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sloanerisette · 2 years ago

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Love in the First Degree

A few years ago I got some rather lascivious art commissioned of Joe and Mimi, and I’ve wanted to write something for it ever since, and like two years later, here it finally is! I’m, uh, gonna put all this under a read more because it’s smut! It’s outright smut! Don’t click the readmore if you don’t want to read smut!

Title: Love in the First Degree Rating: Explicit Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46299025 Summary: Mimi has been oh so pent up lately and with her boyfriend constantly busy with his residency and she working on her own business, there's been no chance for her to get any chance of release.

At least not until the brilliant idea comes to mind to visit Joe at his work and give him a proposition she just knows he won't be able to turn down.

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Did Mimi Tachikawa love Joe Kido?

Of course, there was no question about that.

Had they both been going through a lot lately with work?

Definitely.

But did that mean Mimi wasn’t absolutely, utterly pent up from the past few stressful weeks without any release in the form of her boyfriend pounding her as hard as possible?

Without a doubt.

The entire day at work so far, she had been in her office, trying to get anything done and coming up short each time. The new accessory line she was conceptualizing just wasn’t happening today, and Mimi knew that if the past few days were any indication, she’d be sitting at her desk all day, coming up with half-baked sketches that she’d absolutely abhor.

A long, frustrated groan fell from her lips as she tossed her pen aside, not caring at the moment that it rolled off her desk and fell onto the floor. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms, unable to stop herself from pouting and frowning. She needed to do something about this.

Sure, she could go home for lunch, go to town on herself, and come back to try and focus, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t help nearly as much because she’d just be thinking about Joe.

“Aw, screw it. I’m taking this in my own hands,” she grumbled to herself, pushing herself up with nothing short of fiery determination in her eyes. She left her office, determined as ever, bidding goodbye to everyone and jetting back home as quickly as she could.

Searching through her closet to find just what to wear to wow her man wasn’t difficult in the slightest. The idea came to her when she was on the train, and she knew in an instant that Joe would be speechless as soon as he saw her. Though it made digging through the closets much more of an arduous experience, she was glad she had made sure to save just about every outfit she’d ever worn— even ones that she had long outgrown.

As her eyes lingered across various outfits, she noticed her old, trademark cowboy dress and hat, smiling to herself as she plucked some hangers out and started to change.

Of course, given how little skin this outfit covered, she made sure to call a cab to the hospital he was doing his residency at, if only to avoid any awkward and bad situations on the train.

Hopefully the hospital didn’t outright turn her away as soon as they saw what she was wearing…

…Then again, no one could stand strong against the legendary Mimi Tachikawa charm.

When the trip ended and she stepped out of the cab, Mimi was just glad that these boots still fit, because otherwise it would have ruined the point of the whole outfit if she had to abandon them for something else. She sucked in a deep breath and plastered on a wide, confident smile, then started to strut into the hospital, pushing down the nerves that were telling her this was going to blow up in her face.

Once she entered, the receptionist’s eyes went wide, and Mimi was silently grateful that the lobby was basically empty. She tugged her far-too-short skirt down a bit to hide the view of her panties from the poor woman sitting behind the desk, but still presented that bright smile as she walked up to her.

“Hi!” she chirped happily in greeting. She splayed her hands out against the counter and leaned forward, feeling her shirt ride up slightly, ignoring that to focus on the woman in front of her. “Do you happen to know what floor Joe Kido is on today? I’m his girlfriend and was hoping to find him?”

The poor receptionist stared up at her with wide eyes and a dumbfounded look on her face, in absolute disbelief that a woman who was barely dressed had just marched in there like nothing was wrong, and Mimi would be lying if she said she didn’t feel a little bit guilty.

But sometimes a woman just needed to come a half dozen times and nothing else mattered.

“J-J-J-Joe Kido?” the woman stammered, still unable to take her eyes off of Mimi, and Mimi nodded. After a moment, the woman cleared her throat and looked at her computer, fingers typing away as she willed herself not to look up.

“H-H-He’s on the fourth floor today.”

“Thank you so much!” Mimi said, her hands clasped together before she turned on her heel to head to the elevators. The receptionist let out a quiet sigh and instead began to focus on her work as Mimi walked into the first elevator to open.

She hit the button for the fourth floor, and as the elevator started to whir to life again, Mimi reached down and started to pull her panties off. “Please don’t let there be a camera in here…” she mumbled to herself as she popped one foot up. With a bit of maneuvering and a lot of balance, she managed to get them off, and once they were, she held them up in front of herself. A sly, satisfied smirk came on her face before she held them tight in a balled fist, obscuring them from view.

As the elevator started to reach its destination, Mimi pulled out a tube of lipstick from her bag, applying a fresh coat of bright pink lipstick. She smacked her lips and as the elevator doors opened, she confidently strode out, now a woman on a mission.

She placed a hand on her hip as she looked down each end of the hallway, lips pursed into a thin line as she waited to see if her boyfriend would appear from around a corner. But no luck. Mimi sighed and shook her head.

“Now I just need to find Joe and not get kicked out of here…” she mused under her breath. However, as footsteps rang out from around one corner, Mimi’s eyes went wide and she cursed under her breath before she ran down the other way. She rounded the other corner and stopped near a bathroom, taking a moment to catch her breath.

The fact that maneuvering in these boots and this outfit was hard enough wasn’t helping in her goal of quickly and sneakily finding her boyfriend. She just hoped he would appreciate this whole getup and all the painstaking effort she went to for this.

Her legs were shaking in anticipation, and those butterflies were still in her stomach, and she could feel herself tingling with the want and need for her boyfriend.

She stood where she was, taking a deep breath to steady herself, before she froze when she heard another pair of footsteps rounding the corner. However, she recognized the pair of glasses and the blue hair with ease, and despite the distance, she could see the deep blush on his face.

Joe walked over to her as quickly as he could without breaking into an outright run, looking like he was about to explode once he reached her.

“Mimi! Wh-what’re you doing here? Why are you dressed like this!? You know this is a hospital, right?” he whispered with a strained voice. But it wasn’t lost on Mimi how he looked her up and down, and Mimi had a dangerous grin on her face.

“Now, now, sweetie, is that any way to greet your girlfriend?” she asked, voice low and husky, hoping to start working her magic right away. It seemed to work, as she saw him shiver, and glanced down to watch goosebumps trail along his arms.

“W-well, no, it’s-it’s just that if someone else sees you like this you’ll get kicked out!”

“Well, I made it all the way up here, didn’t I?” she asked, tossing a playful wink his way.

“Yes, but why are you dressed like that?” he asked. Her grin turned into a cute pout as she leaned in close.

“I know we’ve been so busy the past few weeks, and I don’t blame either of us, that’s just work, but…” she trailed off, taking a moment to bite her lip for effect. “I’ve just been so wound up lately… and I need you to help me out.”

Joe audibly gasped, his eyes wide at Mimi’s forthrightness.

“A-At the hospital? Mimi! Why not wait until tonight? When we don’t have the chance to get caught?”

This had the chance to completely and utterly backfire if Joe’s anxiety got out of control, but Mimi was hoping that she would be able to deftly dodge that with her own allure.

She blinked, looking up at him with big eyes, arching her back so her shirt could ride up to show more of her stomach.

“You wouldn’t turn down the chance to do whatever you want, would you?”

Joe choked.

Mimi and him were usually pretty open about things in the bedroom, even though it took plenty of time for him to open up and lighten up with what he wanted to do, but she wanted to do all she could to turn him on as best as she could.

“W-Whatever…?” he repeated slowly.

“Whatever you want.”

Joe swallowed hard, then looked past her down the hall.

“I mean… I guess I could take my lunch break early…” he said. He was jumpy, but somehow she managed to convince him, and that was the ultimate victory. Her eyes trailed down his body and she licked her lips, especially as she looked down to his bottoms to see them getting tighter around the front.

Oh, if he was pent up as she was, then she would barely be able to even walk out of here. With her free hand she grabbed his wrist and dragged him into a nearby supply closet. He let out a yelp as she pulled him along, and as soon as they were in, she slammed the door shut.

The only downside was that it was pitch black as soon as she did that.

She immediately leaned into the door and started to run her hand along the wall, letting out a sigh of relief as the light flipped on. Her fingers deftly locked the door, and she turned to look at Joe, that hungry look on her face. He was still nervous, which wasn’t a surprise, but she knew once they were hot and heavy it would all be good. She took slow, deliberate steps forward, and Joe stepped backwards, as if trying to get away from a lioness on the hunt.

He was backed into the back wall, taking another good look at her and fully taking in her outfit and just how… much it was. The way it rode up and hugged her body so well… he could feel himself heat up, and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek as he felt his pants getting tighter and tighter.

In a flash, Mimi managed to stamp her leg against the wall right next to his head, and Joe jumped in place, unable to move much now that she had him pinned against the wall.

“Y…You…” he breathed out quietly.

“Yoga has been so helpful,” she purred, unable to help but giggle as she looked up at him. A very small part of Joe was wondering just how Mimi was able to stretch her leg like this with those thigh high boots on, but the rest of him could only process his beautiful girlfriend had him pinned against the wall and they were about to do…

He could barely handle what was running through his mind.

Especially once she pressed her breasts into his chest. Joe’s eyes went wide and all the air was sucked from his lungs.

“You’re not wearing a bra!?” he gasped.

“That’s not all I’m not wearing,” she told him.

Before he could ask just what she meant, she brought up her clenched hand and opened it to reveal a pair of panties. Ones that had blue and white horizontal stripes with a tiny little bow on the front.

“Y-Y-You came here not wearing underwear!?” he shouted.

“I took them off in the elevator so it’d be easier for us,” she told him slyly. “Plus if I was wearing them right now they’d be absolutely soaked.”

Joe’s expression brought Mimi so much joy and she had to do all she could to not have it show on her face. No, she wasn’t ruining all that she had built up in her head for what this would be just because her boyfriend’s reactions were just too adorable.

“Soaked…” he repeated.

Mimi nodded silently. She pressed her breasts into him again and smiled, “And remember, I said you can do whatever you want, so…” she trailed off. Joe’s breathing quickened as he looked at her, not even sure where to start. Every part of Mimi was perfect, and even when the two had sex it almost felt… overwhelming for Joe to get started. Her perfect leg up in the air next to his head certainly didn’t help matters, and he could’ve sworn he got a bit dizzy each time he glanced at it.

With a deep breath, he stretched his fingers, looking again at how Mimi dangled her underwear in front of him so enticingly. They’d definitely need to talk later about just what exactly was appropriate when it came to visiting him at work, but for now…

His right hand moved against her right leg, brushing the inside of her thigh gently, and he could feel the way her body spoke back with a long shiver in response.

“She wasn’t kidding…”

His fingers slowly crept up, not wanting to immediately get to work, knowing that she had come all the way out for something special, and now that she had mentioned it, he was reminded of the fact that his own needs hadn’t been satiated in just as long.

But, this was for Mimi, and as such, she was going to be put first.

Her skin was smooth, and even just tracing along her inner thigh caused a bolt of electricity, of want and need to shoot through him, too. He looked up to see her tilt her head back slightly, to see her suck in a breath, and he knew he was on the right track. He sucked in his own breath, before he moved his thumb to her entrance, gently ghosting it along.

“Ohh…” she moaned out, rolling her neck as she let the initial sensation wash over her.

“This is good?” he asked quietly, and she nodded silently, biting down on her lip.

His thumb continued to make long, gentle strokes, slow and calculated in a way that Joe always did whenever the two were in bed together, in a way that drove Mimi wild every time. Each time he grazed along her clit her shoulders shook and her leg shook, risking her balance were it not for Joe being there to hold onto her hip with his free hand.

Joe brought his hand away, giving his girlfriend a moment to gather herself, before he brought two fingers back to her vagina and slowly entered her, the act feeling agonizingly long to the brunette. She let out a quiet whine, biting down on her lip harder than before as he pushed his fingers in her, feeling her tighten around them.

Mimi worked so hard to create this experience for them: showing up to his work in one of her old, favorite outfits (that now exposed most of her skin), guiding him into a supply closet, and seducing him so he could finger fuck her as hard as she wanted. She was going to come first with all of this.

Well, of course she was going to come first with how he was going to town on her, but— no, now wasn’t the time to get caught up on that!

He kept a slow rhythm to his movements, his wrist swishing in gentle circles as he pumped his fingers inside her, the only sounds being his occasional grunt and her fast breaths.

Joe leaned in close to her, “Do you want me to go faster, now?” he whispered in her ear, his voice low in a way that caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. She nodded quickly, unable to say anything as she focused purely on him. Joe sped up, just a touch at first, before gradually rising in speed, as well as pushing his fingers deeper in her with each thrust.

By now, his want to be gentle was slowly giving way to lust and the need to make her come. He continued to speed up, his wrist working in tighter circles as he continued, and with each thrust, Mimi started to cry out, doing her best not to be too loud.

But even the normally anxious Joe— the one who had been so concerned about the fact that she showed up to his work half naked— couldn’t care about her volume control. If anything, it was just driving him wilder, and he could feel his own erection straining against his scrubs.

“Fuck… you feel so good, Mimi…” he breathed out.

“I’m going to come so hard when you’re done,” she said before gasping out for air again.

“With any luck you’re going to come two or three times,” he shot back, unable to help but chuckle at his own joke, and Mimi would’ve joined in his laughter if it wasn’t for the way his thumb hit her clit after another thrust.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” she cried out in a whisper at the suddenly burst of pleasure that ignited through her core. Joe glanced up to see that beads of sweat started to form at the crown of her head, and, knowing he didn’t want to bring her to her (hopefully first) climax just yet, began to slow down his pace to leave her wanting and yearning for more.

His thrusts were still as strong as before, but each was punctuated by a few moments of his fingers lingering at her entrance before once again giving her the pleasure of pushing into her yet again.

Her juices soaked his hand, and, were he not so laser-focused on her, he would’ve taken the time to savor her taste. Joe swallowed hard, then, after letting his fingers linger just outside her, took a third finger, and slowly started to push himself inside her.

“I’m going to go fast, so don’t be afraid to hold onto me if you need,” he told her, once again taking a moment to look at her perfect leg that was still holding strong against the wall. “Believe me, doing that for this long already is incredible. This is going to be in my mind forever.”

Despite how she yearned for release, how she was still panting, she preened at his praise, flashing him a dazzling smile that almost made his knees buckle at the sight. She took a moment to press her breasts into him again, stealing a long, slow kiss. That smile kept up when she pulled away.

“Make me scream, baby.”

He would gladly do that. Well, he wouldn’t exactly want her to scream, but he was definitely going to give her what she wanted.

He took one last moment to rub circles around her clit, then wasted no time in thrusting inside her. If she had tightened around him before, then he had filled her up in a way that, given how good it was for him, must have been on the verge of euphoric for her. He flicked his wrist as he continued to thrust inside her, going harder, faster, and deeper than he had before, not wanting to stop, and not wanting to give her a moment of reprieve.

He wanted her to fall into orgasm after orgasm from this.

Joe wanted nothing more than to have her come all over his hand and then continuing on and on so it would keep happening.

He pushed harder and deeper in her, going as fast, as hard, as deep as he could, and Mimi’s quickening pants and whimpers were music to his ears. Joe bit down on his lower lip, closing his eyes, breathing heavy as he continued. In, in deeper, and then even deeper, and then repeat.

“I’m gonna come. Holy shit, Joe, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come so hard,” she choked out, head dizzy, resting her forehead against his shoulder as she tried so, so hard to gather her breath. Her leg against the wall was quaking, barely able to hold it still, only able to do so from sheer willpower. She pushed her hips forward, grinding into his fingers as best she could because she couldn’t get enough of him. He could feel her come to her first climax, and that only encouraged Joe to go even harder the he already was.

Even as she was coming, he continued to work her, and her grip on her panties tightened as another wave of pleasure surged through her, nearly causing her knee to buckle. She moaned, louder than the last time, and Joe didn’t even care to shush her this time. He wanted her to be loud, to come as hard as she could, and knowing that his fingers alone were able to cause this much ecstasy in her was something that caused pride to swell in him. But he still wasn’t done.

He kept working his fingers into Mimi, until finally she yelled, and he felt her unclench just slightly, felt her release onto him, and Joe couldn’t help himself from bringing his head back and letting out a long moan, too. She already left his hand slick with her juices as soon as he started, but now, two orgasms in, he was just as soaked as he now imagined her panties would’ve been had she kept them on.

He opened his eyes and saw them bunched up in her hand as she continued to pant to try and recover even just the barest bit, and he had a feeling that whenever he got home that night he’d need to have round two with her, because the sight of Mimi, a glistening mess who could barely stand, hair tousled somehow fashionably, and pussy and legs soaked and dripping in her juices and come…

It was a good thing that most of his tasks for the rest of the day were menial, because there was no possible way he was going to be able to focus on anything other than replaying this in his head over and over.

“I, uh,” he started, taking in a breath, “I think I outdid myself.” A smile played at his lips, and she turned her head just enough to peek open an eye and look at him. Her foot against the wall slowly slid down, now standing on both legs again to keep her balance given how drained she was. Even though she was exhausted, she couldn’t help but smile, too, and once again pressed herself into him.

“You definitely out did me, too,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at him playfully. He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head in response.

“I hope that helped you out. Sorry we haven’t really been able to, you know… do that lately,” he said sheepishly, now feeling unable to so much as say the word “sex” now that they were done.

“Oh god, you have no idea. I have no idea how I’ll be able to walk after this,” she grinned, “I didn’t realize a doctor’s hands were so dexterous and strong,” she hummed. Joe blushed a deep crimson hue.

“I, uh, am still a resident, you know,” he told her, and she tsked in response.

“You gotta give yourself more credit, sweetie, especially after you so surgically gave it to me,” she winked.

Joe laughed gently. Nothing about what he did was particularly surgical, considering it was more just working his girlfriend as fast and hard as he possibly could, but he’d relent and take the compliment without more fuss— as hard as it was.

“…Do you think you’d be up to do that again tonight?” he asked after taking a moment to relax and enjoy having her against him like this.

“I can definitely repay the favor,” she said, and already Joe perked up, getting a second wind that would carry him through the rest of his shift. There was no way he could come home exhausted after all of this.

“Well… I’m looking forward to it,” he said, still blushing in a way that was so endearing to her. “Are you going to be able to get home ok?”

Now that was the tricky part she hadn’t thought of when she came up with this grand scheme of hers, but…

“I’ll figure out a way,” she told him, patting him on the chest gently, “I’ll need to clean up first, though.”

Joe nodded slowly, “That’s probably a good idea. There’s a bathroom right nearby, though, uh… you should probably put those back on,” he told her with a pointed glance towards her underwear.

“I’ll do that after I clean up, but wouldn’t it just be a waste if you couldn’t enjoy the fruits of your labor?” she cooed.

Sometimes he was sure this woman would be the death of him.

“W-W-Well, I mean… i-if you insist…” he said, bringing a hand back down to her pussy, placing two fingers in her gently to better coat his fingers, then brought his fingers into his mouth, taking a moment to savor her taste. She watched her boyfriend with anticipation as he licked his lips.

“That’s, uh… that’s really good…” he told her, and she beamed. “It’s, uh, kind of sweet, actually? I like it. A lot.” Mimi let out a gentle moan.

“God that is so hot, Joe, you have no idea,” she told him. He ducked his head sheepishly and glanced away from her.

“R-Really? Well, I’m glad,” he said. He saw her grin from the corner of his eye and once again felt a surge of pride in what he was able to accomplish for her. She stole another lingering kiss, then pulled away.

“I should probably get cleaned up so you can get back to work. Are you sure you’ll be able to handle the rest of today until I can treat you right later?”

“I’ll do my best, though it’s gonna be hard.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only thing that’ll be hard,” she said, looking down at his pants with a sly grin.

“Well, uh,” he coughed into his hand to try and distract from that fact, “Hopefully that isn’t… too hard… for the rest of the day. I’m sure it will be tonight, though.”

“I won’t take up your focus anymore, then, baby,” she told him, once again balling the hand that was holding her panties in a fist to hide them, “I’m gonna clean up and go home so I can try and get a little more work done.”

“Be safe, Meems,” he said, giving her one last peck on the lips before she waved goodbye and started to leave the closet. Joe allowed himself a moment to lean against the wall, letting out a long, content sigh.

“…I think I’m going to have to eat her out tonight, too…” he mumbled to himself.

Mimi looked down each end of the hallway, before quickly ducking into the women’s room, locking the door behind her and wasting no time in grabbing some paper towels to wipe herself off and clean up. Once she was done, she slid her panties on, and took a moment to look at herself in the mirror, more than pleased at the afternoon’s outcome. Another grin slowly tugged on her lips as she leaned forward against the sink.

“He is going to fuck me so hard tonight, I just know it.”

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muu-kun · 9 months ago

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From the first phrase uttered out as an answer to his complex inquiry alone, the man quickly realized that he was already lost on the meaning of all due to be additionally stated. The rapid rate in which he could send out language, or even when it was slowed down to a stammer, exceeded by far the lengthy bouts of time required for him to process in the communication efforts of those around him. Sometimes it were days, whereas in other instances it was weeks into months. Some things even took years.

Aiming to assist himself in some manner, he nearly tore his phone out of his pocket in order to access a specific feature available to it. Through the ease of an application reachable just past the input of the passcode to his device, Muu successfully found himself able to record nearly the entirety of the perspective being graciously offered to him by someone he didn't even consider himself an acquaintance of if asked.

When subjects being stated did spark him with sense, the shorter took to raising his hand as if waiting to be called on to express his remarks, only to inevitably place it back at his side in an effort to save all comments until the end. Certainly, it was in his best interest to hold out any questions and concerns until after the one he'd already made was presented an answer to completion. With as thorough as he found Curtis to be as a whole, he at least never found himself drawn to one specific question to interject with anyways. Instead, however, he did admittedly feel as though all of it left him in a questioning state.

One of which that led him to leaning into other male's space more, as if doing so would have aided him absorbing the material better. While it very well could have been too advanced for him to conceptualize there in that moment, he still yearned for the knowledge so much so that he sought to manifest in his mind an opportunity in which he could have listened to the scholary sounding male and his thoughts on life all day.

When he noted that the words made by the other had advanced from trailing off into complete silence, he turned off the voice recording app being utilized through his cellphone as it was no longer necessary to keep it running, and offered right out of the gate a simple admittance that he didn't quite understand most of what he'd heard. That, if were to be completely honest, he almost needed it repeated in that of a manner one would use in educating members of a younger demographic. That while he certainly wouldn't have considered himself to be dumb, nor would peers close to him, but that, instead, he just sometimes found himself being presented to other people as a problem as his disabilities required accommodations not needed for anyone else. Or a least not as far as he knew anyways.

"That's lots of different kinds of people that the Curtis listed as examples.. And I know which one fits me in. I'm.. Oh, I'm definitely who is the neglected twat", he admitted.

"There's lots of categories within categories of people.. That is how come everybody has their own 'mounts of safe and warm that they need and can get? But, but, but!! But tiktok says that.. that there is not a little bowl of love and 'ffection to spread around the people, but a big one."

"Hm, well.. I think safe and warm is innate and a right to earned. Like how come respect is, you know? People who is of Muu's, who need to have some from the big pot more than some other ones, you know, should probably not be being buttholes.. I at least not a butthole everyday.."

"Oh, I don't know.. My brain is having hard time getting in the middle and not just what is the ends. I don't.. understand what is meaning by fighting instead of flighting as I always do it wrong, and I don't think I get what opinions is as I can't do those right either.. Those.. Those ain't of important to me anyways."

"I'd be j- just fine with consistent amounts of safe and warm, an- and to be in good standing enough to be going back to being considered a friend to Sully. I don't mind if.. if that is all the universe set aside for me to have in terms of the list of nice things people can do for each other. I don't even need my sorry with specifics. It's.. it's a dumb example of safe and warm to ask for in the first place. There's also layers of big things like hypocrisy, and trauma responses that do making other people's traumas responses be happening, but those is.. is not of important right now."

"I.. I would rather just focus on the steps on for me to do in order to get the bare minimum of safe and warm from the person I feel is.. important to have it from. Then maybe, just maybe, I later on can get the amount saved for when you are loved in a dream come true kind of way. Like what the you guys get to have, you know? If.. if to be rotten is to have none safe and warm, then I want to be the word that gets you the little bit of it you are allowed to have and not an amount that would make people mad at you for asking to have something you are undeserving of being allowed to get. How do I be that word?"

"When it's detrimental to a persons' growth." He didn't need long to think on it. "You can't coddle and bubble wrap a person in warmth and safety forever. It warps their perception of life as a whole. How to deal with emotions outside their routines and all that. Choking them of mental growth, shortening their independence of problem-solving."

"The other side of that is not enough warmth, which has the opposite effect but in the same breath works the same. They don't know how to handle emotions, cues of abuse or neglect. The person won't know that they are stepping on toes, or believe that sometimes just breathing is stepping on said toes but even when told they don't fix the issue because they run away from the problem in flight instead of fight."

"Nothing has a clear and clean outcome, ever, really - but everything has a balance, and it's different for everyone. In my opinion anyway. You can have the best upbringing and still be a twat, or you can have the worst upbringing and be a delight. It's down to how you develop, learn and overcome what's been dealt with ya... but it's not anyone else's job to show you how or tell you how in a sense. Cause it takes away what you need to read and learn on your own to fathom out how it should be working for you from that point on."

"Again, my opinion... "

#nvrcmplt #muu for one at least really likes teacher curtis

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pagesfromthevoid · 3 years ago

Note

Um, I want you to know that False God is one of my comfort stories/universes rn. You write Matty like a pro! I love all the little details like Reader's backstory and that you included characters from the MCU that aren't seen or mentioned all the time like Jimmy Woo. And when there's humor, it's hilarious AF. I mean how is is so good, like--

False God | m.m. | 7

Matt Murdock x Avenger!reader

Word Count: 2.4K

Warnings: Language. Violence. Death. Matt’s an ass, but so is the reader. Angsty idiots

Author’s Note: This was such a sweet message thank you 😩 Enjoy these two not handling their shit and getting in trouble for it.

