fear reaching your ears as you began to hear the thumps of your heart. What felt like an eternity, you begged to be given a chance to see your family again, you did not want to die and not be given a opportunity to declare how much you loved Ollie Hide. You needed to tell him.

“We can run outside!” Jack whispered, panicked that no one was coming for them. Your teacher leaned against the door, watching over you all, her eyes trembling yet she never faltered.

“You stay there Jack! All of you!”

Jack began to mutter in fear, another round of bullets was heard. You began to go into a state of panic, your brain was beginning to go into a daze. Natalia hugged you, as she whispered something you did not understand.

All you could think of was Ollie. Was he okay? Did he make it outside? Did he survive? Is he hiding? As your brain wondered. Jack and your classmates ran outside, all of them swallowed by the fear of dying if they stayed in the classroom. Your teacher shouted, her voice was ignored.

“Stay here girls, please don’t leave until someone comes to get you. Promise me?”

“Don’t go!” Natalia shouted, “You can be killed!”

Your teacher who you admired, and you found to have been the kindest to help you out when you needed it, smiled. A tear slipped her eye, “I have to try and save as much as I can — stay here okay? I’ll be back, I promise.”

It was as if, promises were meant to break.

As you and Natalia hid underneath the piles of chairs and desks, you heard screams closer than usual and multiple shots. You knew better than to be hopeful. Your classmates, ones you were joking with earlier that day, some of them were never going to graduate high school. They will never be parents, or have a dream come true, they will never ever know the pain of loss, or the feeling of loving someone so hard they forget the world spins. They will never have a chance to live.

You released a shaky breath as you held onto your friend. Your brain going over a prayer. If you make it out alive you were going to punch Ollie in the face and kiss him. You will make every moment worth it.

As you say there, you heard the door open. You closed your eyes, leaning your head towards Natalia. If you were going to die, you will die recalling a memory you treasured the most.

“Ollie?” you whispered one night, your voice quiet as both of you hid under the house you built out of blankets. At a distance you heard David arguing with Rosa again.

Ollie swallowed, his breath coming out in shaky wisps.

“Yeah?”

“When we’re older, promise we will still be friends?”

Ollie smiled into the shadows of the dark, he pulled you close, his skinny hand ruffling your hair as he released a sad chuckle, “You will never get rid of me.”

When you heard nothing but the gasp of your friend, you opened your eyes. You recalled that promise, your heart breaking in tiny pieces as you faced the barrel of the gun. Your eyes met with a certain pair that never failed to make you feel flutters in your stomach.

As Ollie, your best friend, your first love, held the gun with tears in his eyes, you released the first sound since the first gun shot. A loud sob.

Ollie looked at you and then at Natalia. You were sobbing now, your hands covering your mouth as you took him in. Your funny, bright bestfriend who joked about the smallest things, and looked after everyone than himself.

The gun didn’t fit him, he wasn’t the shooter. You refused to believe that. Ollie squeezed his eyes and when he reopened them, he looked different. You did not know who he was.

“Clear?!” Rob screamed from across the hall. Ollie said nothing before he shouted back.

“Clear!”

You scrambled to reach him, Natalia held you back. Ollie looked back at you, his eyes dark, lost. He was warning you to stay back. You choked on a sob again as you watched him go, his white sneakers filled with blood. You catched a glimpse at Rob, covered in blood, who said something and left to go the opposite direction.

You refused Natalia’s hold, “I have to get him! It can’t be him Nat…”

“You’re gonna be killed if you go y/n! You can’t go.”

You cried, “I have to try, that’s my bestfriend Nat… I can’t loose him.”

Your feet moved on its own as you ran down the hall towards the staircase, your mind blocking the scattered bodies of your classmates, you refused to believe it was real. It was a dream, you kept repeating.

Your feet hurt as you ran, but you needed to save him. You needed to get to Ollie. As soon as your feet crossed the door to the staircase you heard sobbing, mutters that were in gibberish. You had found him.

“Ollie…” you whispered.

