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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years ago

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Helplessly, Hopelessly

Cutting it a little close to the deadline, but here’s my entry for @levihan-drabbles Angst Monday! My prompt was: Levi and Hange are in an established long distance relationship, Levi surprises Hange by showing up right before midnight on New Year's Eve.

Once again, I got a little carried away :’) it’s not my favourite thing I’ve written this week but it’s done ahaha, please enjoy! And a HUGE thank you to the mods for running this whole thing, it’s been a lot of fun actually writing again.

Warnings: mentions of cheating (but I’m a big ol’ levihan sucker so worry not), body weight, anxiety/depression

It took him three attempts to knock. He even considered turning back and trying to change his flight, to head home and pretend this never happened, to live in blissful, agonising ignorance over Hange’s sudden, disinterested quiet. It was shameful, that he’d rather keep Hange ostensibly his than face any outcome where he lost them.

Levi hadn’t intended on turning up quite so last minute.

His flight was supposed to land at noon, which would have given him ample time to make his way over to Hange’s part of the city. But the weather had not been in his favour—his first flight had been delayed due to intermittent snowstorms, the chill air so thick with snow, Levi could barely see his own hand in front of his face. In consequence, he had missed his connecting flight by well over an hour, and spent the majority of his evening sitting on the floor in the overcrowded airport, surrounded by his bags, sipping piss-water tea and waiting for the next available flight taking off to London.

It had been almost eight months since he had last seen Hange in person, and even then, they hadn’t spent nearly enough time together. Hange had returned home only briefly to attend their grandmother's funeral. Levi had seen them at the service, and they’d snagged a few hours together between family engagements and the regular study periods Hange had set aside for themself during their stay, but it felt rushed, lacking. Hange had seemed flustered, then. They had confessed that their studies were proving a lot more demanding than they had initially anticipated, that they were tired. That they were beginning to feel a little burnt out, but they had no time to take any substantial break without getting too far behind to catch up again.

Levi missed them. He and Hange had, from early in their childhood up until Hange left for university, spent almost every waking second in one another's company. It was impossible to recall a time when they weren’t together, excluding a handful of miserable periods during which Hange’s family had whisked them away on some holiday or other while Levi sat in his mothers tea shop and made himself as useful as any child could.

They had grown together, through school, through their awkward, angsty teenage phases, through Hange’s stuttering realisation that gender and sexuality were incredibly confusing things, and they had no idea where they stood on either spectrum. They had tried alcohol together for the first time, tried holding hands, tried kissing and fumbling with clumsy, nervous, eager hands in Hange’s old treehouse, a touch too small for two grown teenagers, but just big enough.

They had been each other's first partners, in every sense of the term. The progression, Levi remembers, had felt equal parts strange and yet completely natural. Expected. He and Hange fell into step with the same absent simplicity as breathing; it took little thought and even less effort, to love Hange as more than a friend.

And then, Hange left for university, and Levi stayed behind to help his mother with the shop. And things had still been easy, in a way. Hange was only a phone call away, and they made sure to call or text at least once a day, even if they only had the time to spare for a quick good morning or good night or did you shower? I can smell you from here or I love you, too.

It was okay. Not ideal, but manageable. But in the last few months, Hange’s texts had grown infrequent. They were busy, they’d told him. Too many deadlines, not enough time. They would get back to him when they could.

They never did.

It was always up to Levi to reach out, and Hange, to their credit, was always incredibly apologetic about the time elapsing between points of contact—I completely forgot, Levi! I’m so sorry. Now isn’t a good time though, I promise I’ll call you back when I get a minute?

Levi had tried to reason that they probably were busy. But there were terrible, guilty, nagging doubts, and they had only grown more as time went on, as Hange’s texts and calls dribbled down to almost nothing.

It wasn’t that Levi didn’t trust Hange. He did, implicitly so. But they are young. A young couple from a small town, where a handful of kids their age are all they’ve ever known. And suddenly Hange was living in the big city, surrounded by like minded people—people who were astronomically smart, academically driven, who shared Hange’s interests. Who could do more than just listen while they chatted endlessly about plants or bugs or the vastness of the ocean, the movement of the Earth’s crust, the stars, the atmosphere in outer space, anything and everything that caught their interest. Levi had never been able to keep up, could only lend an ear and let Hange ramble until they were spent.

But they would meet people now, who could match them word for word and raise them facts they’d never even heard before. People Hange could have discussions with, debates with. People who could engage with Hange in a way Levi could never even hope to. The thought of it made his stomach hurt, and it crossed his mind too often, a guilty little echo in the back of his head every time Hange was too busy to talk to him. Every time his texts went unanswered.

And so, he had dipped into his savings and, with a little help from his mother, had bought a ticket to surprise Hange with a visit on New Years Eve. His mother assured him it was a sweet idea—romantic, she’d said, which had made Levi flush and scowl—but in truth, Levi had only decided on surprising Hange with the visit in fear that they wouldn’t want him to come, if he told them he planned on it.

Now, he was stuck navigating an endless network of underground trains, staring hopelessly at the maps on his phone and trying to figure out which line he needed to be on to make his way out to Hange’s apartment. It was already 11pm. Levi felt drained, his back and shoulders aching from carrying his luggage. The weather was cold and wet, the streets lined with slush that splashed up his legs and soaked into his shoes as he walked, and by the time he made it to what he hoped was Hange’s apartment building, an icy rain had started to fall, soaking into his pants and running in great rivulets from his coat.

He paused at the entrance. There was no keypad on the door, no way to buzz up to Hange’s room to get them to let him inside. He could ring them, but it had been weeks since Hange had answered his calls. Levi groaned, huddling under the small canopy above the door. It offered little shelter from the rain, and no barrier at all to the biting chill of the wind.

Levi had resolved to at least trying to call Hange when, by a stroke of luck he hadn’t thought possible today, the door opened, and three rather drunk and incredibly underdressed people tumbled out. They apologised to him as they stumbled by, but had the decency—or else the stupidity, Levi thought—to hold the door open for him. He thanked them quietly and slipped inside.

Hange’s apartment was on the third floor. Levi took the lift, which clattered ominously as it crawled four stories before shuddering to a stop. Levi’s stomach churned as he stepped out into the quiet hallway. There was a bubble of excitement, a thrill at the prospect of seeing Hange again after such a long time, but more than that, he felt nervous. He had no back up plan if Hange couldn’t, or wouldn’t, accommodate him. He wasn’t sure he had the money for a hotel even for a night or two, and he had optimistically booked his return flight for seven days’ time. If Hange had really changed their mind about him, about them, he had no idea what he would do.

Marking this off as one of his worst ideas to date, he dragged his luggage down the hall until he found apartment 3C.

But he was here now. He had made his bed, and he would lie in it, whatever the outcome turned out to be. He rapped three times on the door, and waited.

And waited. And waited.

His mind wandered back to the party-goers he had passed in the doorway. It was New Year's Eve, and Hange was in university. It hadn’t crossed his mind that they might have plans, since he and Hange had always spent the night together, before now. But Hange couldn’t have anticipated Levi’s appearance; it would make sense, if they had taken one night off to enjoy themselves. Pass the occasion away with friends. With someone special, even. Someone who wasn’t him. Levi’s gut turned unpleasantly at the thought.

Lost in his musings, Levi almost missed the door opening. He blinked dazedly, took in the figure in the doorway, and his stomach dropped.

There was a man standing there. Taller than Levi, with a mop of light hair and a sweet, open face, wearing a somewhat rumpled, baggy shirt and a pair of threadbare sweatpants. He took in Levi’s appearance with a startled expression. Levi swallowed hard, mouth dry, tongue thick behind his teeth.

“I’m looking for Hange,” he said. Cleared his throat. “Are they home?”

The man jumped at the sound of Levi’s voice. He rallied himself well enough, then nodded, and turned to call over his shoulder, “Hange? There’s someone at the door for you.”

Levi mumbled his thanks. He felt lightheaded, heart thudding in his chest. For a moment he and the strange man simply looked at each other, until he heard a familiar voice from inside saying, “Moblit? If it’s Nanaba, tell her to go away. I already said I’m not going.”

“Not Nanaba,” Moblit called back. Levi heard the shuffle of footsteps, and then Moblit stepped aside, and he was face to face with Hange.

It seemed to take them a second to register who he was. Their tired eyes landed on him, bloodshot and bruised purple behind their glasses. Levi watched slowly as realisation dawned on them. Their eyes grew wide, lips—dry, cracked—parted in surprise, and their skin, already sickly looking, paled further. Levi’s gaze darted to Moblit over their shoulder and back again. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but no words would come. Blood pounded in his ears.

He never should have come. He had thought he was prepared for any eventuality, ready to accept that Hange might have found some happiness in somebody else. Ready to let them go. It would be painful, he knew; it’d suck, more than anything. But he had thought he was ready for that.

In front of Hange now, staring the prospect in the face, Levi realised he was terribly mistaken. He could not have anticipated how sick he would feel, how dizzy; his chest felt heavy, full and leaden and yet hollow all the same. The most painful kind of emptiness. He looked at Hange and tried to find something to say, but his mind was blank. He could think of nothing but Hange, and the man still standing a little way behind them, watching curiously out of the corner of his eye.

The silence was long, and dreadful. Neither Levi nor Hange spoke. Levi, for his part, couldn’t find words to say, and wouldn’t have been able to push them past the lump in his throat either way. Hange had tears welling in their eyes. They built up thick and heavy on their lash line, swimming in the light from the hallway, before spilling down their cheeks.

A terrible, bitter part of him thought that Hange had no right to cry.

And then, without any warning at all, hange launched themselves at him. Their weight hit him full in the chest, their arms winding around his back and squeezing tightly, punching the air from his lungs. Their face pressed into the side of Levi’s neck and he could feel wetness on his skin, an endless flow of tears as something wretched and agonising ripped from their throat; a sob, the heavy, desperate kind that bursts up from the gut and hacks out like a terrible cough. Again, and again, Hange sobbed, sucking jumpy, shaking breaths and crying them out again.

Instinctively, Levi’s arms came up around Hange, too. One hand carded into their hair—it felt limp and greasy and knotted between his fingers—and the other flattened against their back. Something twisted in his gut. Hange felt thin. Too thin. He could trace the knots of their spine and the ridges and valleys of their rib cage; their skin pulled taut over their shoulder blades; their hip bones dug into him where Hange had pressed themself impossibly close.

Levi’s pain was replaced abruptly by concern. He held Hange a little tighter, but they felt breakable in his arms now. Fragile. Hange had never felt so small before.

Moblit’s voice broke Levi out of his stupor. He had a kind smile on his face, though his eyes held the same worry Levi felt.

“Maybe you should come inside?” He suggested. Hange sniffled against Levi’s neck. They took a few big, gulping breaths to steady themself, pulling away, though still remaining close. Levi watched as Hange pulled the sleeve of their jumper over their hand and rubbed at their cheeks, at their eyes. Something in his chest ballooned, pressing hard against his ribs, his throat. Hange looked a complete mess. Levi felt concerned, and confused. Even still, looking at Hange now, he felt terribly certain of one thing: he loved them. Helplessly, hopelessly, he loved them.

He let Hange step out of his grip slowly. His hands lingered, slipping around their waist and down their arm, but before he could move too far away, Hange closed their fingers tight around his. Levi stared at their knotted hands, then at Hange, and wordlessly let them drag him inside.

Belatedly, Levi remembered he was drenched. He could see wet patches on Hange’s jumper where they had been pressed against him, and the chill of his wet clothes seemed to sink into his bones as he crossed over the entryway. They passed Moblit, who watched them with some intrigue, then wandered out into the hallway only to return with Levi’s luggage in tow.

Hange’s apartment was open plan, the kitchen separated from the sitting room only by a countertop. It was small, and cosy, cluttered in the way Hange’s spaces always tended to be. They kept plants on every available surface, but Levi could see that some were in desperate need of tending, with dry, shrivelling leaves and sagging stems. That wasn’t like Hange at all.

By the sofas, Hange stopped him.

“Give me your coat,” they said. Their voice still sounded thick and choked, and they sniffled pitifully, but they were no longer crying. Levi obliged them in a daze. Hange took his dripping coat and tossed it, uncaring, over one of the stools by the counter. Moblit quietly collected it and hung it on a hook on the back of the door.

“What are you even doing here?” Hange asked, sitting down and pulling on Levi’s sleeve until he dropped down beside them. “How did you get here? When?”

Levi’s eyes roved over Hange’s face. He couldn’t figure out how they felt. It was an uncomfortable realisation—Hange had always been an open book to him, easy to parse no matter what they were feeling. Now, they seemed...reserved. Subdued. Not the Hange he was used to.

“I had some savings,” Levi said slowly. He cleared his throat, debated on what level of honesty he was going to reply with, before saying, “I hadn’t heard from you in a while. Wanted to make sure you hadn’t up and died on me.”

At that, Hange’s expression grew somber. They grimaced, and Levi watched fresh tears well in their eyes. He reached for their hand without thought, and Hange gripped on tightly. Levi let his thumb brush lazily back and forth over their knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” Hange said. “I’m really sorry. I just—things have been—I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Hange rubbed a hand tiredly over their face, then let their head drop onto his shoulder. They felt warm, a welcome weight against him. Levi let his cheek rest against their head, felt the tickle of their hair against his skin. Hange pressed closer, and Levi turned to nudge a kiss to their hairline.

The sound a stool scraping the floor turned Levi’s attention to Moblit. Levi shot him a look that was probably a little more murderous than intended, but fought to relax his frown at Moblit’s wide-eyed expression. Moblit scratched a little awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Would you--ah, would you like a drink of anything?”

“Tea,” Hange mumbled. “He likes tea. There’s early grey in the cupboard, I think.”

Moblit nodded, and turned quickly into the kitchen. Hange adjusted their grip on Levi’s hand, until they were palm to palm, fingers slotted loosely together. Levi could feel them taking long, measured breaths.

“I’m really sorry,” they said again. Levi half wanted to tell them to stop apologising, but—well, until he knew for certain what they were apologising for, he couldn't be sure if they really needed to say it. “I know I’ve been a little...distant, lately. I’m sorry. I kept—I wanted to get back to you, I promise I did. I wanted to talk to you more than anything, but everything is just—God, Levi. Everything is going wrong.”

Levi gave a quiet, questioning hum. He knew Hange; there was no need for him to prompt them. If Hange had something to say, they would say it whether he probed or not. He waited, and eventually, Hange let out a distressed little sound and turned their face fully into his neck.

“Everything’s...so much harder than I thought it would be. There’s so much work to do, all the time. I’m struggling to meet all the deadlines. I keep failing my tests. I’m so tired, Levi. I just want a break, but there’s no time.”

Levi unthreaded his fingers from theirs and looped his arm around their back instead. He ran his fingers lightly up and down Hange’s spine, settled his face into their hair.

This side of Hange wasn’t wholly new to him. He had seen Hange upset and overwhelmed a handful of times before, but it hurt all the same—and more still, when he considered the fact that Hange had been feeling like this for who knows how long, without him even being aware.

“You can tell me shit like this,” he said. Hange flinched a little.

“I know,” they said quietly. “I know I can. But I...you’re so far away. And I knew you’d want to help, if I told you, but travelling this far isn’t—I couldn’t ask that of you. I didn’t want you to worry.”

Levi knocked his knuckles gently to Hange’s head. “Stupid. Look how that turned out.”

Hange let out a wet laugh. “Yeah, it kinda backfired, huh? Or did it? Maybe it was a ploy to get you to come out here all along.”

Hange sounded tired. Drained. The joke was weak and hollow without the right injection of humour, but Hange, it seemed, didn’t even have the energy to pretend to sound amused. Levi gave a scoff of a laugh anyway.

“Congratulations,” he said, deadpan. “You got me.”

The conversation fell flat. He was so used to having Hange talk his ear off that the quiet between them felt awkward, stifling. Hange only breathed, long, measured breaths, while Levi held them loosely against him. Moblit pottered around in the kitchen. While Levi felt mostly certain that things between them, at least, were okay, he was still curious about Moblit’s presence—but it felt like the wrong time to ask.

As if they could read his mind, though, Hange said, “Moblit’s been helping me study for the catch-up exams.”

“Oh?”

Hange hummed. “He’s good. I think I’ll give him an aneurysm one day, though.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Oi,” Hange grumbled, digging their fingers weakly into his sides. Moblit chose that moment to come into the sitting room juggling three cups of tea. He looked a little apologetic as he handed one over to Levi, who took it with a mumbled thanks.

“I’ve been telling Hange they should speak to you,” he said. Hange made a quiet, affronted noise, lifting their head and sitting up straight to take the tea Moblit offered them. “I thought it might help if they had someone to actually talk to. I can help out with the academic stuff, but the rest…” he trailed away, and Levi caught his gaze flitting to Hange’s thin frame, then back up to Levi’s face.

“Moblit, you’re a whole traitor,” Hange said.

In unison, Levi and Moblit rolled their eyes. Hange had settled their weight against Levi’s side again, feet tucked up on the sofa next to them, and was busy glaring at Moblit over their steaming tea cup. Levi laid his hand on Hange’s knee and gave it a small squeeze.

“I like him,” Levi said. “He’s got good ideas. You should listen to him more, Hange.”

Moblit looked pleased with himself, though there was nothing smug about it. He seemed like the kind, earnest type—pair that with his intellect, and Levi wasn’t surprised at all that Hange seemed fond of him. He felt a pang of jealousy at the thought, then considered their positions; Hange was nestled into his side, had cried on his shoulder, and was holding his hand. It was petty, but Levi took some small delight in it all the same.

Hange poked out their tongue at Moblit, who wasted no time in telling them he knew he had been right. Hange struggled to find a compelling argument against him, and resorted instead to more petulant, childish gestures. Moblit looked perfectly used to the behaviour and retaliated little, only reiterated his stance and pointed out rather happily that Levi agreed with him.

The atmosphere felt warm, calm. Hange seemed, for the moment at least, something close to content, with a soft smile that almost reached their eyes. Levi felt marginally more at ease than he had done prior to coming, though Hange's current state made him anxious—but at least he understood the problem, now. He could help in the coming days, and then continue to offer whatever support the distance would allow. He determined then that he wouldn't let Hange go silent on him, that they'd come to an agreement before he left, to ensure Hange would talk to him next time.

He listened as Moblit and Hange quietly bickered over their tea. Hange's usual energy was severely lacking, their tone less volatile. There was no indignant flush of colour to their cheeks and the shine in their eyes was dull, subdued. But they were no longer crying. No longer on the brink of breaking. Levi would take that, for now.

The three of them were startled suddenly by the loud crack and boom of fireworks outside. The sky lit up in vibrant colour, flashing and receding in tandem with each bang and pop and fizz that rent the air. For a moment, they all paused. Hange and Moblit turned to look out the window, while Levi—sappy, hopeless fool that he was, could only look at Hange. The light played across their pale face, glinting from their glasses, filling out the hollows of their cheeks and their sunken eyes until they looked almost whole again. Levi gave their hand a small squeeze. Hange's gaze remained glued to the sky, but they squeezed back just as hard.

Moblit was the first to speak, when the light show came to an end. He checked his watch, then looked up and smiled.

"Happy New Year."

Levi blinked. He had all but forgotten the day and the time, too wrapped up in his concern for Hange. He turned to look at them, and found Hange watching him already. Now, they had some colour—a light blush of pink on the apple of each cheek. Levi's heart stuttered in his chest. They'd been together for long enough, had years of sure kisses and even more stray ones, and yet, every damn time, the prospect of kissing Hange made his palms sweat, his chest tighten with giddy, childish excitement.

“Another year without breaking tradition,” Hange said, a little breathlessly. Levi felt gratified to know that Hange seemed just as affected as he did. “You made it right on time.”