Series Masterlist | Talk to me!

“Foggy and Karen wanted to have dinner here this week. To meet you properly,” Matt said idly as she stitched up a rather nasty cut on his back. It was chitchat, something to distract from the stinging of the needle and rubbing alcohol.

“That sounds like a nice idea. Especially since the last time I met Karen, you yelled at me.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I had every right to yell at you.”

“Hm,” she hummed, snipping the thread of the stitches and double checking her work. “We’ll agree to disagree.”

Matt let out a huff of air, rolling his shoulders back to adjust to being straightened up. She stood from the couch, gathering the bloody tools and towels to clean. Her hands were rough this time, having still been healing from the road rash over the last couple weeks. She hadn’t projected herself into his thoughts since the night she moved in.

They hadn’t talked about what happened that night she moved in. They hadn’t really even talked about her case with Crown. Matt didn’t want to worry her; she hadn’t asked yet. She tried not to ask usually, knowing he would tell her eventually. But he wasn’t telling her a lot about this case.

It was hard for her to conceptualize that the man who had tortured her for so long was hiding in Hell’s Kitchen. Hard for her to accept the truth of the matter: that she was in danger. But her anxiety wasn’t even latched onto Crown and his need for her; it was stuck to Matt. It was stuck to him, and stuck on that demand to see her come undone that night. It should have been hot; and it was at first. But she kept going back to what her therapist said.

“I would hate to see you hurt if he’s just using you for your abilities. After all, you helped a blind man see. That’s a big deal.”

It was becoming a pretty big deal for some reason.

Matt, on the other hand, felt that he shouldn’t have to tell her until it was closer to being over. He just didn’t want to scare her, even though he knew she wouldn’t be. But this wasn’t what he could focus on, either. He had been dwelling on her hiding her arms from him the night he saw her entirely. It had poisoned the image he had in his mind, and it was something he was starting to be worried about even though she didn’t often manipulate his thoughts. He tried to justify that she always told him when she did; but what if she wasn’t always making him see? What if she was already in there? He blamed Foggy for planting the worry in his head, honestly.

“You’re not worried she’s showing you like fake things?”

He wasn’t until that day. Even Father Lantom couldn’t shake the paranoia.

With her hands washed of his blood, she grabbed a clean shirt from the laundry, tossing it to him. Matt caught it and felt it over for a moment, considering everything.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” She finally asked, walking back into the living room and sitting on the arm of the couch.

He shook his head, pulling the shirt on. “It was nothing. Just something with Fisk.”

She watched him for a moment, frowning. “You can tell me, you know. I’m a big girl. Are Fisk and Crown working together?”

“I don’t think so. Not right now anyway.”

She huffed in frustration. “You’re keeping things from me, Murdock,” she pointed out as she stood.

Her hands raked through her hair as she tugged it at the roots. Matt’s gaze followed her movements but he didn’t move.

“I’m keeping you safe,” he argued.

“No. You’re lying to me.”

“Like how you lied about your arms?”

Her hands dropped to her sides as she stared at him. “What?”

“You didn’t show me how badly you were injured,” he explained, motioning to her arms and hands as he finally stood. They were a bit worse for wear, bruised and scabbed over. “The night you moved in. You showed me what you looked like. But you didn’t show me the bandages.”

“I didn’t show you…” She glanced at her hands for a moment, frowning deeply. “You’re mad that I forgot to project my bloodied bandages while I was fucking you?”

Hearing it out loud made Matt realize how absolutely psychotic it was. He was about to speak, to apologize but she cut him off, pointing her finger at him.

“At least I showed you what you wanted after you demanded it of me.”

It was Matt’s turn to be confused, frowning deeply. “Demanded what?”

“To see me!” She motioned to herself, though she knew he couldn’t see her. “I don’t want to be your tool to see, Matt, I want to be your girlfriend.”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” He demanded, anger catching up to hers now. “I’m not with you because you can make me see.”

“I can’t imagine why else you’d be with me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Both of them were suddenly too angry to realize how irrational they were both being. This was a stupid argument; planted by seeds of distrust and anxiety. Deep rooted in their own severe traumas. Deep down, they both knew this was stupid. They knew that this wasn’t something to fight about. But when Matt grabbed his mask and stormed out of the apartment, it didn’t matter if it was irrational.

Actions spoke louder than words.

Perhaps that’s why her next move was just as bad.

*****

She was going to get arrested because of Matt Murdock.

That’s all she really knew as she walked with her head down and the hood of Matt’s jacket up, through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. There wasn’t really a direction she was headed; she just knew she was going to find him and probably try to fight him. Or maybe she’d just start crying. She hadn’t decided yet.

What she had decided was that the worst thing about dating a vigilante was that he was hard to follow. Any crazy girlfriend could stalk their boyfriend’s phone and track their location. But Matt didn’t use his actual phone, and had more burner phones than anyone should legally be allowed to carry. So tracking his annoyingly fine ass down was proving more difficult than she initially planned.

The stupid bastard was quick, too.

She hadn’t even given him a head start before she lost him in the streets. And now there she was, half past two in the morning, risking her house arrest, to find her jackass of a boyfriend. The city was fine during the day, but it was what lurked in the shadows that needed to be watched.

Every few blocks, she switched her powers on, listening to the thoughts around her. While she had never actually read Matt’s thoughts —she felt it was invasive; and before tonight, she thought he told her most things —she figured his would loud enough if she focused. If he could pick out her heartbeat, she should be able to pick out his thoughts. Right?

Luck was on her side when she picked up on a fight a few blocks closer to the docks. Matt’s thoughts, in fact, were not loud. But they were precise; pin pointing spots where to hit without killing them. Behind the thoughts of attacks, though, she heard him cursing himself. Telling himself to stop. That he couldn’t cross that line, no matter how angry he was.

The thought that invaded her head next, though, forced her to take off running to the docks. Whoever his opponent was, they had a trick up their sleeve that they were waiting to use. They were calculating the last possible second they could whip out a knife, knowing that even the smallest slice could incapacitate Matt with the poison that coated the blade. She couldn’t see the attacker, since Matt couldn’t either, but it didn’t matter.

As their thoughts got louder, she focused hard to pinpoint exactly where they were. The docks were full of empty containers and warehouses; the likelihood of her finding him before it was too late was diminishing. She skid to a stop when she got too close to the water, and looked around as she considered where to go. If she switched off the mind reading, she could alter the thoughts of everyone in the vicinity and confuse the attacker. But then she risked not knowing where Matt was. And it wouldn’t last long.

It was her only chance though. The attacker was getting closer to taking the blade out and she couldn’t let Matt get hurt because they had a stupid fight. Taking a deep breath, she focused for another moment, zeroing in on where they were. Matt couldn’t show her what he saw but the attacker could. A broken window, a sign —a sign; Bleakman’s Hauling.

The thoughts ceased then, and she took a deep breath. The thoughts of everyone in the area changed; just slightly. It was the same as before. Anyone being affected wouldn’t see anything different than what they were prior. But Matt’s attacker could no longer see him. They were just as blind as he was. She only had a few minutes before it would change back. With those moments, she snatched a metal pipe from the ground and took off towards the warehouse.

Hopefully this worked.

*****

He had felt his thoughts shift. Nobu’s guy was confused, violently slashing the air with a knife but they weren’t anywhere near him. Matt couldn’t see, but he could hear the knife getting closer as he took a moment, catching his breath. He was certain he had reopened the stitches she had given him, and his ribs were definitely cracked.

That shift returned, throwing Matt’s equilibrium off again. Nobu’s goon regained his composure, suddenly realizing where Matt was. He spun the knife in his hand, as another heartbeat entered the room. Matt focused on that, looking over his attacker’s shoulder as she raised the pipe and swung it into his head. The goon dropped to the ground, skull bashed in and bleeding.

Matt held his side, trying to not flinch from the pain he was in, as she dropped the pipe on the ground. She approached the body, kicking it with her boot rather unceremoniously.

“He’s dead,” she determined, though she didn’t seem overly concerned. “I didn’t think I hit him that hard.”

“He was a hard hit away from blunt force trauma,” he responded, voice hoarse. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You should have answered your phone,” she pointed out, looking up at him now. “You look like shit.”

“You need to go home.”

“We need to go home,” she corrected, giving him a dirty look. Her attention returned to the attacker, nudging his face with her shoe. “Who is this guy?”

Matt groaned, dropping to his knees, caving to the pain. She looked back at him, unsympathetic to his pain. Unzipping the hoodie, she tossed it at him, ordering him to take off the mask and put the jacket on. Then she bent down and snagged the knife that had fallen from guy’s hand.

“Neat. I’ll add this to the ‘shit I’ve stolen from criminals’ collection.”

He couldn’t help but weakly laugh as he followed her orders. “You have one of those?”

“Do you not?” She asked, looking over the guy’s body once more as she rooted through his pockets to find an ID. “I think there’s a lot about me you don’t actually know.”

“I don’t, no,” he shook his head, zipping up the hoodie. “And apparently.”

“We need to go home.”

He nodded in agreement, the air between them turning tense. “You saved me.”

She nodded, finally looking up as Matt attempted to stand. “Of course I saved you,” she said, standing up herself to approach him. “Whatever tonight was…we’ll deal with it. It doesn’t mean that I don’t love you though. I’ll always save you.” She took his mask from his hand, stuffing it in her back pocket.

“You broke house arrest for me,” he continued, taking hold of her arm as she attempted to leave. She stopped, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Yep; hence why I’m trying to get us home.” She motioned to the door dramatically with her free hand.

Matt’s gaze was fiery, but he kept his hold on her arm. “I’m with you because you keep me guessing.”

“Excuse me?”

“You said earlier,” he explained, tugging her closer to him as he spoke. Every move was agony, but he needed to say this. “That you couldn’t imagine why else I’d be with you other than you can help me see. That’s not why I’m with you.” Matt reached up to cup her cheek, holding her there as he spoke. “I’m with you because you never do what I think you will. Look what you did tonight; I didn’t think you’d track me down.” There was a dry laugh as he brought himself back. “I’m with you because everything you do, you do because you know it’s right. I’m with you,” he whispered now, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. “I’m with you because you remind me that there is good in this world. And I would die before I let that good be lost…I would die for you, if it meant the world got to see what you had to offer.”

He could taste the salt from her tears as she tried to hold them back. Matt wiped the stray one that escaped, closing his eyes as he held her in place for just a moment longer. Matt took a shaky breath, chest aching from the figurative heart ache and literal broken ribs.

“Please don’t die for me,” she whispered back, eyes shut as she touched his hand on her cheek.

“I can’t promise you that.”

“What can you promise me?” She asked, pulling away to look up at him.

“That I love you,” he offered, “And to talk about everything when we get home.”

She nodded some, wiping her eyes. “I’ll take it.”

———

Series Masterlist

———

Taglist (CLOSED): @thebisexual-disaster @chims-kookies @ferxaniti @heybabyshae @notalxx @gothicxbarbie @dark-night-sky-99 @blacxk-moony @celestialissues @pinkybee926 @bex-tk1 @jasontoddthezombie @killthebutt4fly @softieekayy @user897sblog @cbloodmarch @ammiddlechild @venusriver @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @yikes-buddy @buckyspetal @baconlover001 @flimsysquid @reh-llik @messagesinthesky @dreamypanda @happyfern2 @svft-cas @andiforgetaboutyoulongenoughh @deafeningnightcollection-things

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #daredevil x reader #daredevil

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matan4il · 2 years ago

Note

So I might be a 🤡 but I'm curious if I missed something and maybe you caught it and already wrote about it...

But at the end of the finale we sort of had all the start overs. Buck getting his key back ext. Like a little bit of S6 spoilers. When Eddie said I have that appt to Chris. I assumed in the moment it was his recertification. Especially when Chris was like don't be scared. But did we ever have Canon conclusion that's what it was or did I just assume. Because now that I'm thinking about it again could it have been a new kind of therapy appt.? I'm well aware I could be leaning in to hard.

I just always picture that if Eddie started to question his sexuality it maybe something he broaches with Chris because they are opening up more. Could it be hinting at new therapy for a gay panic. Because his old therapy is hardly a secret or something he needs reassurance for.

Anyways you always seem to catch everything and I honestly probably missed the moment Eddie said what the appt was for..

Hi Nonnie! You didn’t miss anything, Eddie didn’t explicitly specify what the appointment was for, and thank you for trusting me with this question! *HUGS*

I have no idea if this has been discussed, but I always assumed that Eddie was referring to himself continuing his therapy sessions with Frank. Could that mean that they’d discuss a new topic? It could, but I think it’s more likely the show had Eddie bringing it up and Chris reassuring him to remind us that healing isn’t this thing that’s finished and done in a moment, no matter how awesome your best (boy)friend is at finding the kid whose life you saved. Healing is a process, and you have to keep working on it. But once they establish that the therapy is still ongoing at the end of s5, they can always return to it in s6, and they can then show us if Eddie has any new topics to bring up... *insert eyes emoji here*

If Eddie did start to question his sexuality... IDK why, I always thought he would have an easier time accepting it if he didn’t have to label it. He loved Shannon in the past, it wasn’t perfect, and they probably wouldn’t have gotten married when they did if it weren’t for Christopher, but she was his partner. Until she wasn’t. And now he’s in love with Buck, and it’s the best partnership he’s ever had, and he's coming to realize that fact and how he needs their r/s to have its rightful pace in his life. I kind of always thought conceptualizing it like that would be easier for Eddie, maybe based on on a man I knew in rl who realized he was bi only later in life, after his wife had passed away from cancer, and when he fell in love for the first time with a man. But even if he conceptualized it like that, it doesn’t mean Eddie wouldn’t talk about it first before coming to terms with it. I do think he’d eventually talk to Chris about it, but I’m not sure he’d start there? It’s a huge thing, a big change for all of three, and before a parent can talk about such a thing to their kid, they usually need to be sure about it themselves. Not always, but in most cases. You don’t wanna rock your kid’s boat before you know for sure there are waves in the ocean, right? But he could very well use the therapy sessions to bring up all of his confusion, especially at first, when he’s not yet fully sure what it is he’s bringing up... ;)

In any case, I am looking forward to s6 and to seeing where Buddie’s parallel journeys take them! It does all feel very promising. I hope my answer helps and adds to your excitement, too? Sending lots of hugs and love! xoxox

(If you're looking for my ask replies, here is my ask tag! xoxox)

#buddie #buddie meta #911 meta #911meta #911 #eddie diaz #evan buckley #edmundo diaz #evan buck buckley #christopher diaz #ask #anon ask #911onabc #911 on abc #911abc #911 abc

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actuallysaiyan · 2 years ago

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CONGRATULATIONS TO YOU 🎉

Nickname: Aerith

Pronouns: She/Him

Personality Traits: Religious, friendly, sweet, intelligent, creative, hyper (sometimes), thoughtful, giggly, clumsy, feisty, arrogant, mean-spirited, provocative, foul-mouthed, sarcastic, frightful, sensitive, bold, and savage

Personality Type: INFJ

Star sign: Libra sun, Sagittarius moon, Cancer rising, and Libra venus

Hobbies: Drawing, singing, dancing when nobody's around (I'm very bad at it), sharing nerdy or opinionated thoughts, walking like a model (if I ever feel so confident), sleeping, listening to music (from rock to kpop), chatting or blogging on Tumblr, watching videos on YouTube, making terrible jokes/puns, watching cartoons or beauty pageants [on YouTube], writing, reading interesting things, and conceptualizing my artworks.

Fandom: Naruto

Who do you love most in that fandom: Tenten, Itachi, Kaguya

Who do you hate in that fandom: Fūka

Would you rather be matched with a man or a woman: Man

Smut: Yes

Anyone you don't want to be matched with: Characters with HUGE age gaps (e.g. Madara and co.)

Ideal date: Late night drives + music + coffee or drive thru

My Life In...

Naruto

After some extensive research, we've concluded that you are best matched with... HIDAN! Congrats!

In this universe, you and Hidan are living your lives together, still being mercenaries. Still, the love that grew has become so strong now. Here's you love story...

Matched with: Hidan Skills/career: You’re part of the Akatsuki, and you have a kekkei genkai that allows you to use creative skills to be used as attacks. Song: God Only Knows by The Beach Boys Best Friends: Itachi, Kisame, DeidaraLove at first sight: Not exactly.

How you met: You were inducted into the Akatsuki due to your village needing some protection. At first, you didn’t really like Hidan. He just rubbed you the wrong way. It became a little more obvious how alike you two could be when Itachi and Kisame pointed it out. Eventually, you found yourself drawn to Hidan. Something about his demeanor just slowly became endearing in a way. And soon you were grouped together with him and Kakuzu.

How you fell in love: It took a long time. But the more time you spent with him, you just couldn’t help falling for the guy. His smile became so infectious. And he showed such compassion whenever he was with you. You couldn’t help but think maybe he would become a little kinder, but it was mostly only to you. Hidan would do his best to finally get your attention. He fell for you hard, and the sweet little gestures he did for you made your heart race. After he started making grand gestures, it didn’t take long for you to finally admit you had a huge crush on him.

Your first date: Hidan waits until everyone is asleep, then he goes to your room. The two of you decide to head out into one of the nearby fields and look up at the stars. It’s a clear night, and he’s hoping everything will turn out perfectly. He has some drinks and a small picnic set up on a blanket. You’re a little surprised to find how romantic Hidan is, but he confesses his feelings for you. What starts out as chaste kisses develops into some heavy making out. Hidan lets it stop there, and he is a gentleman through the whole date. It’s almost sunrise when the two of you go to bed.

Your first time being intimate: Hidan is used to having casual hookups, but with you, he knew it had to be different. He sets up his bedroom with nice lighting, scented candles and even some rose petals. It's romantic but Hidan still shows you how excited he can get. Still, the pleasure is all for you and Hidan does all he can to make sure you always cum first.

He presses a kiss to your lips, his long cock already deep inside of you. You don’t remember the last time someone fucked you. It was before you joined this little organization. What you do know, is that you’ve never been fucked by someone with as long a cock as Hidan. It reaches your cervix without even trying. He watches your face to make sure you aren’t in pain. Hidan knows he’s long, but he can make it feel good.

“You’re really fuckin’ tight,” Hidan finally breathes. Your silky walls are clamped down so tightly.

You blush, “Well it has been a while since I got laid.”

Hidan chuckles. He presses another kiss to your lips, and then he lets his lips trail down to your neck. He leaves soft lovebites, licking them after he’s done sucking on your tender flesh. The sweet moans you make just for him, it’s just driving him even more crazy. Hidan never wants this moment to end. He knows that he’s fallen for you completely.

“Pussy so good, makes me want to be a better man.”

Where are you now: You and Hidan actually defected from the Akatsuki, and the two of you decided to run away. You live far away from most people, in a small town together. The two of you are much happier this way, spending your days enjoying one another. You’re both still mercenaries, needing the money. But it’s not like the Akatsuki days. It’s just you and Hidan. Loving one another.

General headcanons:

Hidan is a cuddler. He may not seem it at first, but he enjoys holding you in his arms and just having a few moments of silence. This is very rare, considering he’s always running his mouth.

He will protect you no matter what. Hidan has his faith, but he isn’t opposed to doing what he can to make sure you’re safe. He doesn’t like the idea of going against his beliefs, but for your sake, he would.

Hidan always enjoys making his favorite food with you. He’s not a bad cook, despite what you may think of him. He enjoys food enough to want to learn how to make it good.

He often gets into arguments and fights, so you might need to help him tone back the swearing if you can. Though, it may be fun to watch him get into fights.

Hidan loves spoiling you with gifts whenever he can. He’ll buy you all kinds of stuff. He’s pretty supportive of your hobbies and passions as well.

He still likes to take you out and look at the stars. It’s so beautiful and he can talk about all kinds of stuff whenever you’re together like this. If you draw the night sky, he will be so happy.

Sexy headcanons

The man is kind of a freak in the sheets. He fucks like he’s an animal in heat. It’s just one of his favorite things to do in the world.

He’s mentioned more than once he has a blood kink, but if you aren’t into it, he’ll leave it out of the bedroom. He wants you to be comfortable in the bedroom as well.

Hidan is a big fan of loving, mating press kind of sex too. Something about having you in that position really turns him on. Maybe because you’re so helpless beneath him.

Hidan loves it if you were to tug on his hair while he goes down on you. Clench your thighs around his face. Suffocate him. He can’t die anyway, so he wants to suffocate between your thighs.

He’s not against being tied up, or vice versa. He’s really into both, and he loves it if you were to blindfold him as well and tease him until he is just begging for pleasure.

He needs to cum inside of you. He’s got a huge cum fetish. He doesn’t care about getting you pregnant, it’s all about marking you up as his. It’s the sight of his seed leaking out of you that turns him on.

#bacon.writes #2k followers celebration #2k followers event #2k follower celebration #hidan #hidan x you #hidan x reader #hidan x y/n #hidan smut #hidan match up #naruto #naruto shippuden

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years ago

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 16 | S.R.)

Summary: Reader is trying to go back to her old life, which includes the life she led before she met Spencer. Category: Angst. Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader Content Warning: Drug mention, addiction, jealousy, arguing, death mention Word Count: 9.3k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

“Don’t wear that tie, wear the other one.”

Spencer turned to look at me curiously, his little grin the first signal that he saw right through me. “Why?” He asked, taking off the tie he’d only just finished putting on to swap it for the other one hanging in my closet.

It’d been a week since Spencer all but moved into my room, refusing to leave my side for even a second longer than necessary. Aside from the freshly healing bullet wounds, it had been one of the best weeks of my life.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, trying and failing to hide my smile. “I just wanted to watch you take it off.”

My boyfriend pointed an accusing finger at me as he approached the bed, using it to poke my nose before retreating. “You, my dear, are a troublemaker. I’m going to be late.”

It was hard to believe that life could resume so quickly for everyone else when it felt like I was still on my knees on the cold tile floor of the bank. I tried not to think about it, acutely aware of the terrible things that could happen when PTSD was left unchecked.

I wanted to think about nice things, instead. Like how cute my boyfriend was, acting like it was my fault he’d be late while he took his time tying his tie over and over again. He’d say it was because it wasn’t perfect, but we both knew he didn’t care about that. He just didn’t want to leave yet.

“If you’re going to be late Dr. Reid, it’s because you refused to get out of bed until I gave you a kiss for every hour you’ll be gone today.” I reminded him, joy filling my chest at the small combination of a smile and a pout I received in response.

“You still owe me two.”

“Do I?” I responded, reaching out to grab his hand and pull him back to my place on the bed. “Then please, let me remedy that.”

Not wanting me to move any more than I already had, he quickly came down to place a chaste kiss on my lips. But I didn’t let it end there, holding onto the newly secured tie and tugging him closer.

Now it might be my fault, I thought, but I didn’t care. With one hand on the bed to steady himself and the other carefully caressing my cheek, he put all of his love into one little kiss. I felt like I was going to explode with the pent up desire that had accompanied being with him for so long without being able to show him how much I loved him in a physical way.

He insisted that he didn’t need sex, that it didn’t matter to him, but it mattered to me! I didn’t have a way with words like he did, and while he was content with curling up by my side, it left me wanting more.

The doctor kept telling me it would be soon, that the time will have passed quickly in hindsight. I didn’t understand half of what he said— he was just trying to get me to accept the narcotics in hopes that I wouldn’t end up back in his hospital.

I was doing it again. I was thinking about things I didn’t need to think about instead of the way Spencer bit down on my bottom lip when he paused to let me breathe. The smell of his cologne filled my lungs and I remembered how much I used to miss it. I’d stopped appreciating it when it was around me all the time.

It wasn’t until his phone rang that he left completely, tearing himself away from me like he wouldn’t be able to stop himself any other way.

“Hello?”

There were only a few reasons they would be calling him right now, and I didn’t like any of them.

“Oh… Alright.”

It was that exact tone, that terrified, pitiful grumble that told me what I needed to know. He had to go somewhere, and he wouldn’t be back today. He’d retreated from me, turning his back to me like I wouldn’t be able to tell what was happening just because I couldn’t see his face.

His voice was hushed. “Hotch, are you sure that I…”

The hopelessness hurt. I wanted him to go back to work; I knew he needed to. But it was so hard to let him go.

“Understood. I’ll be there soon.”

“How many more kisses do I owe you now?” I asked with a nervous laugh, fiddling with the sheets between my fingers.

“I don’t know.”

“Uh oh. I don’t like that voice.” I tried to keep my tone playful, but it wasn’t enough.

“I have to travel.”

The fact that he wasn’t looking at me made me more anxious than the fact he was now grabbing all the clothes he had in the closet and dropping them in the suitcase.

“Where to?”

Spencer paused, staring at the floor so that he could see me from his peripherals. He was torturing himself by forcing himself to see my reaction, but he wasn’t strong enough to look directly at me.

“Alaska.”

“Oh... wow.” I didn’t know how to respond, my body freezing as I tried to conceptualize just how far away that was. Far enough away that in maps of the United States, they had a separate area designated for it since it couldn’t fit.

It was too far, that’s all I knew.

“Hey, that’s fine! I can still call you.” My voice sounded foreign and the hopefulness was poorly performed. I wasn’t sure calling would be enough, but it apparently didn’t even matter.

“Not really. They don’t have service out there. Garcia is coming with us.” His packing got angrier, no matter how hard he tried to hide it from me.

“It’ll be fine, Spencer.”

His hands, unable to find any more clothing to grab, found purchase in his hair instead, running through them roughly. “What if something happens?” He asked as he finally turned to face me with a seriousness that was unbecoming.

“Nothing is going to happen. I have tons of friends who can help me. I’m just going to be sitting here on my ass all day watching bad TV.”

I gestured to the television that my friends had been nice enough to set up in my room, sighing as Spencer sulked in the other corner. It took a few waves of the hand, but eventually he dragged himself back to my side. Opening my arms to him, I took him in when his head dropped against my shoulder once more.