Ollie gasped as he stood up. He began to shake his head, his muttering becoming more unstable, you could not understand him. You stepped closer as he put out a hand, his other hand loosely held onto the shotgun.

“Please… Please save me.”

You cried as you stepped closer, another step closer to reaching him.

“Take it Y/n… please. I can’t…. I don’t… I’m scared. I can’t die…”

Ollie finally looked at you, his eyes filled to the brim with tears, your heart broke once again. Your bestfriend, your first love, lost in his pain.

“Give me the gun Ollie…”

As he was handing you the gun, you heard the rushed steps of feet running up the stairs. The fear you held began to boil again. Finding yourself locking eyes with Rob, who held nothing but anger in his eyes, you didn’t realize the panic Ollie’s eyes went through.

Rob wasted no time but to shoot, and you were too late to run behind the door. The bullet shot through your lower stomach. At first you felt as you fell into a large comforter, and then you saw a flash of white. What you felt next was something that left you wheezing in non stop pain, the bullet has implanted itself in you. Your life was slipping and you just felt regret.

You recalled every promise you made with Ollie. The moments you had with your parents, and your friends. The laughter you shared with them, the cries you gave even if it was over a silly thing. All these memories and emotions flew through, and as you laid on the floor, wheezing through the pain, your heart slowing down one beat at a time. Your hand reached over to Ollie’s. You couldn’t find him, just how you couldn’t find the pain he was going through.

Ollie fought with Rob, and he almost won, if it wasn’t for the rail that threw him over the staircase. He just had one thought, what could have been if only he spoke with honesty of what he was feeling.

As both of you laid in different parts, the life slipping away from your fingers. Your heart’s beated slowly together, as if it was reuniting one last time. And for a moment it did, because the moment you allowed the white cloud wrap around you, Ollie smiled as he felt the warmth of your laugh wrap around him.

The two teenagers were rushed to the hospital, Natalia cried as she ran with you both. She was not going to reveal what had happened. She couldn’t, she knew and believed Ollie was not evil but she also couldn’t hurt you.

As nurses and doctors rushed to work in bringing your hearts back to life, the teenagers that laid in different rooms felt the soul bond loosened. The nurses spoke in sadness how the hands laid loosely over the bed, as if they searched for each other.

As Rash, the doctor that bonded with Ollie more than anyone, worked on a CPR on Ollie, he watched with tears in his eyes how neither of you responded. The dead line on the screen mocking him. And finally, after minutes, the line curved slightly.

The doctors that worked with you, all screamed in relief as you also responded back to life. Rash knew, just as with how Ollie talked of you, both of you were soulmates. He knew that nothing, not even death was going to rip both of you apart.

You had gained another chance at life, and you knew you were going to make every second of it count.

Natalia who watched as one came to live, then the other, sobbed loudly. Her mother wrapped her into her arms. Natalia had decided then, she was never going to reveal Ollie as the one shooter and as another classmate that survived was alive and responding, he recalled of the horrors that happened.

He spoke of the shooters, how he saw one shoot through his friends with no remorse screaming how they deserved it, and the other, the quiet boy who shoved the extra bullets into his pockets and shot through the walls instead. His eyes blinking away the tears that fell.

As the sun peeked through the windows, a chance to recover the lost time. To fix what was broken, was edging you awake. You woke up groggy, moaning that the sun was too bright. As you rolled over you found the mop of curly hair by your side.

You got up confused, till you realized it was a dream you had. You believed in the signs, warnings, how the universe will warn you of these butterfly effects. Since you had come back to town, you noticed the changes that your best friend has been going through.

You knew then, what could happen, whether it’s death or not, be prevented. As you reached over and laid a hand on the pale cheek of your bestfriend who softly snored away, you made a new promise.

“I will guard you with my life, and I promise to show you life is worth living.”

ollie nation tag list: @hxtd @mckennah123 @cieraerickson8 @oroborosfeast

natties angels permanent list: @yohanseyebrowmole @mthrgs29