Hange kissed him as softly as ever. Levi's hand braced on their narrow waist as he kissed them back. Hange melted against him, their lips rough and dry but pliant, opening easily to the gentle press of his tongue. It took a concentrated effort to remember himself, remember their company, to keep the kiss somewhat chaste; to stop himself nudging Hange to lay back on the sofa and cover their body with his own.

He pulled away reluctantly, entirely too pleased when Hange chased him a little way, stealing another quick kiss or two before leaning against the back of the sofa and looking at him. The flush on their face was more prominent, now. Levi quietly delighted in it.

Moblit sighed, almost wistfully, and gathered up their empty cups. Hange cooed quietly at him.

"Don't worry, Moblit," they said. "You'll get your turn soon. When does Nifa get back again?"

Moblit's face flamed. Levi had never seen someone colour so quickly, bright red from his neck to his hairline.

He stormed through to the kitchen, and choked out, "Next week, I think. And it's not like that, Hange."

"Not yet," Hange corrected. "We'll get you there."

Hange let out a great yawn. The little light of life in them, the small pleasure of teasing, snuffed out as they sat up straighter, spine crunching in several places as they did.

"We should get back to work," they said. They sounded dull again—Levi could hear the strain of stress in their tone. Moblit looked a little torn. Levi shook his head.

"It can wait," Levi said. "I've had a long, shitty day, and you," he pinched the skin of their cheek, tugging a little, "need sleep. You look like shit."

Hange's face twisted. Levi could see the anxiety building in them, churning. He cut them off before they could say anything more. "A few hours, four-eyes. You're not gonna remember shit when you're tired anyway."

"Levi's right, Hange," Moblit interjected. He looked tired, too. Levi felt a pang of sympathy for him—how many hours of sleep had he sacrificed trying to help Hange desperately prepare?

Levi tugged on their hand, pulling them in closer as he sunk back, reclining a little on the sofa.

"I'm tired," he said plainly. And then, embarrassed by the heat already flooding his cheeks, he added, "I've missed you. Just a few hours."

Levi was never blatantly vocal about his feelings. He considered himself very lucky that Hange knew him well, and could understand the intent behind his rude remarks. Right now, though, he felt desperate. And his honesty paid off.

Hange scrutinised him for a short moment, then said, "okay. But only a few hours."

"Deal."

"Just a nap."

"Fine."

Hange adjusted to tuck themself against his chest. They drew their knees up and curled into his side, dragging a throw from the back of the sofa and adjusting it to drape over them both. Moblit settled himself quietly on the other sofa.

Levi drew absent patterns over Hange's back with his fingertips. His touch bumped over their spine, bones even more pronounced with their back curled the way it was. How long had it been since they ate a proper meal? How regularly did they ingest something more substantial than a protein bar? He knew Hange was prone to fits of forgetfulness when they became too fixated on one task or another, easily bypassing meal times and leaving it too long between showers, but hunger always won out in the end. Hange had always been a little on the skinny side, but this, now; it scared him. They looked, and felt, unhealthy.

He dropped a harsh kiss to the top of their head. He wanted to say so many things, felt full with the weight of it all—I'm worried about you, you're scaring me, please look after yourself, I love you. Instead, he kissed them again, roughly, nuzzling his face into their hair, and hoped somehow they would understand.

Tomorrow, Levi will drag them for a shower. He will make them a good breakfast. He will make sure they drink water, and take small breaks during their studies, even just five minutes to breathe and regroup. Tomorrow, he will stand by as a silent support. He will let Moblit guide Hange through their studies, help where Levi cannot, and then, if things get too much, if Hange needs something to ground themself again, Levi will be right there.

Tomorrow.

But for now, Levi will make sure they rest.

#levihan #snk #my writing #angst

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yikestripes · 4 years ago

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High Heels, Red Dress

i think this is actually the longest fic i’ve written to date, goddamn. as always, i really really ran with this one. **LOOSELY BASED OFF OF SEASON 4 EPISODE 9 “52 Pickup”.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: none, some angst and some fluff.

“So you think he’s taking classes on how to talk to women?” Prentiss asked, incredulous. You tried to surprise your giggles, causing the others to look at you.

“Maybe Reid should try that,” Spencer’s face reddened as he busied himself with the file, pretending to read through it. You could tell he was faking because it never took him that long to study a file.

“I’m kidding, Spence.” You said a short time later, suddenly feeling guilty. Spencer looked up at you and nodded, tight lipped. He returned to the book he was reading. You shook your head and headed to the back of the jet to make yourself a coffee and take a break for a little while. Your peace, however, was short lived. Morgan strolled back and started making himself a cup of coffee while you waited for yours to finish brewing. He looked at you, eyebrows raised.

“What’s on your mind, Sweet Thing?” He asked.

“I feel really bad about what I said to Spencer.” You said quietly, taking a long sip of your coffee. Derek chuckled.

“I know why you said it, can’t say I blame you entirely.” You narrowed your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh nothing, nothing at all.”

“Morgan.” Your tone raised slightly.

“Alright fine, you can put the angry eyes away. All I meant was that I can see the way you look at him, and you’re frustrated that he hasn’t made any sort of moves.” He said, leaning against the counter and raising his eyebrows again. “Am I wrong?”

Your answer was you walking away. He was completely on track, but you couldn’t bear to say the words out loud just yet. There wasn’t much hope on your end in terms of Spencer feeling the same way about you that you do him, so what was the point of hoping? It just lead to high expectations and low outcomes. You forced yourself to concentrate on the case file for the rest of the ride, briefly glancing at Spencer here and there; you made eye contact 3 times.

Although the jet ride was painfully quiet, the arrival on the scene was nowhere near as heavy. Well, in a sense. You were staring a dead woman in the face who looked just a little bit too much like you for your taste, and you could tell Prentiss was having similar thoughts.

“I guess we have to go pay this “Viper” guy a visit.” Spencer said behind you, quietly. You turned and looked at him, eyebrows raised. It was the first thing he’d said to you since the jet.

“Okay, I'll grab the keys from Hotch.” You turned on your heel and headed in Hotch’s direction as Morgan approached Reid.

“I see the way you look at her, you know.” Morgan said from behind him, frightening Reid slightly. He tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, and made a confused face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said quietly, walking to the car you hopped in.

“Those two are made for each other, goddamn.” Morgan said to no one in particular. Meanwhile, your ride to Viper’s class was a little too quiet for your liking. You broke the silence and turned the radio down slightly.

“I’m sorry, Spencer.” He looked at you suddenly, as if lost in his own thoughts.

“For what?” He frowned.

“For what I said on the jet, that was unfair and I’m sorry.” Spencer was quiet for a minute, contemplating.

“I really am, Spence.”

“No no I know, I accept your apology. I was just thinking, what if that was the reason the unsub had taken the class in the first place?” You paused, waiting for him to continue. He had something.

“Meaning that if a woman in his life, whether it was a girlfriend, wife, or maybe a female in a club, made him feel small and that he was unable to pick up women. Maybe he’s impotent and he’s out to prove a point.” You grinned and touched Spencer’s arm lightly, retracting when you remembered his disdain for being touched. His facial expression faltered, but was replaced quickly when he called Hotch.

“You are such a genius, Boy Wonder.” He smiled and looked at his hands in his lap, feeling warmth spread through his body.

The drive through downtown Atlanta was an easy one, you having spent the majority of your early to late teens and 20s driving all through downtown D.C. You arrived at the community center rather quickly, and found Viper in a seminar room on the first floor.

“This is the jungle, my friends, and you are the predators.” He said to his class, earning a round of applause.

As you and Spencer approached, he looked you up and down hungrily, licking his lips.

“Well hello there, gorgeous. Fortunately for you my class just let out, and I happen to have an hour until my ne-”

“My name is Doctor Spencer Reid and I’m with the FBI Behavioural Analysis Unit, and this is Agent (Y/L/N).” Viper tore his prying eyes away from you for a moment to look Spencer up and down, clearly unimpressed.

“Sure, sure. What can I do for you, Agents?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“This is regarding your, uh, class. Have you seen any sort of suspicious people or any of your students acting out of the ordinary?” Reid said, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“All my students are out of the ordinary, otherwise they wouldn’t need me to guide them.” He returned his attention to you, with a smirk.

“I, however, am the master. Picking up women is my profession and my dedication.” You rolled your eyes.

“We need to see a list of your students.” You said, monotone.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Sweetheart.”

“We will come back with a warrant.” You glared. Men like Viper made you sick.

“Alright, fine, Miss. Agent. You’ll get the roster. You can have anything else you want, you just have to ask nicely.” Viper leaned in closer and Spencer moved forward, almost shielding you.

“Oh, Dr. Reid, moving to protect the lady, hmm? How often do you have to rely on that title of yours to help you bring women home?” He almost laughed.

“Frankly, “Viper”, the way you talk to women is completely demeaning and utterly disgusting. We will come back with a warrant and will be investigating your supposed alibis, because right now you are a prime suspect in a murder investigation.” Spencer got in Viper’s face, his face as cold as stone. You’d never seen him get his back up in this way, usually it was Morgan.

“I have receipts to back up my whereabouts last night, for your information.”

“If you have any questions, call the Atlanta police department.” You said quietly, handing him a card with the number written out on the back. He looked you up and down one more time and replaced the ridiculous furry hat back on his head.

You followed Spencer out the door and back to the car, almost unable to keep up with his pace.

“Spence, what’s up?” He looked out the window, not saying anything. You could sense his anger.

“What’s wrong?” You pressed.

“I don’t like the way Viper was looking at you or talking to you.” He spat. “He was looking at you the way a predator looks at literal prey; you are so much more than that.”

Your face softened, and you rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I appreciate you standing up for me, that was very sweet.” You whispered, giving him a small smile. His heart fluttered, and he mustered up a small smile in return.

“Anytime, (Y/N/N).” He looked back out the window and subconsciously unclenched his fists at your sides, making you smile a little more.

Your ride back to the police station was very quiet, Spencer was still angry at Viper’s disgusting nature, and was completely against Morgan and Hotch’s idea to send you into a club as bait.

“This is ridiculous!” He said, crossing his arms.

“Spence, it’s fine. If it’s what I have to do, then it’s what I have to do.” You said, beginning to get frustrated. You appreciated more than anything how much Spencer cared, it made your heart do backflips, but you could take care of yourself. You’d been an FBI agent for 4 and a half years, and trained with Morgan regularly. Worst case scenario, you could handle yourself.

“It’s not fine, (Y/N). You were already subjected to Viper once today, now you have to go act as the prey for the unsub? What if he kidnaps you?”

“Reid, we’re going to be stationed at the bar and on the floor handing out fliers. Nothing is going to happen.” Spencer walked out of the room, Prentiss following close behind.

You crossed your arms and huffed. Hotch looked at you, and then looked away. You knew what you had to do, and you were determined to save some lives tonight, whether Spencer liked it or not.

“Are you ladies almost ready?” Hotch said on the other side of the door.

“Yeah, Hotch, we’ll be out in 5 minutes.” Emily called back. You could hear Hotch’s retreating footsteps, and resumed your conversation.

“Did he really say that?” Emily asked, securing an earring.

“Yep. Verbatim.”

“Wow, I can’t believe Reid had the guts to stand up to Viper like that, or that Viper even had the audacity to say something like that!”

“When you’re a misogynistic narcissist, anything is possible.”

Emily laughed in response as you looked at yourself in the full body mirror, smiling a little bit. As much as you hated to admit it, you did look good. You were in a tight red dress with a plunging neckline, gold jewelry, and red heels. You adorned a smokey eye look and teased your hair, completing the outfit. If nothing else, you were definitely ready for the club. Prentiss’s outfit was similar, except black with silver accessories. You opened the door to find your knights awaiting, and a few dropped jaws.

“Phew, you ladies clean up nice. You sure you’re alright with this?” Morgan said, directing the question at you.

“Yeah. Where’s Reid?” You asked, Spencer nowhere in sight. Morgan frowned and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“He’s waiting in the car.” Hotch said, looking at Morgan. Morgan shrugged his shoulders as you followed them to the car you were set to take, separately from the rest of the team so it looked like you were going in on your own.

“Spencer’s jaw would drop harder than Morgan’s if he saw you back there,” Emily said, a knowing look crossing her features. You snorted a little.

“Yeah right, he wouldn’t notice anything was different.” Months ago on a ladies night with Emily, JJ, and Penelope, you’d confessed your crush on Spencer to them after a few glasses of wine too many. Since then, they’d done everything they could to try and make sure you two would get together, but to no avail. Either Spencer was pretty good at hiding his true feelings, or he just did not feel the same way.

You were hoping for option 1.

You arrived at the club a lot sooner than you would’ve liked, and entered beside Prentiss.

“Just pretend like it’s another ladies night.” She said. You nodded and headed straight for the bar while she went to find a hightop to stand at.

“Two margaritas, please.” You told the bartender, who flashed a white smile. You smiled back softly and looked at the sea of people crowding the dance floor, looking for any sort of activity that caught your eye. On the other side of the bar, something did catch your eye. Spencer. He was staring at you, and when he noticed you looking back, he reverted his attention to Morgan. You frowned, and thanked the bartender.

“Spence was staring at me.” You said as you placed your drinks on the table. Prentiss raised her eyebrows and nodded at Morgan, who nodded back. He and Spencer moved slightly away from the bar to pass out fliers and ask if anyone had seen the man from the sketch.

You mindlessly sipped your marg when a familiar scent hit your nose, and rose your eyes to meet Viper’s.

“Oh no.” You said, giving Prentiss a look.

“Hello again, fancy meeting you here. Decide to take me up on my offer to see me on my turf?” He asked.

“No.” You said.

“Well, maybe I can pique your friend’s interest here. How are you, Sweetheart?” Prentiss glared.

“Here to prey on some younger women?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow. Viper frowned, but recovered quickly.

“If that means you, then yes ma’am. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, trying to take her hand. She snapped her hand back to her body, and looked annoyed.

“If you aren’t here to help us, walk away.” She said, clenching her teeth. Viper shrugged and headed back in the direction of the bar, probably to find some other poor soul.

“He is not real.”

“I wish that were true.” You both took a long drag from your drinks, and found your eyes wandering towards the tall, curly haired genius. It was hard to find him at first, until you picked him out as the most uncomfortable man in the room. Morgan was beside him, also without any fliers, pointing to various women in the room. Spencer was nodding, as if taking mental notes about whatever Morgan was saying.

“Women like it when you can make them laugh. I know your sense of humor is a bit questionable, but if you can get her laughing, you’re definitely on your way there.” Spencer nodded, finding his gaze locked on you. You looked absolutely stunning in your red dress, barely coming above your knees. Your makeup accentuated your gorgeous eyes and your hair framed your face, and Spencer was breathless.

“Hey, stay with me, Pretty Boy. These tips can work on her too, I promise.” He nodded in your direction with a knowing smirk. Spencer’s cheeks flushed and he turned his attention to the bartender, who was talking to a couple of younger girls. He approached her and gave her a shy smile and a wave, pulling a spare flier from his pocket.

“Have you seen this guy walking around tonight?” He asked. The bartender shook her head and moved on to the man next to her, filling a drink order as she spoke.

“He looks familiar, but so do all the men I come across around here. He’s a common character.” She nodded to the paper in Spencer’s hand. She clearly wasn’t interested, too busy to be.

“Alright, then can I ask you something?” He said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. She placed the drink down in front of the man next to him, turning her attention back to Spencer.

“Shoot.” She looked down the bar and saw that the other bartender had taken a few guests at a time, so she had a free minute.

Now he was across the room, talking to the female bartender. He was performing a magic trick for her, causing your blood to boil. She was giggling and touching his arm, and you could see the blush on his cheeks from across the room.

You grabbed your drink and were ready to march over there, when Prentiss caught your arm.

“I think I know who the unsub is,” You looked at her, thoughts of Spencer long forgotten.

“I was thinking about what you were saying about Viper’s speech today- the thing about squashing the queen bee.” Sparks collided in your brain as your eyes widened, connecting the dots.

“I’ll grab Spencer and Morgan, tell Hotch and let’s get out of here.” You chugged the rest of the margarita and felt it immediately, marching over to Spencer and Morgan much more confidently than you should have.

“We know who the unsub is,” You said, primarily to Morgan.

“Who?” Spencer asked, abandoning the magic trick and the bartender. She walked away without a second glance. Your glare hardened as you turned on your heel, walking out of the bar.

Morgan and Reid looked at each other before following you outside, watching as you jumped in the car with Prentiss and Hotch. Rossi pulled up in a car beside them, and they hopped in too. Spencer and Morgan put their vests on in the car and Spencer allowed his mind to wander. You’d looked so angry back there. Did he say something? He was only angry on your behalf earlier, he didn’t think you would be upset with him for something so trivial. He frowned as you all pulled up outside of the house.

You hopped out after Prentiss, still in your dress, but changed into black high top converse. You looked somehow even better with the dress and the converse, your hair still wild and free. Spencer gulped as he unholstered his gun, following behind Morgan. You were the first to enter the house, clearing almost half of the downstairs by the time Morgan and Reid caught up. You started up the stairs when you’d heard a crash from behind a door.

“He’s in there!” You yelled, jumping down the stairs to kick down the basement door. “FBI you’re under arrest!” You screamed down the stairs, making your way down with Morgan hot on your heels.

“Put your weapon down.” Morgan said, aiming right for his head. The unsub simply laughed.

“Or what, you’ll shoot me, pretty girl? I don’t think so.” The unsub inched closer, and you trained your gun on his head.

“One more step and you die. I don’t really think you want that, though.” You remained firm, and the unsub lost his nerve. The knife clattered as it hit the ground, the victim crying as she wriggled in her restraints behind him.

Morgan cuffed him and forced him upstairs, and as Reid approached you, you followed behind them. Reid frowned once more and followed Prentiss and Rossi back upstairs. Luckily, the unsub had slipped up and led the trail right to his home and the latest victim, who you were able to save. No harm had come to her when you had gotten there, although the disemboweling seemed like it was about to begin. It was safe to say she was scarred psychologically.

You stood a bit apart, arms crossed over your chest. You didn’t even hear Spencer approach.

“I don’t think I got the chance to tell you this, neither at the club or at the police station. You look beautiful,” Spencer’s brown eyes glistened, boring into yours.

“Thanks.” You said.

“I can tell by your tone and body language that you’re upset with me, but I still haven’t quite worked out why.” He pressed, standing in front of you, hands in his pockets.

“You don’t think I can handle myself.” You said, raising your eyes to meet his. He scrunched his face in confusion.

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to; it was the way you were so angry at the police station earlier today. It didn’t seem like you thought I could do it or handle it.” You glared. Your expression softened when Spencer frowned.

“I didn’t mean to make you think that, I was just worried about you. I don’t know what I would do with myself if anything happened to you,” Spence said quietly, taking your hand in his. All your anger dissipated the moment he took your hand.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You were quiet for a minute, contemplating bringing up what you saw between Spencer and the bartender. You decided against it, and opted to give him a hug.

“I appreciate how much you care, Spence.” You said into his shoulder. He gratefully returned the hug, elated that you were no longer angry with him. You both pulled away and rejoined your team, heading for the jet. You both slept the entire plane ride, since you were able to change into a pair of leggings and a hoodie. Spencer’s hoodie.

Spencer walked you to your car as he did after most cases, just so he could be secure in knowing you were safe for another night. You had been debating the entire walk whether or not it was a good idea to bring up the bartender, and you eventually decided to ask. You had to know whether or not to move on.

“Spence,” You broke the silence as you approached your car. He turned his attention to you, his eyes tired. “Whatever happened with the bartender from the club?” You asked, absentmindedly picking at your nails. He picked up on it right away, and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“What do you mean?” He took your hand to stop your nail picking. You frowned. He rubbed his thumb across your knuckles to prompt you to continue.

“You were flirting with her and I wasn’t sure how it went.” You hadn’t thought past asking the question, therefore you didn’t have a very good reason why you were asking. Spencer looked unconvinced, but decided to bite anyway.