“I-I’m not ready to leave you yet.” The vulnerability shook in his voice, and I could feel the insistence in his grip denting my pillow.

“Well, too bad, superman.” I teased, pulling him away enough that I could show him my smile, hoping that it would be enough to calm his mounting fears. “You’ve got lives to save.”

He looked at me, his eyes still welling with tears despite the smile he now wore. He took my hand and heldit against his cheek. He closed his eyes; taking a deep breath, he mumbled, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make me fall more in love with you every single day.”

I had to laugh, and I cursed him for it. It hurt so badly to laugh still, but the look on his face was worth it. No matter what, Spencer Reid had to be a romantic, and I loved him for it. It was so very much unlike me.

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, old man.” I chastised him lightly, “You’re going to be late.”

He wasn’t done yet, though, that protective glimmer in his eyes returning with a vengeance. He held tighter to my hand and bit his lip.

“Promise me you’ll be safe. Don’t do anything you aren’t supposed to. Please.”

It sounded like a beg, a desperation that I wasn’t used to. Up until now, it always felt like I was the one who was seeking more information and assurance. But now he sat before me, practically broken at the thought of not seeing me for a few days, pleading for me to take my own life seriously.

I hated the attention, but couldn’t tell him that. He wouldn’t understand; it would only make him worry more.

“I promise.”

He didn’t believe me, but he accepted my answer, anyway. Lunging forward, his lips crashed into mine without any reservations. I laughed into the kiss, tangling my hands in his hair so that he’d have to fix it again before he could leave me.

It was only funny until I remembered how long it might be until I see him again. I held onto him, deepening the kiss just to drag it out. He was also looking for an excuse, still refusing to part all the way when our lungs had nothing left.

“I love you… so much.” He whispered, resting his forehead against mine for a moment longer.

“I love you, too.”

I’d said it so many times in the past few weeks, but the words still felt new on my tongue. I wanted to say them more, to shower him in my affection, but I didn’t know how. Love was just another language he was fluent in, and I decidedly wasn’t. All I could do was wait for him to translate the thoughts to me whenever I got lost.

“I’m going to try to set up something so I can talk to you, okay? I can’t promise it’ll work but I’m going to try. You remember what I said about the last time I couldn’t reach you.”

Memories of papers scattered on the floor ran through my mind. I could practically feel his hand wrapped around my neck for the first time, holding my life in his hand because I’d trusted him to keep me safe. The vision of waking up in his bed, only to have him lower himself below the sheets, pressing kisses down my stomach.

Things had been so different then. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Those thoughts were suffocating and overwhelming and painful, and I shoved them back into the deepest recesses of my mind. It was too early to be emotional.

I took a deep breath, patting Spencer’s cheek with a soft palm before I summoned all the sarcasm I could in my voice. “I’ll always be with you in your heart,” I joked, smiling as he cringed at the sound.

“I mean it, little girl. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’re in for it when I get back.”

Feigning shock and a gasp, I brought my hand to my chest just in time for him to step away from me. The absence of him was colder than it should have been. At least he appeared to be in better spirits, and I wanted to keep it going.

“Dr. Reid, has that ever worked to make me not do something?”

Spencer shook his head with a chuckle, grabbing the rest of his things with more pep in his step. The closer he got to the door, the harder my heart beat. It was deafening and mind numbing in its volume.

Was this how love was supposed to feel? Or had I just grown so spoiled and accustomed to him being here, that I was being entirely selfish? I would no doubt have days to think about it.

He returned to me one more time, running his hand gently through my hair and granting me one more soft, serene kiss in the pale morning light.

“Take care of yourself.” He whispered, the begging bleeding back into his voice. “For me.”

“I will.” I promised before closing my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see him leave. I still heard him hesitate at the door, and I felt his eyes linger on me for a few seconds longer. But then the door clicked shut, and I was alone again.

—————————————————

Nine days. I’d been gone for nine days. It might as well have been a lifetime, because that’s exactly what it felt like. Even worse, I was only able to call (y/n) a whopping three times, each one shorter than the last. We’d only talked for a total of 14 minutes and 29 seconds. And considering that nine days is 12960 minutes, that’s a pretty abysmal fraction.

But it didn’t matter, because as soon as that stupid jet landed in Virginia, I was on my way back to her. Thankfully it was still a normal hour and the sun was still out, albeit quickly setting.

She wasn’t answering my calls, and I tried not to think too much of it. During our last call, she’d told me that she started a new medication that made her sleepy. In fact, our conversation had been so short in part because she fell asleep halfway through the call.

I didn’t mind though, listening to the soft sound of her breathing until the signal went dead again. I’d played the audio over and over again in my head to help me sleep that night, knowing that she was hours away but still dreaming with me.

I was so ready to see her again, that I’d barely knocked on her door before the keys were already in the knob. I didn’t want to wait, I didn’t want to spend another second longer than necessary before I could see her.

But before I could turn the handle, the door swung open and away from my hand.

There were a few people I’d expected to see; (y/n), her roommate, or possibly one of the other female friends the girls had mentioned that I’d yet to see. Unfortunately, it was the one face that hadn’t ever crossed my mind that appeared.

On the other side of the threshold was the man I’d only seen in pictures. To be more specific, one picture, months ago, sent to me from (y/n)’s phone in an attempt to keep her from answering my call.

I recognized him immediately, but realized I’d never actually heard his name.

We stood there for a long time, staring at the other with the utmost hostility in our eyes and postures. I hated the fact that I felt the need to compete with him, but found myself acting out of instinct. I just hoped that he wasn’t as smart or perceptive as her, and wouldn’t notice the insecurity and jealousy that immediately emerged.

“So you must be the cop.” He drawled, leaning against the doorframe to prevent my entry. The action alone pissed me off, but I bit my tongue in the hopes I could deescalate the situation, despite how much I didn’t want to. There were many things I wanted to say to him, but only a few words came out.

“I’m not a cop.”

“Yeah, she said you’d say that.” He chuckled, rubbing his chin as he recalled a memory of her. I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face.

“That makes sense. It shouldn’t be a surprise, considering it’s not my job.” I stated matter-of-factly, trying to remind myself that the two of them were friends. She’d known him for a long time, and he probably felt just as possessive of her as I did.

The only difference was that I had a reason to believe she was mine.

“Let me guess, your sense of humor is her favorite trait.” The sarcasm dripped from his tongue. Normally I’d say that was my role, but right now all that I had to spit back was venom.

Retrieving my key from the door, I contemplated barreling past him to get to her quicker, but realized he was probably hoping to provoke that exact kind of reaction.

“You’re funny.” My face steeled and my fists clenched in my pockets, I peered around his head to the empty hallway behind him. “Where is she?”

“Sleeping.” That stupid smirk was back, his eyes trailing after my every movement, waiting for me to snap. When I didn’t, he escalated his antics further.

“I was about to go join her.” He said, licking his lips and standing up in an attempt to match my height.

But it wasn’t size or age that distinguished the two of us. It was our priorities. Because while he was here, trying to prove himself to me, all I could see was a young boy standing in the way of me seeing her again.

“No need. I’m here now.” I took a step forward, unsurprised to find that he didn’t immediately move out of my way.

He narrowed his eyes, grasping at straws to try and prolong this interaction. I couldn’t understand why, really. He couldn’t honestly believe I’d try to start a fight with him or leave, could he?

“Does she know you were planning on coming by?”

“Why does it matter to you?” I responded with a bored tone, staring him down until I saw his stance falter. It wouldn’t take much longer of this standoff for him to finally recede far enough into the apartment that I could just ignore him.

“Just wondering.” He mumbled, finally taking a step backwards and to the side so that I could enter. He shut the door behind me, but clearly wasn’t done with the conversation.

“Figured she wouldn’t have asked me to come spend the night with her if she knew you were coming. So she must not have expected for you to show up.”

I turned around to face him, knowing that I was playing into his games but unable to resist the temptation.

“She told me you got jealous last time. I would hate for you two to fight again if you found us in bed together. That would be so upsetting for her.”

“Well, you’re off the hook. No miscommunication. No worries at all.” It was times like these that I was grateful for my training, because it was the only thing keeping me from lunging at the boy and slamming him against the wall. I knew he could see it in my eyes.

He clearly had an idea of me in his head, one that was honestly probably pretty accurate. He wanted me to lose control and show that side of me, to prove that he was the better man. But he wasn’t. He’d had several years with her now to prove himself, and she’d still chosen me.

She chose me— that’s all I needed to remember.

“What if I want to stay?” He teased.

“We’ll let her decide.”

That was the first thing I’d said that struck a nerve in him. He resumed his previous stance with his back straight and arms crossed over his chest. “You’re a bit full of yourself for a dude who’s never here.” He spat, puffing his chest. The longer the bravado continued, the less intimidating it became. “You barely even know her.”

I was transported back to when (y/n) and I first started dating, when Morgan had accused me of the very same thing over lunch. My heart wrenched in my chest, because so much of me knew that it was still true.

She’d only just started to share information with me about her past, and still she spoke in vague generalities and half-thoughts. There was so much she hid from me, and I just… let her. I let her hide from me because I was scared that if I pressed her, she would leave.

At least, that’s what I’d thought. But each time someone pointed out how little I knew her, I was forced to consider the possibility that she was keeping me away for a deeper reason.

“I know all the parts of her that she doesn’t want to show you.” He taunted, sensing my anxieties that were clearly written across my face.

“Are you done? I’d like to go see her now.”

He didn’t respond, shaking his head. But I only got a few steps before I heard his voice again, this time louder and angrier.

“Doesn’t it bother you? Knowing that I’m here, in bed with your girlfriend while you’re on the opposite side of the country, not even answering her calls?” He remained rooted in his position at the end of the hall.

I lost the battle of keeping my eyes on her door, ripping them away so that I could turn to face him. My breathing got heavy and my hands finally left my pockets. “No, it doesn’t bother me,” I said, my voice falling quieter instead of growing, “You want to know why?”

The grimace on his face was the only answer I needed. I brought a finger to my own chest, not trusting myself to touch him. I barely knew this guy, and I wasn’t about to start a fight with one of (y/n)’s oldest friends to prove my manhood, especially if that was exactly what he wanted.

“I’m not worried because I trust her.” I practically whispered to him, “And even if I had some reason not to, I’m not intimidated by you.”

A fire appeared in his eyes, the desire to bite back stifled by the knowledge that there was nothing he could say to make me doubt her. He’d already tried and failed every time so far.

“I don’t care what parts of her you think I haven’t seen. Because I get to have the parts of her you wish you could. And she gave them to me willingly and without regret. Over and over again.”

There was so much more I wanted to say, but I was thankfully cut off by the hoarse, familiar voice in the backroom.

“Spencer?” She called, groggy yet excited. There was no way she could hear me from the room, which told me that she’d probably just woken up to my texts and hoped I was here. It told us both that when she woke up, the first person she thought to call was me.

“Yeah.” I said, a soft, genuine smile crossing my cheeks at the thought of her. “Like I said… I’m not worried.”

He didn’t follow me then, staying in the hallway to stew in his anger over the fact that this hadn’t gone at all how he’d planned. But I couldn’t think about him any longer, because as soon as I turned into her room, my heart melted.

She was sprawled out on her bed, hugging a body pillow like her life depended on it. Her hair was a beautiful disaster across her pillow, and the blanket had fallen far enough to see that she was swamped in the same Caltech sweatshirt she wore every time I was gone.

“Hey little girl.”

She slowly shimmied her way up the pillows, clearly surprised at my appearance despite having called me in. With half shut eyes, she spoke through a yawn, “What’re you doing here? You look like you haven’t slept in a week!”

“I missed you.” I admitted quietly, finally bridging the gap between us and climbing onto her bed on top of the covers. I couldn’t even bother taking off my blazer or my shoes; I needed to be close to her now, without any other unnecessary delay.

Despite curling up against me immediately, she still found a way to whine. “You better not have skipped out on anything for me. We know I’m not doing anything worthwhile in here.”

I leaned down to kiss her forehead, my hands holding her against me so that I could breathe in the familiar scent of her hair and perfume. “I strongly disagree.” I sighed, happy to hear her hum and giggle at the way my breath tickled her face.

I didn’t even hear the door open, but she tilted her head away from me to see her friend. I stayed where I was, not wanting to take my eyes off of her again for as long as I didn’t have to.

“I’m gonna head out. Let me know if you need me again.” He said, his voice full of repressed anger and sadness that I understood but didn’t particularly care about right now.

“Thanks for coming! I’ll probably see you next week; I’ll text you!” She chirped, waving to the man who’d already left.

His absence eased away the last remaining bit of tension in my shoulders, allowing me to bury myself in her neck while she continued to laugh. I heard the soft sounds of the tv for the first time and mumbled into her skin.

“What are you watching?”

“Just a sitcom. You wouldn’t be interested.”

She sounded... defensive, if not a little ashamed for her choice in shows. I had to laugh, realizing that she was still unaware of the shows my mom and I used to watch when I was a kid. The asinine, cheesy soap operas that taught me the dorky, awkward way to love that she constantly mocked me for.

I would save that piece of information for later, though, and instead, I chose to show her my own interest in the things she loved, or in the very least found comforting. “What’s it about?”

Apparently, it was the right question to ask. Over the course of the next thirty minutes she tried to condense the entire nine season series of The Office into one barely coherent rant. Eventually, she realized that I wasn’t following along as closely as she’d hoped, and just decided to start the show over.

I didn’t mind. She chastised me a few times for not paying close enough attention after catching me monitoring her reactions more than the show itself. But eventually she fell asleep on my chest, still murmuring about Jim and Pam until the words were just gibberish.

Without her commentary, I was forced to pay attention so that when she undoubtedly woke up and quizzed me, I wouldn’t just be repeating words I’d heard in the background. Somewhat unsurprisingly, I found myself swept up in the romantic storyline of her two favorite characters. So caught up, in fact, that when she woke up, it took me a moment to notice.

“What did I miss?” She grumbled, trying to force her eyes open while she turned to see the tv that displayed the immediate results of a very poorly timed love confession. “Oh, Casino Night.” Her voice was nostalgic and a bit solemn while she spoke. “This is one of my favorite episodes.”

“Why? It’s so sad.”

Without looking up at me, she pondered the question. It was obvious she’d never really thought to question why she was drawn to it. Her answer didn’t provide any comfort or explanation.

“I guess I relate to it. Loving someone like that.” She shrugged before turning back to rest her head against me. She’d said it so easily, like it wasn’t something jarring for me to hear. I realized then that she’d never told me about her past relationships. In fact, I didn’t even know if any existed.

She sensed the anxieties that were building and brought a hand to my cheek to reroute my gaze to her. “What’s wrong?”

“You… You never really talk to me about your life.” My voice was so pathetic, the pout on my lips so childish in its sadness. Because although I told myself I was only upset she hadn’t told me about it, another part of me was also jealous at the idea that anyone else ever got to hold her.

And what a stupid thought that was, to be jealous of men who didn’t get to keep her. I should have been hoping that she had people who loved her and held her and made her happy, not wishing none had existed.

“What are you talking about? We talk about it all the time.” She chuckled, clearly unaware of my inner debate and turmoil.

“I mean your life before me.” I clarified, taking her hand into mine and watching as she carefully wound our fingers together.

“Oh, well… Who cares? It’s in the past.”

She was using that voice that warned me that she was about to try and change the subject. She hadn’t meant to get this conversation started, and now it was quickly getting away from her. But I wasn’t ready to drop it—especially now that I was aware of a huge, life altering event that she’d managed to keep hidden until now.

“I care. If it’s important to you, it matters to me.” It didn’t seem to reassure her, a lopsided smile covering her cheeks before she tried to maneuver away from the topic again.

“What time is it? Shouldn’t you be going to sleep?”

I held up the small notepad that rested on her nightstand, displaying the several timestamps that I could tell were meant to signal the last time she’d taken painkillers. “I was waiting so I could offer you medicine.”

“Ugh, yes please.” She groaned, moving herself off me so that I could grab the bottles beside her bed.

But there was something I’d noticed before, which only became more obvious once I picked them up. I looked past the orange plastic, my mind straining to count the number of pills inside. The date didn’t match the amount.

“Did you fill the narcotics?”

She didn’t answer.

“Is that why he was here?”

“No.” She responded swiftly, shaking her head and rubbing her temples.

The mention of him brought out feelings that I’d almost forgotten, and with those feelings came stupid worries and questions. “...Why was he here?” I mumbled, turning the pill bottles in my hand like I didn’t already have them memorized.

“Are you jealous?” She teased, poking her tongue out at me. It worked to turn my pout into an awkward half-smile, but I was still sulking.

“Would he have really stayed in the bed with you?”

“What? No!” She shouted, sitting up fast enough that she winced, her hand grabbing her stomach but still talking through clenched teeth. “Did he say that?!”

Her reaction alone made me laugh, easing the tension and reminding me it was stupid to worry about it in the first place. “He might have implied it.” My hands started to sort through her tangled hair, gently arranging it back to its rightful place.

“Ugh, he’s such a fucking dick.” She grumbled, wiping her face to try and get rid of the sudden anger.

Meanwhile, I was once again distracted. It was obvious in the way she struggled to keep her eyes open and preventing her hands from turning to fists. She was in way too much pain for my comfort, and it was partially my fault for getting her riled up over something so silly.

But she hadn’t told me she filled the narcotics, and she didn’t tell me where they were. I needed to respect that, if only because I was scared that it might make her doubt me. When she turned to look me in the eyes, I held her cheek that fit so perfectly in the palm of my hand.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me where they are. I understand.”

“No, it’s fine. I trust you, Spencer. It’s…” The troubled look shifted to a shaky smile. “They’re in my bedside table. I don’t think I can get them myself.”

I tried not to look excited by the reveal in case she misinterpreted my happiness. It wasn’t the drugs I cared about – it was the fact she trusted me with the fact that they existed. That was enough to carry me through any cravings that popped up. They were few, but like always, they were there.

I funneled those feelings into my caretaking, grabbing her a water bottle and helping her ease back down onto the pillow after she’d down the pills. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, listening to soft sound of the theme song in the background.

Just as I shifted my focus back to the TV, she brought me back to her with a tiny whisper.

“You have nothing to be jealous of.”

I looked down to see she still had closed eyes, now accompanied with a genuine smile. I laughed at the sight, and her eyelids fluttered open at the sound. She narrowed her eyes into a suspicious glare.

“Yeah, I... may or may not have said that.” I admitted, wiggling my fingers between hers.

“Tsk tsk tsk. Very cocky, Dr. Reid.” She chastised, squeezing my hand tighter and bringing it up to her chest. I could feel her heart beating softly against us, her chest slowly rising and falling as she started to try to drift off again.

“What else did you guys talk about?”

“Nothing that matters. Let’s go to sleep.”

It was a suggestion that didn’t need to be made, because she was basically already asleep by the time she replied, “Okay. I love you.”

“Sweet dreams, little girl.”

—————————————————

The best part of the week was waiting for the chance to spend two uninterrupted days with (y/n). But this time it was different; when I left her house this morning, she told me she wanted some time to herself.

I tried to ignore the fifty alarm bells that rang in my head, convincing myself that she just needed a break from entertaining me. We all needed alone time sometimes, right?

No, that was a lie. I didn’t ever need a break from her, and it worried me that she needed one from me. Was I stressing her out? Were there more secrets she was keeping from me? It had to be something heavy if she didn’t want me to know, but that’s exactly the time she would need me most, right?

It was times like this when I wished that I had more experience with relationships; I was panicking and I didn’t want to ask anyone for help. I didn’t want to. I was scared that they might tell me the wrong thing, or the right thing. I was worried they might talk some sense into me and tell me that waiting outside my girlfriend’s apartment was creepy, stalkerish behavior.

I knew it was. I tried to justify it with a present that I was going to leave on her doorstep and leave. But when I got to her place, a dread filled me. I shouldn’t have come. She deserved her privacy and my trust. She’d earned it, and it wasn’t right for me to doubt her.

So, I turned my car back on and prepared to leave. But before I could, I saw her. Alone.

We’d talked about it before, and she’d promised me she wouldn’t go anywhere alone. The risks were too high – not just that she might fall or get stranded, but that something could go seriously wrong. Her stitches could tear, or she could overexert herself. She could get into a car crash and no one would know about her already existing internal damage.

She wasn’t supposed to go anywhere alone. She’d promised me. But there she was, climbing into her car after suspiciously glancing around. Her car left so quickly, I barely had time to think about the ethics of following her. After a few seconds of wrestling with myself, I decided to just do it and worry about the consequences later.

I’d admit it to her later, when she was safe and sound. Maybe it would be good, too, to see that she was fine without me. I just wished she’d told me so I could come to her aid if she needed me to.

After nearly twenty minutes of driving, I still had no idea where she was going. I was a little surprised she hadn’t noticed me yet, which just goes to show she probably shouldn’t have been driving.

Actually, was she on narcotics?

My mind was spinning, my hands shaking when she finally pulled into a small, unfamiliar cemetery parking lot off the side of the road.

For all her paranoia leading up to this point, she didn’t check the other cars in the lot when she got out. Instead, she put her hand on her stomach and slowly made her way through the gate, hobbling off into the field.

And then I felt terrible for so many reasons. I selfishly felt awful that she didn’t want to bring me here. It hurt that I was violating her trust like this, but it hurt worse to know she was going through it alone.

Leaning back in my seat, I let out a shaky breath and closed my eyes, trying to calm down the emotional disaster of my mind. I didn’t need to follow her, I thought. She would come back in a little while, and I could watch her get back in her car. She would make it home, and I could call her and ask her how her day was. Maybe she’d even tell me herself.

God, I was such an idiot. I shouldn’t have come, but now I was here, and I couldn’t leave, either. This was the time she was most likely to be in danger, since the cemetery was relatively empty.

Just as that thought occurred to me, another car pulled in. it wouldn’t have mattered much to me, but the thing that followed caught my attention.

The woman inside the car climbed out and made a beeline to (y/n)’s car, peering into the windows and taking photos of the license plate. At first, I did nothing, trying to keep track of everything that was happening, noting the unfamiliar woman’s license plate number in turn.

But then she took off in the same direction my girlfriend had left in, and I realized that I couldn’t just wait here. This woman clearly knew her, and from the looks of it, it was not going to be a friendly encounter.

This is why, I thought. This is why I made her promise.

I couldn’t just run out after her yet, so I followed as closely as I could without being clearly visible, relying on sounds, instead. But what I heard was somehow even more distressing than when I could see.

“What are you doing here?! You aren’t allowed to be here!” A scratchy, unfamiliar voice rang through the air. Even if I didn’t already know, her tone alone told me that a fight was about to follow.

I bit down on my tongue, trusting that (y/n) could handle herself. She’d done it before me, and she could do it now. The only thing worse than revealing my presence would be doing it while also discrediting her.

“Mrs. Loughton! I can explain!”

At least I finally had a name for the face, but that was about as far as my thoughts went before they turned to red. Because the only thing I could hear after that was the sound of skin against skin, and the gentle thud of someone hitting the ground.

“Get the hell out of here, you bitch!” The woman screeched, and by the time I came into view, I saw my girlfriend on her hands and knees, holding the very visible red mark on her face. Neither of them saw me, too caught up in each other to notice.

It was the panic on her face, the way she lifted both hands to cover her head when the woman grabbed a fistful of her hair that broke my silence.

“Hey! Get away from her!” I shouted, running over to the two women. Mrs. Loughton released (y/n)’s hair, causing her to drop back onto her hands and knees while she looked up at me with an angry, frazzled stare.

“Spencer?!”

“Who the hell are you?” The woman spat, redirecting her anger towards me. I much preferred it this way.

“I’m a law enforcement agent, and you just assaulted someone.”

“Assault? Ha!” She laughed, talking over me as if she’d heard the speech a million times before. I got the impression this wasn’t the first time the two have had a showdown. “That’s funny, considering.”

“Spencer, please leave.” The fear overtook any other emotion, and the tears welled so quickly in her eyes it hurt my chest. I couldn’t leave. There was no way I could leave her on her knees in front of this woman.

“Let me guess, are you one of her dad’s friends?” She sneered, but all I could hear was (y/n) continuing to plead.

“Spencer. Go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” I couldn’t breathe, my chest heaving with unbridled rage, confusion, and something else I couldn’t even place.

“Oh I bet you are one of his friends. Always protecting her. You’re all a bunch of pathetic, power-hungry lowlifes.”

(Y/n) stood up now, neither of us paying any attention to the raving woman while I tried to help her up. “Please, I want to leave.” She pleaded, grabbing my hand so tightly that it trembled.

“Are you a murderer, too?”

“What are you talking about?!” I snapped, my arms wrapping possessively around (y/n) like I could shield her from everything that was happening. But I couldn’t, and I heard her soft sobs while she pulled on my shirt, now wet with her tears.

“That stupid, selfish little bitch knows exactly what she did, and she knows that she’s not allowed anywhere near here!” Her face was red, her arms waving and tears sprouting in her eyes while she ran out of breath. Then, deathly quiet, she pursed her lips and tried to bite her tongue. But she couldn’t, the words bursting through when she saw the way I held (y/n).

“If you really are a law enforcement agent, then get her the fuck out of here! She’s not allowed on this property!”

“She hasn’t done anything!”

It was the wrong thing to say, and she let me know swiftly and with full force.

“She’s the reason my son is dead!” She shrieked, stepping towards me with an accusing finger in my face. “It was her friends, her drugs, her horrible decisions and now my baby is gone!”

I hated this part. Because as much as I loved (y/n), it was impossible not to hear the absolute devastation in this woman’s voice. And the longer she talked, the more I understood what was happening. Not enough to argue back, but enough to feel sympathy for them both.

More than anything, I wanted to protect (y/n), but I didn’t know how. I held her tighter, trying to show her that she was safe. I’m afraid it had the opposite effect, and she started to fight my embrace.

“It should have been her! She should follow in her father’s footsteps and do the world a favor and...” She cut herself off, knowing the weight of her words and contemplating them a moment longer before making her decision. “And just fucking disappear!”

The shock of it all caused my arms to loosen – just barely. It was enough, though, and before I knew it (y/n) had burst from my arms, taking off at full speed through the headstones.

“(Y/n)!” I choked, going to run after her, but I was stopped one final time.

“Yeah, get the hell out of here.” The woman behind me softly sobbed, trembling as the fight left her. “Go protect her like you always do. They always do.”

I couldn’t stay on the thought; I’d have to come back to it later, because there were more pressing concerns for me than a stranger who’d just hurt the woman I loved. So I turned around and booked it after her just as she slipped through the gate and disappeared into the cover of the woods around the cemetery.

Naturally, she couldn’t stay on the level, manicured grass. My heart was pounding not just at the energy exerted to follow her, but from all the different things that could go wrong. She could fall, she could run into something, she could get lost.

But luckily, even the adrenaline couldn’t stop the pain in her stomach, and she’d barely gotten anywhere before I caught up to her. I loosely caught her wrist, pulling her gently back to me before she nearly collapsed in my arms.

“(Y/n), where do you think you’re going? You can’t be running like this! Especially not here; it’s way too dangerous!” I said through my labored breaths. Then we stopped, and she protested at my touch.

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked calmer now, lifting her back onto her feet. “Did she hurt you?” When I went to lift her shirt to inspect her wound, she brought her hand down in a hard slap.

“Stop, Spencer! Just fucking stop! Don’t touch me! Get away from me!”

The venom dripped from her tongue and burned my skin, my hands jumping back away from her as I took a step back. All the negative emotions that I’d just watched her go through were growing and morphing into a painful anger, and it was all aimed at me.

I deserved it.

“Why the fuck are you even here?! I told you I wanted to be alone today, a-and now you’re what, y-you’re following me?!”

I wished I could just shut up, but the words flowed out of me like I had any right to be angry with her over a promise that didn’t even seem to matter anymore. “And it’s a good thing I did. That woman could have seriously hurt you!”

“Who cares!”

“I do!” My voice strained at the volume I used to match hers. Our angry shouting disrupted the wildlife and broke through the sounds of cars traveling on the highway on the other side of the trees. “You might not care about what happens to you, (y/n), but it matters to me!”

“Why the fuck are you yelling at me?!” And then the sniffles turned to outright sobs, her whole body shaking, her hands cradling her face while she struggled under the weight of everything that had happened so quickly.

I shouldn’t have come here, but I was glad I had. I wished none of this had happened. I just wanted to hold her, but she stepped away when I got closer, defensively covering her head. My heart shattered at the thought of her being scared of me.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I said genuinely, my voice still breaking, but now at an acceptable volume. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be yelling, I-I just… I got scared. I thought you were going to get hurt again and I—“

“Sometimes I’m going to get hurt, Spencer. I can’t put my life on hold for your comfort. I’m only twenty years old. I’m not ready to be a housewife waiting at home for you!” She was quick, stumbling over her words and waving her arms between us in the hopes it would force me to keep my distance.

I didn’t want to hurt her, I never wanted that. And right now, it was very obvious that’s exactly what I was doing. “Of course. I want you to have a life, but you…”

Her hand was back on her stomach, and the action caused a sudden panic that overwhelmed the logic and sense. “You were shot!” I cried, “You almost died in my arms! I thought I was going to lose you, forever.”

She couldn’t reply yet, her lungs too busy trying to take in hungry breaths without irritating the hardly healed skin.

I clenched my eyes shut, unable to look at it any longer. “It’s been barely a month, (y/n). A-And you’re already sneaking around behind my back and putting yourself in danger and I don’t know how I’m supposed to just turn a blind eye to that.”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” She panted; the words hardly audible. Her skin was damp with sweat from the pain that was obviously written all over her.

This time, when I stepped closer, she couldn’t move away. I didn’t hold her yet, opting instead to place one hand on her hip and the other on the side of her face. She sighed, resting her head against my hand. She said she didn’t want to talk to me, but the way she closed her eyes and her heartrate immediately calmed down with the simplest touch told me that she wanted nothing more than for me to pick her up and take her home.

“I know you’re trying to distract me from whatever the hell just happened out there, but you don’t have to do that.” I whispered, gently wiping away her tears with my thumb. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”

“Oh, you’re just going to let it go?” I couldn’t decide what was more simultaneously heartbreaking and adorable, her pauses to sniffle, or the way she pouted as she spoke. “You aren’t going to ask me every night until you get an answer?”

“If that’s what it takes for you to trust me again, then yes. I’ll let it go.” I reassured her. She took the answer with an immense amount of relief, leaning forward to rest all of her body weight against me. I tried to stop her from falling too far or too hard, hoping to ease the pain that was already wrecking her.

But she didn’t even seem to notice, rubbing her face against my shirt and further soaking it with tears. I just wanted her to be okay, and I wished I could do it faster. For now, all I could do was pet the back of her head, rocking just a bit to the side in a soothing manner.

We stayed like that for a long time, and I occasionally pressed a kiss to her forehead, whispering soft apologies to her and telling her that I loved her, no matter what. Eventually, she responded, her voice filled with guilt and shame again.

“I was going to tell you eventually.”

“I believe you.” I immediately responded, pulling her back to look at me to know that I was telling her the truth. “I love you. You know that, right?”

She gave the tiniest, saddest nod back.

“I would never try to hurt you.” I promised, earning a slanted smile. I mirrored it back to her, which made her laugh.

The sounds of the highway paired with the rustling of the leaves, and the two of us shared a quiet moment of understanding. Because I knew I shouldn’t have come, but I was glad I was there, and she felt very much the same.

“I’d like to go home, please.”

“Okay.” I agreed, taking her hand and maneuvering the woods that didn’t seem nearly as dangerous when her hand was in mine. “Let’s go home.”

—————————————————

“Hotch, I need to ask you for a favor.”

The man didn’t even look up from his desk, and I could tell from his posture that he wasn’t in the mood for the conversation he expected to follow. I couldn’t blame him; I hadn’t been the easiest employee to have for the past couple of weeks.

“Reid, we’ve talked about this. You either have to come back completely or—“

“No, sorry, this… isn’t about that.” I corrected, trying to ease the tension before it got any worse. Unfortunately, he still seemed combative, although there was now a guilt mixed in the frustration.

“I need to talk to you about (y/n)’s father.” I clarified, my voice breaking mid-sentence. I cleared my throat, trying to make eye contact despite the nerves gnawing at the little self-esteem I had.

But after a brief moment of thought, Hotch waved me forward, gesturing to the seat in front of him. He shoved the papers to the side and I wondered what it was he was working so hard on. I had a feeling it had to do with her, but I wasn’t going to ask.

“Does she know you’re asking me about this?”

It was the first question, and although I fully expected him to ask it, I still choked on an answer. He sighed deeply, his hands folding on his desk. He wasn’t able to look at me, either.

“Reid…”

“I-I’m really worried about her.” I needed him to hear the desperation in my voice, to feel just how scared I really was. I didn’t want to come running to him for every little thing involving her — he’d already done so much for her just fending off the prosecutors.

I knew we were both tired, but I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his tone when he talked about her that she meant something to him, too. Even if it wasn’t nearly as much, he’d known her when she was a kid.

Well, I guess to Hotch, she still was. I hated to exploit that knowledge, but I needed answers now. Before something else went horribly wrong. So I broke into a rant, my hands running through my hair and down my legs as I tried to prevent them from turning to fists at the memory.

“The other day she did something and she got into a physical altercation with another woman a-and she told (y/n) that she should follow her father’s footsteps and…” The word caught in my throat. He narrowed his eyes, and I suspected he already knew what I was about to say.

“Disappear.”

Across from the desk, he tensed, bowing his head to look at the files lining the surface in front of him. Every single one of them contained a plethora of information about someone’s family. Someone’s everything.

“What did she mean, Hotch?”

“Reid, the information in that file is not only classified, it’s extremely personal. I’m sure she doesn’t know all the details herself. I think it’s best for you to hear it from her.” He explained it so robotically, I could tell he didn’t want to be saying it. The way his jaw clenched told me that there was a lot he wished he could discuss about whatever the hell happened.

It must be a lonely way to live, I thought. And then I thought of her, carrying the weight of uncertainty on top of whatever Hotch held. She was strong, but she was young. She had been even younger then, and she wouldn’t have had the one man who’d taught her to survive to teach her how to handle what came next.

I wrung my hands together. I didn’t mean to be manipulative, but tears stung at my eyes. They were real, and they were persuasive.

“I just need to know that she’s safe.” I begged. “But your reaction isn’t telling me that at all. In fact, it’s telling me the exact opposite.”

Now that I’d started, the words wouldn’t stop.

“If my girlfriend is in danger, I need to know. It’s not like I care about the mission or whatever her father was wrapped up in — I-I just want to know what happened to him. This woman knew, so apparently it’s not that classified!”

My voice grew in volume, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I could feel his face morph into a scowl even as I clenched my eyes tightly shut. There was so much I hated about this, but nothing more than knowing that despite everything I’ve done, I still couldn’t reach out to her and help her when she needed me.

I was still failing her, and I didn’t know how to fix it.

“Reid, stop.”

Hotch must have been able to read my mind, because something inside of him also snapped, the tension releasing from his shoulders and his jaw. I wondered if it was because he trusted me not to give it away, or if it was because he trusted her.

Either way, he spoke, his voice low and hushed.

“I need you to understand that what I’m about to tell you has never been confirmed, and should not be shared outside of this room. Even with her.”

Sitting up with a straight back and a heavy swallow, I nodded.

“I understand.”

—————————————————

| Part 17 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid series #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #reid series #reid x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid angst #angst #h2m

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paralleledmediaexperience · 3 years ago

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a part 2 to this ficlet as requested by @xanthomonus in the notes! I’ve got at least one more part conceptualized (no way you can guess what’ll happen there) though i may extend it or add more, so if anyone would like to be tagged let me know!!

Sam is insistent that they try to research ways to get Cas back. Jack has explained that Amara won’t fail- it is simply the process of extracting an Angel from the Empty that takes time, since she didn’t want to wake or anger it like… well, like what Jack had done. He could feel Amara’s sincerity in a way that he was certain Sam and Dean wouldn’t understand, let alone be comforted by. She’d been in his head, crossed with his soul in the transfer of power. He’s kind of sure that if he hadn’t missed Cas so much too, she probably would have ignored Dean’s request altogether.

But it makes Sam look less frazzled when he’s able to lose himself in the research for something, and Jack doesn’t mind sitting with him and pretending he’s not hiding chapter books behind the large tomes. He’s been working his way steadily through some books Sam had collected for him last time they had been out shopping, and while he had enjoyed the first one (a mystery about siblings called the Boxcar children even though they no longer lived in a boxcar) he’d chosen Matilda next, because she sounded nice. And he was right! Matilda was his new favorite, even more than his last favorite, which had been Where the Wild Things Are.

He doesn’t even notice when Dean walks in, because Matilda had just glued a hat to her father’s head, but he does when Sam says, “What, none for me?”

“You’re a grown man, Sammy, you can make your own food. He’s four years old with a foot injury.” Dean says, scowling at Sam. The effect is rather ruined by both Dean’s flour dusted apron and the plate in his hands, and Jack smiles when he turns back to him instead. “You both missed lunch.”

Sam grumbles, but gets up anyway, stretching. “If you didn’t make me food how could I have missed it?”

“Shut up,” Dean shoots back half-heartedly. “Here, Jack, and don’t let him steal off your plate just because he got distracted reading.”

“Thanks, Dean!” Jack says brightly, moving his secret reading setup to the table instead of his lap and pushing it away, ignoring the way Sam’s eyebrows raise when he notices his no longer hidden book. Dean sets the plate down and ignores that Sam sends him one last annoyed face before heading off to the kitchen, where Jack knows there is going to be a plate ready for Sam, or at least a serving of the macaroni and cheese sprinkled with bacon bits and breadcrumbs that Dean’s brought him. “Are you making something else?”

“Just some bread,” Dean grimaces down at the mess of flour across his front, and Jack has to contain his giggles when the movement reveals a streak of flour in Dean’s hair.

“Just some bread,” Sam echoes, swinging back through the door with his own plate of macaroni. “Dean. Do I need to remind you that we need vegetables and can’t live off of carbs and meat alone?”

“It’s macaroni, Sam, quit whining and just enjoy it,” Dean rolls his eyes. “I swear, you’re the pickiest-”

“It’s not being picky, it’s eating healthy-”

“Same difference!” Dean insists, his twitching lips betraying the irritation in his voice.

“Just one meal with something green a day, Dean, I’m begging you.”

Eyes flicking back and forth as they snipe at each other, Jack takes an appreciative bite of the macaroni. Expectedly delicious, because Dean made it and Dean didn't make bad food the way Sam sometimes did. Mostly.

“Then beg,” Dean proclaims stubbornly, eyes narrowed. Sam doesn’t respond, his own expression pinching up into very familiar exasperation.

“Actually, I’ve never had brussel sprouts before, and Claire said I should try them!” Jack interjects. He isn’t sure what a brussel sprout is beyond a vegetable, but Claire had said he’d like them and that he should bother Dean into making them.

Dean looks unimpressed though, gaze switching from Sam back to meet Jack’s eyes. “You want me to make you brussel sprouts?”

“Please?” Jack tries, unsure if Dean thinks there is something wrong with brussel sprouts or if he is still simply offended by the concept of vegetables.

The please works, Dean’s capitulation coming in the form of a displeased huff and an, “Alright, fine.” He swings back around to point at Sam accusingly. “I’m blaming you for this.”

“As long as we get something from each of the five food groups, sure,” Sam says, taking his seat again. “And no, you don’t get to use tomatoes as the catch all.”

“Fine,” Dean bites out again, clapping Jack on the shoulder as he starts to turn away.

“Thank you Dean! Love you!” Jack says, and he hears Sam’s quick inhale just as he sees Dean almost stumble and he smiles to himself.

“Love you too, kid,” Dean manages to get out, hand squeezing just a bit tighter on his shoulder. “Alright, go back to your books, I have to go to the store for brussel sprouts apparently.”

The speed at which Dean walks away couldn’t be called running away but Jack definitely thinks it qualifies as retreating, and he straightens up a bit, very proud of himself for receiving his second ‘love you’ from Dean in twice as many days. He watches Dean get out the door before turning back around in his seat.

Sam is staring at him with a blinking mixture of incredulity and open affection, the smile on his face wide, if confused. “That’s… new?”

“Yep,” Jack confirms, pulling Matilda back towards himself and abandoning the pretense of reading the book Sam had suggested he search through. Sam had already searched it himself twice. He doesn’t manage to open it, because Sam continues.

“And I don’t need to check that it’s actually Dean?” Sam teases, bewilderment clear and pride clearer. “Saying yes to vegetables AND and I love you?”

“It turns out,” A voice whipcracks out, startling them both, “That Dean Winchester is actually a big old softie at heart. Who knew?”

“Balthazar?” Sam says, and Jack almost gets bowled over by the wave of shock. Balthazar? He knew that name. He stares openly, unheeded as Balthazar talks to Sam.

“Well, except Castiel, of course, but that Profound Bond of theirs hardly makes it fair,” The angel says, stepping forward. “Yes, Sam, I’ve been hand delivered back from the dead, at the temporary cost of my Grace. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Your grace?” Jack asks, curious about how Sam had been looking at him, but unwilling to turn around and take his eyes off of the angel Cas had once killed. “What do you mean?”

“Ah,” Balthazar strides over, and before Jack can say anything he’s got him clasped by both shoulders, staring into his eyes with a curiosity so intense Jack almost steps back towards the table. “And you’re Jack, I assume? I was warned that there would be no murdering of nephilim if I returned.”

“So Amara freed you?” Sam cuts in, and Jack huffs out a small breath as Balthazar lets him go to spin back around and face him. “Did she have a reason?”

Jack doesn’t voice his own question, which feels far more important. He wants to know when Cas will be back.

“Uh, yes?” Balthazar sneers. “Most of the angels are dead, Sam, no thanks to you and your brother and my brother. I’ll admit some of us deserved it- were rather asking for it, if you ask me- but it did leave dear aunty with rather less personnel than she wants to run heaven with.”

“She’s not grabbing all the angels, is she?” Jack breathes, terrified suddenly, despite Balthazar’s assurance that Amara had apparently set him off limits.

“Not a chance. Seemed to have a list in mind, and I think I was simply the first she found. I thought perhaps…” He trails off, just for a split second before he grins again, bright and covering up anything he might have been about to show. “Well, I didn’t, actually. Rather hard to do when you’re sleeping in eternal torment.”

Jack catches Sam’s flinch, and frowns at the other man. “Are you sure you were the first?”

Balthazar ticks his head to one side, considering. “Well, I’m the first to show up here, I’ll assume by your reactions, and given that she’s bringing us back graceless, I imagine any others will also be sent here.”

Jack scowls. If so, then Cas may be further off than he hoped. But this was- conclusive proof. Amara could do it, and now they would just have to deal with powerless angels until she came back and dealt with them herself. And Cas would be home.

Sam sighs, deep and weary and cheerless. “Yeah. That would make sense. Well, we can put this away, then.” He closes the book on the table with a hefty thump and then stacks Jack’s abandoned tome on top of it. “And I suppose we should try to make sure we have rooms ready. Jack, would you-”

“I’ll call Dean and let him know,” Jack says, suddenly tired and wanting to get away from Balthazar, still staring at him hawkishly, wanting to be away from the library, where more angels could show up without warning. He wants to hide in his room or possibly Cas’ until Amara brings him back and takes all the others back to heaven or whatever she planned to do. He wishes viciously in his head that he hadn’t opened his mouth about brussel sprouts and that Dean was still here in the kitchen where Jack could escape to without feeling alone. As it is, he grabs Matilda and his plate, still half full of macaroni, ready to walk away, but he catches Balthazar’s face again.

“You’re hungry,” Jack realizes as he says it. Balthazar has a facial journey of his own to deal with that fact before he grimaces.

“Human,” he says, displeasure and embarrassment warring on his features, even as his stomach growls.

Jack doesn’t want Balthazar here, he doesn’t want Amara to try to find anyone but Cas, or at least to find Cas first, and he most definitely doesn’t want to share his food that Dean made him, or Dean and Sam’s attention in general, and he swallows all of this down and he says, “Here. If you’ve never been human before, you’ve never really tasted food, right? Dean’s always makes the best food.”

He holds out the plate and drops it into Balthazar’s hands and tries his best not to stomp out like a real child, or run out like he’s scared, but he makes it around the corner and leans against the wall, out of sight.

Except that Sam immediately pokes his head around, following him. “Jack?”

“I don’t like this,” Jack says plainly, staring up at Sam like maybe he could explain why all of the good feelings he’d been having had shriveled up in his stomach and refused to leave, even though Sam clearly didn’t think Balthazar was an actual threat to them.

“I could tell,” Sam says, almost teasing again, but he drops it immediately. “Is it okay, Jack? Because we can absolutely just send him and any others that show up to the nearest motel instead.”

“No,” He says immediately, but he pauses after, thinking. He takes a deep breath in, trying to ease the odd tightness inside his chest. “No. They can stay here until Amara gets back. I just…”

“Don’t like it,” Sam nods, as if that explains it, and Jack guesses it does. “Well, Dean won’t like it either, so you can let him know that the two of you are free to hole up wherever you’d like to get away from them, and I’ll try to deal with them myself as much as I can.”

The tightness in his chest does soften, another breath rushing out like he’d been holding it. “Thanks, Sam.”

“You know I love you too, Jack,” Sam says, earnest and open and Jack barely makes the decision to hug him but he ends up wrapped up in Sam’s arms anyhow.

“I do. I know. Love you, Sam,” Jack says, fixing his grip on Matilda as he pulls away. “Okay, I need to go call Dean, because if he leaves the store before-”

“He won’t want to turn around, yeah,” Sam laughs.

Jack can’t help the smile that bursts across his face. “Well, I can’t use it too often, or it might not work anymore, but maybe if I say please.”

#Jack Kline #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Balthazar #supernatural #my fic #creativecaviar #me remembering that time i tricked my cousin into eating brussel sprouts. ehehehehe.#also!!! what the FUCK balthazar's voice is very difficult but also very fun and rewarding to write so PLEASE tell me whether it reads okay #my in my head: ive seen four year olds become territorial when their parents have visitors this is gonna be SO funny #anyway Jack IS going to get I love you's from all his dads thank you much. we just gotta wait for Cas.#this isn't going on ao3 until i have a good name for it so if you like reading better there suggest a fic name this time so it can go up

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bffsoobin · 4 years ago

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Love Love

↳beomgyu could be a tough puzzle to solve. You knew that. You knew everything about him. That’s what best friends are for, after all. But why is he so upset over your date with Taehyun?

➤ best friends to lovers, highschool au, fluff, a little bit of angst (jealousy)

Requested?: yes

Word Count: 3,779

A/N: I attempted humor here, hopefully that translated? Also I hope the turning point is good enough shdksnoeun. I rewrote it a lot to try and fit what the request asked for. As always, heed the general warning that I haven’t proof read or edited this. Also I’m tagging the biggest Beomgyu stan I know, the lovely @star-daegyu as they requested!💕

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

“What?” Beomgyu sounded scandalized as you shut the door to your locker.

“You heard me! Don’t make me say it again,” you clutched at the chemistry textbook cradled in your arms. Beomgyu stared down at you with an intensity you hadn’t seen since Mr.Jackson showed a documentary about how climate change was fake. You started walking away but he came with you in perfect lockstep.

“No, say it again. I’m trying to see if my neurons misfired or if you actually just told me that-” he gagged dramatically as the two of you rounded the corner into a different hallway.

“Remind me again why I put up with you?” You grumbled cynically.

“Remind me why you won’t repeat what you just told me at your locker?” Beomgyu wrapped his hands around the straps of his bookbag and stared at you indignantly. Your sneakers squeaked against the tile flooring of your classroom as you entered with Beomgyu in tow. The two of you were always the first students in class after your lunch period and today you had even beaten the teacher. Beomgyu looked around at the empty room and gestured around with his arms spread wide.

“Last chance to tell me before this room starts filling up with our drama hungry classmates!” Before you had thought he was just teasing you to get a rise, but now you could sense an undercurrent of something odd. Jealousy?

“Fine,” you grumbled halfheartedly. “Taehyun asked me out.” You knew that your skin was flushed red as a side effect of the confession. Beomgyu nodded tightly before taking a dramatic lap around the classroom. Once he was back by your side, he plopped down in his desk next to you.

“And you said yes?” He had finally lowered his voice as a throng of classmates filtered through the door. Your heart beat kicked up a notch as you tried to pick apart his tone. You couldn’t help but feel an odd pang in your chest at the idea that he might be jealous that someone else got to you first. You dismissed that quickly; as there was no way you would let yourself fall back into that pining when Taehyun was right in front of you and willing to give you romantic attention.

“Of course I said yes, you know I have a crush on him! Why are you being so weird about this?” you hissed underneath your breath as the room filled steadily with even more post-lunch chatter. Beomgyu’s lips were pulled in an unsettling straight line as he simply nodded at your words. A knot twisted up in your stomach at the thought of your bestfriend being angry over something he knew you were excited about. As your teacher began to talk, the only thing you could focus on was Beomgyu. He was sitting oddly still, carefully angling his body away from you so much that you couldn’t even attempt to read the expression on his face. Of course you were worried; but more than anything you were annoyed as hell. You were used to his dramatics and occasional fits, but this sudden change to childish behavior was totally new and frankly unwarranted. If it weren’t for Mrs. Nielsen’s strict note taking policy you would have put much more effort into telling Beomgyu off during the class period.

The class period passed quickly although the cramp in your hand would surely stick around to be sure you wouldn’t forget about all of the chemistry notes you had taken. Beomgyu remained elusive as the two of you packed up and your pride kept you from asking him if he was okay. He made sure that you couldn’t catch a glimpse of more than just his clothed back as he slung his bookbag back on. Without a word, Beomgyu stood and breezed out of the classroom door. You left the room without him by your side for the first time since you became friends in the 8th grade. A pang of sadness shot through your heart at the realization that you must have done something to really upset him. What had you done to upset him so much that he wouldn’t even say goodbye to you?

Beomgyu wasn’t in your next class with you, but it didn’t stop you from letting thoughts of him totally occupy your mind. It was a twisted type of torture, really, to try and pick apart any of the reasons he would have reacted so horribly to what you saw as a happy moment. You never wanted Beomgyu to be angry with you, and quite frankly you couldn’t even think of the last time the two of you had had a serious fight. Sure, there had been small quarrels over what movie to watch or who got a homework question right, but never anything like this. He’s friends with Taehyun. He was even the one to introduce the two of you at a bonfire over the summer. Was he worried that your new relationship would put a wedge between the two of you? Certainly you could conceptualize that he was worried about having to pick sides after a fight or breakup.

In favor of actually processing some of what your math teacher was currently sprawling on the whiteboard, you decided that you had cracked the code of Beomgyu’s anger. You would confront him on the drive home as soon as the class ended. You would make things right.

As the final bell of the day rang, you rushed to the only working vending machine on the floor and bought a bag of Beomgyu’s favorite candy to use as a peace offering. As you waited in front of the library- as per your daily routine- your heart jumped in your throat at the thought that Beomgyu might not meet up with you. He could very easily charm his way into getting a ride from one of your many classmates just to avoid you some more. The thought brought you to the verge of tears. You couldn’t imagine your life without Beomgyu as your best friend and absolute rock. There was no way you could even deal with him being angry at you when you were ready to apologize. The lump in your throat only widened the longer you waited, shifting from foot to foot as students milled out of the building. You considered texting him but knowing how lazy he could be about answering had you abandoning the idea just as fast.

Finally, you spotted Beomgyu as he breezed through a group of freshmen girls who gawked at him as he passed through. He looked a bit panicked as he approached you, eyes roaming all around the area until he finally spotted you and rushed over.