“Nothing happened, I didn’t get her number or anything. She wasn’t really my type.” He said, nodding. You nodded in return and smiled. He smiled, but furrowed his eyebrows further. “Why?” He smirked a little.

“I was just curious.”

“Uh huh. What’s the actual reason?”

“I WAS curious!”

“With ulterior motives, I'm sure.”

You shifted your weight between your feet, suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze. He raised his eyebrows and closed the already shrinking gap between you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He pulled away and raised his eyebrows as if to ask, “Is that why?”. You reached up and pulled his face back down to yours in another soft, warm kiss.

“Yeah. I was a little bit jealous.” You said, slightly breathless. Spencer smiled softly, and intertwined your fingers.

“Why were you jealous?” You sighed, and smiled up at him.

“Because I like you, dummy.” His eyebrows shot up as if you told him the secret to curing cancer, and slowly processed a response.

“I-I like you too.” You pressed a final kiss to his warm lips and grinned into it, letting your forehead come to rest against yours.

“I should have known the way you were drooling over me in that dress.” You whispered. He looked away and swallowed, running a hand through his hair.

“Goodnight, Spence.” You rolled your eyes as you threw your go bag in your back seat. He was grinning like a doofus as he made his way to his car, receiving a text from you as soon as he got in.

“You’re such a little dork, Reid. You’re lucky you’re adorable.” The warm feeling washed over Spencer once again as he held his phone to his chest, smiling like an idiot his entire drive home.

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7-wonders · 4 years ago

Text

Circling the Drain

Summary: It's a race against time...wait, why do people say that? It's not a race against some outside force, it's a race against a crazed back-from-the-dead mafioso with a vengeance.

Word Count: 3454

A/N: I tried something a little different for this chapter in terms of formatting, mainly because there was so much I wanted to fit in different POVS. Uhhhhh let me know your thoughts and like, comments and reblogs make my world go round. ALSO that second gif is exactly how I imagine a certain scene (you'll know it when you read it).

Warnings: Very torture heavy chapter. Blood, torture methods, guns, knives, kidnappings, talk of death. You should probably go pet some puppies or kittens after you read this.

Duncan

It’s difficult to know how much time has passed since Duncan was last outside of this small concrete room. There’s no windows to let light in, no clocks to denote the hour, and no sort of schedule that he can catch on to. Although, even if there were a schedule, he would be too delirious from sleep deprivation to realize that there was one. The only thing that Duncan can count on is the unending torture at the hands of his uncle.

All of the crisis training in the world wouldn’t have prepared him for the physical and mental torture that he’s been put through. Though he doesn’t know it, it’s been almost seventy-two hours of this absolute hell, of Bill beating him black and blue, taunting him, slowly ripping out fingernails one by one (somehow, he still has six, though one of the six is just barely hanging on), refusing to let him sleep, and tasing him back to consciousness whenever he tries to close his eyes. This most recent time, the throbbing of his head had begged him enough to where he finally closed his eyes, only to be jolted up with a rush of electricity running through his body and seizing his muscles.

“You still think you’re getting out of it that easy, huh? That you can fall asleep and bide your time until you’re ‘rescued?’” Bill chuckles. “No, it’s not that easy.”

“Just kill me already, if that’s what you’re planning on,” Duncan says through clenched teeth, glaring up at Bill through the one eye that’s not completely swollen shut.

“Is that what you want? You want me to kill you?” His obviously-fake concern would enough to make bile rise in Duncan’s throat, if he had actually had anything left in his stomach.

“You want me to beg for it, don’t you?”

“I guess I underestimated you. Turns out you do have some sort of critical thinking skills.”

Duncan defiantly turns his head, refusing to give Bill what he wants. Realizing this, Bill begins to walk towards the door. As he does, going to flick off the single light bulb in this place, Duncan’s chest tightens in anticipation of the claustrophobia he’ll surely begin to feel (most likely a side-effect of what he’s gone through, considering he’s never been scared of dark spaces before) and he scrambles to stall him. “So why are you keeping me alive?”

Bill stops for a moment before slowly turning around. “I already told you.”

“No, I know that you want revenge. But what’s your plan? Why waste your time? Surely you’ll at least give me the honor of knowing what I’m dying for?”

His jaw clenches, not pleased with that last question, but he doesn’t hit Duncan. Yet. “I’m taking back what’s mine, and then some.”

“And you think Mom’s going to be okay with that?”

“Your poor mother is going to be more than okay with that when she finds out that the Coven killed her only child.”

Slowly, it dawns on Duncan. “You’re the one that’s been killing people in the Coven’s style and leaving them in our territory?”

“Of course I am!” Bill holds his arms out as if to say ‘tah-dah!’ “Cordelia Goode would never be so bold as to do that! But after I kill you, drain you of your blood, cut your tongue out, dump you in the Potomac, and reappear into society, people won’t care about that little fact. Especially after I reveal that it was the Coven that prompted me to fake my own death and go into hiding for years.”

“How long were you planning this?”

“About a year before you stabbed me, when I realized that you were far too…” he grits his teeth, “charismatic to not end up with the family business eventually. That’s why I always made sure that the police and paramedics were well-paid, just in case the day ever came that I needed them to lie on my behalf.”

“You have it all planned then, so why not just do it and kill me now?”

“Well, there are a couple of minor issues I still need to work out.” Bill glances at Duncan slyly. “Such as what to do with that girlfriend of yours.”

In a flash, Duncan sees red. He lunges, forgetting the fact that he’s chained to the radiator and can only go so far until his ankle is jerked violently and he falls back to the ground. “You leave her alone, she’s done nothing wrong!”

“You’re right, she hasn’t, but (Y/N) knows too much.”

Duncan’s heart skips a beat when he realizes that Bill (predictably) knows more than he should.

“I’m thinking a suicide? It’s very believable, what with the grieving girlfriend and all.” Bill steps forward and, ever so slowly, places his foot on one of Duncan’s hands. “Maybe she slits her wrists in the bath? It’s very easy to overpower someone when they’re vulnerable. Or perhaps she overdoses? That’s not my preferred method, though, far too much room for someone to survive an overdose. Tell me, Duncan, how would you prefer that she die?” With each possible method, Bill continues to lay more pressure on Duncan’s hand until Duncan is moaning in pain.

“Don’t...hurt her,” Duncan pants.

Bill finally removes his foot, giving Duncan a moment to breathe before he stomps on his hand, digging the toe of his shoe in until Duncan is screaming and Bill is sure his hand is broken. “I think she’ll jump into the Potomac with a weight tied around her ankle. The poeticism--her drowning in the same river that your body will be found in--is something that’s just too good to pass up.”

“I’ll kill you. I swear to God, I’ll kill you again and make sure that it sticks this time.” Tears are streaming down Duncan’s face, though whether that’s from the physical or emotional agony he’s in, he can’t be sure.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Bill smiles, walking to the light switch and flicking it off. “I’ll be back in a bit, and then our final act can finally begin.”

This time, Duncan doesn’t stop him before he leaves, barely letting the door close before his willpower crumbles and he begins to sob. Cradling his injured hand, he has to force himself to look at the now-mangled fingers. He gasps, attempting to straighten them out, but they refuse to even twitch in response. It’s now that Duncan realizes that the true torture is waiting. His mind and body shattered, he now has to be at the mercy of Bill Shepherd before he can finally die. He’s never wished for death before, but now, he feels a pang in his heart for every one of his victims that have had to wait, broken and bruised, for Duncan to kill them.

You

“Does this location have any significance to you?” Cordelia asks Annette, pointing to an address hastily written down on a scrap of paper. The address corresponds to a building, fairly nondescript, but obviously holding some sort of significance.

“No, it doesn’t.” Annette shakes her head.

“That’s because this is the location of the first school that I opened here in D.C. Bastard’s really going all in on trying to frame me for everything he’s done.”

(Y/N), who had previously been dozing off on Langdon’s lap (Langdon had already made her swear not to tell anybody or else he would kill her in her dreams like Freddy Kreuger), sits straight up at this moment. “What makes you think he’s there?” she asks.

“This car.” Cordelia pulls another paper out from the folder she had brought with her, this one a picture of a Mercedes E-Class. “It’s been back and forth from Umbra to the old school numerous times in the past two days. License plates are registered back to Umbra.”

“So it’s definitely Bill, then.”

“I’m not typically a betting woman, but I would put money on this. Surveillance indicates that this car has been parked in front of the Goode Academy for six straight hours now.”

(Y/N) doesn’t know much about hostage situations, but she has to assume that Bill being where Duncan is held captive for an extended amount of time means nothing good.

“We need to move now, then,” Annette says. There’s no question behind her voice; she’s going to get her son.

“Yes. Your team?”

“Myself, Langdon, and (Y/N).”

Cordelia glances warily at (Y/N). “Do you have combat experience?”

“Duncan trained me to fight, and also did some weapons training with me,” (Y/N) says.

“That’s good enough.” (Y/N) tries not to be offended. “I have myself, Madison, Misty, and Mallory.”

“We’re going?” Mallory, a brunette wearing a gold headband, says.

“I need my best girls, and you three have proven yourselves.”

“Alright then, let’s go.” Annette grabs a key from around her neck and unlocks what you thought to be a closet door, opening it to reveal a weapons cache large enough to rival a small government’s. “Stock up.”

“Which gun are you most comfortable with?” Langdon asks (Y/N), the two standing side-by-side after everybody else has had their turn.

“Uh, I don’t really know the names. It’s a handgun, and it’s black.”

“Probably a Springfield, then.” Langdon hands (Y/N) a gun that looks similar to ones that she’s handled before. “It’s already loaded.”

“Thanks.” She glances at Langdon after holstering her own weapon, watching as he selects numerous guns of different sizes. “What if we’re too late?”

“We won’t be.”

“But you heard what Cordelia said. Bill’s been there for six straight hours now. He could have--”

“You’re right, he could have,” Langdon interrupts. “But we can’t go in there assuming that the worst outcome has come true. We have to have hope. If nothing else, there’s always hope.”

“I have hope.”

“Good, because I do, too.” Langdon grabs a knife from the weapons closet, twirling the tip of the blade on his index finger. “Now let’s go get Duncan back.”

Duncan

Bill stands before Duncan, twirling the tip of a knife on his index finger. “I’ve held onto this for six years now. Do you recognize it?”

Of course Duncan recognizes the knife that he stabbed his uncle with. In his dreams, he can still feel the cool leather handle gripped tightly in his palm.

“It’s something of a treasure to me, although it certainly didn’t seem like it at first. I’ve come to recognize the significance of holding the thing that almost killed me, and I like to keep it as a reminder.” Bill holds the knife out to Duncan, knowing he’s too weak to fight him for it. “See that on the blade? Why don’t you read it for me?”

Cursive lettering is engraved on the blade, though it was not there when the knife had been in Duncan’s possession. “Memento mori,” Duncan mutters, trying to remember his Latin lessons from high school.

“It was an extremely popular phrase during the medieval period, specifically when it came to funerals. ‘Remember you must die.’ It’s a warning, a reminder. That’s what this knife has become to me, a reminder of the inevitability of death. It also reminds me that I’ve survived death before, and I’ll surely survive it again.”

“Quite the sense of humor,” Duncan remarks dryly.

Bill shrugs, bending down to Duncan’s level. “A little gauche, perhaps, but I enjoy the significance of the phrase.”

Duncan’s about to ask him what the point of this is when Bill shows him by shoving the knife into his abdomen. Duncan grunts in pain, gritting his teeth and glaring at him. “Of course you’re going to stab me just like I stabbed you.”

“Do you know how I managed to survive?” Bill asks.

“I’ve tried not to think about it much.”

“I survived,” Bill continues, “because you were too stupid to realize that you needed to pull the knife out. What do all of the medical professionals say when training civilians on dealing with stabbings? ‘Don’t remove the weapon.’ That’s the only thing keeping them from bleeding out, and it’s what kept me from bleeding out.”

“I had assumed I severed your abdominal aorta, what with all the blood.”

“Exactly, ‘assumed.’” Bill digs the knife around to watch the way that Duncan tries not to scream before pulling it out and watching as blood begins to pour out of the wound. For every beat of Duncan’s frantic heart, trying to pump blood to the source of the injury in an attempt to clot it, more blood pulses out. “Never assume things, my boy.”

Though his head is starting to spin, Duncan finds just enough rage to spit at Bill. “Go to hell.”

“From the looks of it, you’ll be there long before me,” he says almost gleefully before pulling out a gun and shooting him in the thigh. This time, Duncan openly screams. “Just wanted to make sure you actually die, if the stabbing wasn’t enough.” Bill’s extremely nonchalant, as if he’s discussing the nuances of the Nationals rather than talking about murder.

Bill grabs a key and unlocks the chain from around Duncan’s leg, knowing that he won’t have the strength to escape. “I’ll be back in half an hour to check on you.”

“Fuck you,” Duncan responds, but Bill’s already gone.

Duncan moans in pain as he stares at his wounds, feeling the stickiness of blood beginning to pool under him. Lifting a shaky hand, he presses it to his abdomen to try and slow the bleeding. As he swallows deeply, realizing that he very likely is going to die shortly, he thinks about a number of things, mainly regrets.

He wishes that he had realized earlier that his mom was just as much Bill’s victim as he was.

He wishes that he appreciated Michael more for the brother he had been to him.

He wishes that he had told (Y/N) that he loved her more often.

But most especially, Duncan wishes that he had just put a bullet in Bill’s head that night instead of stabbing him. Then, he wouldn’t be feeling this intense cold begin to settle in his bones as he’s forced to slowly die on the concrete floor of a basement. Facing the Grim Reaper head-on is not nearly as dramatic as he thought it would be.

You

Watching the Coven, Langdon, and Annette taking out the defectors is not nearly as dramatic as (Y/N) thought it would be. Wisely, they had requested that she stay behind until the perimeter was secured. It’s much quieter, and a lot less bloody; as it turns out, members of organized crime do have consciences, and chose to subdue those not directly a threat. After Langdon finishes tying those who had remained loyal to Bill together, Cordelia motions for (Y/N) to follow the group into the old school.

The proud sign that once declared this building the Goode Academy now lies in the dirt of the overgrown lawn. The doors are open, solely because the rusted hinges make it impossible for them to remain closed against a gentle breeze. The further that they make it inside, the more frantic (Y/N) is. She knows that they’re close to Duncan, she just doesn’t know what state they’ll find Duncan in. Before they can make it too far with Cordelia as their guide, Bill appears. Instead of holding a machine gun, which is kind of what (Y/N) had expected, he has a concerned look on his face.

“Annette, thank god you’re here! I know this must be confusing to you, but when I heard that Duncan was missing, I knew that I needed to save him from the bitches that had sent me into hiding years ago.”

Confusion blankets (Y/N)’s mind as she tries to figure out what’s going on, but Annette doesn’t feel the same. “Cut the shit, Bill. I know what you’ve been doing.”

Bill laughs. “You’re going to let Cordelia Goode manipulate you into believing her, after she tried to kill me?”

“You’re an idiot. You think I don’t smell the blood in the air?” Annette laughs viciously, a verbal slap in the face. “Where’s my son?”

Like a switch was flipped, the worry on Bill’s face falls into contempt. “You’ve always been too emotional for your own good, Annette.”

“‘Family over everything,’” Annette quotes. “Remember that? What happened to that?”

“That died the day that that--that mistake came back from boarding school and decided that our business, the empire we built from the ground up, was his birthright.”

“You never were good at sharing, were you?”

The siblings stare at each other for a moment before Bill sighs. “You could have just been complicit, but no. Guess I’ll have to think on the fly, then.” He pulls out a gun and cocks the hammer back.

Before he can fire, Madison and Mallory appear from behind him, having snuck into the back. Madison knocks the gun out of his hand, the weapon firing into the ceiling, as Mallory socks him in the face and drives him to his knees. Both women force his hands behind him, holding him still as Cordelia walks up to him.

“The door to the basement is in the kitchen, hidden behind the left wall of the pantry,” Cordelia says to the group.

(Y/N)’s off, moving as fast as she can while maneuvering through the unfamiliar house. “Wait, you can’t do this. Annette, you aren’t really going to let the Coven, of all people, do this to me?” Bill pleads.

“I can actually, and I will. After all,” Annette turns to Cordelia, “we have a deal.”

In the kitchen, (Y/N) throws open the pantry door, pushing and shoving and pulling at the left wall before it finally opens to reveal a set of stairs.

“Girls?” Annette calls just before she reaches the door. “Make it painful.”

(Y/N) runs down the stairs, hands scrambling along the wall until she comes across a light switch. Flicking it on, her eyes look around the room until she sees a lifeless figure on the floor that’s surrounded by a pool of blood. A cry is ripped from her chest as she falls to her knees beside Duncan, hands hovering above him as she tries to figure out what to do first.

He’s pale, scarily so, and he’s breathing so shallowly that she can’t tell he’s breathing at first. Somehow, with all the blood, he’s still breathing. All (Y/N) can focus on is the fact that he’s still alive (later, she’ll wonder how she didn’t even flinch at all of the injuries and the blood, oh, the blood) as she rips her shirt off and presses it firmly against the wound on his stomach, calling his name over and over again in increasing levels of desperation.

From behind her, she can hear Annette scream and yell for Langdon to call an ambulance. She can feel the presence of somebody next to her as they catalogue where Duncan’s hurt, but she can’t bring herself to look away from Duncan’s face. His perfect face, that she’s kissed over and over a thousand times and has taken immense pleasure in watching a blush rise to the surface. His perfect face that she’s now slapping to try and get him to at least show some sort of response.

“You don’t get to die like this,” she tells him, hoping that he’ll somehow manage to hear her. “You said that you didn’t want to be the reason I suffered, but look at you now, making me suffer. Don’t keep me suffering like this!”

Slowly, and just barely, his eyes crack open just enough that (Y/N) can see a hint of blue. His lips move, saying something without audible sound, and she brings her head down to his to try and catch what he’s saying.

“An angel.” She finally makes out what his reverent whisper is over the wail of the incoming ambulances, and laughs brokenly as her head falls onto his chest in relief.

@sammythankyou @girlycakepops @ultragibbycentralworld @ajokeformur-ray @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @everything-is-awesomesauce @michaellangdon @jimmlangdon @omgsuperstarg @queenie435 @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @kahhlo @storminmytwistedmind @1-800-bitchcraft @langdonslove @born-on-stgeorges-day @xavierplympton @michaelsapostle @venusxxlangdon @wroteclassicaly @idespac @tcc-gizmachine @dyns33 @hexqueensupreme @hecatemacbeth7 @youngandfleeting @lambofcairo @myluciferiscody @anacerta @ladyren33 @ladyrindt @dark-mei-rose @sojournmichael @blakewaterxx @9layerdevilfoodcake @angelicmichael @takingback-thecrown @etherealsxnder

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd x reader #michael langdon #ahs imagine #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #hoc #hoc imagine #house of cards #house of cards imagine

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miyu-hyperfixates · 4 years ago

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About Jin Guangyao & Nie Huaisang

Recently I have been thinking about JGY and NHS’s dynamics and about how JGY never saw NHS coming even though he knew that NHS was smarter than he looked like.

One of the reason is of course arrogance and pride. But, I think that in JGY’s defense NHS might as well be his worst natural enemy. If a blind spot had a form then JGY’d would be distinctively NHS-shaped. And here’s why:

《 Their core personality traits and beliefs 》

While JGY is very familiar with acting weak, vulnerable and so on to manipulate his ennemies (both from a physical and emotional point of view), he had never not even once appeared less smart than he truly was.

I think it never even occurred to him that people would act dumb (in the long term) or incompetent to deceive people because it clashes fundamentally with his whole existence.

Think about it. If JGY had shown less competence than he had, would he have managed to attract the attention of NMJ and be promoted (regardless of how bullied he was)?

If JGY had been anything short of super-competent would he manage to enter the rank of WRH? If he had not managed to prove himself and maintain such level of hyper-competency would he manage to keep playing spy by WRH and staying alive ?

If JGY had not been so convincing would he manage to kill WRH and crawl his way to his father’s grace? And even then, if he had shown the slightest amount of failure or incompetency he probably would have been kicked out of Jinlintai. If he had not maintain that high-competency could he manage to keep his position as chief cultivator?

For JGY incompetency and failure to do his designated jobs doesn’t just mean a small wound to his pride. No most of the time for most of his life it meant death or being kicked out.

So for someone who lived such a high-strung and stressful life, where his next breath, his next warm meal was entirely reliant on how competent he was at his job... how could it ever occur to him that someone could act incompetent on purpose?

Maybe if it had been for a short time then he might have been suspicious and notice but NHS acted this way for 10+ years... who would willingly lower themselves that way for so long, especially if they had the weight of a whole sect on their shoulders?

This is just fundamentally clashing with who he is as a person that it is no matter NHS could sneak on his blind spot. One of JGY biggest mistake was probably not to realize that having no ambition doesn’t mean not having any motivation.

《 JGY’s bias towards the elite 》

I thing JGY had encountered a certain amount of smart/competent/strong people in his life. And while he is naturally weary of physically strong people, he probably view them as less threatening than smart people.

Likewise even among the smart, he probably differentiate between ‘book smart’ and ‘street smart’. Of which JGY stands easily at the top of both. However the kind of smart that’d allow you to survive/thrive is definitely the street kind.

Even if he were aware of the fact that NHS hid his intelligence and cunning, he’d probably expect it to lie within the realm of “book-smartness” and not even the useful kind but the ‘useless’ kind of intelligence directed towards poetry, arts etc.

So of course how could this pampered young master, whose hardest struggle growing up had been on thinking how not to get drag on the training field by his big brother, ever be able to compete with JGY in term of street smartness? Comparatively WWX and XY, because of their background, make way more of a threat than NHS could ever be in JGY’s mind. And that’s because he grew up prejudiced towards the rich and the elite.

《 NHS & JGY are two different types of masterminds 》

If you’re familiar with TV tropes and especially the Gambit tropes then I’d describe JGY’s plans as strongly lying in the Xanatos Gambit areas (with now and then a hint of Batman Gambit). Basically what it means, is that JGY is the type of mastermind who plays chess. He’ll look at all the outcomes and try to plot things so that no matter what outcome ends up happening he’d still win one way or another.

And while he can more or less improvise when things go sideway, it’s pretty obvious that it is when he has to make hasty decisions that he tends to make a lot of mistakes.

NHS’s plans are of the Gambit Roulette kind. In other words, his plans mostly rely on luck and chance occurrence. He had absolutely no way of knowing that MXY would succeed in resurrecting WWX, and even if MXY did, NHS had no way of knowing that WWX would be curious enough to investigate the case of the possessed arm, he had no way of knowing if WWX and LWJ would manage to find all the other body parts and successfully find discriminating facts about JGY...

So basically what NHS was doing was planning stuff one step at a time. He didn’t need to have a whole plot with thousands of contingencies, he just needed to be nearby where the whole chaos was and try to nudge things in the direction he wanted. Therefore... How could JGY possibly predict NHS’s moves when probably even NHS didn’t know what he would do at that time?

In other words, while JGY is busy analyzing and trying to predict other people’s moves like they were merely pawns on a chessboard...he can’t predict NHS’s move at all because NHS is playing a whole other game altogether.

NHS is basically playing Texas Hold’em Poker, with his two starting cards being WWX and LWJ... Then he’d look at the cards start to appear one by one (calculating the odds, weighing whether he’d be able to get a good combinaison throwing chips here and there to bluff his way out), and hoping that at the end he’d get a better hand than JGY.

So yeah that’s probably why JGY never really stood a chance against NHS.

And while we’re on the game analogy, I’d like to make an aside here to talk about the juniors, who are probably NHS’s natural enemies (just as NHS is JGY’s).... They’re like those wild joker cards that keeps randomly popping for no reasons whatsoever, causing mayhem and chaos ... [especially Jin Ling haha]... And you’re not really sure if they are helping or making everything worse. And so NHS’s approach to dealing with those unknown wild cards was like “If you’re going to cause trouble and pop up anyway, then rather than having you appear out of nowhere and ruin everything, I’ll be the one to lead you there so that you stop surprising me!”

[I hc that this is one of the main reason NHS lured the juniors to Yi City, because he didn’t want to get blindsided by them popping out of nowhere and nearly dying again... like that time at Mo village or in Qinghe... (And he was probably laughing his ass off at JGY, when Jin Ling randomly appeared at the temple and he probably was like “See? That’s why you fail at masterminding! Always expect a dumbass kid with no self-preservation skills whatsoever to appear when you expect it the less!”)]

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #nhs #jgy #nhs & jgy #character study kinda?#the mantis vs the canary vs the ducklings #and somehow the junior quartet appeared again #mine

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anotheronechicagobog · 4 years ago

Text

Tylenol and Tequila - Chapter 6 - Connie’s Diaries Part 1

written by @anotheronechicagobog

warnings: swearing, dawsey bashing (sorry guys I rewatched and episode and I was in a mood), mention of sex, I think that’s it

A/N: Wow, I actually finished something. Sorry for the long wait everyone, my life has been gettinmg crazier by the minute and it’s speeding up not slowing down so please bear with me.

He was currently hiding from Cruz in the turnout room, busying himself with cleaning equipment and doing inventory. It was mind-numbingly boring, but Blake was pretty appreciative of that at the moment. He and Gianna had been pretty flirty since day one, but now it was getting more serious. It wasn’t harmless banter anymore, it was actually going somewhere. Meaningful looks, sensual touches, and heavy words. At this point, all that they had to do was follow through, so to speak, something Cruz was hell-bent on stopping. And if he was being honest, Blake was leaning towards Cruz’s desired outcome than the one he and Gianna had been moving towards. Hermann always had stories, of himself, other firefighters, and of his family. It got Blake thinking about his future, about his possible future with Gianna... When he heard Kidd and Brett quietly comforting each other.

“I just don’t understand what’s happening with Kelly. I thought we were good, I thought he was good. I thought that he wasn’t going to ghost and shut me out anymore.”

“I don’t deserve to be second best. I don’t deserve to be a placeholder for Dawson. What kind of answer is ‘I don’t know’? Who doesn’t know if they would immediately run back to their ex if given the chance? I miss him so much, but he’s... He doesn’t get to treat me that way. No one does.”

And he stopped for a moment, ignored the loud thrum of machinery, and perseverance, and conversation that beat throughout the firehouse, and remembered the stories Hermann had told him. The bad ones. They echoed through his head as he made his way to the turnout room to actually be able to think and process his thoughts.

Captain Casey was married to Gabby Dawson before she left and divorced him.

Joe Cruz and Sylvie Brett dated for a brief moment but broke up because Brett couldn’t handle his overprotective routine.

Stella Kidd and Kelly Severide dated once before but broke up because Kelly was being, to put it nicely, an asshole, and was repeating a lot of that behaviour now.

And there were more, so many more relationships that didn’t work out for one way or another, that he found out about while helping with some of the office paperwork, and while cleaning out the desk of a woman named Connie who had retired, he found a notebook filled with firehouse gossip and relationship charts going back decades. As Blake thought back to the flower decorated notebook currently lying on his nightstand at home (hey, don’t judge him, there’s some really juicy stuff in there) another thought occurred to him. The only successful 51 couples didn’t work together. Hermann and Cindy, Mouch and Trudy, Chief and Donna, Joe and Chloe, Darren and Eric.

Every single firehouse couple has fallen apart. Issues include but are not limited to; one person being secretly in love with someone else, lying, poor communication, cheating accusations, overprotectiveness at work, jealousy, manipulation, political campaigns, vegas marriages, courthouse weddings because of reasons that don’t involve wanting to get married, fallen through adoptions, fertility issues, moving to another region at the drop of a hat. Seriously, firehouse 51 was a hotspot for drama.

He hung up the last freshly cleaned turncoat, trying to avoid the conclusion he’d come to in his solitary. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape it, especially when he heard Gianna ask Ritter around the corner if he knew where he was. Damn.

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

He laid in his bed, his lamp illuminating Connie’s old notebook in front of him. He was reading the section from when Casey and Hallie were together, Connie went on a rant about Gabby’s behaviour towards Hallie just because she was jealous Casey didn’t love her. He probably shouldn’t have been reading what was essentially someone’s diary. He definitely shouldn’t have been. But he couldn’t stop reading, the gossip was really entertaining for one thing, but it was just too eye-opening to put down. Even though they are divorced Casey and Dawson were still regarded as the golden couple of 51, something that made his captain incredibly uncomfortable. Hermann and Mouch talk about their relationship all the time, through rose-coloured glasses apparently. They talk about how in love Dawson was before they got together. What they didn’t mention was that she actively flirted with him while he was engaged to someone else. She pushed him to run for alderman, basked in the light of being called his wife when she wasn’t, and then resented him for winning because he had to spend time away from her. They got married spontaneously at the courthouse after a call, but it was actually because Dawson wanted to keep Louie, the boy she decided to foster after telling Casey she didn’t see a serious future for them. For almost every heart-melting romantic tale that had been woven about them the thread used had been made of toxicity and blinding lust. Every loving, Disney moment apparently actually belonged to Shakespeare. Selfishness, manipulation, and hypocrisy all disguised as a fairy tale for the ages.

Based on her writing, Connie was a straight-forward, honest woman with no time or patience for anyone’s bullshit. And, in her words, ‘it was a miracle I survived a front row seat to that trainwreck’. Personally, Blake was dumbfounded that no one else saw what Connie did. And while ‘Dawsey’ definitely wasn’t the only toxic relationship 51 had to bear witness to it was the most revered which was it’s own kind of horrifying.

What stuck out to him the most though, was how they all acted at work. While hooking up in the turnout room did sound a little thrilling, Blake was a little grossed out with himself for thinking that now knowing just how often that happened and that it’s where Annabelle Hermann was conceived apparently. The worst though was how they acted on calls. Overprotective, jealous, directly interfering with work. He wanted to say he understood their feelings, but why get involved with someone when you both work dangerous jobs and don’t want to see them in danger? It’s going to happen, and trying to sheild their significant other from danger instead of preparing for that one awful day does nothing but cause relationship problems and limit their career.

Blake shook his head and sighed. It was late, he needed to sleep. He was on shift tomorrow, and he’d have to avoid Gianna as much as possible during those 24 hours.

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

He woke up to knocking on his door. According to his alarm clock, he’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep. He was a little perplexed as to why someone would be at his door this late and anxiety settled into his gut. He didn’t have a good feeling about any of this. He tried to shake off the feeling on his walk from his bedroom to his front door, but was unsuccessful. He felt justified when he saw Gianna on the other side of the peep hole. He purposefully sidestepped the usual invitation to Molly’s, he just went home and immersed himself in food and Connie’s diary, ignoring the way his phone vibrated more than once. He contemplated what to do, he knew they needed to talk but he was just trying to delay the awkward conversation.

“Hey.”

“Hey, you weren’t at Molly’s and you didn’t answer your phone.”

“Been a little busy.” He gestured to the time and prayed that she would take the hint.

“Oh, no, I’m not gonna stay. I kinda just wanted to make sure you weren’t moping around. You know, feeling sorry for yourself.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Yeah, I’m like that.” He smiled, because it’s true. She is like that, and he hopes that she finds everything she’s looking for and more, just not with him. “Seriously, I feel so badly about pushing you into telling that story.”

“Don’t. Everything that happened with Casey’s on me. Hey, uh, do you want to come in for a sec?”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to take anymore of your hanging-out-looking-hot-in-sweats time.”

“I get the feeling that you do... Which is why you should come in, I guess. We... We need to talk.” That amused, flirty look she got when joking around with him vanished and now she looked... Concerned? Embarrassed? Regardless, she nodded silently and came in.

“I found a few diaries of someone who used to work at 51, but I’ve mostly been sticking to the most recent one because it involves some people who are still at 51. It’s huge and they has years of entries. Most are from before Casey and Severide got stationed there. The stuff that I’ve been reading, particularly about firehouse romances, it threw me for a loop. No 51 firehouse romance has ever actually been successful. Sure some get married but they don’t stay married. Some break up and stay on good enough terms, some tear each other apart, some are just flings that end as quickly as they started and are never mentioned again. In all of them though there’s just... There’s so much tension and conflict. It’s always so impulsive. Someone was too reckless, someone was too overprotective, they bring work home with them, or they bring home to work, the list goes on. I really like you, but I think that you deserve better than that. We both do. So I don’t want to start anything between us, because I think that we’ll be better off as friends and co-workers.”

“Blake, I really like you too, why don’t you want to try? Is this about Joe? Don’t you think that we’ll be different? We know what to avoid, what not to do. We could make a relationship work.”

“It’s not about Cruz, I promise you that. You’re your own person more than capable of making your own decisions. And as for us being different, know what to not to do... That’s what they all say. Literally. Connie made snarky comments every time a new couple got together. She guessed when they were going to break up and usually got it pretty close. We won’t be special, we won’t be different. I know how horrible this sounds, Gianna, but I think that getting together romantically is a bad idea waiting to burn to the ground and I really value our friendship too much for that.”

“Okay. Whatever.”

“Giann-”

“Call me Mackey.”

“Gian-”

“If you’re just my friend, you can call me Mackey like all my other friends. Like you said, we’re not ‘special’.” And then she slammed his door so hard that he knew he would be hearing from his landlord because the lady at the end of the hall complained about everything. “Great. Just great.”

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

Blake got to work and immediately doubted himself. How could he say that to Gianna? How could he have been so callous? Basing his decision about whether or not he wanted a relationship with her from diaries written by a retired secretary he hadn’t even met? What was he thinking? Why wouldn’t they be special? They had chemistry and affection, love would come later. Could anything be salvaged?

... But then he saw Grainger in the common room flirting with Brett while Casey looked he was about to murder the other lieutenant and his resolve solidified. He made the right decision. She gave him the cold shoulder blatantly. Everyone noticed, sent him looks, he just shook his head. Telling them not to get involved, he wasn’t going to drag her through this. Gianna deserved better.

And she got better. She stransferred out of 51 a few weeks later and Blake was terrified that he was the reason, he never wanted to make her feel unwelcome or pushed out. He’d cornered her in the firehouse once he heard her plans. She just giggled and rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s not about you. Like you said, I’m my own person, more than capable of maing my own decisions. I’m taking this transfer because it feels like the best fit for me and the future that I want for myself. You’re not special, Blake.” She had that teasing glimmer in her eyes he hadn’t seen since she showed up at his apartment, and it was the first time she’d said his first name since. “Well, that’s a lie. You’re a little special. You have this way of bringing out the best in people, but I don’t think you see it... I’m going to miss seeing you at work, but I’ll hang around Molly’s every once in a while. I’m too invested in brettsey now to just quit cold turkey.” She smiled brightly, but he couldn’t force himself to, cursed with the knowledge of Connie’s diaries. “Hey, I know those diaries revealed a lot, and I think you were right about us, but hold out hope for them. And for stellaride. They all bring out too much good and happiness from each other to have you prophesizing their future pain. They’ll end up alright. You’ll see.”

Blake’s eyes met hers from across the table at Severide and Kidd’s wedding, smiled at her boyfriend, wrapped his arm around his girlfriend, and said the words he knew she was waiting to hear. “You were right, Gianna.”

“Of course I was.”

#One Chicago #Chicago Fire #blake gallo #gianna mackey #blake gallo x gianna mackey #brettsey #sylvie brett #matt casey x sylvie brett #matt casey #Kelly Severide #stellaride #stella kidd #kelly severide x stella kidd

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gameimagines · 5 years ago

Text

Unexpected Addition

Pairing: Seteth x Fem! Reader

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Notes: This is totally self indulgent. I wanted to write Seteth finding out his wife is pregnant. Spoilers about Seteth and Flayn’s uhhh “relationship”. Reader is not explicitly Byleth but could be interpreted as Byleth if you wanted. It’s really open ended who MC is.

Life with Seteth and Flayn had been nothing less than a dream. Seteth was a wise, loving husband. The green haired man put the needs of his family first; Seteth would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe and taken care of. Flayn was equally compassionate. Initially, you were concerned Flayn would find your relationship with her father intrusive, but that wasn’t the case. The small girl loved you as if you were her birth mother. And you, in turn, treated Flayn like she was your world.

Everything was picturesque, yet you worried your happy little home was going to crack under unsightly stress. You had felt sick recently and though you insisted it was just a bug, you weren’t quiet sure. You hated to assume the worst, er, the best? The best possible outcome at the worst possible time, you reasoned. However, symptoms persisted and you found yourself inside Manuela’s infirmary visiting the woman about your fears. You stood silent, eyes out of focus while Manuela gave you the diagnosis. “Congratulations,” she said with surprised enthusiasm, “your intuitions were right - you’re pregnant.”

Butterflies collected in your chest. What was Seteth going to stay? And Flayn? It was hardly an opportune time to be with child. Seteth was getting increasingly busy with the church’s affairs and Flayn was occupying all of your free time, persistent on bonding with her new mother. Manuela waved her hand in-front of your concerned face to pull you out of your trance. “Hello? You don’t look to pleased to have received news of every woman’s dream,” she raised a slim eyebrow.

You scoffed, “It’s hardly every woman’s dream. Go tell some of the female knights in the courtyard that they’re with child - it’ll ruin their day.” One of your shaky hands ran through your hair. Manuela did have somewhat of a point, you hoped to have a kid of your own one day. The day had just moved from an undisclosed future to the present. “Thank you for your help, Manuela.” You gave a small smile and a courteous nod, “I’d like to ask for your discretion, at least until I find the right way to relay the news to Seteth.”

The former songstress nodded but her smile did nothing to ease your nerves, you knew she could be, well, a bit of a gossip. But you couldn’t keep Manuela hostage in the infirmary till you told your husband. So you’d have to hurry to the advisory office. Hurry being a relative term, you planned to take a turtle’s pace to Seteth’s quarters so you could go over your speech.

If only it could have gone so smoothly. The moment you crossed passed the threshold of the infirmary you were greeted by an eagerly waiting Flayn. “Hello, mother,” the corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at you. “I hope everything went well.”

Your smile did not reach your eyes. Hopefully, Flayn couldn’t tell it forced. “It did,” you quickly lied. Flayn walked with you down the old monastery halls. Oh, Flayn. Sweet Flayn. Would she feel replaced by her new sibling? Could she welcome your child as her own kin? Flayn welcomed you into her life before, but would she now feel replaced?

“Are you sure? You seem a bit uneasy.” Flayn looked over your face. Your anxiety was hardly veiled. You draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her into a brief side hug.

“I’m okay,” you assured. “Can I assume Seteth is in his office?”

Flayn nodded, “Yes. But it’s time for him to take a break and eat with me. You should join us!” Oh dear, not only did Flayn plan on accompanying you all the way there, she would stay with you two for quite a while. You needed to tell Seteth immediately. Maybe the two of you could discuss how to tell Flayn? However, it looked as though you might just have to tell them together.

The two of you arrived at Seteth’s door sooner than you had hoped. As if he could sense your presence (or perhaps he heard Flayn’s chatter), your husband spoke from behind the door, “Enter.” Your hand twitched as it grasped the brass door handle and turned it open. Bright, early morning sunlight filtered in through the window. Sun rays hit the back of Seteth’s grassy hair. The sight of your ethereal looking husband helped soothe your rapid heartbeat.

Seteth’s emerald eyes softened when he saw his family in the doorway. His thin lips curled upwards. You couldn’t help but mirror his calm expression. “I trust your appointment with Manuela went well?” He inquired. Your smile faltered. Seteth must have noticed, his brown furrowed at the slight change. “Did it not go well, my love?”

Hearing the concern in her Father’s voice caused Flayn to frown. The petite girl turned towards you, “I thought you said everything was alright?”