“Y/N!” He sounded a bit out of breath, which surprised you. “I was worried you were going to leave without me.”

“Of course not, Gyu. I was worried you would pawn someone else into driving you home. I really want to talk to you about earlier,” you paused for a second as the two of you began walking towards the exit. “I got you these, though,” you offered him the bright yellow bag and without even looking his way you could see the smile on his face.

“Do we really have to talk about earlier?” Beomgyu asked through a mouthful of candy. You unlocked your car and threw your backpack into the back seat as he climbed into the passenger seat as if he owned it. Which you guessed he technically did. You fixed him with a glare you knew read as one of annoyance. “I’m over it, I promise,” he pouted, jutting out his bottom lip in a way that would usually make you break. But not today. This was important.

“Yes, we really have to talk about earlier,” you closed the driver’s side door and buckled up as Beomgyu reluctantly clicked his own seat belt into place. With the car in motion, you were grateful for having a valid reason you couldn’t look at him just to see more of his pouting expressions. The radio played a pop song you had heard dozens of times but you and Beomgyu sang along anyway. Admittedly, neither of you were too excited to breach the subject at hand so the distraction was more than welcome. The short ride from the school to your neighborhood was usually seen as a blessing, but not with the looming conversation you were suddenly faced with.

“Okay. This is awkward. I’m gonna go,” Beomgyu chirped, leaning down to scoop up his bookbag from the floor of the car. As soon as his hand grasped the handle of the door, you pressed the lock button. He scoffed. “You can’t be serious, Y/N. Locking me in the car?” You expected him to be pouting, but instead he just looked tired. You huffed out a breath of air.

“Yes, Gyu. I’m locking you in the car so that you can’t run away from me when I’m trying to be serious. I’m not mad at you for being angry earlier. I mean- I was- and then I thought about it and I figured out why you were so upset,” Beomgyu’s face morphed into something close to fear and he opened his mouth to speak. “You don’t want to be caught between Taehyun and I if we date and get in a fight or breakup. I didn’t really think about the fact that you’re also friends with him. I can’t imagine how awkward you must feel about it,” you continued despite his desire to talk. You swallowed hard. “But you need to understand that even though you might feel weird, I still really like him and while I love and value your opinion I’m still going to go out with him.” Beomgyu seemed a little stunned but he nodded anyway.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he pushed his hair away from his forehead, “I’m sorry for getting so upset earlier, but I just don’t want to see you get hurt. I’ve known Taehyun for a while but I’ve known you for even longer and the last thing I want to see is you falling apart because of anything he does.” Your mouth suddenly felt dry.

“What do you mean? Is there something I should be worried about?” You had a feeling that Beomgyu had accidentally let part of his last sentence slip and was now trying to pick up the pieces.

“No! No, Taehyun is great. He’s...he’s a good guy. I was just trying to say that,” he took a deep, shaky breath, “that I don’t know what I would do if you ever came to me hurt over a boy. Any boy. I just love you so much.” He seemed oddly vulnerable even though he had told you that exact phrase so many times before. You hoped he didn’t notice the way your breath stuttered upon hearing him say it so emphatically. There was no way he could know the effect his words had on you. His softened eyes locked onto yours at the feeling of your hand on his shoulder.

“I love you too, Gyu. And I promise you won’t have to be dealing with anything like that. I can handle myself. Now please don’t be so awkward tomorrow. We have a lab and I’d rather not spend the whole period forcing you to speak to me.” Beomgyu’s eyes crinkled into a smile and he reached over to pinch your cheek between his fingers.

“Stoppppp,” you whined loudly, pushing his hand away from you with all of your might. When he finally let go you cupped your cheek in feined upset. “I bought you candy and this is how you repay me?” The sound of the passenger car door unlocking prompted Beomgyu to open the door and hop out into his driveway.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll bring you coffee tomorrow morning to make up for it.” He was bounding up the steps to his house before you could even come up with a witty response, but you drove away with a lightened heart.

----

Your first date with Taehyun took place on a warm Saturday night. He took you stargazing in a field you didn’t even know existed and somehow came up with a playlist full of your favorite music. It was such a perfect night that you even dreamed of it when you crawled into bed later in the evening.

The next day, you practically ran down the street to Beomgyu’s house to spill all of the details. You greeted his parents and easily bounded into the comfort of his bedroom like you had hundreds of times before. He was still sprawled out under his comforter, hair laying in a mess around him when you busted in.

“You’ll never guess how well yesterday went!” you threw yourself next to him on the bed and bounced him slightly. He groaned and finally sat up.

“Oh, that good, huh?” His voice was still heavy with sleep as he pushed a hand through his unruly hair.

“Yes! He picked me up kind of late and I was worried he was going to take me to a movie, which is-”

“The worst first date,” Beomgyu finished for you as he slid out from under his comforter and stretched his limbs.

“Right. But instead he took me to this field I didn’t even know was a thing around here, and he brought snacks and a blanket and we stargazed!” Beomgyu nodded along to your words as he shuffled toward his door.

“I have to pee, I’ll be back and you can keep filling me in,” you pouted a bit at his interruption of your rambling but knew just how small and insistent his bladder could be. He had missed his fair share of plot twists in movies due to chugging his entire slushie during the previews. You watched him leave and mentally kicked yourself for fawning over the way a strand of his hair seemed to be stuck permanently straight upwards. It was time for you to focus on Taehyun, not Beomgyu. He was just your best friend.

He returned promptly, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes in a way that made you coo at him. He cringed in return and plopped back down on his bed. “Continue telling me about Wonder Boy,” he droned. You frowned.

“You seem like you don’t want to hear about it, Gyu. Are you okay?” He was quiet for a moment.

“Just peachy,” despite the edge in his voice you continued, thinking maybe he was just grumpy this morning.

“Somehow he made the perfect playlist. I’m talking all of my favorite songs. It totally surprised me. We never even talked about music. I really want to know how he knew it all,” you sighed dramatically and missed the way Beomgyu rolled his eyes. After a few more seconds of silence, you felt the need to talk again.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I feel like you’re mad about...something,” you couldn’t quite place it but you knew that something was off with him.

“I’m sure. Just hungry.” He offered as he stood and headed for his door once again. Out of instinct you followed him to his kitchen and downed a bowl of cinnamon cereal in a comfortable quiet.

“We should watch some movies off of our list today,” you offered as you washed out your cereal bowls. Beomgyu gave you the first genuine smile of the morning as he agreed and rushed back to his room to turn on his television and retrieve the ever growing list from his desk drawer. When you met him in his room he was already cuddled up in his blankets with the movie queued.

“Come on, slow poke!” You couldn’t hold back a giggle at how adorable he looked all nestled in like a newborn baby as you slid in right next to him and laid your head on his chest. The movie he had picked was entertaining enough, but certainly catered more to Beomgyu’s tastes than yours. For the sake of being the wonderful best friend you knew you were, you tried your best to focus on it. At some point you lost track of which character was which and gave up on actively following.

Your phone vibrated three times in a row and you decided that since you were already lost, there would be no harm in seeing who was texting you. Your heart rate increased twofold as you read Taehyun’s name. Your thumbs hovered over the screen as you tried to figure out how to respond quickly. While there were no strict rules for your movie watching adventure, you knew that Beomgyu would get whiny quickly about phone usage.

Unfortunately, your neurons weren’t firing fast enough for Beomgyu’s liking.

“Y/N,” he whined, “Can you put your phone away? Who are you even texting?” You could feel him craning his neck to see your screen before noticeably freezing under you.

“Of course,” he mumbled, darkness edging back into his tone. You sighed and sat up off of him and fixed him with what you hoped was a convincing glare.

“Of course what? I’m sorry he texted me, but why are you so angry over him? There’s something you aren’t telling me. Just come out with it already! I thought we were past your pouting over Taehyun and I!” Beomgyu’s jaw tightened at your words.

“No, Y/N. We’re not past it. I’m not over the fact that you’re doting over him when he didn’t even plan your date!” Your eyes widened in confusion.

“Of course he planned the date. Don’t be ridiculous,” you waved him off, shaking your head in disbelief of how childish he was being. Beomgyu sat straight up and reached for his phone from his bedside stand.

“Fine, look. Here’s the proof,” he shoved his phone into your hands, “He wanted to take you to a movie. I told him that was an awful idea,” you read along the messages as he spoke and saw that he was telling the truth. “And so I gave him the stargazing idea, because you once told me that would be your ideal date.” You knew he was right. You could recall the game of truth or dare where you told him that.

“Beomgyu,” you breathed, “I told you that two years ago.” Your heart swelled with a sort of pride you didn’t know you were capable of. Beomgyu was unable to hold back the shy smile that cracked onto his face. He cleared his throat loudly.

“And I had to tell him what snacks to get, and the music… that’s my playlist for you,” his voice was much more timid than you had ever heard it. “So I planned the date. I was so jealous that he asked you out, and even more so that you said yes. And then he texted me and had to get my advice and I felt even dumber. I’ve been dying to tell you the truth but you were so happy.” Beomgyu heaved a sigh and clenched his fists. “He took you on the date I’ve wanted to take you on since the day we met. And then you came here and you’ve spent all morning talking about how great it was,” he raked his fingers through his hair, “I can’t keep pretending that I haven’t been burning up inside since you told me you said yes to him.”

Beomgyu’s eyes were shaking just as much as his hands when you placed his phone back into them.

“You’re unbelievable,” your words were slipping out before you had time to filter them, “I can’t believe you didn’t just tell me that you liked me. I’ve spent years trying to drown my feelings for you so that our friendship would stay intact and you’re telling me you’ve been in love with me?”

Beomgyu choked on his own spit. “Wait, you have feelings for me too?” You stared at him with your mouth hanging wide open for a few seconds.

“Well I-” you sputtered, “I’ve always kind of…” he raised an eyebrow at you, “Okay, yes! Yes I have feelings for you. I love you too. Love love,” you threw your hands up in defeat as Beomgyu started to laugh deeply. You gasped at him.

“Why are you laughing? I just confessed to you and you’re laughing? You know what, I’m gonna go.” Both of you knew your words held no weight but Beomgyu grabbed you by the wrist to stop you anyway.

“Nope, too late,” he pulled your body back towards his until you were sitting cross legged right next to him. “I’m laughing,” he began as he laced his fingers with yours, “because it's so stupidly like us to take five years and a third party to get us to confess our feelings.” You knew he was right. The absurdity of the situation just felt like another chapter in your book of blissfully clueless friendship.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked sweetly.

“Did you brush your teeth?” You were half teasing and half serious, “I’m not remembering our first kiss as the time you forgot to brush.” Beomgyu pinched your side in retaliation until you surrendered.

“Of course I brushed, Y/N. I’m not a heathen,” you could tell by his tone that he was bordering on being actually offended. “Now can I please kiss you?” You hummed thoughtfully and inched your face closer to his.

“Since you asked so nicely.” His mouth descended on yours and you discovered that yes, he actually did brush his teeth. The thought made you smile as the two of you pressed your lips impossibly closer until they were red and swollen. You felt a little dazed at the idea that you had just kissed Choi Beomgyu, best friend and secret crush of five years. He leaned in again and you closed your eyes, thinking he was going in for another kiss. Instead you felt a rush of warm air against your skin as he laughed.

“You’re already ready for our second kiss?” He teased as you finally opened your eyes. “I was just reaching behind you for your phone,” he waved the object in front of your face. “We have to come up with a text to let Taehyun down easy.” The sparkle in his eyes told you he was getting way too much entertainment out of the idea.

“You’re the worst, Beomgyu,” you crossed your arms across your chest in defense.

“But you love me,” he said in a singsong voice, “love love.”

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jkrobertson · 3 years ago

Note

I was meant to add this in the other question but I forgot 🙃 thank you for answering as well. But do you think if Ulquiorra was still alive that something was bound to happen between him and Orihime ? I think their reunion would’ve been really beautiful and touching. It actually kinda reminds me of Damon and Elena in a way.

Okay... You are pushing me dangerously close to watching Vampire Diaries. I mean first there are all the sexy gifs on the internet, now you're comparing Damon and Elena to ulquihime... I need more free time.

Anyway, what happens if Ulquiorra lives?

Something, that's for sure. The thing that would determine the kind of the relationship between him and Orihime would be the same thing that has one of the greatest effects on any relationship: timing.

(long, rambling explanation under the cut)

If he came back quickly, like before the final arc or even during the time before We Do Knot Always Love You, I feel like it would have strong potential to turn romantic. The earlier he returns, the better the likelihood of success of Ulquihime being a real thing. Why? Well, part of it boils down to Ichigo.

Ichigo is the kind of boy who really has no time for girls. He has no mental energy to waste a thought on them. Sure, he cares for Orihime and has a special place in his heart for her, and he probably has urges and all the natural inclinations of boys who are interested in girls, but he leaves it there. He is busy getting other things done and proving himself to... himself. His kneejerk reaction is to push any concrete thoughts of romance or attraction as far away from his attention as possible.

In an interview in the JET artbook, Kubo mentions that Orihime and Ichigo did not start officially dating until after he graduated from university. I think ichihime is a very sweet and gentle ship, and once Ichigo makes his move at the end of We Do Know Always Love You, Orihime is kind of locked in on him. So Ulquiorra has until then to make his move.

So that explains Ulquiorra's window of opportunity. Now I want to talk about Orihime, prefacing this by making it clear that I really do believe that Orihime loves Ichigo in a real and pure way. Even if nothing romantic ever came to fruition between them, she would still love him. She would just adjust her expectations to be satisfied with whatever he was willing to offer her. If that means all he was ever willing to offer her was friendship, she would take it and take the necessary steps to adjust her expectations to conform to his boundaries. That's just part of growing up.

What we haven't talked about is how Orihime would change based on different circumstances than those set forth in canon.

So imagine, Orihime is quietly biding her time, patiently waiting for Ichigo to realize what his dick is for, and otherwise building stronger friendships between herself, him, and their supercool sidekicks. She's strengthening her powers, learning a lot about herself, and gaining self-confidence. She's having fun and saving the world. Her plate is pretty full.

Despite all this fulfilling growth, Orihime still faces a deep, overwhelming struggle with loneliness. She has grown up abused and neglected. Her darkest traumas have less to do with hollows and more to do with knowing her parents never loved her. She will always have anxiety gnawing at her, which won't be blunted until she feels like she has the kind of love that lasts forever.

Now, of course, she has her hopes pinned on good ol' Kurosaki-kun for this purpose, but that doesn't mean that no one could ever take his place. Also, I don't for one minute believe that Orihime is so pure of heart and innocent of mind that she doesn't think about sex and love (which she sees as two inseparable sides of the same coin insofar as it relates to her) any less than a typical teenager. To the contrary, I think she is probably more curious about it than most of her peers, in large part because of her trauma.

However, Orihime has not gotten to where she is - top three in her class, healthy, and maintaining her own household as a teenager on a small budget - if she wasn't mature and world-wise for her age. She doesn't always come across that way, but she knows how to manage her needs and wants. She also knows how to keep a healthy distance between herself and those who might want to take advantage of her, because, let's face it, she could be a very easy target.

This is why, in Bleach canon, no one ever got between her and Ichigo. Because although she had a lot of admirers, none of them were worth her consideration. None of them had history with her. None of them understood her special powers. None of them knew her weaknesses and traumas. Only her small circle of supernatural besties knew her well enough and had enough of her trust to consider a relationship with, and of those three boys, Orihime was only attracted to Ichigo. Besides, Ishida and Chad would never think to get in between Orihime and Ichigo.

But Ulquiorra would.

If he returned, he would need her. He would provide her with the attention she craves and the fascination that gives her the confidence she would need to turn her attention away from Ichigo. She would not be able to deny that she and Ulquiorra share a strength of connection on par with that of her and her nakama.

She would hesitate for a only a moment before deciding to do whatever she could to assist Ulquiorra in adjusting to his new life. It would be a very significant reunion, initially, but then reality would creep in.

Ulquiorra requires work to find a place in his new reality. Orihime is not afraid of hard work, but undertaking Ulquiorra's rehabilitation would not be all sunshine and roses. He doesn't just follow her advice like some kind of lost puppy, either. He can be stubborn and confrontational. She would be forced to examine and explain things she takes for granted.

This process would make her question much of her previous beliefs, just as he questioned his beliefs about the heart when they were together in Hueco Mundo. He would make her feel like she had value in her ability to teach him things about the world.

Although he would not bicker or put her down for sport, he would frustrate and challenge her. He would make her assert herself. It would reignite the chemistry between them that she was too terrified in Hueco Mundo to recognize.

Orihime would focus on Ulquiorra so much that she would not notice her attention drifting away from Ichigo until it was too late. By that time, she would realize that Ichigo is not the be-all-end-all romantic target she had previously thought.

When she eventually realizes she is attracted to Ulquiorra, it would not be a spark, it would be spontaneous combustion. They wouldn't spend a lot of time being cute and flirting and wooing one another. She would realize that she wants him, and it would happen pretty fast. I feel like either she would make a first tentative move and he would reciprocate, or it would just be like a mutual realization and he would make a move and she would just melt into it and match his energy.

I think both Orihime and Ulquiorra don't really have a clear idea of love and sex as separate concepts. She would conflate the two as one thing, and he really doesn't conceptualize either of them, rather just experiences them and then later accepts them as a singular expression. Their relationship would be very, very physical. Over time they would both start to appreciate the more delicate and complex flavors of both love and sex, and would begin to enjoy just being affectionate and quiet companionship and all the other lovely parts of being in a relationship.

I think that if they were able to reproduce, they would find themselves relatively young parents, because they can't keep their hands to themselves and would let passion carry them away in the heat of the moment. Ulquiorra would be obnoxiously proud to have successfully made a new life with "the woman".

I could go on and on and on about these two. I'll stop here for now, but feel free to ask anything else!

#ulquihime #asks #jkrobertson school of thought

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wisteria-lodge · 4 years ago

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exploded badger primary + bird secondary

Hi! I love the sorting hat system as a tool for better understanding yourself, and ive narrowed down my primary (exploded badger, but working on it) but Im lost on my secondary. I know the question it answers is "how do you do things" but when I try to write down how I do things it doesn't line up with any of the types. It might be badger or bird? But Ill explain it in more detail and I hope you can help narrow it down more.

So firstly my tactics in emergency situations is to follow the plan I have pre-prepared in my head. If I dont have a plan and dont know what to do I panic Badly (but that has only happened like. Once with a physical problem and a few times with Emotional problems). Like once before the pandemic I was in a train and this elderly man, his leg started bleeding really badly. So I know in these situations you have to

Call 911

Tend to the wound.

Contact the train driver

Keep others calm.

And there was one person in the train who was a nurse so she could tend to the wound, two people stood up to check with the driver on both sides of the train, and this other dude was calling 911 but he didnt know much about trains and I Do so I could help by looking up which train we were in and where & when it would stop next so the ambulance knew where to go.

I mean... okay. I joke about Bird secondaries always writing in with numbered lists... but come ON. Could this be any more Bird? Could this possibly be any more bird. Even solving the problem with existing knowledge of trains...

I’m a Badger. In a situation like that, I’d be keeping others calm. I’d be keeping the patient calm, and seeing if the nurse needed a second pair of hands. You didn’t even mention the emotional mood in that train car. The inside of your head looks neutral to you, of course it does. But to me it looks so Bird.

Or this other time when I was Tiny and we had soldering lessons, and the teacher told us if we got injured we had to go to him first. So I burned my hand pretty badly, but didnt panic and went to the teacher, waited until he was done explaining things to another student and then said I burned my hand. And he thought it wasnt serious because I was calm but then he saw my hand and panicked and immediately brought me to the tap for the water. And I knew proper burn protocol.

You probably had a numbered list in your head when you were tiny too.

I could have gone to the water myself and sent someone else to fetch the teacher when my hand was cooling, but that wasnt how I was Supposed to do it so I followed protocol.

That’s probably more a function of your primary than your secondary. You’re an Exploded Badger? As a young Badger you probably followed ALL the rules.

One time things went badly was when I was sailing with friends, and the wind was blowing pretty strong, and I know Nothing about sailing, and my only job was Sit in the boat and Move to the correct side when turning. But on a big turn water got in the boat, and I didnt understand how much water could get in the boat before it sank, and how diagonal we could go before we drowned, and then I completely shut down and only responded when people explicitly Told Me What To Do because I didnt know what was happening.

Panic responses happen. I’ve been so scared before that suddenly I’m just hiding behind a couch and at no point was conscious thought involved. Not my finest hour, I wish it hadn’t happened that way. But the whole thing is just a much older part of your brain. Nothing to do with your secondary.

This doesnt mean I cant improvise! I can improvise pretty well, and if I start working on something without a plan it usually turns out great! I just have a lot of Base Knowledge that I can apply to those improvisation situations.

You are the definition of a Rapid-Fire Bird.

The other question I've seen associated with secondaries is "how do you learn new stuff"? I usually learn stuff by starting to do it, failing, getting frustrated, stopping the thing and taking a break, and when I have calmed down Continuing The Thing until I am done.

That’s just... an excellent strategy. And I think a Badger secondary would be WAY more tempted to just push though the pain.

Which is really funny to write down because now I realize that my problem with a lot of my university work is that I started something, failed, and didnt pick it up again until just before the deadline because I was afraid for more failure or that I was too Inherently Flawed to successfully finish the thing, instead of taking a quick break and then Continuing.

That’s the language of an exploded Badger primary.

Which all leaves me a bit confused about secondaries. The first part seems bird to me since I collect methods and apply them to situations, but the second part more badger since that's the hard work and when you fail work more bit.

The ability to pick yourself up when you fail is probably more a primary thing, since it’s tied to motivation.

Or maybe the first part is lion because I have a Plan and I will complete that Plan in the exact same way as I want and if I cannot do that I get unhappy.

See, I think you are so much a Bird, and so loudly a bird, that you conceptualize the other Secondaries as... Bird. Slightly different flavors of Bird maybe, but Bird. You’re comparing the battering ram nature of a Lion secondary to a Bird who wants to go down their checklist, when checklists make Lion secondaries anxious, constricted, and ineffectual.

Thanks in advance for your time! Your blog is great and really interesting and it's a great way to figure out your own thoughts!

#sortinghatchats #wisteria sorts #sortme #badger bird #exploded badger primary #bird secondary #badger primary

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itsamejin · 4 years ago

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it’s you || part 2 (finale) || taehyung angst/fluff || hanahaki au ||

Part 1

Summary: You’d rather live with thorns endlessly scratching the back of your throat than be devoid of the light that Taehyung brought into your life. Even if your love for him was slowly killing you, you didn’t mind as long as you could keep the warmth of his presence until the very end.

Warning: Mentions of throwing up and death

Genre: Fluff, Angst, hanahaki!au, college!au, fuckboy!tae

Pairing: Taehyung x female!reader

Premise: Hanahaki Disease comes in different forms in this universe. The disease would eventually disappear if your love wasn’t that strong to begin with, but if you truly, deeply love someone, your flowers will rip at your throat. Throwing up flowers wasn’t a rare occurrence and for most people it disappeared after a few days. If Hanahaki persists, surgery is recommended, but it would severely dull the positive emotions of the person under surgery. Due to this, some choose to die with their unrequited love.

Commission Request: @guksflavor

Word Count: 6,524 words

—

The sound of Taehyung’s body hitting the floor woke you up from unconsciousness. When your blurry eyes had started to focus and your ears were beginning to register the screaming, panic had hit you like a ton of bricks.

“You fucking heard me,” Jungkook’s voice resounded. “You gave her Hanahaki.”

Taehyung stood up, tears staining his cheeks, and sucked in deep breaths. His teeth were bleeding from the impact of Jungkook’s fist and his mind ached from his words. It just didn’t feel real to him. It didn’t feel like a possibility.

You sat up on the bed, horrified at what you were witnessing. Jungkook, who had sworn to you that he wouldn’t tell a soul, betrayed you in your presence. Nothing hurt more, though, than the pained expression Taehyung carried, like the idea of being loved by you physically hurt him.

“You had no right,” you whimper quietly, enough for your two wounded best friends to turn their heads toward your brooding figure. “You had no fucking right Jungkook.”

“[Y/N], I-” Jungkook started, but couldn't do anything else as you screamed for him to not take another step forward.

“Get out,” you spew as small sobs escape your lips, “both of you.”

Jungkook pleaded with his eyes as if begging for forgiveness, but you refused to look up at him. Taehyung, on the other hand, grabbed his coat and rushed to leave. His mind was cloudy and he needed time to think, the hospital air suffocating him. Jungkook grabbed his wrist.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Jungkook asks through gritted teeth, gripping him strongly.

Taehyung pulled his hand away roughly, giving him a death glare. He wasn’t in the mood for any more confrontations and he couldn’t bear to see your crying face any longer. Before he stepped out, Taehyung took one last look at you.

“I’m so sorry, [Y/N],” he says before exiting. Jungkook glares at his leaving figure with disappointment etched all over his face. Just because you asked him to leave doesn’t mean that he actually should.

“Do you see what I fucking mean, [Y/N]?” Jungkook rants, striding to your bedside. “Why am I the one here and not him? He doesn’t deserve you [Y/N]. The sooner you realize that the sooner you’ll get better.”

You shook your head quietly as you tried to steady your breathing. Jungkook patted you on the back as you continued to cry onto your blanketed lap.

“I told you to leave Jungkook,” you reply, attempting to steady your voice.

“And I told you to get that fucking surgery,” he says seriously, “but look where we are now.”

You cry harder as he comes closer to hug you. Although Jungkook might have ruined any chance of you having a beautiful last memory of Taehyung, it felt comforting to have someone assure you- to have a shoulder to lean on.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Jungkook mutters into your hair.

“Yeah,” you choke out. “I still love him, though.”

You felt Jungkook shiver in your arms. You realized then that the man who usually stayed silent, the best friend who rarely showed affection, was crying.

“I don’t want you to die,” he cries into your shoulder. “Please, [Y/N]. Please get the surgery.”