“I-“ you fumbled over what to say. You took in a deep breath to steady yourself, before angling your body so you could face them both. “I waited more time to figure out how to say it. There was more to the news than just everything was normal.”

The duo looked more unsettled by your words. Seteth walked out from behind his desk and engulfed one of your comparatively smaller hands in his. “Whatever is the ailment, I will scour the region for masters in white magic. You will not suffer for long.” Despite Seteth’s assurance, he sounded very worried.

“Surely the goddess will heal you. I won’t stop praying for you, mother.” Flayn promised.

You nearly grimaced. They didn’t get it, you weren’t battling some mysterious sickness. “That’s not exactly it...this isn’t something you can cure with magic.”

For the second time that afternoon, you misspoke. Your small family paled. Seteth tightened his grip. “You aren’t saying you’ve been cursed, are you?” He searched your eyes for an answer.

“Oh, goddess forbid it! I can’t believe this happened to you, mother!” Flayn looked like she was on the verge of tears.

Seteth’s face contorted in anger. An anxious wrath set in. “The church will strike vengeance upon whoever afflicted you! I swear it,” your husband nearly barked out. Emotions were rapidly spiraling out of control. You needed to de-escalate the situation quickly.

“No, that’s not it! I’m only pregnant!” Your exclamation immediately silenced the room. “Please calm down. I didn’t mean to worry you two. I just didn’t know how to say it.” You cringed at the less than calculated reveal, but Seteth was about to send off the Knights of Serios on a fake mission.

Seteth’s eyes were wider than you’d ever seen them. Similarly, Flayn was flabbergasted by the news. The silence hung thick. “I apologize, I should’ve been more sensitive with the reveal. Especially for you, Flayn. I don’t want you to feel replaced by your new sibling.” You turned to face Flayn directly, hoping your face conveyed how sympathetic you felt.

In a moment of unforeseen enthusiasm, Flayn cut the tension. “This is fantastic news!” She squealed. Her eyes nearly sparkled as she looked at you. “I’ve wanted a sibling for so long! But I never thought I would get one!”

Relief washed over you. If Flayn was excited, surely Seteth would be too. You glanced over at your husband. He looked taken back, no doubt blindsided by the news. “Is everything alright?” You asked him.

Seteth let out a soft laugh. “Alright? My love, this is far better than ‘alright’ - I’m going to have a child with you.” Seteth placed a gentle hand on your cheek. “I am overjoyed,” he nearly whispered, his tone soft but delighted. Tears collected in the corners of his eyes.

You stretched your arms out, “Come here, you two.” The green haired duo moved to embrace you. You felt safe, warm, and happier than you’d been in a long time. The tender moment only lasted a few seconds, before your stomach rumbled. Oh right, it was lunch time. “I need to get food. After all, I’m eating for two now.”

Bonus:

“We ought to think of names,” Seteth said as you strode to the dinning halls.

“Oh, I’ve already got one picked out. It’ll be the name of someone we know, out of reference.” You responded.

Seteth cocked his head. “Oh? Were you thinking Jeralt? Or Rhea?”

“Sylvain.”

“Absolutely not.”

“How about Lorenz?”

“I am finding a name for our child by myself.”

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crimeronan · 5 years ago

Note

i wanna hear more about your headcanon of declan as autistic (no pressure! only if u want to)

oh ariana we’re really in it now

not all of these bullet points are specifically related to autism bc this just turned into a post about how fond i am of declan. however. autistic declan lynch rights here we go

speech

declanisms

really, keeping a list of action-based conversation starters to meet your goals that all sound like something a caricature of a high-level business executive would say... honey

memorizing clever turns of phrase and the cadence of storytelling

and refusing to ever use this love of language in public lest it make him vulnerable or ruin anything he’s built

having practiced regulating his vocal tone and inflection to make them both as normal and as free of personality as possible

being unable to modulate his vocal tone and inflection when he’s Not actively concentrating on regulating them - speaking impulsively from a place of upset, getting excited about things, etc

physicality

having also practiced his physicality to appear as unthreatening and unobtrusive as possible

mirroring strangers, casual acquaintances, criminal associates

actively schooling himself not to talk with his hands; natural storytelling comes with gesturing and physical involvement

having pleasant conversations and being pleasant to exist around while managing to have absolutely no friends

anxious stomachaches

nervous tics

refusing to allow himself comfortable clothing or a comfortable living space despite seeming to want these things

deciding he can have nice shoes, as a treat (doesn’t have anything to do with neurodivergence i just think it’s cute)

internal emotions

Everything Is Horrible, All The Time, But That’s Fine Because That’s Just How Life Is For Me And I’ve Accepted It

deeply unhappy, deeply bored, deeply exhausted, deeply terrified

given up on dreams and ambitions because they will never be accessible to someone like him (one of those things that in-narrative isn’t autism-related, but sure can be a hashtag relatable feel)

happiness, excitement, joy, any positive emotions are all “dangerous” because they represent a loss of control

zero to one hundred IMMEDIATELY in terms of anger, manic excitement, terror, misery, self-flagellation

constantly self-regulating, compartmentalizing, putting aside, and refusing to act on emotions despite feeling Incredibly Deeply

anxiety

obsessing, catastrophizing, making contingency plans, exploring bad outcomes, regretting past actions literally every single second of every day

aforementioned physical anxiety manifestations

resigned to ronan and matthew’s eventual deaths even when things are Mostly Okay

convinced that if and when something happens to ronan or matthew, it will be his fault

none of these things are autism-related specifically, there’s just something in his repetitive thoughts / methods of self-soothing / ways of internalizing trauma that's..... a feeling

child development

one of those kids who would have been called “precocious”

had developed a system for watching/protecting ronan and trying to convince ronan not to dream things by age five

specific interests in things deemed uninteresting or unimportant

didn’t engage in the same play behavior most kids his age would

got overwhelmed and cried over liking a gift too much

consciously aware of niall’s disdain for him, aurora’s ephemeral nature, and ronan’s dangerousness to himself at age five

some of these things are definitely exacerbated or fully caused by a childhood of emotional neglect and endangerment; autism reading integrates with this rather than replacing it. i strongly feel declan would still have been a “precocious” child with a healthy happy parental upbringing as well

sense of responsibility

extremely stressed by any situation he can’t control

will attempt to control situations beyond his jurisdiction to minimize this

studies so many parenting books after technically becoming ronan and matthew’s caretaker because he has no frame of reference for parenting and does not trust his instincts

“if you want something done right, do it yourself” a life motto by declan lynch

“everything is my fault, all the time” a life motto by declan lynch

“except when it’s dad’s or ronan’s fault” a pretty fair addendum by declan lynch

mental stimulation

so unbelievably bored with his life situation

THRILLED any time he gets to play games or engage in clever conversation - seen a little in his “crime makes me feel alive” vibes, his back-and-forth banter with jordan

won’t let himself get engaged in things because passion feels unsafe

enjoys himself for about one hour of one single night and then immediately starts cracking to pieces about how living in a constant state of mental dissatisfaction is killing him slowly

somehow manages to be surprised by this turn of events

interests

he hides art he loves in a murder attic like a feral cat who refuses to eat in front of people. i don’t even need to get into this

absolutely immediately enchanted to the point of self-labeled stupidity by watching jordan paint

infodumping about art history

trading art interests with jordan bc he’s legitimately interested and excited by what she knows and feels passionate about

this entire post should just be the murder attic. declan oh my fucking god

aforementioned collecting of language he likes

the whole tyrian purple thing. again. declan oh my fucking god

emotional intimacy

craves emotional intimacy but is TERRIFIED of being known and/or being rejected

is convinced he can never and will never have emotional intimacy in his life

has all the stamina of a wet tissue in terms of keeping his emotional secrets when jordan cottons onto them

gets annoyed by relationships with people who want emotional connection but continues playacting through the motions of said relationships in the hopes of being less lonely

comforting people / expressing genuine care

declan attempted to dispense comfort. “everybody dies, matthew”

i have to put attempted to dispense comfort on the list again. oh my god. to declan’s brain, emotional comfort is a vending machine that’s eaten ten dollars in a row and is now falling on him after he made the mistake of shaking it

declan regretted saying anything. [immediately says the worst thing possible]

write your routine, ronan. now. now. write it. write it down. (because i’m worried you’re going to kill yourself but have no idea how to say that so i have to focus on concrete action.)

every time he’s tried to say “i’m worried about you” and instead gone “why are you inconveniencing me this way.” king

having no sense of how to communicate feelings or solve emotional conflicts through talking despite attempting to do these things frequently, AFTER STUDYING OUT OF BOOKS, to his detriment

preferring to take care of people silently and subtly through protecting them and making things easier for them, extremely similarly to how ronan does

irritability

constantly in a low level fugue state of annoyance

runs on caffeine and fumes

very thin patience for anyone else’s inability to stick to plans, manage time, regulate emotion, do their jobs, follow through on commitments, etc

the unceasing “i’m not unhappy. i’m not unhappy. i’m not unhappy” while at work screams of “i am in sensory/emotional hell all the time and checking slightly out of this plane to deal”

loses control all at once, when he does lose control

drains energy like a broken cellphone battery from the effort of combating misery, anxiety, mental overload, boredom, masking all thoughts and feelings

bonus content: parents

the actual in-universe reasons for these things aren’t related to neurodivergence as far as we know, but

growing up as the unfavored child whose interests are constantly ignored or shut down

seeing your siblings get preferential treatment for no reason

being silenced or punished every time you express dissatisfaction or unhappiness or anger

being considered disposable

internalizing the idea that you’re a burden unless you’re worth something to others

that’s a real common lived realty for autistic ppl

bonus content: brothers

i read all three lynch brothers as being on the spectrum and all having different experiences with it

i read matthew as having had the inverse experience of declan, in which he flaps and stims and chews loudly and talks a mile a minute and expresses himself with excitement and passion and bouncing

& he has Not been punished for it or made to feel like it should be hidden

declan’s ferocious protectiveness of matthew is in many ways bc he wants to keep matthew from suffering the same way he has

differing autism spectrum experiences fit neatly into that

ronan and declan’s experiences are in some ways wildly different

in other ways, though

going zero to one hundred on the emotional spectrum, defaulting to anger to avoid fully feeling internal chaos, being unable to understand the other’s feelings or thought processes / making wildly incorrect conclusions about them, preferring to show feelings through action rather than words, struggling to translate genuine emotion into expression without coming across as a dick

they are Very Similar

declan and ronan do a lot of “dog growls at its own reflection” about this because neither of them is more furious than when they see their own perceived shortcomings in the other

i’m positive i’ve forgotten some things and also positive i have not communicated all of these thoughts as effectively as i would like but i have been typing this post for a thousand years. here you go

#trc #cdth #declan lynch #i love my idiot son #suicide m #ableism -#Anonymous

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lunaleetarot · 3 years ago

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Cancer 2021 Year Ahead Birthday Spread

Starting from the top clockwise, theme in the middle.

June 2021- Ace of Swords

This month you will figure out the source of some of the conflict in your life. This will be a new conflict in your life. Although this ace will show you the origin of drama in your life, there will be an opportunity to turn it around for the better. This is an extreme card. You will either experience great love or great hate this month. This card also predicts quick and forceful action. If you commit to the task and give it your all, you will have a swift outcome. Your determination will be great. You’ll have the extra stamina you’ll need. You may need a health treatment this month. This may involve scalpels, scissors or knives. Accidents, surgeries, dental visits or even cesarean come to play with this card. A situation may begin to progress very quickly. You will receive clarification and answers very shortly. That’s not to say the end is near, but you’ll learn more about the situation at least. You may be dealing with an air sign this month (Gemini, Libra and Aquarius).

2.July 2021- The High Priestess

Secrets, intuition and mystery will be a theme for you this scorching month. The outcome of the events unfolded this month are not meant to be known. This is a card of psychic ability. You will have an increase in your intuition (which is already pretty spot on as a Cancer). You will have strong suspicions. You may suspect infidelity in your partner. Your intuition may be telling you something in your life isn’t right. A lover or business partner may be keeping a secret from you. You will sense this dishonesty this month. At this time the secret may come out to light. However I would let the information present itself naturally rather than playing Nancy Drew.

3. August 2021- Six of Wands

Victory, glory and success will come to you in the summer haze of August. You will have victory in all your endeavors this month. Your hard work will be recognized. The effort you’ve put in will pay off, and you will bask in the glory. This will be a long-term success. You will be looked up to as an authority at this time. Your social media following may grow. You will also be rewarded financially. Your ego will get a boost as well. If this doesn’t ring true for you, this can also mean you let your pride get in the way of your happiness. You can’t admit when you're wrong and can’t handle when someone knows more about a subject than you do. If not kept in check, this could lead to your downfall. This arrogance will turn people away from you. You may appear to be a know-it-all. You may be dealing with a Leo a lot this month.

4. September 2021- Temperance

This September it will appear nothing is happening (in the best possible way). You will achieve contentment in every area of your life. You will also experience healing in every sense of the word. This is the quiet after the storm you went through in the early summer. You now find you can relax with room to breathe. For some of you, this card can be a warning that you need to balance. Don’t wear yourself too thin this month. If you’ve been worried about your health, this is a sign that all will work out fine. Your home life will be a happy one. You will make your home your sanctuary and find comfort there. You may be dealing with a Sagittarius this month.

5. October 2021- Six of Swords

As summer turns into fall, you will begin to see some movement. You're going to make a move in some area of your life this month, Cancer. You may be traveling away from or towards conflict. You may have the opportunity to get out of your hometown and go someplace different. This could be another country for some of you. Or this could mean you made steps towards a personal goal or desired outcome. You're making progress even if you don’t believe you are. You may be dealing with an Aquarius frequently this month.

6. November 2021- The Star

You will be very hopeful as we move into November. You will see signs of promise in your current situation. If you’ve been considering giving up on your dreams or love life- don’t. You will get results this month. Your dreams and wishes will come true at this time. You will get what you want, but not what you expect. However the outcome will be what’s best for you. Destiny is at work here. It will all work out in the end. You may be dealing with an Aquarius again this month.

7. December 2021- Three of Swords

This festive month you will be hit with heartache, pain and possibly infidelity. It won’t be holly or jolly for you, Cancer. This will be an emotionally painful time for you. Your relationship (romantic or another kind) is failing, and to make matters worse other people have become involved in the situation. You will be dealing with a lot of sadness. This will be a difficult time for you, perhaps the worst month of your year ahead. This card usually means break-up or divorce. An outsider may come between you and your partner. Cheating is often associated with this card. If it isn’t in romance, it can be a different type of drama. You may feel betrayed by someone you thought you were close to. You may be dealing with a Libra frequently this month, or this situation may involve one.

8. January 2022- Four of Wands

As the new year begins you will find some much needed stability. Last month was rough for you, but I feel all will be going well in your home life come January. If not right away, it will by the end of this winter month. At this time you will be focused on your family. You may even get reassurance on a family issue. At this time you may be making a home move or will be considering one for the future. You may decide to undergo some home improvements. If that is the case I see this paying off, even if it is stressful at the time. Just be mindful not to become too introverted, you need to put yourself out there, Cancer. Especially because of the three swords in December. You may be dealing with Aries frequently this month.

9. February 2022- Seven of Cups

Choices, ideas and inspiration are coming to you in the romantic month of February. This month you will have to make a choice. There will be many and each will seem valid in their own way. To complicate matters, you’ll likely have a timeframe to make this tricky decision. Quick action will be needed here. Otherwise you can go from having many options to none. Many people will be giving their opinions on what they think you should do. Not everyone will have your best interest at heart, and you would be wise to keep this in mind as you consider your decision. You may feel overwhelmed or confused, especially if your decision making skills need work. You may be dealing with a Scorpio frequently this month.

10. March 2022- The Hanged Man

As we enter Spring 2022, prophecy, waiting and sacrifice are in store for you. You may find yourself playing the role of the martyr. You’ll have to let go of something close to you to get something else in return. You may have to give up your time, money or something else that you love. You will feel sadness when you give up whatever this is. You will be on edge this month. The outcome of a particular situation looks uncertain. You may feel desperate to take action, but the hanged man is cautioning you to wait until you have more information. This card can also mean sickness and illness. If this is the case, treatment will be a long road for you, but necessary for you to get well again.

11. April 2022- Three of Pentacles

April will be a time of apprenticeship, fine tuning your skill and learning. You will develop yourself this month. You're putting the skills and talents you were born with to good use. Because you have a natural talent, your skills won’t go unnoticed by those who matter. The hard work you put in this month will pay off in the end. This marks the start of your journey, not the end. You may need to push yourself a little harder to see results. The prospects are good. That’s only the case if you apply yourself though. Don’t assume because you're talented at something you know everything about it. This way of thinking is arrogance, Cancer. There are people out there who are better than you. You may be the subject of envy for people who aren’t as naturally talented as you. They may try to call you out. The Three of Pentacles is telling you to rise above their pettiness. You may be dealing with a Capricorn this month.

12. May 2022- King of Pentacles

This month you may be dealing with an established man, or you want to take on the traits of someone of this persona. This month you (or someone close to you) will be all about business and making money. This month your financial situation will improve for the better. This won’t be a one large sum, but something more permanent. This card holds the meaning of riches. You will have a more traditional approach to life. You may follow in your family’s footsteps. This King follows the same religion, occupation and outlook that their culture expects of them. At this time you should appreciate the power of tradition. This may also be a sign that a new romance will be a stable and lasting figure in your life. However this card can also mean your being too materialistic and money focused. It can also mean you're unwilling to let go of the way things were done in the past, to a fault. While tradition is a good thing, it isn’t always appropriate.

13. Theme of the Year- Ten of Wands

This year you will have a lot of stress and burdens. You will have to work much harder than you’ve had to previously, and there is much work to be done after that. Over the course of the year, you're going to have to decide if you want to get serious and complete the challenge ahead of you or if you want to give up. This card isn’t telling you what to do, it’s just letting you know the year ahead will be a difficult one. You’ll have a lot on your plate this year. Your juggling family, business, work or other obligations. You go to bed at night thinking of all the work that lies ahead. You're overwhelmed. Stress related illness may crop up for you, so be sure to make time for self care when you can. For some of you, this is a card of pregnancy and childbirth. Perhaps adjusting to parenthood or adding another child to your family will wear you thin. In business, you feel like you're pushing and pushing but you feel like there is no end in sight (I see this getting better Spring 2022). Remember you're working hard for a more comfortable life. This year you're pushing towards the life you want. You may be dealing with a Sagittarius a lot this year. You may need to enlist the help of a group of people in April to get projects off the ground. You should seek out help from a priest, therapist or counselor. July, September and March of 2022 will be significant months of your year.

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seyaryminamoto · 4 years ago

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Seyaryyy, it's been a "long" time since I asked you something spoilery about Gladiator =D.

... So, I was writing a pretty lengthy and detailed answer, switched to another tab for a second, and when I came back, my answer was gone and the tab had refreshed! :’D FUN.

... Okay. I’ll try to be a little more concise this time around. As the questions are pretty spoilery, I’ll hide them under the cut too :’D

My question will be about Zhaozula of course. That marriage will happen and things won't be so nice in part 3 in general.

But you mentioned that she won't be on bad terms with her husband all along.

So, will she try to find comfort on him with everything going on? Like accepting it and trying to make the best? Is he going to kinda fall for her or something like that?

And is Rei going to play an important role in part 3??

Sorry if it's too spoilery but as you know, this marriage is something I totally look forward to. I'm waiting for it since the 2nd reviews party.=')

Your wording of what I said about Azula not always being on bad terms with Zhao makes me think I either didn’t explain myself properly, or details of my plans have changed gradually since then...? Either thing is entirely possible, I must admit.

A quick search reveals that I said, 5 years ago, when you asked if they’d get ever along...:

Yeah, surprisingly, but prior to the whole marriage mess they will get along a little better, and will have to work together to resolve a particular problem. Zhao likes the idea of being some sort of mentor to Azula in regards of the Gladiator Business. Azula doesn’t like his behavior much when he gets like that, makes her feel underestimated, but she’s going to make the most of the advantages Zhao offers either way... so yeah, she will work with him when she deems it convenient or necessary. They won’t be BFFs, but Azula will grow to tolerate the man a lot more in the forseeable future.

All this is referring to Part 2 alone, I have to admit. While yes, a lot of my plans have changed and Zhao ended up being a lot more complex than I originally thought he’d be (so not everything in this answer applies 100% to what’s really in the story these days), back when I answerd this question I was referring to Part 2 alone, hence the brief clarification that “prior to the whole marriage mess” they’d get along better. This answer applies exclusively to things that would happen before they’re arranged to marry, not after (a lot of these developments are things we’ve already seen happen throughout Part 2).

Anyways, Azula has been in good terms with Zhao for a while now, since chapter 138 or so, and while there’s ups and downs, their relationship is honestly at its best through Part 2, by far. At the end of Part 2 it will start decaying again, and throughout Part 3 it will only continue to do so.

Without giving too much away, I can say Zhao will try to be generous with Azula in Part 3, to give her as much space as she needs, he will want to be patient so she can adapt to their new situation. And while being as nice as he can be, in such a not-nice-at-all situation, he won’t realize he’s playing into her schemes exactly as she needs him to. By the time he takes notice of this, it’s too late for him to do anything about it: the damage is done, and he isn’t pleased in the least that Azula manipulated him at will.

This will result in Zhao reacting rather adversely towards Azula, and their relationship goes downhill since then. Azula won’t really make any other moves against Zhao after this, won’t even try to manipulate him again, but Zhao won’t see her as someone who needs help anymore. Rather, he sees her as a threat and danger to himself, and every small move she makes, he assumes she’s making it to screw him over somehow, even if that’s not the case.

So... while I’m afraid you won’t really be happy with this answer, their relationship is really at its best right now, before the marriage arrangement even comes to anyone’s mind. Zhao will also take to doing certain things in Part 3 that I honestly don’t think you’ll be happy with... but it’s stuff that ties in with what little we know about his personal life at the moment, so I hope it won’t feel out of place since it’s what I’ve always planned. Either way, I can sum this up by saying Zhao tries his best for Azula at first, until he feels she took advantage of his kindness to turn him into a mindless puppet she was stringing about for her own benefit. After he reaches that conclusion, there’s really no amending this relationship anymore.

Hence, no, Azula never really is in a position where she would seek comfort in Zhao in any sense, for, at the point where he’s at his nicest, she’s at her darkest, and doesn’t want his kindness and consideration. By the time she starts to recover, she has already made her big move and Zhao becomes a lot more hostile towards her, so there’s no attempt to find comfort later on either.

If Azula hadn’t come up with that scheme, there could be a chance Zhao would develop some sort of emotional attachment towards her... but he really doesn’t see her as a romantic interest for himself, even if he can certainly admire her looks, but he’s really not that romantic a man in Gladiator. He outright told Sokka, back when he realized Sokka had feelings for Azula, that he should move on and find other people because he’s young and will get over it...

“...there are other women, you know. I realize you may think she's the only one worth loving, if I were your age I would think the same, but part of growing up is accepting you can find the right girl at the right time, rather than to obsess with the same one forever.”

That was a slightly sneaky way of me to show what Zhao’s personal views of romance are. While there’s obviously a potentially romantic way to develop characters like these, by giving them a significant relationship with someone who will teach them to let go of their skepticism about true love and whatnot, that’s not what will happen with Zhao, especially because of what Azula’s schemes result in.

And the truth is, Azula’s schemes are the only reason why she agrees to the marriage arrangement at all, so... there’s really no possible happy outcome for this relationship in Gladiator. The whole thing is born in the worst of circumstances, between two people who are between reluctant and outright unwilling to be with each other, no matter if they were on good terms shortly before these developments happened... so I’m afraid it won’t be quite what you may have hoped it was. Sorry if my wording was confusing before, or if my plans have changed too much, but there really won’t be much in the way of positive development for that marriage, once it happens.

And now, as for Rei...

... Truthfully, I don’t want to spoil this, but Rei is going to become one of the first good things to happen to Azula in Part 3. The bond between them is seriously heartwarming for me, and I know it sounds weird that Azula will get along so well with Rei when I’m basically saying her relationship with Rei’s father will be a downwards spiral... but Rei, goes without saying, isn’t her father. What Azula already knows about her, at the earliest point in time in Part 3, is enough to establish an initially small bond that will grow tighter as the story progresses.

Rei has had a very complicated life so far. She will serve to show a glimpse of Zhao’s nicest side... yet her very existence is also a highlight of some of Zhao’s nastier flaws. He has been quite kind to Rei and he’s very protective of her, yet... he’s also not kind enough, if that makes sense? He has always been distant with Rei, he’s not exactly a man who knows how to be a father (I mean... she’s serving as a maid at his household? That’s not quite what most people would do with their children, even if they are illegitimate, ESPECIALLY their only child...), so their relationship is already complicated: once Azula is factored in, it gets even more complicated :’D

I don’t really want to give away a lot about Rei, but she is veeeery important in Part 3. I will admit, her role in the story changed gradually -- I always conceived her as Zhao’s illegitimate child, but back when she first showed up (chapter 138) I honestly had no idea what her ultimate role would be. I actually ended up regretting briefly the idea of featuring her as Zhao’s illegitimate child since I thought it’d cause unnecessary drama, and I damn near backtracked on it, to feature her as just his maid and nothing more during Hahn’s Gambit... but then I pondered what Part 3 could look like if Rei, as Zhao’s illegitimate daughter, was part of the equation. And, boy... the result was magical. Thus, instead of backtracking, I went full-speed ahead with making Rei his illegitimate daughter... and here we are!

I seriously look forward to writing Azula and Rei’s relationship, it’s one of the things I’m most excited about in Part 3. While Azula’s relationship with Zhao will be very complicated and not in a cute way (at least, not for me? could be you’ll enjoy it anyhow, I don’t know xD), her relationship and dynamics with Rei are just wonderful to me. I’ve tried to contain my hype about her character, but people on Twitter have known me to suddenly scream “REEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!” in completely out-of-context tweets just because she gives me too many feels whenever I think about her x’DDDDD I figure that will speak for itself regarding how much her character means to me (and to the story).

I hope this is a comprehensive enough answer for both your questions!

#kigozula #gladiator spoilers #regarding a certain... complicated sort of family #I hate Part 3 because on one hand there's so much I'm apprehensive about #AND YET #there's some stuff I'm DYING to write #... and Rei is one of them #*gross sobbing*#reeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiii....#submission

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makaylajadewrites · 4 years ago

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Irresistible

Summary: The next few weeks continued on as they normally would. Work, home, occasional show, traveling to look at dead bodies — the usual. The tension between him and Derek had not subsided, and at this point, Spencer would dare call it uncomfortable and sexual, two words that shouldn’t often go together. But that was the only possible way he could describe it without getting into human sexuality and trapping himself in an infinite wormhole of endless conclusions and possible outcomes. He couldn’t do that to himself, thank the gods, else he would only suffer more.

Potential tws: Smut, angst

The next few weeks continued on as they normally would. Work, home, occasional show, traveling to look at dead bodies — the usual. The tension between him and Derek had not subsided, and at this point, Spencer would dare call it uncomfortable and sexual, two words that shouldn’t often go together. But that was the only possible way he could describe it without getting into human sexuality and trapping himself in an infinite wormhole of endless conclusions and possible outcomes. He couldn’t do that to himself, thank the gods, else he would only suffer more.

The girls didn’t seem to understand his apprehension. Of course they didn’t. They were straight women who saw Derek as a possible mate yet didn’t take into account that, as much as Spencer liked to be Bria Monique, he wasn’t Bria Monique. She was a character, a person he created as an outlet to release his pent up feminine energy and a healthy hobby. Nothing more. He was still Dr. Spencer Reid, but sometimes he liked to become Bria Monique and walk in her shoes for awhile. She was this beautiful, sexy woman that he could never be, and the woman that Derek desired but would never actually have. It was depressing, honestly, and Spencer felt somewhat disappointed now that he knew he could never be what Derek wanted.

Which was why he continued to distract himself from that. He found himself going to the club on nights he normally wouldn't go, and it wasn’t always to perform either. He spent time with people who knew him, who knew Bria, and it was nights like those that engraved moments of pure, beautiful intoxication within him that formed his identity and kept him inspired to seek that feeling of belonging again and again. Men who went to those clubs knew what they were getting themselves in to, and Spencer didn’t have to feel embarrassed or even in danger when, in moments of heated passion, hands would touch him without expecting female anatomy to meet them. They knew what he was, who he was, and he let himself be whisked away into the world of pleasure and desire where Derek could never fit.

Spencer acted as he normally would at work, busying himself with his normal duties yet confiding in the girls some of his issues. It was nice to have an active support system, and while Hotch and Rossi didn’t quite understand the girls’ newfound fascination for the youngest member of the BAU, they only regarded Spencer with their usual professionalism. Oh, if they only knew how gay their resident genius was…

They had a case that kept them away for nearly a week; a child killer, which was always the worst since it hit home for a lot of them, especially since most child killers were also pedophiles, and no child deserved to suffer something so vile. The flight back home after cases like this, especially ones that didn’t end well, were always silent, giving them all time to mourn the loss of a child they had not been able to save. They found the man’s residence, thanks to Reid’s narrowed down geographical profile and Garcia’s excellent skills behind the scenes, but they had been too late. The missing child had already been killed and was found in a shallow grave, meanwhile their killer was rewatching a video of the terrible things he had done.

Which was why, as soon as they had made it back, Spencer headed to one of his usual clubs out of drag, wanting to spend time with positive people and hopefully lift his mood so that he wouldn’t go home depressed and lonely. His fellow queens looked surprised to see him out of drag, but they welcomed him all the same and spent time with him until a handsome man managed to pull him away from the group, showering him with compliments and praises that no straight man - ahem, Derek - could ever give him. The gorgeous man, who introduced himself as Jayden, bought him a few drinks and they laughed and talked to each other with much interest, and despite Spencer’s multiple apologies for his occasional awkwardness and inane social skiers, Jayden didn’t seem bothered at all.

“It’s really cute, actually,” Jayden had said, pushing his dark, tight curls away from his handsome face, “You’re really cute.”

Jayden looked eerily similar to Derek though, and Spencer knew right away that the way they clicked almost instantaneously was just his own transference. He was struggling to come to terms with his own feelings for Derek, so instead of confronting his problems head on, he gave his feelings to someone else in return for the love and desire he craved from another person.

Jayden was such a nice man though. He was a year older than Spencer, but he carried a sense of maturity that Spencer didn’t often see in men his age. Most of the guys he talked to that were his age were still trapped in a childish mindset, which was often why Spencer was more attracted to men older than him. But Jayden was an exception. Oh, was he an exception. Jayden was African American, nearly six feet and six inches tall, with a body that nearly rivaled Derek’s. He had tight black curls piled atop his head in a messy, sexy style with an even, sleek fade. He had a full beard, but it was kept relatively short and groomed almost obsessively. It was clear that Jayden cared about how he looked and how others perceived him, and Spencer didn’t mind that at all. In fact, it seemed to encourage him to put more effort into his every day outfits. He learned to embrace his masculinity as much as his femininity — Jayden was a fan of his drag too, but it was special, because he thought he was beautiful in and out of it.

That night they met, they ended up leaving with each other’s numbers, and Jayden was quite the gentleman, making it clear that he didn’t want to talk to Spencer just as a hookup. He saw potential in him, and that was what made him realize that he was the man that Derek could never be for him. He was accepting, influencing even, and he wanted what was best for Spencer. So, with his heart light and his cheeks flushed, he headed home with positive thoughts. Jayden could help him forget about Derek. He wouldn’t have to worry about his attraction towards a sexually confused man when he had Jayden, who was firm in his sexuality and wanted Spencer just as he was.

The first date had been somewhat awkward, as they all are, and when Spencer dropped the bomb on Jayden that he was actually an FBI agent and a provable genius, he had expected him to be shocked and somewhat disturbed, but Jayden was actually amazed and fascinated with his career since it wasn’t everyday that a person got to meet a real agent. Much less a gay, drag queen one. Funny how labels made things seem more relevant than they really were.

Jayden was a graphic designer for a major business located right in D.C. He had a modest lifestyle that fit him well and made him appear that much more attractive. On just the second date, he had invited Spencer to come to his self-proclaimed bachelor pad where they made love on every surface, ranging from the living room sofa to the kitchen island to the shower. It was passionate, hot, and Spencer had never felt sexier in his entire life. He was cherished as a human being and Jayden’s lips touched almost every square inch of him until he couldn’t feel his skin anymore and his eyes were glazed with emotions he never had the privilege to experience before.

He had yet to break it to his team, however, that they had been together for nearly four months now, since Jayden had asked him out officially the morning after their night of passion. He was elated and responded cheekily with, “I thought last night was proof of that.”

He was happy, believe it or not. Jayden made him happy, but at work, he couldn’t escape those longing gazes from Derek or the gentle persuasions from the girls to talk to him. He had hoped they would have forgotten about that by now, but girls like their gossip and they remembered it like a code. Which was why he had to break it to them eventually, but he hadn’t expected it to go like this.

“Hey, Morgan!” Prentiss called over. They were all gathered in the break room before work, Spencer preparing his diabetes-inducing coffee while Garcia and JJ stood nearby, teasing their Boy Wonder for his sugar obsession. He looked up quickly when Morgan complied and approached the team, that little swagger in his hips as he walked and a growing smirk curling his perfectly kissable lips upwards… Spencer was fucked.

“What’s up?” He said, the slightest shift in his arm catching Spencer’s attention as his shirt sleeve rolled up just a tiny bit and seemed to accentuate the bulge of his bicep. Goddamnit!

“What do you think about Spence?” JJ decided to butt in, Penelope regarding her with a wide eyed expression only to look back to the group with an ever increasing interest.

“Pretty Boy?” Morgan said with that same smirk, though it was slightly disturbed by the growing confusion mixed with panic on his face. Spencer nearly shivered at the nickname though, hazel eyes shyly meeting Morgan’s face as his hand ruffled up his already messy waves, in a typical brotherly manner. But they all knew there was more to it than that.

“Yeah,” Penelope said with a growing smile, hesitant but definitely there, “As in… dating Spencer.”

There was a moment of silence that smothered them all, Spencer’s eyes wide as he choked on the sip of coffee he took and pounded a fist against his chest so that he could breathe because fucking Penelope.

The women looked back and forth between the two men, an expression of growing panic taking residence on Derek’s handsome face as he struggled to find words. He was conflicted, and of course he found Spencer attractive, especially after that night in the club, but he couldn’t be attracted to Pretty Boy. He was awkward, gangly, mysterious, slender, sexy, fuck!

“I…” he started, but Spencer didn’t give him any time to respond, quickly speaking up and letting the new information settle in their brains:

“I’m seeing someone,” he said, looking surprised at his own boldness but not backing down. It was too late now, and he couldn’t take it back, because they were already looking at him with wide eyes, slack jaws, and fanfuckingtastic, Rossi and Hotch had walked in at the exact moment he said it. The two older men shared a brief glance towards each other, but decided not to speak.

“O-Oh… Well… Congratulations!” Penelope finally chirped to dispel the horrifying awkwardness, a smile curling her plump lips upwards as Spencer smiled back, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

“What’s their name?” JJ pestered, and Spencer spared a glance towards Morgan, and he could die after seeing the obvious dismay building up in his tightening face muscles. Damn… He had ruined everyone’s day, it seemed. Spencer frowned and was about to dismiss the conversation entirely since they all had work to do, but even Hotch and Rossi seemed interested now.

“Um…” Spencer started, burying his face in his coffee for a second before speaking quietly, “Jayden… His name is Jayden.”

“Last name? If someone’s dating our Boy Genius, I’m going to have to run a full background check,” Garcia said protectively, her arms crossing over her bust as if she was firm in her statement, and Spencer regarded her with furrowed brows.

“…Foster,” he murmured quietly after a bit of hesitance. He was uncomfortable and he quickly excused himself, leaving the break room in a flurry of emotions and nerves. The remainder of the BAU looked at each other quietly, and while the girls spared glances towards Morgan, he was the second to go, acting as if nothing had ever happened. In fact, they all acted that way, and carried on as if it were any normal day. But without even being discreet, Penelope sent them all (excluding Spencer) pictures of the two that she had found on Jayden’s and Bria’s Instagrams, exclaiming how cute they were together. They were still somewhat disappointed that it wasn’t Morgan alongside Reid, but they got over it almost immediately since Spencer appeared to be happy.

That night, Spencer went home anxious, upset, and embarrassed. His entire life had been put on full blast for all of his colleagues to see, and while he knew Garcia only meant the best, it was still a breach of his privacy. But he wouldn’t tell her that. She along with the rest of the team wanted what was best for him, but he would never forget the expression on Derek’s face when Spencer revealed he was in a relationship. In fact, Derek was the only thing he could think of, and all day, he struggled to get the other man out of his head.

So he invited Jayden over, who instantly agreed. They had takeout Thai together, watched some cringey reality show that Jayden thought was absolutely hilarious, and Spencer finally invited Jayden to spend the night with him. He was surprised by his partner’s outgoingness, since Spencer wasn’t usually the type to initiate things between them, but he didn’t question the typically submissive man. If anything, he found it attractive.

“Shower?” Spencer asked as the show came to an end, leaning his head on the other man’s shoulder and glancing up at him through thick lashes, seemingly innocent. Jayden smiled and kissed his forehead.

“How could I turn that down?” He flirted effortlessly, taking Spencer’s hand and leading him into the bathroom.

They made a show out of getting undressed, giggling together and meeting lips over and over again until they stumbled into the shower together, basking in each other’s presence under the warm rain. They washed each other, Jayden scrubbed Spencer’s hair which he expressed on numerous occasions how much he loved, and kissed again until Spencer began to grow impatient, his lips breaking from Jayden’s and traveling further down his jaw, his neck, stopping just over his collarbones where a small hickey was left in his wake. He found his legs lowering though, and soon enough, he was kneeling in the shower, a hand around Jayden’s half hard cock and his eyes playful.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me, baby,” Jayden said with a chuckle, although it quickly turned into a deep groan as Spencer took him into his mouth, stroking what he couldn’t fit down his throat with his hand and bobbing in a timely matter. His muffled gags were an incredible turn on though, and Jayden’s hand entwined itself in his lover’s messy locks to pull him off.

“Bedroom?” Spencer questioned as if it were a normal conversation, rising to his feet with Jayden’s guidance and kissing him again, and the two moved as one into Spencer’s connected bedroom, collapsing on the bed in a mess of limbs. Spencer was pushed down into the mattress and his long legs spread instantly for his lover to fit between them, and Jayden took advantage of that, grinding their hips together as their mouths slotted together and their tongues danced in a slippery waltz.

“Oh, God…” Spencer breathed as Jayden began to worship his neck, leaving dark lovebites along the way down and burying his face in Spencer’s shoulder as his hands slid down his hourglass form, taking in the beauty of a person whose masculinity and femininity combined into a perfect blend of human that went beyond traditional gender roles. This individual was perfect, no matter if they were Spencer Reid or Bria Monique. That was the beauty of love, perhaps.

“So pretty, Spencer…” Jayden murmured in response as he slid down and kissed over Spencer’s hips and naval, avoiding his manhood and moving on to bury his face in between his supple cheeks, tongue tracing the puckered pink cavity lewdly as moans fell from Spencer’s lips like honey. His eyes were closed, head fallen back on the pillow and his hands rested over his chest, moving over his pectorals and thumbs occasionally brushing over his nipples to keep up the stimulation.