You shake your head as you sob louder. Jungkook held onto you tightly as if you would disappear the moment he let you go. He doubts he’d talk to Taehyung again after that fight and if he loses you too... then he doesn’t quite know how he’d live with himself.

“I don’t want to die either Jungkook,” you muster out. “I don’t want to die.”

Your words were barely legible as you started to cough uncontrollably. Small petals started to escape your mouth and it made you cry harder at how horrible the timing was. Jungkook ran out of the room to call a nurse, concern dredging his already harrowed face.

“I don’t want to die,” you repeat as the lasting image of a nurse rushing towards you is consumed by darkness.

—

Taehyung ran to his apartment, locking the door behind him like he was in danger. He collapsed on the floor, his body pressed up against the door. It felt as if his mind was conceptualizing everything and nothing at the same time. He tried shaking his head to clear his thoughts, but it only made his headache worse.

He didn't even realize how badly he was shaking, how badly he felt his heart constrict in his chest. Why had you not told him? Why were you choosing to suffer all alone? And why wouldn’t you get that damn surgery?

Taehyung struggled to stand up, not even bothering to turn on any of the lights as he walked to his room. Before he could drop himself into bed, he caught sight of himself on the mirror that faced his bedroom door. Taehyung walked closer to it, seeing the reflection of his shadowed figure on it. He cringed at the small outlines of his face battered and bruised. It would be hard to show up to class the next morning with a black eye and dried blood on his lips. He looked closer, particularly into his own eyes and how they shined in the moonlight. They would usually crinkle in happiness, but now they looked nothing more than hollow.

Taehyung knew he shouldn’t have left- that he should’ve stayed to reassure you and that this changed nothing about your friendship. Yet everything was happening too quickly for him to register and he couldn’t lie and say that this didn’t make him view things differently.

Taehyung realized that you were dying because of him. You were dying over an idiot that can’t commit to relationships easily, a fool who thinks more about sex than love. He grimaced at his past habits, wondering how he could ever let it get this bad.

He doesn’t know when he could last hear your laugh or see your smile or hug your frame. Somehow the image of you lifeless on a hospital bed is what made the tears come down naturally.

—

As usual, Taehyung skipped class, but not for the usual excuse. He went to his favorite Thai restaurant, ordered some Tom Yam Kung and Mango Sticky Rice, and headed to the hospital. He was noticeably nervous, his palms sweating from the lack of preparation. Taehyung was planning on apologizing for last night’s events, but he couldn’t muster up the courage to practice any written speech. He figured he could wing it, that you’d be willing to forgive him for picking a fight with Jungkook, forcing information out of him, and ultimately fleeing when he got said information.

As he was met with the front door of your hospital room, he sucked in a deep breath. Taehyung knew this apology would most likely end with him in tears, but he needed to see you- no matter how hurt he’ll be in the end.

He knocks once and slides the door open without hesitation. You sat upon the bed, hollowly watching whatever news channel was on the hospital TV. Your expression darkened as you saw him approach you. It wasn’t like you were mad at him- more upset with Jungkook than anything- but you didn’t know if you could face him after your feelings were made known.

“Hi,” you croaked out, voice extremely damaged from the night before. You had passed out before you could spew out any more hydrangeas, but it still left scarring.

He approaches you, laying the Thai food on the desk that was attached to the hospital bed. He sat on the chair Jungkook had slept in the night before.

“How are you feeling?” he asks solemnly. “Your voice-”

“Yeah,” you cut him off. “It sounds bad, huh?”

You try to laugh, but it came out as small wheezes, only pushing him to be more concerned. Taehyung looks around the room so you wouldn’t feel as embarrassed. He wanted to distract himself from the sadness of it all.

“Where’s Jungkook?”

Your face softened at his name. When you had woken up, he was sleeping next to you on the chair with furrowed brows. You had sent him home, promising you’d still be alive after he takes a shower and attends his classes.

“He went to class,” you say. “Like some other people I know should be doing....”

Taehyung shook his head and stood up. He untied the knot to the plastic bag and took the food out. You couldn’t quite read his face, not really knowing what he was thinking.

“Tae you know I can’t eat-”

“I know. Who says these are for you?” he says seriously, but with a teasing glint in his eyes. A lighter approach would work much better. It would hurt less to talk about it too straightforwardly.

“Jerk,” you mutter, shaking your head in fake annoyance. “Go ahead and eat then asshole.”

“I will,” he sticks his tongue out. “Enjoy watching me.”

You muster out a chuckle before you start to cough again. You grab the open water bottle on the nightstand and gulp it down until it was almost finished. Taehyung watched with worried eyes as he broke his chopsticks in half. You set down the water, embarrassed that he had to witness you struggle so much from just a laugh.

“I’m sorry, [Y/N],” he whispers. “For everything.”

You purse your lips. An apology was the last thing you needed from him.

“I don’t regret falling in love with you, Tae,” you start. “I want you to know that.”

He bows his head and bites the inside of his cheek. No matter how cold you were towards him at times, you still cared for him so much. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve you.

“If I had known earlier-”

“Nothing would change,” you smile sadly, ruffling his hair to get him to look up at you. “Forcing yourself to like me shouldn’t be an option you think about, Tae.”

He raises his head and takes the hand that was on his head into his own.

“Is it okay if I hold your hand like this?” he asks, concerned you might have another flower fit. He had read somewhere that physical touch causes more pain to the Hanahaki patient.

You nod your head in response, lightly squeezing his hand with the very little power you had left in your body. His heart skipped a beat at how longingly you looked at him, an expression he hasn’t quite seen before.

“It’s fine. They put me on really strong suppressants last night. This should be okay.”

“Why do you need suppressants?”

You hesitate to answer, knowing he’d only be more concerned if you told him that you fainted. You could feel his panic in how sweaty his palms were already. He could already tell the gist of what happened by the look in your eyes and he condemned himself even more.

“Fuck [Y/N], I’m so sorry,” he closes his eyes to compose himself. “I shouldn't have been a coward and I should’ve been more considerate to your feelings when I always dragged you and Jungkook out to clubs and I should’ve stopped asking you to give me your friends’ numbers and-”

You shushed him, smiling at how he went off in a tangent. Even in sad moments like this, Taehyung was so undeniably cute.

“Tae, it’s fine,” you reassure. “I don’t hate you.”

“You should,” he replies, “because I really hate myself right now.”

“Don’t,” you say, brushing his bangs out of his face. His face was still badly beaten up from the night before. “I just want good memories with you from now on.”

Taehyung smiles sadly at you. His heart clenched at your words and his lips quivered as if he was holding back a sob.

“I’ll try, [Y/N].”

He clutches your hand tighter as he sees you on the verge of tears. Taehyung doesn’t want to push you to get the surgery; he knows by now that you already made up your mind. There was nothing else he could do except watch as one of his best friends slowly fall out of his reach. He just knows that he’ll miss you. He knows he will.

—

A week passed and Jungkook and Taehyung still refused to talk to each other. They had miraculously coordinated their schedules so that it was impossible to run into each other while they visited you. The one time they had, you were forced to watch them try and avoid each other’s gazes as Jungkook made his way into the hospital room with a large teddy bear. Taehyung had whined to you about him the next day, saying that Jungkook was holding a grudge against him.

“He’s being a dick to me,” he starts, “more than usual.”

“Well maybe if you hadn’t assumed the worst out of him then you wouldn’t have gotten knocked out,” you rolled your eyes.

“Just so you know, I threw the first punch,” he chides.

“Yeah and look who has the more busted face?” you chuckled.

The coughs worsened and sometimes the suppressants weren’t enough to fully push down the flowers, so you would throw up small petals during that small time frame when Taehyung left and Jungkook was yet to come. It felt like you had fooled Jungkook into thinking you had gotten better, but he would always scold you every time he came over and heard your worsening voice.

“You need to stop letting him see you,” he says roughly. “The doctors literally told you it would be more dangerous if he keeps hanging around you.”

“Jungkook, I want to see him,” you reply hoarsely. “I’m pretty sure it would hurt more if I wasn’t able to see him before I-”

He cuts you off before you can say it. Jungkook was always upset when you said the word die, as if not saying it would make it any less of a reality. He thought there was still a chance- a chance to save you.

“It’s not too late to get the surgery,” he says through a sigh. “Just let me know and I’ll call the doctor in here right now.”

You groan at his insistence, figuring he’d be sick with the nagging by now. You laid down on the bed, turning away from his sitting form.

“Jungkook,” you warn quietly, “If I have to say it again-”

“I know, I know,” he says, standing up. “But every time I walk in here you look worse than the day before. This isn’t right [Y/N].”

When you didn’t reply back, he only sighed out in frustration. You were acting like a child again.

“It’s getting late so I’m gonna head out, but remember what I said. If you ever decide to change your mind, I’ll take care of you after the surgery. I’m not gonna leave you alone.

You close your eyes, feigning sleep. You clenched the bedsheets as you heard him walk away.

“You won’t turn out like your mom, I promise you.”

You clenched your teeth. How dare he bring that up?

“Make sure to close the door on your way out,” you reply angrily.

—

You sat on the couch in front of the window, a massive notebook in your lap. You scribbled on it without much thought, words pouring onto the sheet of paper without hesitation. It was the letters you were planning to write to all the close people in your life. Just an hour earlier, the nurses had come in to inform you that the doctor wanted to speak with you.

“[Y/N], it seems the disease is getting ready to...,” the doctor stumbled slightly, not knowing how to phrase the next part. “It’s getting ready to come to an end.”

To you, it was obvious he meant that your time was ticking. He advised you to start making calls to any loved ones and finalize a will, though you don’t know what real assets a college student working part-time could hand over to anybody.

You had decided on giving away your remaining belongings to charity and putting Jungkook in charge of separating your items from your dorm room. You would give Taehyung all your plushies and sentimental items, hoping he could work out an agreement to split the items with Jungkook even if you were gone.

You hoped that they would reconcile, preferably when you still had the chance to be with them one last time, but beggars can’t really be choosers. It hurt to see your best friends avoid each other because of you and so, you wrote letters to them that would detail just how important they were to your life and how important they were to each other. It motivated you, knowing they’d read it and maybe find a way to forgive each other for the black eyes they were still nursing.

You started with Jungkook’s, a little easier to write because you knew exactly what you wanted to tell him.

To Jungkook,

If you’re reading this then that means I’m gone and I know you’re probably punching the air right now at how stupid I am, but I just wanted to say something to you before you start crying reading this. I know you’re a little more sensitive than you let on.

Before anything else, I want to say thank you. Thank you for drawing these beautiful flowers on my skin and being there for me when no one else was. You are the only person I told about what happened with my mom and you listened to me without being the judgmental prick you usually are. I know you want me to live, more than anyone else, but I hope you understand one day why I can’t.

You know Tae. You know how happy he made me. If I chose to live without loving him, I wouldn’t be me. I’d be alive, but I’d barely be living.

Jungkook, there’s not a lot of words I can use to express how much I needed you in my life. Genuinely and truthfully, you were the glue that held our friendship together. You were my voice of reason and I am so happy I got to know a person like you in the short time I’ve lived on this earth.

I hope that you’ll be able to experience a mutual love in the way I couldn’t. I hope you have a wonderful life in the future and that I’ll be a good memory to tell your kids one day. You deserve to grow out of that tattoo shop and start your own. You deserved to have finished college without the added trauma of having your best friend die on you. I’m sorry I caused all this pain, but I know you can get through it. I know you can get through life without me. I wish I wasn’t so stubborn till the very end-

Tears had started to drop on the notepad, smearing the black ink just a tad bit. You had to collect yourself to continue, looking out the window to prevent the tears from hitting the paper. You took in a deep breath and continued.

but Jungkook you know me. And you know that I’ll miss you, no matter what happens to me after this has all passed. My final wish to you is that you and Tae keep me in your memories and stop fighting all the time. I’ll find a way to get back to you guys somehow (though I don’t know what will happen to me after death) so please stay together and wait for me until then. I promise I’ll find a way back to you guys. I promise.

You gently ripped the piece of paper you had written on and folded it in half, setting it underneath the notepad. You’d ask the nurse for an envelope later. You stared blankly at the new and empty page, a wet mark of your tears remained from the previous paper. You racked your brain for words to say to Taehyung. You had to be honest, that’s the only way you could leave this world peacefully. Not even bothering to write a greeting for him as you did with Jungkook, you let the words flow out of your pen easily.

—

“What the fuck is this?” Jungkook asks you, his hands shaking as he held the envelope in his hand. It was as light as air, but it felt so heavy between his fingers.

“A letter,” you say, by then your throat was already too strained to speak too loudly. “To read after I pass.”

He shakes his head, thrusting it back towards you.

“I’m not reading it [Y/N],” he replies through gritted teeth. “If you want me to fucking read it then you need to get the surgery.”

“Really?” you ask him, anger bubbling up within your chest.

“You can’t just expect me to stand here and take your last words and be okay with that-”

“Really Jungkook? You’re really gonna argue with me about this?”

He refused to make eye contact, noticeably upset. You shook your head out of agitation.

“Just listen to me for once, Jungkook,” you say dangerously low.

“That’s all I’ve been doing,” he clenches his fist. “I’m tired of listening when it feels like I can’t even do anything to help you [Y/N].”

You beckon him to face you, grabbing the letter you wrote for Taehyung on your nightstand.

“You’ve done more than enough, Jungkook,” you say with a sad smile.

“I haven’t done shit,” he chuckles sadly, clutching the letter harder. Was he supposed to watch as his best friend suffers through a curable terminal disease?

“But if you want to make it up to me,” you start, with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Give this to Taehyung.”

He looks at the envelope with doubt laced in his eyes.

“He doesn’t deserve a fucking letter [Y/N].”

You glare at him until he begrudgingly takes the letter from your hand.

“It’s not gonna work you know,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’m gonna hold a grudge against him for the rest of my life for giving you this fucking disease.”

You sigh.

“Just try?” you ask pleadingly. “For me?”

—

A few days passed and Jungkook sulked in the hallway of Taehyung’s apartment complex, waiting for him to show up. His shoulders tensed each time he heard the elevator doors open. He didn’t quite know how to talk to Taehyung without spewing out an insult, but he knew he had to muscle through it for your sake. He waited and waited, until eventually, a guy with a cut across his cheek walked past him, scrolling through his phone. Jungkook smirked at how unaware of his surroundings he still was.

“Yo,” he says, grabbing Taehyung by the elbow as his figure approached his. Taehyung glared at the hand that wrapped around him and pulled back aggressively when he saw who it was.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” “Don’t worry,” he sighs out of exasperation, “I’m here to deliver something.”

Jungkook took the letter out of the back pocket of his jeans. He grabbed Taehyung’s empty hand and slaps the crumpled envelope on his hand.

“[Y/N] wants you to read this after she...” Jungkook swallowed as he feels his words falter, “eventually passes away.”

Taehyung wouldn’t let the glare go, but clutches onto the letter, bringing it to his side as if Jungkook would take it away from him.

“Why are you the one giving it to me?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“Because she wants us to be civil. Make up or whatever.”

Taehyung lets out a scoff.

“And you?” he mocks. “Why would you agree?”

Jungkook clenches his fist and walks toward his friend- if he could call him that anymore. He places a firm hand on Taehyung’s left shoulder and looks him straight in the eye.

“I agreed because I know it’s no use in hating you over something you can’t control,” he starts, “and because I know you’ll read that letter right away anyway. I figure I’d stay to at least watch you cry.”

Taehyung chuckles and Jungkook broke out into a toothy grin himself.

“So I’m guessing you read your own letter?”

Jungkook nods, smiling sadly.

“[Y/N] shouldn’t trust us so blindly sometimes. Of course, I was gonna read it right when she gave it to me.”

Taehyung shook his head, feigning disappointment.

“Did you cry?”

Jungkook smirked.

“I held it in when I first read it,” he started, a blush forming in his cheeks, “but when I was in the shower afterward I started fucking sobbing. You’ll probably start crying after the first word.”

Taehyung chuckled lightly, punching Jungkook in the shoulder.

“I’m gonna cry, alright...” he zones out, opening the envelope and unfolding the large piece of paper. He bit his lip lightly, too afraid to read it silently. With shaky hands, he announced the words out loud to ease his mind just a bit.

Truth be told, I tried to make myself hate you, Kim Taehyung. When I found out I got Hanahaki after you kissed me on my cheek, I was so pissed that I let myself fall for you.

The two boys laugh softly. Sure enough, Taehyung was already biting back tears that were starting to form. His heart sank with each word he enunciated, but he continued on with a wavering voice.

I know the kind of person you are, Tae and for the hundredth time: no, I don’t blame you. You’re gonna spend the rest of eternity hating yourself if I don’t keep repeating this. Yeah, it was annoying that you always tried to flirt with my friends, but I doubt you knowing my feelings would have stopped that.

Jungkook let out a cackle, surprised that you were staying light-hearted in your letter to him.

“She’s right, you know.”

Taehyung ignored his words, reading further.

You wouldn’t be the Taehyung I’d fallen in love with if you weren’t overly flirtatious and clingy. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this directly, but I love you Taehyung. I love you so fucking much. You gave me so much hope, so much light, and so much to live for.

Taehyung felt something else well up in him that was neither tears nor guilt- something foreign.

I’m sad I can’t see the three of us grow old together or flourish in our future careers, but I know that you’ll get through the struggles of adult life as long as you and Jungkook stay together.

Jungkook laughs to himself and Taehyung glares up at him.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing’s funny, man,” Jungkook sighs to the ceiling. “I’m just realizing how fucked up this all is.”

Tae if I was being really honest with you... I don’t want to die. I really don’t. I was starting to think that you fell in love with me because I didn’t throw up flowers yesterday or the day before that, but it’s just the suppressants. There’s still a small hope that you’d fall in love with me and that we could make things work out, but the chances of it happening are so slim. I’ve learned to accept it by now... that you won’t love me back.

I wanted you to read this letter after I pass away because I didn’t want your feelings to waiver, for you to trick yourself into loving me only to end up hating me later on. My dad fell out of love with my mom and... she was never the same after that. I don’t want that to be us Tae. I want us to have only good memories of each other.

Jungkook patted Taehyung’s back, as he struggled to read with the tears in his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t bear this pain any longer.

I’ll love you even after death, Taehyung, just as much as I love you now. And for the hundredth and one time: no, I do not blame you. I can’t blame you for the beautiful flowers that I now know the names of by heart and I can’t blame you for not loving me back. I can’t blame you for anything Tae. I love you and that’s all that matters. I want you to know, most of all, that I didn’t die for you- I died for myself. I love you Tae.

Sincerely,

Your Guardian Angel :)

Taehyung didn’t quite know when he had stopped reading the letter and started to sink to the ground, balled up in a puddle of his own tears. Jungkook had read the rest towards the end. He too was a wreck, but he hid it well.

“I can’t fucking do it Jungkook,” he sobs. “I don’t think I can live without her.”

Jungkook crouched in front of him, not really knowing how to comfort a crying Taehyung. This was the first time he’d ever seen him show this much emotion besides their big fight a few days ago.

“Taehyung,” he starts firmly, “you need to tell me the truth right now.”

“What?” Taehyung asks, confusion written all over his face.

“Promise me you won’t run away after what I’m about to tell you.”

Taehyung looked at him confusingly but wiped his tears away to get a better look at Jungkook. He was serious.

“O-okay. I promise?”

Jungkook sighed out in relief and pulled Taehyung up.

“The nurse told me [Y/N] hasn’t been on suppressants for a few days now,” he says seriously. “I’m registered as her guardian so they thought it was best if I told her that they stopped lacing it into her meals. It was to prep her for her death.”

“So what does this have to do with me?”

“Taehyung, how are you not getting this?” Jungkook frustratingly scolds. “She hasn’t been throwing up and she hasn’t taken medication. I know it’s fucked up I’m asking you now, but I need you to go see her.”

Nothing seemed to click in Taehyung’s brain. Jungkook was always the fastest thinker out of them. He didn’t really know why he was speaking in such cryptic terms anyway.

“Why?”

“Because if what I think is true,” Jungkook says slowly, “then [Y/N] isn’t going to die.”

Taehyung was about to speak, confusion even more evident in his expression.

“What the hell are you talking about Jung-”

“I think you’re in love with her.”

The world seemed to stop at that second. Nothing made sense and yet everything did. The gears were moving in Taehyung’s brain, but it still felt like he didn’t know the full gist of what Jungkook was trying to tell him.

“Huh?”

“I know how fucked up it sounds that you started miraculously liking her after you found out she was dying, but all that matters to me now is that you accept her love so that she recovers faster. Tell me- am I wrong?”

Taehyung’s head was spinning and he was having trouble forming a sentence.

“I- I don’t know. I haven’t been in love before, how the fuck am I supposed to know?”

Jungkook sighed deeply.

“Well I’m here to tell you now: I’m pretty sure she didn’t fall out of love with you all on her own and it’s not the work of suppressants that had her recover. I’m not trying to convince you that you fell in love with her, but I’m pretty sure you did.”

Taehyung shook his head profusely.

“I think we’re just not thinking through this logically-”

“When have you ever been logical?”

He groaned and buried his face into his palms. Jungkook was right.

“So what should I do if I actually like her?” he says. “I feel like this is too sudden. [Y/N]’s gonna be suspicious-”

“Just tell her,” Jungkook replies sternly. “Don’t run away and just tell [Y/N]. Whatever happens, happens. We have nothing left to lose except her.”

“If I tell her I love her and I actually don’t, that would just hurt her more.”

“That’s impossible,” Jungkook starts, “because she’d be throwing up flowers by now if you didn’t.”

Taehyung nods, but he’s still not quite convinced. He stands up from his spot and makes a beeline to the elevator, figuring he should just do it without thinking about it too much.

Jungkook doesn’t follow after him. He knows that you two are probably better off talking this out than with him butting into the conversation. He rolls up his sleeve to see a beautiful tattoo he had drawn on his wrist just days ago. Flowers.

He drew it in remembrance of you.

—

As you were about to fall asleep to the sound of your own heart monitor, a loud thunk of the door opening had alerted you to open your eyes. Taehyung stood in the doorway, panting like a mad man as he walked closer to your bed.

“Tae-”

“We need to talk.”

It was then that you realized that he was clutching something in his fist. A piece of paper, wrinkled and smudged with black ink.

“You read it?” you ask disappointingly. It was a little embarrassing now, knowing that he’d seen everything you wanted to say to him after your death. You had a hard time looking at him in the eye.

“I couldn’t wait,” he pants, now next to your bed. “It’s not like I would have ever gotten a chance to read it otherwise.”

You tilt your head in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

Taehyung sat on your bed, touching your forearm lightly before collecting his thoughts.

“You’re not going to die, [Y/N],” he says with a glint in his eyes.

You roll your eyes at him.

“I’m not getting the surgery, Tae. It’s already too late for-”

“When was the last time you threw up flowers?”

You furrowed your brows.

“A few days ago. Why?”

He inches closer to you so that he could get a better look at your face. He was gauging your reaction just in case he said anything too uncomfortable. You were looking a lot less sick than yesterday and it crossed out his suspicions a tiny bit.

“Do you know why you haven’t been getting them?”

“Because I’m on suppressants?” you say as if it was an obvious fact.

Taehyung shook his head and finally laid the letter on the bedside table. He clutched both of your palms into his.

“I think,” he stumbles, “I- I think I fell in love with you.”

You looked at him with a deadpan gaze. You pulled yourself away from his grasp. How dare he?

“That’s not funny, Tae. Why the fuck would you even joke about something like that?”

“I do, [Y/N]. I love you.”

It felt so right to say out loud. It felt like the suffocation he was feeling for the past few days had been lifted off of his chest and into the clouds. All of his doubts were erased from his memory.

“Tae, saying it again isn’t going to-”

“I love you,” he says a little louder this time, clutching you even closer. Your eyes shined from tears threatening to spill over. He was being cruel- too cruel. It was unlike him.

“Tae, seriously I’m getting-”

“I love you,” he repeats, closing the distance between you and him, his lips gently touching yours. He pulls away and his breath is taken away with the tears that started falling from your eyes. He wiped them away from your cheeks. This was the reaction he was exactly expecting from you, but all he can do now is reassure you so that you don’t lash out on him.

“A-are you serious?” you say through bated breaths. “You’re not joking are you?”

He shakes his head with a grin.

“I think it took me a while to realize, but I do. Genuinely.”

You had started to cry harder, but it wasn’t out of happiness. You were holding something back. After all of the pain you went through and you finally got what you wanted... it just didn’t feel real. His heart hurt at the sight of you.

“Tae,” you struggle to say. “This isn’t what I wanted. I... I didn’t want you to force yourself into anything or to feel sorry for me-”

“That’s not it, [Y/N],” he reassures, pushing a stray piece of your hair and tucking it behind your ear. “No one’s forcing me.”

“But still-”

He shushed you with a peck. It felt liberating being able to kiss you freely and he couldn’t stop himself with how cutely you pouted your lips. How could he have not seen how irresistible you were before?

“I wish I realized it sooner,” he says sadly. “That way you wouldn’t have to suffer as much.”

You shake your head, easing your breath.

“I don’t know about this, Tae. I’m just having a lot of doubts,” you mutter.

“And I’ll get rid of those doubts sooner or later,” he kisses your hands. “I’m new to this whole love thing so you need to tell me if I’m overstepping anything alright?”

You chuckle lightly. Your heart could burst right out of your chest at how lovingly he was looking at you. For the past few days he’s done that- just look at you with a smile and make your heart beat fast for no reason. The effects this man had on you...

“You’re not gonna die,” he says softly. “I’m not going to lose you.”

You purse your lips.

“I don’t know what to say, Tae...”

He sits a little closer to you and softly holds your face into his palms.

“Say it back.”

You were caught off guard, flustered with his words. You fiddle with your fingers as you struggle to get the words out. He gazed at you expectantly.

“I-I love you too.”

Taehyung smirked and pulled you in. Your heart monitor picked up in speed as he kissed you deeply. The flower tattoos on your arm were dotted with goosebumps, your breath taken away by Taehyung.

He pulled away first but peppered you with more kisses around your face. His forehead leaned against yours as he giggles at your flustered expression. The stars were in his eyes and he admired how gorgeous you looked at that moment.

“Now tell me are there flowers in your stomach?” he asks teasingly as if he didn’t just read your would-be last words a while ago.

You chuckled lightly.

“No flowers,” you intertwine your hands with his. “Just butterflies.”

—

A/N: Thank you again to @guksflavor for requesting this! If you guys want to commission stories for me to write, please read my rules page and find the link to my ko-fi on my blog! I don’t really do fluff endings but I thought this was a cute way to end things off. How do y'all like it? No more tears for this chapter, I hope. Thank you all again for the support and I appreciate all types of feedback for my stories!!

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oh-mother-of-darkness · 4 years ago

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Hello. I am, as you know, an American. I turned eighteen in 2014, voted in my first presidential election in 2016, and voted in my second presidential election last week via early voting in the state of Texas.

I’m reflecting right now on the difference between those experiences. This is going to be a very self-indulgent essay.

The 2016 election was in my third and final year of undergrad at Texas A&M University. At the time, I was living with a roommate who grew up in a town of 2,000, all of them members of her church. I loved her very much, but she was the most sheltered person I’ve ever met.

I was only a few years ahead of her. My home growing up was deeply liberal about many of the things that counted, but deeply conservative on equally important things. For me, leaving for college was a radicalization speed-run.

I, a good Memphis girl, moved to Texas and encountered for the first time in my life white homogeny and everything that comes with it. I made most of my friends at A&M through a Christian orientation camp that I attended, then worked at. I went to school at a history department that was overwhelmingly male and war-obsessed.

My second semester, I was randomly sorted into a writing seminar on the American Civil War and Reconstruction. There were eight other students in that class, all of them Texans. By day two I had gotten into a open fight with one of my classmates after he used the phrases “one of the humane parts of slavery” and “the secession declarations are moving and beautiful appeals, if you read them,” and “well I’m not going to criticize my own state.”

We got into at least one yelling match per week from that point forward. It was a formative experience for me-- not just him but the seven other students that took his side every time because they just couldn’t conceptualize anything outside of their own experiences, and frankly, I couldn’t either.

It rocked my world to be surrounded by people who told me, among other things, that their high schools flew the Confederate battle flag or Lee was their all time role-model (because he actually didn’t want to secede! He didn’t believe in it, but Virginia did, so he put his own qualms aside and served his country, and that’s what we all have to do). I ran a survey once by knocking on every door in a dorm hall and asking the two people inside why the Civil War happened.

I feel like you can guess the most common answer I got. Only two said slavery. Six didn’t know what the Civil War was.

The last week of the semester, my class read a collection of recorded oral accounts of freed slaves during Reconstruction. My nemesis told me that he “didn’t realize black people actually had it bad.” At the same time, I was struggling with my sexuality, my relationship to my religion, my relationship with my parents, and a handful of newly-diagnosed but long-existing mental illnesses. I wasn’t having fun.

Over the next three years, I tried my hardest to humanize the people that said disgusting things about minorities, poverty, and me personally. I barely won on that one, and I’m actually really proud that I did, even if it took me a few years. I can trace the biggest change in me directly to my nemesis from the history department, the kid that made me so mad that I started arguing back. I was too scared to do that before.

By 2016, I was in full existential spin-out-- a very suddenly liberal kid fighting my whole family, all of my classmates, and most of my friends in an explosive political climate, the first I had ever participated in.

I voted by Tennessee absentee ballot in 2016. On election night, I ordered takeout for me and my roommate, who I knew had voted red. Confident, like pretty much everybody, that Clinton would win, I was trying to show her that I didn’t hate her. She went to bed after dinner, also so certain that Clinton would win that she didn’t bother to stay up.

I sat in front of my laptop sewing a birthday present for a friend (Kenza, actually), while the votes came in. I wasn’t super alarmed when the map turned red. I just figured the blue states hadn’t finished counting yet.

The map didn’t get any bluer. By 1am, I knew what was about to happen. They called it an hour later, while I was sobbing on my floor. I threw up in the bathroom out of pure anxiety. I got two anonymous messages telling me the asker was going to commit suicide. Neither of them responded to my replies. I don’t actually know what happened to them.

I remember riding the bus to class the next morning and distinctly seeing that most of the racial minorities there had swollen eyes from crying. The girl with the pride stickers all over her laptop didn’t show up that day, and I’m kind of glad she didn’t, considering the way some of our classmates in the back were loudly talking about “the gays.” Hope she’s okay.

My roommate came home completely unaware that Clinton lost. I was crying in my room when that happened. I remember showing her a demographic map of who voted which way. She got visibly upset when she figured out what races how. I think she really did feel guilty.

That Thanksgiving, one of my cousins tweeted, “I can’t wait to go argue with my liberal cousin today. The wins. Keep. Coming,” an hour before he walked into my house. Inauguration day was January 20, 2017. I decided to go to law school a week later, the day the president signed the Muslim ban. That’s when I figured out for the first time just how much power the courts have. The last three years have only enforced that.

I got angrier and angrier during law school, egged on by a few friends but more than anything just... finally conscious of exactly how the American system works and exactly who’s behind it. I still live in Texas, farther west now, and I’m working my first legal job. I’m going to be a licensed attorney next week.

I went back and forth for months about how this election was going to shake out. I knew there wasn’t going to be an overwhelming red majority this time, but my big fear was an election close enough that the Supreme Court could take it. That fear doubled last month, at RBG’s death.

I was hoping for a blue enough victory on election night that there wouldn’t be a week of uncertainty, but that was unlikely, and it didn’t happen. I obsessively refreshed my election map all of Wednesday and Thursday, aware that at least some states would flip after mail-in ballots came in, but unsure which would.

Again, my great fear was a blue victory held down by only one state. Given (I would say “any” chance here, but I don’t mean “any” chance because genuinely jurisdiction or facts or legal merit don’t matter to the Supreme Court) an opportunity to make one (1) decision that hands over a red election, please know that a conservative supermajority would take it. I cannot emphasize enough how true that is and how important it is for all of us to grasp that.

Watching Georgia flip was one of the best experiences of my life, and it’s a little hard for me to articulate why, but I’m going to give it a shot here. I’m southern. I’m from the South, and for this conversation it’s really important that I’m from Memphis, a black city and a center of black music and culture.

When people think about the South, they think of the white South, and on some level, they should. It is absolutely essential to understand the white South in order to understand American history. Let me be 100% clear here. That is not a good thing. American majority history is not good. We are not a good country.

It’s near-impossible to understand why that’s true without knowing exactly what happened in the white South and exactly what is still happening there now. With that, however, is another truth that most folks don’t get.

The SouthTM is white and needs to die. The South as it actually exists is partially white yes, but it is also everyone else that lives here, particularly black folks. Southern culture is black, not white. Georgia flipped because the people that have always, always been there finally got to crack apart the conservative machine holding the South hostage.

That’s amazing. It’s fucking mind-blowing. I watched it happen at 3:30 in the morning days after Election Day, and holy shit holy shit, Georgia flipped. Atlanta won. Holy fucking shit.

I would be terrified right now if only Georgia flipped, because SCOTUS would have found a way to throw out a few thousand votes. Inevitable. Absolutely certain on that one.

With a few states of buffer, I don’t think that’s going to happen. I really do think it’s over.

I came home after work on Friday and immediately went to sleep because I hadn’t really done that since Tuesday. I woke up at noon today, checked the map, checked my messages, and saw what happened while I was gone. After that, I went back to bed until 5:30pm. I’m really just getting up now, after most of 24 hours asleep.

I don’t know if I would say that I’m happy right now, but I am overwhelmingly relieved. I’m under no illusions that a Biden victory will solve everything, but I also do think this is a real thing to celebrate. I’ll take suggestions on how to celebrate right now, actually, since I’m finally awake.

I’ll be angry forever, I think, but this is a good thing, and I’d like to enjoy it. If you’re happy right now, hey, tell me about it. I’ll be thrilled with you. I want to hear it. Congrats to all of us. Love y’all.

#that's me rambling thanks and gig em #there are some things to tag here huh #uspol #politics #suicide #this would be a good time to remind everybody that i am white #so take that into account re: Georgia #personal i guess #not comics sorry

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backalley-requests · 4 years ago

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The Proposal | Chapter Four

The Proposal Masterlist

Summary: The Proposal™ au, where Ivar gets swept away in a lie about a fake engagement to stay in the country and needs to convince everyone (including his family) that he’s genuinely engaged to a woman he works with

Warnings: use of the word cripple, almost swearing

Word Count: 2,515

You didn’t truly conceptualize how far away Denmark was from New York until you were flying there. It felt like an eternity. You and Ivar hadn’t spoken since your last exchange. Things felt tense and your stomach felt sick. “Get the luggage,” Ivar spoke his first words when you got off the plane.

Even though you would’ve appreciated a “please” you didn’t argue, waiting by the conveyor belt. “Are you going ahead?” You turned to talk to him as he was already going. It seemed as if he was incredibly successful at pushing you from his mind.

It took several minutes before you found the last of your bags. As if on cue, you heard a woman shout in danish. “You left her?” Followed by the harsh thud of a smack. “You can’t just leave your girlfriend, Ivar.” Your grasp on the language was tentative at best. You used duo lingo daily but hearing it in practice was a different beast entirely.

“She’s fine, mor.”

“If she’s dating Ivar seriously enough to visit us in another continent then she’s probably used to this by now,” a man laughed.

You could hear the annoyance grow in Iver's voice as he bickered back. You caught some of the language but less than you’d have liked. You grabbed the luggage and started to head over.

“This must be Y/N,” Aslaug walked over and you immediately recognized her, a smile on your face as you waved.

“Hey! Um— nice to meet you,” you offered your hand to shake and instead she pulled you in for a hug. Her arms wrapped around your body and you could’ve died with no regrets. Why was it so warm?

“Oh, I’d rather you not butcher the language, dear. But the attempt was lovely,” Aslaug smiled sweetly and placed her hand on your upper arm sympathetically. Her English was a lot better than your Danish. It was the nicest way you’ve ever been told to stop trying because you sucked so badly.

Your face flushed in embarrassment and you laughed. “Sorry— I’m still learning.” Maybe you should just stop if it was that bad. It sounded fine to you. You glanced over to see Ivar as he rolled his eyes at you.

His brother walked over, to introduce himself. “I’m Hvitserk, Ivar’s cooler brother. And the only one willing to tolerate him,” he flashed a grin and shook your hand.

“Then you must have great perseverance.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them. It was easy to forget that this was the part where you were supposed to convince people you were in love with the man.

“Is father not coming?” Ivar was quick to change the subject. He wasn’t happy with the situation— but when was he ever happy? Even the fleeting moments between the two of you managed to turn sour by the end.

“No— he had a prior engagement, but Ubbe is waiting in the car!” Aslaug tried to save the conversation, the disappointment was evident from Ivar’s face. “I’m sure you two much be tired, jet lag is killer.” She was swift to move into the next conversation, ushering them away.

You grabbed the luggage and began to roll both bags when Hvitserk stopped you. “Let me help with that. If my brother wants to let you do all the work the least I can do is offer to share the load,” he teased. “Trust me, he used to make me do his chores too.”

Hvitserk was immediately more welcoming than his brother. It made you question how the two could’ve been related at all. Ivar spared a glance, scowling at you. You took the natural course of action and scowled back. “Thanks,” you laughed and immediately eased up. “Tell me then, which one of you two is adopted. Because I highly doubt you’re related.”

How could the same family raise such opposing figures. Even if Hvitserk turned out to be some evil bottom dwelling menace, he made an effort to appear nice. You wasn’t sure you ever saw Ivar bother to do the same, at least not to a stranger.

“You wouldn’t be the first person to ask that. Ivar’s different,” Hivserk went along with it. And soon the two of you managed to easily slide into conversation. You found out a bit more about the family.

The father, Ragnar had two family trees. One with his first wife, Lagertha, with whom he had a son, Bjorn. The second was with Aslaug, and they had four children: Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar. Their father wasn’t married but often far from single. Bjorn is married to Gunnhild. Ubbe is married to Torvi who used to be married to Bjorn. Sigurd and Ivar didn’t get along. Some of this you knew already and the rest of the facts started to blend together.

By the time you got to the car you forgot much else that Hvitserk tried to prepare you for. Ubbe was leaning against their car. “Long time no see, my baby brother.”

Ivar rolled his eyes and tried to just enter the car but was stopped by his brother. Ubbe hugged Ivar who failed to reciprocate the hug, nearly dropping his cane from the intensity of the squeeze. The older brother didn’t seem to mind it and instead easily moved on to hug you. “At least one of you two is more affectionate, you could learn a thing or two from her, Ivar.”

—

“Don’t get too close to them,” Ivar whispered to you when you got to his family’s home. The car ride back had been filled with childhood stories of the boys, mostly Ivar. You understood why he was so agitated, they seemed to mess with him a lot. Not that you agreed with the irritation, but clearly Ivar didn’t handle it well. He was the youngest, it made sense to you. “None of this is real.”

Yet, the warning annoyed you. You wanted to get closer just to spite him. He was right, you two weren’t in a real relationship and they wouldn’t be a real family. It still wasn’t nice to say. His words distracted you from the mansion his family seemed to own.

“He didn’t tell you that we’re made of money, did he?” Hvitserk asked you with a lazy grin, he placed his arms around your shoulders. “If you’re going to become my sister then you’ll just have to get used to it.” You didn’t know his family that well but they didn’t deserve this. They were already making an effort and it was for a lie.

“Let me show you guys to your room,” Aslaug smiled. The inside of the house was just as beautiful as the outside. You never even saw something so big. It felt unreal. She showed the two of you one room. “I’m not going to bother pretending to be dumb. I know you two sleep together.”

You tried to stammer your way into a guest bedroom but she didn’t seem to be listening to you. “Dinner is at 7 if the two of you want it.” The room was on the ground floor, just outside was a view of the backyard and a river. It was huge. The only issue is that there was only one bed.

“You can stay on the floor,” Ivar answered before you could ask. The moment his mother was gone he didn’t hesitate to remind you where you were going to be sleeping. “I need the bed.”

It made sense. He had needs you didn’t. “Fine.” For some reason you expected to enter a fanfiction where there was only one bed and you were forced to share— it was evident the thought didn’t cross Ivar’s mind. “Can I at least have some pillows and blankets. I get cold.” You were more a tropical kind of person, and spent most of your life feeling cold.

“They’re in the closet.”

You watched as Ivar laid in the bed. He sighed heavily and sunk deep into it, as if finally resting. It looked like the euphoria you got from laying down after a run or a workout. Maybe he was more tired than he let on. “Is it soft?”

Ivar opened his eyes and stared at you, “what?”

“The bed, you just look really comfortable.”

He patted the side next to him. “It’s expensive. It ought to be.” You weren’t sure what he was doing at first until he did it again. “Try it.”

Tentatively, you walked over and sat down. Yours went wide as you immediately sunk into it and you were just sitting. Why is this so good? You couldn’t help but relax your body into it and lay down for a moment, just a manny. Any soreness was being sapped out. “Wow.”

“I know right.” The two of you laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

Maybe you ought to try and get some money from the divorce, get yourself a mattress like this. You closed your eyes softly, your eyelids never felt so heavy.

“Now get out of my bed.” The words made your eyes shoot open. He decided it was time for you to go.

“What?”

“You’re about to fall asleep on my bed,” Ivar reminded you. “Which means you probably s shouldn’t be in it.”

You immediately got up and nearly fell on your way out. “You could’ve been nicer about it,” you glared. Being there for a moment was going to make it all the more difficult to lay on the floor. It was so hard compared to it— then again your own mattress was hard compared to his. “Did you do that just so I’d feel worse when I had to sleep on the floor? Knowing a bed like this existed just outside of my reach?”

Ivar laughed. “No. But that would’ve been a good idea. I like the way you think.”

“Are you two ready for dinner?” Aslaug knocked and entered the room.

“We’re not hungry,” Ivar answered for the both of you. You personally couldn’t agree with his statement but it was clear he wanted to be left alone from them and didn’t trust you to be alone with them.

“Get up. You have to go.” She entered the room further and before she could grab Ivar he was already up, as if repulsed by the idea of her touching him. You were quick to follow behind

Ivar grabbed his cane and started going. “Is there any reason?” Aslaug didn’t answer and instead bit her bottom lip before she left.

“What was that about,” you asked as you walked to the door. Ivar stared down where his mother left, deep in thought.

“I have a bad feeling about this. Mor is up to something.”

The two of you walked together out towards the common areas of the home when a number of people eagerly shouted, “welcome home!” It was a lot of people, and it became evident this is what Aslaug had been wanting them out of the room for.

A number of people came by to greet Ivar, he seemed ambivalent to the conversation at best and annoyed at worst. You were greeted as a secondary and remained far more polite. You knew nothing much at all and the best you do was follow, that didn’t seem to make things less annoying for Ivar. “Will you stop following me?”

“Where else would I—“

“Ivar!” An older man appeared and wrapped his arms around Ivar, a grin on his face. This was the first person Ivar didn’t instantly pull back from, and the laugh he made was genuine in response.

“Floki, you old bastard. I’m glad you could make it,” Ivar seemed to genuinely mean that. It made the whole thing even stranger to you.

Floki eyed you and then Ivar and then laughed, “how did an ugly poor cripple end up with a beautiful woman like this?” He immediately hugged you and pulled back. “Maybe it’s best not to question it. We wouldn’t want her to realize,” he winked at Ivar.

The two seemed to get along better than most and Ivar left with the man. You tried to follow but got cut off by the people who stood around talking to each other.

—

“He left you alone?”

It had been who knows how long since he had left and you hadn’t seen Ivar since. Where he was, it wasn’t here. And it was clear to you he didn’t care where ou were. Hivtserk appeared beside you and attempted to make you feel included.

“I’m used to it,” you shrugged.

Hvitserk furrowed his eyebrows, “the two of you make for an odd couple.”

Panic began to fill you. “I— no. Not really. We’re very real.” The words were dumb and you hated yourself for having made the sentence at all. “Normal, I mean, normal.” None of that made it better.

“Then you love him?” If Hvitserk didn’t believe you then he didn’t show it. The truth was harder to believe. That you were pretending to marry your boss so he could stay in the US and give you some big promotion.

“What? N—“ you couldn’t say no, “not yet. Or maybe.” You admired the man. But this was all fake. Still, he never appeared more human than in these past few days. It just sucked that he was never willing to keep doing that. Whenever he relaxed he was so quick to correct himself.

Hvitserk laughed at you, “then you probably do. He’s a difficult man to love but I’ve managed it.” How Ivar find it in himself to not talk to his family more, or show them more care? “I can tell from the way you look at him sometimes.”

Your face got flushed. You had to keep reminding yourself this whole thing was fake. Hvitserk was expecting these sorts of things and said them. Just like your coworkers. None of this was real. Yet, it felt easy to want to get swept away. “Well— I’m not sure if we’re quite there. He certainly isn’t.”

His brother shrugged, “maybe. But I’ve ever seen him let anyone tease him without getting hit with his cane for as long as you have. And he doesn’t bring women around to the family. That has to mean something.”

You knew why you were meeting his family. It was the same reason he seemed to tolerate this but— it was different. You wanted to be different. It would feel nicer that way, and you couldn’t quite understand why. Every soft moment lingered in your memory for too long and you desperately wanted to hold onto them. “Maybe,” your eyes caught Ivar.

It was the first time he was so casual and seemed relaxed. He was gorgeous. You allowed yourself more time to just stare at him, knowing he was none the wiser. “You’re good for him.”

“I certainly like to think I am.”

“Good,” Hvitserk responsed. “So where are you from?”

He started to ask question upon question about your origins and your life story. He seeemd more interested than anyone else here. You admitted you weren’t from money and that you were trying to make a name for yourself in New York.

“So how’d you meet Ivar?”

“I actually work for him,” you admitted. “He might act like a dick most the time but it’s gotten some amazing results. I admire what he can do, I just wished he went about it more... humanely,” you laughed.

Hivtserk watched you carefully, “fair enough. He was never very personable. And that doesn’t bother you?”

It did. A lot. “No.”

“Then maybe you two are suited for each other.”

The two of you weren’t. “I like to think to.”

—

Taglist** @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #Vikings #forgive my writing

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bubonickitten · 4 years ago

Link

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: An examination of endings and how to realize them.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 24: brief claustrophobia; some RSD/fear of abandonment stuff; extensive discussion of death (this chapter’s all about Terminus, babey); allusions to past suicidal ideation on Jon’s part; mentions of eye gouging/blinding (not graphic); some internalized victim blaming; anxiety symptoms; spider mentions; swears. Let me know if I missed anything!

Chronic fear has been Jon’s baseline for so long, it’s difficult for him to conceptualize what he would be were it to abandon him. In some ways, he’s become acclimated to it. On the other hand, fear is a volatile, prolific thing, its many shades relentlessly coalescing and mutating to form new strains. It all but guarantees that the Eye will never truly be sated: there will always be some heretofore unknown species of terror to discover, experience, and add to its collection.

Sprinkled in amongst the more noteworthy moments of abject terror and the constant background pressure of existential dread, there are smaller fears: everyday anxieties; pervasive insecurities; acute spikes of panic and adrenaline. Each discrete instance may pale in comparison to life-threatening peril, but muddled together and given time to ferment, they compound. They feed into one another. Sometimes, they come to attract the attention of larger, far more forbidding monsters.

In this way, Jon is no different from the average person – and one of the oldest, most deep-rooted of those comparatively banal fears is his fear of rejection, of disappointing, of being seen and found lacking. It guided his path long before his first supernatural encounter, and in many ways, it still does. His self-awareness of that fact does little to dampen its influence.

So it’s vexing, but not surprising, that the foremost concern vying for his attention right now is whether this might be that final straw that chases Georgie away for good. She sits with her hands clasped in front of her mouth, eyes closed and brow furrowed as she gathers her thoughts. The longer she remains silent, the more time Jon has to run through all the worst-case scenarios.

It’s already difficult for him to capture a full breath under the crushing weight of anticipation. It doesn’t help that his intermittent claustrophobia has decided that right now is the perfect time to manifest. A tunnel collapse would probably damage the Archives above it, though, and there’s no way Jon would be so lucky. He isn’t sure whether to consider that a consolation or not.

Finally, Georgie takes a breath, opens her eyes, and leans forward.

“Okay.” She tilts her folded hands towards him in an indicative gesture. “Explain, please.”

“Right,” Jon says, rubbing one arm nervously. “S-so, Oliver –”

“I knew his name wasn’t Antonio,” Georgie mutters.

“No. That was an alias he used when he first came to the Institute to give a statement, back in 2015.”

“The prediction about Gertrude’s death?” Martin asks.

“The same.”

“And what was a harbinger of death doing looming over you while you were in a coma?” Georgie presses.

“I don’t know that I’d call him a harbinger –” Jon’s mouth snaps shut immediately when Georgie shoots him an impatient glare. “He wasn’t – he wasn’t trying to – to reap my soul or anything like that, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Then why was he there?”

“He was called there,” Jon says. “By the Web, according to him.”

“Oh, and you don’t think that makes him dangerous?” Martin says, throwing one arm out in a surge of exasperation.

“He isn’t allied with the Web,” Jon replies, fiddling with the hem of his jumper. “It just… got into his head, and it was easier for him to go along with it, rather than fight it indefinitely. Oliver tends to have a fatalistic outlook. If he sees something as inevitable, he’s not inclined to try to stop it.”

“So, what – he’s serving an evil power not because he’s sadistic but because he’s just apathetic?” Georgie couldn’t sound any more unimpressed if she tried. “How is that any better?”

“It’s, ah… it’s really not that simplistic,” Jon says, adopting a delicate tone. “And I don’t think I’d call it apathy so much as…”

“Acceptance,” Georgie says stiffly. “Everything has an ending.”

“Yes. Oliver is an Avatar of the End, and the End is characterized by its certainty–” Jon pauses when he catches a glimpse of Georgie’s hands, fastened to her knees and trembling with tension. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No, I –” Georgie sighs, relaxes her grip, and flexes her fingers. “Just – tell me why you invited him here.”

“It’s like I said upstairs – there were things I couldn’t tell him about outside of here.”

“Why do you feel the need to tell him anything?” Martin asks.

“I just thought… he might be able to help us.”

“Why would he,” Georgie asks, “if he’s so fatalistic?”

“Because, he…” Jon hesitates, biting his lip. “I suppose I thought that maybe – maybe he’s like me.”

“He’s nothing like you,” Martin says vehemently.

A flicker of a smile crosses Jon’s face. “You don’t even know him.”

“What, and you do?”

“Not well,” Jon admits. “But I do think I understand him.”

Martin crosses his arms, transparently miffed. In an attempt to suppress his amusement, Jon presses his lips tightly together. It doesn’t work, evidently.

“What?” There’s a flat, defensive edge to the demand, highlighted by a suspicious scowl. “What’s with the smirk?”

Jon already knows the answer to the question he wants to ask, but he can’t help himself: “Are you jealous?”

“No!” Martin yelps. “Why would I be jealous?”

Jon shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Well, you don’t need to be.”

“I’m not!”

“If you say so,” Jon says with a shrug and a sly grin.

“I am not jealous,” Martin insists – and now Georgie is snickering, one hand clamped over her mouth to (unsuccessfully) stifle the sound. Martin glowers at her, betrayed.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “Just – didn’t realize you were quite so jealous.”

“I’m not,” Martin says for a third time. “But – but even if I was, I would be completely justified.”

“Because he woke me up,” Jon says, toning down the smugness now.

There is an uneasy boundary between affectionate teasing and perceived mockery, and here in the past, he hasn’t quite mapped the shape of that line. Between seeing one another in the Lonely and anchoring each other through the apocalypse, he and Martin had been forced to confront long-held insecurities about themselves, both as individuals and as a unit. That shared history no longer applies. While Jon has no desire to repeat that chain of events – there are happier, healthier pathways to a relationship than bonding via trauma, or so he’s heard – it does mean that this version of Martin hasn’t yet had the same epiphanies.