Jayden pulled back after a few minutes, and Spencer reached into his bedside table to fetch the lube and a condom, which Jayden took eagerly. He coated his fingers generously in the lube, pushing in one, then two and, when Spencer had overcome the initial pain of the two thick digits inside of him, three. He pumped them in and out, admiring his beautiful lover’s expressions. Spencer’s eyes stayed closed, but pleasure fluttered over his features constantly, nearly exploding when Jayden’s fingers brushed over his prostate.

When Spencer was ready, Jayden sat up on his knees, rolling the condom down his length and wasting no time in filling the emptiness of Spencer’s body. Spencer’s back arched sharply up off of the bed, a moan of satisfaction passing his lips as Jayden bottomed out after a few seconds of adjustment and angling. Jayden leaned down and kissed over his lover’s jaw, and once Spencer’s breathing had evened out, he began a smooth rhythm.

It didn’t last long, however. Spencer kept his eyes shut, imagining it were someone else above him, holding him inside of him and getting lost in the vivid fantasy while Jayden believed that the man beneath him was responding to him. In truth, Spencer was aroused because another man resided in his conscious, sliding in and out of his tightening channel as his climax neared.

“I’m so close, baby… You’re so sexy…” Jayden said above him, but Spencer didn’t hear Jayden’s voice. He heard Derek’s and Derek’s alone. His hot breath, heavy exhales, caramel skin pressing into his own alabaster. It was supposed to be beautiful, but it shattered when he came with Derek’s name on his lips.

“Oh, Derek…!” He had cried as he spilled over his stomach, but his partner immediately froze and that was enough to wake him from the delusion. Jayden looked down at him, horrified, face twisting into an expression of both anger and betrayal, hurt pulling his usually smiling lips downwards. Spencer’s eyes opened, and he looked up towards Jayden, not at first realizing his mistake only for the horror to build up on his own face. Jayden’s hands loosened over his hips until they were gone completely.

“Derek?” He repeated, dark eyes both saddened and angered as he instantly assumed his lover was cheating on him with another man. But Spencer was quick to scramble up, even though Jayden was already sliding off of the bed and standing up, still naked as he paced and turned to Spencer, hurt.

“Who’s Derek, Spencer?” He asked, strong arms crossing over his firm chest as Spencer sat on his knees, evidence of his own shameful orgasm sticky on his abdomen.

“Jayden, it’s not what you think, I—“

“Of course it isn’t. Of course it isn’t. I should have known you were just a whore.” Jayden shook his head, picking up his clothes in the bathroom and beginning to get dressed. Spencer gathered his shaking limbs and followed after him, leaning in the bathroom doorway and trying to figure out a way to explain the situation.

“Please, Jayden, if you just let me explain—“ Jayden pushed past him without hesitation, and Spencer stumbled back against the dresser, the corner digging into his hip rather painfully, but not bad enough for him to ignore the angry man storming through his house.

“No, there is no explaining, Spencer! You said another man’s name while I was fucking you! Are you serious?” He exclaimed, throwing his arms out to the side while Spencer shrunk back, as if making himself appear smaller but ultimately realizing just how badly he had messed up. Tears welled in his eyes and he just lowered his head, his bottom lip trembling miserably.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered shakily.

“Unbelievable,” Jayden said in response, “Have a nice life, Spencer.”

Spencer was left alone in that moment, and he crumbled. He slid down the side of his dresser, his long legs curling close as he cried into his knees, his hands burying themselves in his dark hair. He had ruined the only good thing he had going for him because of Derek. This was all his fault. Had he not came into his personal life and jumbled everything up, Spencer wouldn’t be in this mess. He would still have Jayden and Jayden would be making love to him just as they had been moments before. Instead, he was here, wallowing in his sorrows as he came to the realization that he was in love with a straight man and there was absolutely nothing he could do to change that.

Yet despite it all, this horrendous turmoil that was shaking his life to its very core, Derek was the one constant. He was there, living in his mind filling him with senses of desire that he didn’t know how to deal with. It was painful, hard, and all he could do was weep.

In a twisted, somewhat vengeful way, Spencer hoped that Derek was feeling pain too.

<-Part 2: Girls’ Night | Part 4: Only You->

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds writing #spencer reid #derek morgan #moreid #drag queen Spencer Reid

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pavit88-blog · 4 years ago

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Is Your Attitude Blocking Your Blessings?

Why does it seem that some people are luckier than others? The "lucky" folks seem to glide through life racking up enviable opportunities and wonderful relationships. These folks also seem adept at avoiding disasters, but if they hit a pitfall, they're able to quickly turn the situation around. These folks consistently have great jobs, invitations to interesting events, satisfying long-term partnerships and good health. This is in mark contrast to the "unlucky" masses who are always schlepping along feeling that they are a day late and a dollar when it comes to snagging life's big rewards.

Successful people are not usually more talented or educated, but they have a better attitude. Let's look at my hairstylist. Some may call her lucky. She told me that she wanted to do the hair of a high-profile socialite who had just moved to Washington, DC. Unbeknownst to my hairdresser, late one Friday night--just before closing the woman's assistant called the salon asking for an appointment. Although the assistant had never been to the salon before my hairstylist told her to come in. The two women chatted, the assistant discussed that she was going to a photo shoot for a national magazine the next day. Then to the surprise of my hairstylist the assistant revealed the name of her boss, Ms. High Profile Socialite. The assistant left the shop loving her new hairdo and was appreciative to my hairstylist for being so helpful. Without much prompting she said that she would pass on my hairstylist's contact information to Ms. High-Profile Socialite. At minimum my hairstylist gained a new client who will sing her praises, resulting in more business. She however may also hit the jackpot by getting Ms. High-Profile Socialite to also become a client--resulting in her own professional reputation being raised considerably.

So was my hairdresser lucky?

Maybe....

Or perhaps she did not allow her attitude to "block her blessings."

Performance consultant, Dr. Alan Zimmerman says "I've noticed that attitude makes a huge difference in determining a person's level of success in life. In fact, attitude seems to make a bigger difference than age, sex, race, education, circumstances or any other factor. Two people can have the same background and face the same situations, but experience very different outcomes. It's all about attitude

My hairstylist's great attitude may indeed help her get Ms. High-Profile socialite as a client. She could have flat-out declined the assistant's last minute request for appointment. Or should could have reluctantly honored the request, but then been sullen to the assistant. Or should could have done a crappy job on her hair. However my hairstylist is a consummate professional who believes in serving the client. When she got the request for a last minute appointment she was accommodating. When the new client arrived she was pleasant and engaging. Most important she delivered a fabulous hairstyle.

Thomas Edison, the inventor, said, "Most people don't recognize opportunity when it comes, because it's usually dressed in overalls and looks a lot like work." How many times have you said that you said that you wanted something: A better paying job, a more nurturing relationship or even a new apartment. You miss out because the opportunity that is presented to you just doesn't seem that appealing. You find out your dream job requires you to take a temporary pay-cut while you're in a training program. The nice guy that you're introduced to isn't a snazzy dresser. You've found an apartment that you can actually afford with all the amenities that you want---but it's across town away from where all your friends live.

Many of us say that we believe in principles such as: "The Power of Intention," "manifesting" or even the Biblical, "Ask and ye shall receive," and declare that we want major change to occur in our lives YET we don't want to re-vamp our attitude to make a way for the change. We keep getting stuck because we fail to realize that without a new attitude and accompanying new actions, we can only get more of the same, dead-end job, dysfunctional relationship or mediocre apartment. Through our unwillingness to explore the possibilities sent our way, we've told the Universe--I'm not REALLY ready to do what's necessary to improve my life.

So if you are serious about having a better job (making more money) and having better relationships it's time to change your attitude. Having a bad attitude is a contributing factor in why highly qualified people get fired. Bad attitudes are also cited as key reasons why relationships fail. Although most people believe that they have a good attitude, research shows that 85% of the people studied were actually pretty negative. How can you tell whether you have a good or bad attitude? Think about what your first reaction is to any given situation--is it negative and pessimistic or is it optimistic and hopeful? If your boss says she wants to see you are you expecting to be fired or to receive a bonus? If you boyfriend doesn't call for few days do you think he's cheating or just busy?

What I mean by attitude is your preconceived notions or expectations about a person or situation. Without much, if any, information or first hand experience are you quick to decide that a person, event or thing is not your cup of tea? Attitude also involves how you interact with people--generally are you pleasant, curt or totally indifferent? Are you only nice and interested in people whom you think can do something for you? Do you forgo small talk with strangers because you don't see the point because you'll never see them again?

Attitude is a choice that you make everyday. The same way that you choice to have a bad attitude you can choose to have a good one. Now having a good attitude doesn't mean sticking your head in the sand and disregarding bad news or your internal warning bells. It does mean approaching life from the standpoint that the world is welcoming and endlessly abundant, NOT the world is hostile and everything is scarce. Whether you call it luck, good vibes or karma, pleasant people usually attract more opportunities than unpleasant people. It means truly believing that you can dramatically improve your income, quality of your relationships and your life NOW-----despite all the gloom and doom reports about the "bad" economy.

So how can you improve your attitude and your opportunities?

Survey Your Strengths: Many times our bad attitude stems from our own lack of self-love. We think that everyone around us is so much better than we are. However by taking time to identify your strengths, both large and small, you will get a better sense of how wonderful you actually are. This list will boost your morale on challenging days and it will give you confidence to take bold steps toward an improved life. Take 5 minutes or 5 days to think about all of the many things that you are good at and write them all down.

Affirm Yourself: We are our worst critics. The constant chatter in our heads that we are not enough--smart, educated, talented, young, pretty, thin, etc. places limits on what we believe that we should achieve in our lives. It's no mystery that people with low self-esteem often have less than satisfying lives. They don't believe that they deserve more and as a result they don't get life's rewards. Showing yourself self-love through affirmations may sound hokey, but if saying "I love and accept you" once a day to yourself can improve up your life why not try it. There are very few champions in any field who walk around saying, "I'm not so hot." On the contrary, many top athletes regular visualize themselves winning competitions. Boxer Muhammad Ali publicly declared himself, "The Greatest." It's not conceited to affirm to yourself that you are special and worthy--it's rejuvenating!

Broaden Your Perspective: Be open to learning new things and meeting new people. Improving your life requires that you expand your concept of who you are and who you can achieve. Surrounding yourself with new ideas and new perspectives helps you to explore and identify new opportunities for yourself. Get out of your comfort zone by trying something new. Even small changes like driving a different route to and from work or shopping at a different market may provide you with some new experiences or information. Also be open to the possibility that seemingly "bad" situations usually are opportunities for growth that lead to rewards.

Build Your Network: Stay connected to people you know and get to know new people. Be pleasant and genuinely interested in the people you encounter. Start small by just smiling at people on the street or saying hello to someone in your neighborhood or in your office. Also you never know you'll meet at the airport or even at the playground--idle chitchat can sometimes net you big contacts and big opportunities. Interacting with people in a kind manner or at least acknowledging their existence costs you very little each day. It's important to keep in mind that you never know where assistance may come from. People help people---by passing on information, tips or resumes whom they know, like and trust.

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kinda-iconic · 5 years ago

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Distractions

Thank you ever so much for the request, @galaxyside-0! I’m sorry that it’s rather late; I’ve had quite a busy few days, but I’m currently being a couch potato so I thought I would try to get this finished for you.

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC

Request: Adrian tries to train Amy, but it soon turns fluffy.

Others that may be interested: @bloodboundismylife @shelley-parah @adrianadmirer @luckyferrero @adrianrainesworld @lexilooloolovesadrian @octobereighth (apologies if you’re not interested in reading this - I just tried to think of people that I thought might enjoy reading it).

‘The key to winning a fight is to outsmart your opponent; focus on your own movements, foremost, but you must always pay attention to what they are doing.’

Adrian stands before her, his hands resting upon her hips. He tilts her body slightly to the right, his fingers clasping onto the loose fabric of her shirt. They regard one another for a moment, her doe-like eyes gazing back into his; he averts his eyes, lowering his gaze to her waist as her positions her into a defensive stance.

‘Keep an eye on the person that challenges you and try not to think about the outcome of the fight.’ His hand wanders down to her own, his fingertips ghosting her palm. He moves away from her, reaching up to loosen his tie. ‘I��m going to try and attack you now,’ he removes his jacket, placing it on the floor behind him, ‘whatever you do, do NOT take your eyes off me.’

She smiles mischievously at him, tilting her head as if to get a better view.

‘That’s not exactly difficult…’

He chuckles softly.

‘I’m serious, Amy,’ he meets her with a cheeky grin, his voice firm yet gentle, ‘I may not be immune to your flirtations myself, but your opponent most certainly will be.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ She takes a step forward, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Couldn’t I just give them the ‘puppy dog’ eyes and hope that they’ll leave me alone?’

He shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping him.

‘I can safely say that the ‘puppy dog’ approach will not work.’

She sighs dramatically, pouting slightly.

‘But it works on you…’

He takes a brazen step towards her, reaching up to caress her cheek. His finger curls under her chin, tilting her head upwards, her lips now aligned with his.

‘Only because it’s you,’ he presses a gentle kiss to her lips, ‘but if it was anyone else, I’m afraid that it wouldn’t have had the same effect.’ He hesitantly pulls away from her, his hand hovering over her waist. ‘But we are here to train, not to get side-tracked by hypothetical reasoning.’

She giggles nervously, biting her bottom lip.

‘That remark was so Raines-y.’

He quirks an eyebrow.

‘Raines-y?’ He edges closer to her once more, ‘I’m rather scared to find out what that means.’

She smiles giddily at him, folding her arms across her chest.

‘It’s nothing bad! It’s just a term we’ve come up with to describe your Adrian-isms.’

‘Adrian-isms?’

‘You know… the things that you normally say; things that define who you are as a person.’

‘I’m guessing that’s… good?’

Her smile widens; she takes a step towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

‘Of course! I wouldn’t have said it otherwise...’

A relieved sigh escapes him.

‘I guess that has comforted me a little.’

‘A little?’ She quirks an eyebrow, ‘it’s a good thing, Raines; embrace the goodness!’

He shakes his head, smiling amusedly; his arms constrict around her, pulling her closer to his chest.

‘I guess I could try...after we’re done here.’

‘Aren’t we finished already?’

He looks at her for a moment, his expression a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

‘We’ve barely made any progress, Amy...’

‘I know,’ she rests her chin on his chest, her face tilted upwards so she can read his reaction, ‘but you’ve seen me fight before; I can defend myself just fine.’

‘Against mortals, yes,’ he removes his arms from around her, his fingers entangling in the hair at the nape of her neck, ‘but not against our kind... not completely.’

‘Kamilah and Jax have trained me...’

‘I get that,’ he sighs despondently, ‘but there are things that I can offer you that the others... can’t.’

‘Oh?’ She smiles lovingly at him, burying her hands in the pockets of his slacks, ‘like what?’

He thinks for a moment, his fingers inching under the fabric of her blouse. When he continues, his voice is soft and delicate, his words no louder than a hushed whisper.

‘Both of them can offer you training with regards to weapon handling and technique; I don’t know about Jax, but Kamilah is very skilled when it comes to stealth and strategy; from what I’ve heard and experienced first-hand, she is a remarkable teacher.’

‘So what can you offer that they can’t?’

He cups his chin, tapping his cheek with the tip of his finger.

‘I can guide you to hone your movements; I don’t want to blow my own trumpet, but I’m known to be rather good at deflecting and dodging attacks.’

‘I guess that’s true.’

‘You guess?’ He asks with a curious tone, ‘do you think that’s not true?’

‘Oh no I definitely agree with you.’

He folds his arms, his voice taking a serious yet jesty tone.

‘Then why word it like that?’

‘I just think that there are things that you’re a lot better at, that’s all.’

‘Oh?’ He tilts his head subconsciously, his eyes fixating on hers as he tries to read her expression. ‘And what, pray tell, are you referring to?’

She edges closer, her smile widening as she approaches him; she places a delicate hand on his shoulder.

‘Well, for starters... you’re amazing at giving cuddles; you always make me feel safe, and it’s as if I can do anything when I’m with you.’

Adrian chuckles; he reaches forward, cupping his hands at the small of her back. He draws her closer, taking advantage of the lack of space between them as he peppers her cheek and jaw with brazen kisses.

‘Mmm...’ he smiles against her skin, ‘please feel free to continue...’

‘Well...’ she rests her forehead against his chin, ‘you’ve always been incredibly sweet and caring towards me; we’ve never had a reason to argue, and I’m always excited to spend my time with you, whether it’s just a couple of hours at work or...’ she looks up at him with a cheeky smile, ‘or the entire night.’

‘Ohhh?’ He inclines his head towards her, his lips mere inches from her own, ‘go on...’

Amy giggles.

‘You just want me to shower you with compliments!’

‘That’s not entirely true, but I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t enjoying hearing everything positive that you have to say about me.’

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes in jest.

‘You’re unbelievable!’

‘Oh I know,’ he presses forward, capturing her lips in a searing kiss; his hands clasp at her hair, pulling her further into his embrace. They remain like that for a moment before he pulls back, the pad of his thumb ghosting her bottom lip. ‘Is there anything else that you’d like to add?’

‘Just that you’re the most amazing boyfriend that anyone could possibly have,’ she beams up at him, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, ‘and that I’m so lucky to have you in my life.’

He smiles at her with adoration, his dark eyes glistening as they gaze upon her.

‘I’d say that it’s actually the other way around, sweetheart,’ he takes her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips; he places a soft kiss to her palm, ‘but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.’

He sighs, his gaze drifting down to their hands as their fingers entwine.

‘We’re not going to achieve much today, are we?’

She places a delicate finger under his chin, lifting his face so that his eyes are now adjacent to hers.

‘Probably not,’ a sweet smile envelops her face, ‘but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.’

‘How so?’

‘It allows me time to refocus... and for you to think of ways to make yourself less distracting.’

He chuckles, draping an arm around her waist.

‘I guess you’re right there,’ he spins her around in the direction of the door, slowly guiding her towards the exit, ‘come on; if we’re not going to get any practise done today, then we may as well make the most of the time we have together...’

‘Oh? And what did you have in mind?’

He turns to stand before her, his hands lingering on her waist.

‘Well,’ he nestles his face in her hair, kissing the space behind her ear, ‘we could go back to the office and get some more paperwork done...’

She pouts at his words, her brow creasing slightly as she thinks over the many tasks that she has yet to complete.

‘That... that doesn’t sound like fun, Adrian; I’d rather stick pins in my eyes if I’m honest.’

He chuckles at her remark, pressing another kiss to her cheek.

‘That bad, huh?’

‘The absolute worst.’

A hearty laugh escapes him once more; he pulls away from her, catching sight of her frown. He inclines his head towards her, kissing her softly.

‘What about I cook something for dinner? I have a bottle of wine that I’ve been saving for quite a while... it’d be a shame to waste it.’

His eyes meet hers for a moment; she smiles up at him, responding with a gentle nod.

‘That sounds perfect.’

#choices:stories you play #playchoices #choices fanfic #choices bb #adrian raines #adrian x mc

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heartslogos · 4 years ago

Text

newfragile yellows [969]

"I'm just saying, that it seems a touch archaic that I've got to marry someone in order to increase our family's already dubious influence on the continent,” Ellana says as she pushes around wilted greens on her plate. The tines of her fork scrape against the expensive and delicate porcelain causing her brother and Solas to grimace and exchange commiserate looks of annoyance. “Why can’t Mahanon be married of, hm? He keeps talking about how he’s older than I am, why doesn’t the eldest do this?”

“Because no one's going to put out a bid for your brother’s hand,” Solas replies. “He’s spent the past fifteen years doing everything he could to be seen as the unsociable, unfit one.”

Ellana glares at her twin. "Is that what you've been doing since we graduated high school? You were thinking that long term?”

“You weren’t?" Mahanon raises his eyebrows. “That’s uncharacteristically short sighted of you.”

“Excuse me, but I didn’t realize that the second we graduated high school we had to be thinking on how to avoid a political marriage that might be coming down the road in our thirties. I thought the worst we’d have to deal with was learning the family businesses and figuring out how to avoid getting ourselves assassinated,” Ellana retorts, scowling as she abandons all pretense of eating. “Why do we have to form alliances by marriage? We haven’t done that in years.”

“We haven’t done that outside of elven groups in years,” Solas corrects. “You don’t realize the matches are happening because most of them are with a certain amount of expected outcomes. The Lavellans joined hands with the Sabrae two generations back with your grandparents. The Mahariels and Sabrae were originally one family several generations ago but split to the Marches and Fereldan, splitting the name and the family but still retaining a good working relationship with each other. The Tabris and Surana have stood on their own for a long time, but even they have members who have married into them, or out, into other elven families. There exists no elven organization that isn’t somehow connected to at least one other. With that being considered, it’s time for all of these families to begin to branch out. The Sabrae already have a match with the Hawkes.”

Solas pauses, twisting the stem of his wine glass contemplatively. “Unless you’re going to meddle with that?”

“I would hope not,�� Mahanon adds on. “You wouldn’t let Merrill and Carver throw themselves under for you, would you?”

“Carver offered and I said no. But it’s Carver and it’s the Hawke’s, so even if I said no I have a feeling they’re going to throw themselves into this fray anyway.” Ellana folds her hands together and rests her forehead on her knuckles. “This is so stupid. Why do alliances have to be sealed with a marriage? Do not talk to me about the Queen of Antiva from whatever age. I’m an heir to a crime syndicate, not a literal Princess.”

“The comparison still stands whether you like it or not. Even if this weren’t the situation currently unfolding, whoever you would spend significant portions of your life with would come under scrutiny for what they do, or do not, bring to the table.” Solas sits back in his chair, his own eyes closing. “Would it make you feel better to know about all the people who didn’t make it to the final selection list?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Do you know who you’re going to choose?” Mahanon asks. “Not Cousland.”

“Tell me Cousland got onto the list out of respect for the family’s clout, not because anyone actually thought he had a chance with me,” Ellana turns her head slightly towards Solas.

“Correct. No one, not even the Couslands, expect you to take that bid seriously. If you did end up accepting, I do not think they would even know what to respond with.” Solas hums.

“I’m not going to choose the Couslands just to mess with them.”

“I said nothing.”

“You’re a scheming old man and I could smell your plotting from here. Did any of you have any…I don’t know. Ideal choices?”

“They’re all ideal choices, even the Couslands if you really wanted to choose them,” Solas replies. “At the end of the day, they’re all simply options. You choose whichever option appeals to you the most. If there was one favored above the other this would not be presented to you as a choice, it would simply be arranged.”

“How comforting,” Ellana drawls.

“That said, I would suggest the Iron Bull to you,” Solas says, sounding incredibly careful. Like he’s picking out shards of bullet from a very sensitive wound.

“And why is that?” Mahanon asks, “Ignoring the fact that Max is practically bringing us our own back yard to the table, Edric Cadash is fifteen years older than my sister, the Couslands are a joke of an offer, and we’d never actually pick Carver, why the leader of the Storm Coast?”

“Because he was very honest in his pitch,” Solas replies. “And I think that the Ellana and he would get along well. Possibly too well, much to the detriment of others.”

“You found Ellana a possible love match in a series of political matches.”

“I found Ellana a possible friend among a series of allies,” Solas says. “And of course, that’s all up to Ellana and the Iron Bull.”

“What makes you think that he could be my friend, aside from the fact that he was honest? And what do you mean by honest?”

“His pitch was very clinical, to the point of apathy,” Solas answers, “I don’t think he thinks he was going to even make it to the final selection. It was more like the Couslands, throwing in his name for the sake of throwing it in and seeing how far he gets. And as far as the reason why I think the two of you could possibly become friends — well. He’s going to be here in three days. You’ll find out what I mean then.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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slytherin-puffskein · 5 years ago

Text

hope’s lullaby.

summary: The summer between Laurent King’s fifth and sixth year at Hogwarts was the one that hurt the most. Luckily, comfort came to him.

- - -

notes: a huge thank you to all my beta readers for the wonderful feedback they gave me!

- - -

Hope, as Laurent King had recently found out, is nothing but a lie. A stupid invention. A cruel lullaby meant to soothe you with unrealistic scenarios and to make you believe that everything is, in fact, alright when it is clearly not. He had made the mistake of hoping through all summer, of creating himself nonsense --illogical yet comforting scenarios in his mind-- and the truth about hope was finally hitting him full force: it’s sole purpose is to leave you, to abandon you, and to leave you stuck with your own feelings and disarray.

These were his thoughts as he laid before him the many letters he had just received. Spending the entirety of August at his aunt’s place, he had taken care to inform all of his friends of his new address. As he had expected, tons of messages have been sent to him, filled with love and friendship, now awaiting to be read. Even though he knew he should be feeling happy he felt a terrible, selfish bitterness take over his being as he realized something. Fucking called it. But why am I disappointed, if I had already sort of expected it? This doesn’t make fucking sense. None of this does. Why why why? Before him laid letters sent by Penny Haywood, Rowan Khanna, Tulip Karasu… none of them bore the name he had wished most ardently to see.

Barnaby Lee.

Throughout the course of the entire summer, Laurent had no received a single letter from him. It was as if, suddenly, Barnaby had vanished from the surface of the Earth. Or, as Laurent was thinking, as if he, himself, had vanished from the surface of the Earth. As if Barnaby had forgotten about him, had told himself he wasn’t worth it in the end, and the worst was that he didn’t even had the decency to end whatever they had via a letter.

Whatever they had, he was using that phrase because he simply couldn’t find any other words to use. Friendship? They had more than that, ever since their date at the end of their fifth year. Love? No, they never kissed. And now it would probably, most definitely, never happen. You lost him. You lost it all. What did you do wrong? Everything, probably. It’s just as your dad tells you! No one will ever love you, not with how you currently are. A sob threatened to break through his lips, but he miraculously succeeded in holding it back. Instead of sitting on his bed and crying, he simply slipped the letters under his pillow. He’d read them later.

He didn’t have the time then, because it was time for his shift at his aunt’s bakery. Thank Merlin, I’ll have something to do to take my mind off this shit.

* * *

“Turn that frown upside down!”

Cyril Colin, Laurent’s cousin, was an all too optimistic guy, and at that very moment Laurent was finding himself feeling deeply annoyed. What does he know about what is going on anyway? I didn’t tell him shit. He has no business to try and comfort me. Of course, in another state of mind, Laurent would have appreciated that gesture, but right then the only thing he wished for was to be left alone, and to focus on the croissants he was baking.

In the face of his cousin’s silence, Cyril pouted, and insisted: “C’mon, Laurent. You know you can tell me everything, right? You’re here for me, it’s only fair that I should be here for you. So what’s wrong? Is it related to a wi--”

But before he could finish that final word, Laurent had shoved the first thing that landed in his hand, a macaron, in his cousin’s mouth. “Hush! Don’t say that word out loud, you know it’s supposed to be a secret!” And just like that, the conversation was over, much to Laurent’s joy.

However, by the end of his shift, Laurent still only held one wish: to curl himself in his blankets and to sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. Oh, yeah, that sounded just like paradise, at least to him. This is so ridiculous. Why am I so affected by Barnaby not sending me any letter? It’s not like he’s… my boyfriend or anything.

But that is something you wish for dearly, don’t you? a wicked voice whispered into his mind. You want to touch his hands, to touch his lips, to be his. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he figured out just how of a terrible guy you are. Remember what your father said: you act without thinking, and in your eyes the devil slumbers! That must be true, right? It surely is, since Barnaby’s left you!

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.

And all of a sudden, it felt as if his throat was closing right up. He was suffocating, suffering, hurting, and only one thing became his priority: to get the hell out of here and get some fresh air.

Even if he still had fifteen minutes left on his shift and should have waited until he was done, it was as if his body had a mind of its own, shaky fingers untied his apron and let it fall to the floor. Before he could even realize what he was doing, he was standing outside of the bakery, his cousin’s voice faintly calling for him from the inside, worry painting each of his syllables. He hated that. He hated that Cyril always felt the need to worry over him. I’m fine, Cyril. I’m fine, I keep telling you that and you won’t LISTEN. But the truth was, Laurent wasn’t feeling alright. Not at all. He was just too proud to admit it to himself --too proud to come to terms with the fact that he was truly affected by Barnaby’s radio silence.

Too proud to admit that you’re in love.

“Damn, did you just come back from a marathon or something? You could have warned me, I would’ve come with you. Y’know I love running.” That voice. That all too familiar voice. No, it couldn’t be. Wait. Could it be? No. I spoke to him on the phone last night. Surely, he didn’t come all the way here… or…

As he raised his head and locked gazes with the man standing in front of him, it felt as if his heart was about to burst. Not because of the sadness that had been piling up over it, but because of the pure, bright joy that had suddenly taken over. With a sigh of relief on his lips, he threw his arms around Oscar Whelan.

If people declared Laurent King to be mischief incarnate, that only meant they had yet to meet Oscar Whelan --trouble incarnate. Any ounce of chaos put a smile on his face, every action of his was a mere result of his impulsivity, and his entire aura said one thing and one thing only: ‘let’s run away, you and I. Let’s flee this world and build our own’.

At least, that was what it said whenever Laurent was with him, so he came to assume that it was the same with everyone else.

Born a Muggle, Oscar had known Laurent ever since childhood. They grew up together and he’d been the shoulder Laurent cried on when his mother gave out her last breath. Following her funeral Oscar had brought him to this family’s small apartment where a sleepover without any actual sleep had taken place. Through comforting words and gentle laughter, Oscar had done everything in his power to make Laurent’s smile come back, while also helping him deal with his grief.

When his Hogwarts acceptance letter came, Laurent had been overwhelmed with the wish to tell his friend everything, but he knew very well that in no way that could happen. Instead, he told him that his father had decided to make him a student in a strict boarding school, and that as a result he was meant to leave for ten months, ever year for the next seven years. Are you serious? Oscar had exclaimed. You mean, like, a boarding school with uniforms and such? Lying to his best friend had been the worst thing for Laurent, but he was also well aware that it was for the best. If he were to reveal the existence of the wizarding world to someone outside of his family, just what would possibly happen? Oscar wasn’t a loose lipped person, but no risks could be taken.

No, that’s a lie. A risk had been taken, but an entirely different one. By hiding his true life from Oscar, Laurent had harbored the fear that a wall would build itself between them, separating them and preventing them from fully understanding each other. From his perspective, that imaginary wall would only lead to one outcome: the destruction of his friendship with Oscar Whelan, and that was something he knew he couldn’t possibly handle.

Years had passed and the wall still had yet to make its appearance. But Laurent had kept on fearing, and at sixteen years old he was still terrified. Even with Oscar currently hugging him close, the anxiety related to losing his friendship sprang forth and threatened to take control of his brain.

How unjust, that I cannot tell him everything!

After several minutes of silent hugging, Laurent pulled away at last, but his hands remained splayed on Oscar’s chest to feel his heartbeat. His friend’s arm, wrapped around his waist, provided him with unimaginable comfort. “What are you doing here?” Laurent’s eyes were pretty much filled with question marks at this point, and Oscar could only smile.

“C’mon now, Lau. I know you. When you called me yesterday I felt something was wrong, so I took it upon myself and decided to pay you a visit. Least I can do, right? Though I gotta admit, the thought of stepping into your bakery was also very enticing.”

“It’s not my bakery, Oscar.” Laurent giggled. “It’s my aunt’s, you totally know that.”

“Right. Otherwise you would have added many more flowers for decorations. You should talk about it to your aunt, I’m sure it would look great.”

Oscar’s words remained in Laurent’s mind: When you called me yesterday I felt something was wrong. Yes, Laurent had spoken to him on the phone, but never had he mentioned the letters or anything else related to them, for that matter. Had he sounded that sad? He almost wanted to ask, but decided not to.

“Are you done with your shift?”

“Only a few minutes left. Had to get out to get some fresh air.”

“Well, that’s exactly why I’m here, Laurent. To give you some fresh air. Finish those minutes left, I’ll wait for you here.” But he was smiling. Smiling, because he was seeing the glint of mischief already floating in Laurent’s eyes.

Laurent couldn’t help but smile back. “How about we go now, mhm?”

* * *

They spent hours together, and Laurent hoped that this day would never end. Because, finally, he was reunited with his friend. Finally, things were feeling less heavy, and he knew all too well that the distress would return as soon as it had left if Oscar were to leave. He obviously had to, at some point, and thus Laurent was mentally preparing himself for it. At least, he will be left with memories --wonderful memories to cling into. He would lie on his bed and replay them; hearing their laughs again, tasting the ice cream that Oscar bought for him again… and listening to their conversation again.

As he walked through the city with Oscar, a smile curled his lips when he remembered a conversation which occurred only a few minutes ago. They had been sitting on a bench, in Laurent’s favorite park because of its many trees, and he had decided to tell Oscar. Not the whole wizard business, obviously, but bits and pieces of the life that he had never told him about.

His new friends, for example.

“You have Penny Haywood.” He had told with a smile while still eating his ice cream. Caramel, his favorite flavor. “She’s, like, the sweetest girl ever, I’m telling you. Rowan’s is the best nerd, he helps me studying whenever I struggle with something. At some point, he even practically held me hostage in the library so I could finish my paper! My only focus was to walk around the school, take a breather… but Rowan had other plans in mind. Tulip is the greatest prankster, I think you’d like her. I know I do, she’s one of my closest friends. And--” The words had died out, however, as he had realized that he had been just about to mention Barnaby Lee.

Oscar had noticed the sudden change of atmosphere. “Something wrong?”

So much. I’m so worried, Oscar. No! I can’t tell him about this. It would be… too complicated. He shook his head. “Nothing, I just… I just feel bad I never told you about them sooner” Lying by telling the truth, what a funny concept. “…about anything related to my school, in truth. It… it must suck, right?” Yes, lying by telling the truth, because he wasn’t telling Oscar the real reason behind his sudden change of emotion, but he was still talking about something that was truly bothering him.

Besides, he had to mention it at some point, right? He had to address his insecurities regarding his friendship with Oscar, the magical thing he cherished dearly, or else it would truly turn to dust.

Much to his surprise, Oscar giggled and gently nudged him. “You can tell or not tell me whatever you want, Laurent. I’ll never take it personal.” He suddenly paused, his brows knitting together in worry. “You… you didn’t tell me all of this because you felt like you had to, right? Because that ain’t right.” Laurent had been unable to not smile.

“No, not at all. I wanted to tell you about ‘em. You’re my best friend, after all. As you said, I tell you everything I want.” Maybe it had been a shadow, but he believed Oscar’s smile had wavered at those two words: best friend. Why, exactly?

He was still thinking of a reason, but he snapped back to reality as he realized that it was getting late. The sun was beginning to set, coloring the sky with beautiful orange and pink hues, and offered a sight that never failed to take Laurent’s breath away. He stopped in his tracks to just look up at its splendor. To memorize all of that beauty. Oscar did the same with a smile on his lips.

“Beautiful, right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I can show you something even better.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

Teasingly, Oscar placed his index over his own lips. “Curiosity is a bad thing, Laurent King~”

“Says the most curious guy I know!” And just like that, his worries were gone again.

* * *

Oscar insisted that they waited until the sky turned black and, once it did, Laurent let himself be guided by his friend, holding his hand and trying to figure out just what he had in mind. That, however, was the problem with Oscar Whelan: You never knew exactly what he was planning. Every second with him felt like a toss of the dice, with no idea as to which result you’d get.

They stopped in front of a huge building that Laurent recognized as one of the many gymnasiums of the city. Pulling out a pocket knife from his leather jacket’s pocket, Oscar got to work, quickly succeeding with picking the lock and granting them access inside. Luckily, no alarm system began to blare, and Oscar turned proudly to Laurent, offering him his hand once again. “You trust me, right?” The fact that Oscar had picked locks frequently was not only apparent from the skill he had demonstrated, but also from the absence of shock from his friend.

Now, Laurent was having a faint idea of what his friend had in mind. And without hesitation, he reached for his hand. “Of course I do, Oscar.”

And that was how they found themselves in the gymnasium’s public pool, moonlight spilling inside through the windows and reflecting itself on the calm water. A beautiful sight, truly, one that rendered Laurent still with wonder for a moment. Oscar was right. It’s so beautiful.

“You’re crazy.” But the joy in his voice was impossible to not notice.

“Love you, too.” Oscar replied as he began to undress.

Laurent was quick to do the same and, once they were only in their underwear, he realized just how cold the air was, and how much colder the water would surely be. Oscar probably had made the same realization, because his wicked smile graced his features once more. With the moonlight illuminating the side of his face, he almost looked ethereal. Like a dream. A dream that Laurent found most comforting.

“I dare you,” Oscar’s said, voice filled with challenge, “to jump.”

Oh, you’ll see, Oscar! Laurent immediately turned to look at him, fists on his hips in an attempt to make himself look more intimidating. “I dare you to jump. Wait, no, double dare you!”

“Oh, is that the game you want to play, Laurent? You know I love games.”

The teasing, the stifled in giggles that their voices were containing, it all reminded Laurent of the many blissful moments they had spent together ever since they met, moments he'd missed dearly at Hogwarts. After months of being without his best friend, everything was now falling back into place. He had Oscar, everything was alright.

That wonderful chaos he loved sharing with him had also made its comeback, it seemed, as Oscar suddenly reached for him, his arm wrapping around his waist and bringing him closer --much closer. “You brought this upon yourself, Laurent!”

And with Laurent’s roaring laughter filling the air, Oscar jumped, inevitably dragging his friend along with him.

They broke out of the water’s surface, laughing, splashing each other; and, before Laurent knew it hot tears were streaming down his cheeks, for a reason he knew all too well and yet didn’t dare admit. Oscar realized he was crying fairly quickly, and swam closer to wipe them away. “Did you really not enjoy that at all?” He was telling this to make him laugh, it was evident in his gaze.

And it worked. Laurent giggled, then sniffled and nodded. “Yup, truly terrible.” A smile came, but he decided, at last, to tell him what has been haunting him. “I just… have a friend from school ignoring me. A friend I like a lot, and… and it sucks.”

By saying it out loud, finally acknowledging his feelings, it felt as if a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders, and he could feel himself breathing with much more ease. Oscar’s features softened, and his hand landed on Laurent’s wet shoulder. An awfully comforting touch.

While Oscar Whelan usually talks an awful lot, at that very moment he was silent as he hugged Laurent closely. Despite how little they were wearing, Laurent found himself unbothered. He’s my best friend, it would take much more to bother me.

And so, they hugged, and soon enough Oscar was whispering to him the lyrics of his favorite song. Ground control to Major Tom. Laurent let that song lull him into calmness, into total peace, and his eyes fluttered shut as they both stood still in the pool, surrounded by water. Calm, soothing water.

Maybe hoping wasn’t such a bad thing. With his friendship with Oscar, he had the hope --the belief-- that everything would turn out alright. That Barnaby would talk to him again. That he would be allowed, somehow, to love him. Those thoughts soothed him to the core.

They sang quietly.

For here am I sitting in a tin can,

Far above the world,

Planet Earth is blue,

And there’s nothing I can do.

* * *

Never write to him or even speak to him, again. Or I’ll kill him.

Barnaby’s grandmother words had kept ringing in his ears ever since the beginning of summer. He sat in his room as the moon shone bright in the sky, and caught himself staring at it.

And hoping.

Hoping that things will turn out alright.

And that he’ll soon, somehow, be with Laurent again. To touch his hands, to touch his lips, to be his.

But hope is a futile, useless thing. Isn’t it?

#my writing #barnalau #barnaby lee #lau king #barnaby x mc #barnaby lee x mc #hphm barnaby #oc: oscar whelan

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