Much like Jon, Martin struggles to take a declaration of love at its word. People lie; they mislead; they say what they think others want to hear – whether out of self-interest, sympathy, or simple social ineptitude, the results are the same. Sometimes they start out sincere, but little by little, their tolerance dwindles and they recognize their mistake: what they thought was genuine affection was at best a passing fancy for someone who turned out to be far more trouble than they were ever worth. Or worse: a caring façade born of pity or guilt or obligation, only to turn rotten and toxic when the burden grows too tiresome.

Add all of those deep-seated convictions to the lasting influence of the Lonely, and Martin needed proof before he could entertain the possibility of being loved. Following him into and then leading him out of the Lonely was a fairly convincing statement. Absent another life-or-death gesture to act as a catalyst, Jon suspects that this time around, building that confidence will come down to time, practice, and repetition.

“Okay, yeah, about that – what does that – what does that mean, he woke you up?” Before Jon can get a word out, Martin barrels on: “I mean, what makes him so special? I spent weeks – weeks – begging you to come back, and nothing. He visits you once and suddenly you’re fine?”

“I really did try to come back on my own,” Jon says – not accusing, not pleading, not even self-flagellating. Just plain, sincere assuredness. “I heard you calling me. Not at first, but – the last time you visited. It was the first time I’d heard your voice in… in so long, I – I never thought I’d hear it again, and then you were there, and I was – I was so relieved, so… so elated.”

Martin sulks quietly, glaring at the floor, but there’s a noticeable flush staining his cheeks now.

“And then – and then I heard you on the phone with Peter, and…” Jon swallows hard, the despair he felt in that moment still stark in his mind. “I tried to call out to you, but you couldn’t hear me. The Lonely was drawing you in, just like before, and there was nothing I could do. I wanted to wake up more than anything, but I just… couldn’t figure out how. I still don’t know why – I don’t know the exact mechanics of it all – but for whatever reason, I wasn’t able to wake up until Oliver’s visit. Same as the first time.”

At that, Martin seems to deflate somewhat, finally looking up to meet Jon’s eyes.

“If I could have come back sooner,” Jon continues, smiling sadly, “I would have. In a heartbeat.”

Martin pouts for a moment longer before surrendering, his rigid posture slackening as the rancor drains out of him.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“So you think you owe him,” Georgie guesses. “For waking you up.”

“Partially,” Jon admits. “But that’s not why I invited him, really. He just seems… I don’t know. Lonely, I guess?” Georgie rolls her eyes. “He never – he never asked to be a death prophet. No more than I wanted to be a – a trauma leech. And arguably – arguably he was even less to blame for what happened to him than I am for what I’ve become –”

“Jon,” Martin says warningly.

“No, just – just listen.” Jon takes a measured breath as he puts his thoughts in order. “Oliver started having prophetic dreams several years ago. Just – out of the blue. As far as I know, he did nothing to tempt fate. Eventually, those dreams carried over into the waking world. Everywhere he went, every single day, he could see the evidence of imminent death. There was no escaping it.

“In the beginning, he tried to help people. But it never worked. When he was unable to save his own father, he stopped trying to change fate, for the most part. I think the last time he tried was when he dreamed of Gertrude. He saw how far-reaching her death would ultimately be, and he tried to warn her, even though he didn’t have much hope that it would make a difference. And he was right, in the end. He couldn’t save her, and he couldn’t prevent what came after.”

“So he just… gave up,” Martin says flatly.

“When you fail over and over again to do good in the world, when you witness horror after horror with no recourse to stop it, when you try again and again and again to escape and never even come close… at some point, you burn out,” Jon murmurs. “Lose all hope. It becomes your new normal. Exist like that long enough and you start to become numb to it all.”

“You lived through an apocalypse and you didn’t give up,” Martin counters.

“I did, though,” Jon says quietly.

Martin frowns. “What?”

“After I lost you.” Jon averts his eyes and folds his arms tight against his middle, holding his elbows. “I was lost. I couldn’t save anyone, I couldn’t change anything, I couldn’t even look away. I wasn’t allowed to sleep. I wasn’t allowed to die. So I just… survived, even though I wanted anything but.” When he glances up, he sees that Martin’s expression has softened. “You were my reason. Then you were gone, and I was alone.”

Jon hadn’t known that the world could end a second time, but there it was. With Martin gone, what little that remained of Jon’s own microcosm shattered. Yet the Ceaseless Watcher’s world dared to continue turning, to go on churning out horror after horror as if nothing at all had changed. And Jon was just another cog in that machine, going through the motions and fulfilling the purpose for which he was cultivated.

It wasn’t truly ceaseless, of course. Everything has an ending. But it felt like an eternity – and for Jon, indefinite waiting has always been a special kind of torture.

“So what changed?” Georgie asks, her tone gentler than before.

“For a while, nothing,” Jon says. “I sort of… drifted. Wandered aimlessly through the domains for… I don’t really know. When nothing ever changes, keeping track of time becomes pointless. The Panopticon kept trying to draw me in, of course, but I – I suppose there was still enough spite left in me to make a show of ignoring it.

“At some point, I got lost in a Lonely domain. Which was fine, really. Or – it would have been fine, had I been allowed to succumb to it. I wanted to just – fade into it, let it in, but” – Jon breathes a bitter laugh – “it wouldn’t take me. Wouldn’t let me go numb, wouldn’t let me forget – didn’t have the decency to let me disappear, no matter how long I stayed.”

No one got what they deserved in that future, but this was a rare exception to that rule: to be allowed to simply forget his role in creating that nightmare world, to sink into blissful ignorance, would have been a miscarriage of justice. Not that the Eye cared about what was just or fair, of course. No, it simply would not – perhaps could not – deign to relinquish its hold on its Archive.

“But the longer I stayed,” he continues, looking at Martin now, “the more I thought about you. In retrospect, maybe that’s why I didn’t want to leave. And maybe that’s part of why it wouldn’t have me – I couldn’t let you go. But being there, it kept reminding me of the first Lonely domain we came across after the change. We were separated, and I was – I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back to me. But you did.” Jon smiles to himself, remembering the relief and gratitude and awe he felt in that moment. “You rejected the Lonely all on your own. Found your own way out – found me, and… every time I thought about that, I imagined your voice in my head. Telling me off for wallowing. For giving up.”

“Sounds like I would have been justified,” Martin says delicately.

“You would have,” Jon confesses with a contrite half-smile. “I was in peak brooding condition. Eventually I wore myself out wallowing there, though, so I left to go wallow somewhere else. I needed a change of scenery, and – well, I got one. Stumbled into a Spiral domain. Ran into Helen, and… funny enough, that was the last straw.”

Jon can still recall the encounter down to the smallest detail.

‘Still drifting aimless, are we?’ Helen bared an unsettling number of teeth as her grin stretched – literally – from ear to ear. ‘Exactly how long do you plan on moping about, Archivist?’

Jon did not answer; did not even meet her eyes, instead staring vacantly over her shoulder. The incessant reel of horror scenes playing in the back of his mind made it difficult to focus on any one thing at a time, and there was nothing he cared to see so much that it was worth the effort it would take to grant it his undivided attention.

‘You know,’ Helen said, tapping an elongated, crooked finger against her lips, ‘I wonder what he would say, if he could see you now.’

It didn’t matter. Martin was gone. Those parts of the world that hadn’t already been thoroughly razed were slowly but surely withering. There was nothing left to salvage.

‘Disappointed, I imagine,’ Helen continued, distant and muffled by the din of a splintering world. (Somewhere deep below their feet, a man was screaming himself hoarse in a labyrinth made of mirrors and fog.) ‘But not surprised. It’s not the first time you’ve let him down, is it?’

Jon gave a listless shrug. Her words stung, certainly, but they were a far cry from some of her more artful jabs. A pointed insinuation to send him spiraling into his own self-destructive conclusions would always be more corrosive than outright disparagement.

(The man in the maze gazed into mirror after mirror, hoping to find himself within. In every one, his reflection had no face.)

That said, Helen wasn’t wrong. Even as a child, Jon had always been a burden. He never did manage to prove himself worthy of all the many unwilling sacrifices made on his behalf. Never measured up; never put nearly enough good into the world to balance out the cost of having him in it.

(The man in the maze had misplaced his name. Did he drop it somewhere? He checked his pockets only to find holes. Yet another eyeless reflection stared back at him from beneath his feet.)

‘You were always headed here, weren’t you?’

Yes.

(The man in the maze tried to retrace his steps, but everything looked the same: an endless, recursive corridor of mirror images. He asked one of the doppelgängers for directions, only to realize that the man in the mirror had no mouth with which to answer.)

‘To think – all that time he spent coaxing you along, and you crumble the moment you don’t have a prop to coddle you.’ Helen cackles, high and cruel. ‘What a waste.’

She wasn’t telling him anything that he didn’t already know.

(The man in the maze was scouring the mirrored ground, searching for… something he’d lost; he couldn’t quite remember, but he knew that it was important. He checked his pockets, only to discover that he had no pockets.)

‘Although, I guess the blame doesn’t fall squarely on your shoulders. He was naïve. It isn’t your fault he was foolish enough to hope for–’

The words jolted Jon back to the present like an electric shock. Whatever else Helen had to say, he’d never know. He tuned her out, and he started walking.

“She was having a go at me – nothing new there – but then she brought you into it, and…” Jon shrugs. “I don’t think it was her intention, but it nudged me back on track. You and I had a plan, before, and… honestly, I didn’t have much hope that it would work, but you had. That made it worth trying.”

It wasn’t like Jon could break the world more by parleying with the Eye. At worst, it made no difference, but at least Jon did something to honor Martin’s memory; at best, it put Jon out of his misery, one way or another.

“I’m glad I did, because… well, it changed things, obviously. You were right.”

“Sorry,” Martin says with unmistakable self-satisfaction, “could you say that again?”

“You were right, Martin.” Jon rolls his eyes, but the effect is undercut by an indulgent smile he can’t quite repress. “You often are. All of this is to say – I’m only here because you gave me a reason to be. If not for that, then… well, I meant what I’ve said before, about needing a lifeline in order to stand any chance against the Fears. I was – I am lucky enough to have one.”

More than one, he thinks with a sense of wonder. The support he has now is such a far cry from the ostracism he experienced the first time he was here. It still gives him pause every time he dwells on the contrast. Sometimes, it almost seems too good to be true.

“Oliver didn’t,” Jon continues. “It’s hard to begrudge him for resigning himself to fate, especially considering how the power that claimed him is defined by fatalism. He never asked to be chosen, he was given no hope of escape, and he had no one to reach out to, let alone anyone to reach back. It’s unsurprising that he would come to accept the inescapable when the only anchor he had was the certainty of oblivion.”

“‘The moment that you die will feel exactly the same as this one,’” Georgie says quietly.

Jon nods. “And without a dependable reason to see the moments in between as significant, it’s… well, it’s hard to see the point in anything. I’ve been there.”

As has Georgie, Jon knows. She exhales heavily, massaging her temples, visibly conflicted.

“I still don’t think you should trust him,” Martin says.

“I’m not suggesting we trust him wholesale,” Jon says, “but I’m certain that he isn’t an enemy. He might not resist the End, but he doesn’t work to end the world in its name, either. He’s… thoroughly neutral.”

“Then what makes you think he’ll lift a finger to help?” Martin asks.

“I doubt he’ll go out of his way to help,” Jon admits. “He might be willing to trade information, though. I just thought… Avatar of the End – he would have more insight into the limits of Jonah’s supposed ‘immortality’ than I do.”

“You think he can tell you something about the dead man’s switch,” Georgie guesses, rubbing at her forehead.

“That’s my hope, yes. He can see the route that a person will take to their end. Or, he can when their death is imminent, at least – I’m not sure how far into the future his foresight stretches these days.”

In the hospital, Oliver implied that he could see something in Jon’s vicinity. Whether that suggests Jon’s own end is near enough for Oliver to foresee it, Jon does not Know. Given his proven resilience, he suspects it’s just as likely to be a quirk of his strange existence. There’s no shortage of idiosyncrasies that may mark Jon as an outlier: he’s the Archivist; he’s traveled through a rift in time; he’s the primed and practiced focal point of the Watcher’s Crown, and the fate of the world hinges on his ability to keep that potential in check.

And if his situation is an exception to the rule, perhaps Jonah’s is as well.

“Maybe he’ll be able to see whether our routes flow into Jonah’s, so to speak,” Jon says. “When Oliver dreamed of Gertrude’s impending death, he saw how much of the world’s fate was intertwined with hers –”

“– the veins, whose domination of the dreamscape had only ever been partial before, had thickened and now seemed to cover almost the whole space of every street – the destination – into which all the veins flowed – The Magnus Institute – choked with that shadowed flesh – following that red light that would now pulse so bright that I knew were I to see it awake it would have blinded me – and every one of those veins – where they ended – a person sitting at that desk and it was them that all of this scarlet light was flowing into.”

“Gertrude,” Martin says.

Jon nods, then holds up one finger: Wait. The Archive has more to say; Jon can practically feel the words bubbling up his throat and crowding behind his teeth. As discomfiting as it is to have it hijack his voice, sometimes it’s easier to ride out that compulsion than to tamp it down.

“I have no responsibility to try and prevent whatever fate is coming for you – such a thing is likely impossible – but after what I saw I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try – there is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.”

Statement ends, Jon thinks, working his jaw to soothe the unnatural tension that has taken root there. Happy now? Anything else to add?

As expected, it doesn’t answer. He’s well aware that addressing the Archive essentially amounts to talking to himself, but carrying on an internal dialogue with the more frustrating aspects of himself was a habit long before he took on the mantle of Archivist.

After a few seconds, he feels the Archive’s imposing presence start to recede, releasing him from the compulsion. It’s still there, of course – it’s always there, looming over him like a vulture, as impossible to ignore as a knife to the throat – but for now it seems content to fall back and observe once more.

Georgie sighs. “That’s why you’re sympathetic to him.”

“He tried.” Jon shrugs. “He didn’t have to, but he did.”

“That still doesn’t mean he’s going to help this time,” Martin says.

“No, but he has no incentive to hurt us, either. There’s no harm in asking him questions. He’s not going to run to Jonah to inform on us. The worst that happens is he says ‘no’ and goes back to minding his own business. But if he agrees to talk… well, it might be our best chance to determine how much of what Jonah says is true.”

Georgie chews on her thumbnail for a few seconds before looking back up at Jon, a pensive frown on her face. “Why’d he go out of his way to come here at all, if he has no motivation one way or the other?”

“Honestly? Curiosity, I think. But… I suppose I’m also hoping that there’s a part of him that might sympathize.”

“Do you really think there is?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know. In my future, probably not. He wasn’t enjoying himself like some of the other Avatars – I mean, he was feeding on the fear produced by his domain, but even then, he didn’t strike me as cruel. It was just… acceptance in the face of a conclusion at ultimately stayed the same regardless of the path leading up to it, and…”

And maybe it speaks to Jon’s mental state at the time, but there were a few points in Oliver’s statement that struck him as almost merciful. After all, in the face of seemingly endless torment, death was a covetable escape.

“I have no power to stop it,” the Archive recites, “and even if I did, I would not do so. For to rob a soul of death is as torturous as its inevitable coming – I fear the annihilation you would gift me as little as I desire it – perhaps once it might have horrified me, or given me some sense of pursuing the ultimate release of the world that you have damned – I am now, as the thing I feed, a fixed point, that has neither the longing nor ability to change its state of existence – even you, with all your power, cannot keep the world alive forever. All things end, and every step you take, whatever direction you may choose, only brings you closer to it.”

“That Oliver again?” Martin mutters tetchily. “Doesn’t sound to me like he’ll be particularly inclined to help.”

“Well–” The word comes out as a rasp, and Jon has to pause to clear his throat before continuing. “That was – that was the Oliver of the future. After the change, he was too much of the End not to live its truth, just as I was too much of the Eye not to walk its path and archive its world. We were both conduits, inseparable from the powers that laid claim to us. Here and now, though, I’m hoping he might still be…”

“What, benevolent?” Martin says incredulously.

Jon is quiet for a long moment, trying to find the right words to explain.

“At my most hopeless,” he says slowly, “I still cared, even though there was no meaningful way for me to put it into practice. I don’t think I ever managed to reach the level of acceptance that Oliver did – and sometimes I envied him for that. But embracing the End as a foregone conclusion doesn’t necessarily mean he’s completely unmoved by what happens in the interim. Not yet, anyway. And as of right now, whether it’s out of curiosity or compassion, obviously he still interacts with the world from time to time, even if he prefers to exist in the background for the most part.”

Martin and Georgie both look unconvinced.

“I’m not asking him to help us change fate,” Jon goes on. “In his view, there is no obstructing fate – not in any way that genuinely matters to his patron. Oliver isn’t particularly concerned about when the End will come – he’s just secure in the knowledge that it will happen eventually, with or without the interference of any mortal actor. Passive or active, nothing he does or doesn’t do will change that. But I’m thinking it’s been a long time since someone has asked him for help that he actually has the power to provide, and… I know what that’s like.”

Despite the immense power that Jon could exercise after the culmination of the Watcher’s Crown, he was ultimately powerless to change things for the better. It’s why he leapt at the chance to help Naomi in her nightmare: even a small, low-effort act of kindness after so long without the opportunity was overwhelmingly liberating.

It was insignificant against the vast backdrop of the universe, perhaps, but it still left a mark. It prompted a cascade of little changes that completely rewrote their dynamic; it curtailed some of the suffering in which Jon had previously been so unwillingly complicit; it's even acted as an inoculation against the loneliness that had permeated both of their lives during this stretch of time when Jon was last here. Those little changes mattered to him, and they mattered to Naomi – not only in that first moment, but in all the time since.

All of that had to count for something, right? It took fourteen ill-fated marks to end the world, after all. With any one of them missing, the Ritual wouldn’t have worked and the world at large would never have noticed. But that didn’t make any one of those marks wholly insignificant on its own. They scarred him and the people around him; every encounter changed him, whittled away at his sense of self, left him progressively vulnerable and set him up for successive marks.

The repercussions still linger. They probably always will.

In his sporadic moments of cautious optimism, Jon cannot help but wonder: If a series of little cruelties can create such a perfect and terrible storm, is it really inconceivable that a pattern of little rebellions could keep it at bay? And Jon has long since come to the conclusion that compassion in the face of unimaginable cruelty is its own form of rebellion.

“As much as Oliver talks about fate and inevitability,” Jon says, “he still seems to believe in free will to an extent. That we all make choices. When he last spoke to me, he offered me a choice. Now I’m offering one to him.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…” Georgie releases a weary exhale and tosses her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You’re sure this won’t come back to bite you?”

“We have nothing to lose by asking,” Jon says. “And he has nothing to lose regardless of what choice he makes, but… it feels right to at least give him the option. Whatever he decides, I won’t begrudge him for it.”

“Fine,” she says tersely. “Do what you want.”

Jon just barely suppresses a wince. “Georgie?”

“Sorry, that came off as –” Georgie heaves another sigh. “I’m not angry with you. I get it. It makes sense. I just don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“Just… be mindful, alright? You don’t owe him any answers you don’t want to give. And he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt just because you relate to him.”

“I know,” Jon says again.

“I mean it, Jon,” she says sharply. She takes a steadying breath before continuing, more diplomatically this time. “It’s… sweet, I guess, that you want to empathize with him, but you have a tendency to…” Georgie pauses, weighing her words. “I mean, I’ve seen you compare yourself to Helen, too. And Jonah.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone would deny that there are certain… similarities,” Jon says, not quite under his breath.

“Yeah, you’re always going to have something in common with other people if you look hard enough. But sometimes you see the worst in people and you fold it into how you see yourself. Like you’re looking into a funhouse mirror, but you can’t see how the reflection is distorted.” Jon avoids meeting her eyes, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but you have a history of comparing yourself to your abusers. Sorry,” she adds when he flinches, “but it’s the truth, and you need to hear it. Just… think about it, okay? Ask yourself whether this is compassion or if it’s just another way to dehumanize yourself.”

“I –” Jon swallows around the lump in his throat, his mouth gone dry. “Okay, I – I get your point, but – I swear that’s not what this is. With Helen, and – and – and Jonah, it’s – they’ve actually gone out of their way to – to manipulate, to cause real harm. Oliver is different.”

“You were marked by the End,” Georgie says pointedly.

“Yes, but that wasn’t Oliver’s fault. He didn’t hurt me, never tried to trap me or trick me – never pressured me into making one choice over another, even at the end of the world. I really don’t think he’s evil, or sadistic, or – or scheming, weaving some grand web. He’s just watching things unfold, because he had a crash course in the stages of grief forced onto him and the end result was… well, acceptance. He doesn’t fear the End, but he doesn’t worship it, either. He just embodies it, openly and authentically.”

Georgie is silent for nearly a full minute, scrutinizing Jon intently, before she capitulates.

“Alright. I’ll… trust your judgment, I guess,” she says, but she shares a knowing glance with Martin – who looks just as leery as she does – when she says it. “Still, be careful.”

“I, uh… I imagine you don’t want to be here when I talk to him?” Jon ventures, though he’s certain he already knows the answer.

“No,” Georgie says summarily.

Jon releases a breathless chuckle. “Fair enough.”

“I really should be getting home to Melanie, anyway. It’s stay-home date night. Pizza and a movie.” Georgie offers a tentative grin, her shoulders relaxing minutely. “She hasn’t seen the new Ghostbusters yet, somehow – something about having been preoccupied with real paranormal bullshit for the last few years – but I checked and the DVD version has audio description, so I bought a copy. She’d be cross with me if I stood her up for the grim reaper.”

“I imagine so.” Jon tilts his head. “Although, Oliver isn’t actually the–”

“Jon,” Georgie sighs, “I was being facetious.”

When the three of them leave the tunnels, they find Oliver still waiting awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs out of the Archives, Basira standing sentinel nearby. Daisy leans against a far wall, eyeing him from a distance.

Georgie gives a long, doubtful look at Oliver before turning to Jon and offering a hug that he gladly accepts.

“Text me later tonight?” Georgie says. “And keep me updated on your travel plans.”

“Will do. Tell Melanie I said hello. And tell the Admiral he’s a national treasure.”

Georgie snorts at that, shaking her head in amusement before turning towards the stairs. Oliver nearly jumps out of the way as she strides in his direction, but she doesn’t stop to confront him beyond a glare as she passes. A prolonged, awkward minute of silence passes after she leaves, charged with suspicion and tension.

“Tunnels,” Basira says eventually, her tone and expression giving nothing away. She doesn’t wait for a response before stalking off down the hall, Daisy falling in line behind her.

Basira barely waits for the others to take their seats before she launches into her interrogation. Although her eyes remain fixed on Oliver, her first question isn’t directed at him.

“Why is he here, Jon?”

“Like I said, I invited him.” Jon glances at Oliver, apologetic. It feels odd to talk about him as if he isn’t present.

“Why?”

“Mutual curiosity, I expect,” Oliver cuts in, inclining his head towards Jon. “You have questions for me.”

Jon returns a nod. He has ulterior motives, and Oliver knows it. To pretend otherwise would be pointless, not to mention insulting.

“Oliver is an Avatar of the End,” Jon tells the others. “There might be a chance he could tell us how much of what Elias says is true.”

“And what’s the price tag?” Basira asks.

“He has questions of his own. He could tell in the hospital that there’s something… wrong about me. Obviously, I couldn’t talk about it where Elias could hear.”

“You shouldn’t disclose it at all,” Basira says. “If any of it gets back to him –”

“Oliver has no reason to betray our confidence.” Jon’s gaze flicks to Oliver. “Right?”

“Consider me a neutral party,” Oliver replies.

“You’re going to just… take him at his word,” Basira scoffs.

“The End has no Ritual,” Jon says, “and it has no reason to prevent any of the other Entities from successfully pulling off their own Rituals. No matter what happens to this world, the End will claim everything eventually. The when and how are irrelevant to it. In the meantime, the world as-is suits it just fine. It has no desire to postpone or hasten the end of all things.”

“Terminus is what it is,” Oliver agrees. “I have neither the power nor the desire to contradict it.”

“Then why would you help us?” Basira asks.

“I never said that I would.”

“I’m not asking you to actively intervene,” Jon says before Basira can offer a retort. “I just want to talk. That… is why you came here, isn’t it?”

Oliver hesitates for a moment before answering. “Your curiosity must have rubbed off on me.”

Unbidden, Oliver’s statement rushes to the forefront of Jon’s mind: I still remember the first time I tried to touch one…. I don’t know why I did it; I knew it was a stupid thing to do. But I just… maybe I wanted it this way.

“Don’t know about that,” Jon says quietly. “Curiosity is only human.”

And the worst part was that, somewhere in me, I – I liked it, the statement plays on. Underneath all that awful fear, it felt like… home.

“Perhaps,” Oliver says, noncommittal.

“So you’ll tell us what we want to know,” Daisy finally speaks up. Despite her veneer of calm – leaning back in her chair, arms crossed – her bouncing leg belies her agitation.

“It makes no difference to me.” Oliver shrugs. “Though I can’t promise my answers will be satisfying.”

“I still don’t like this,” Basira says, glaring askance at Oliver.

“Look,” Jon says, “this is the only way I can think of to figure out what stakes we’re working with. Jonah has been cheating death for centuries–”

“Jon!” Basira hisses.

“It’s important context,” Jon argues back. “And anyway, it’s going to come up when I tell him my story. It’s not exactly a detail I can gloss over; it’s central to the plot.” He sighs and looks at Oliver. “Elias is Jonah Magnus, the original founder of the Institute.”

Basira throws her hands up with a frustrated snarl. She turns to Daisy for support, but Daisy only offers a sympathetic grimace and a half-shrug.

“I thought there was something odd about him,” Oliver says blandly. “He’s long past his expiration date.”

Daisy snorts at that. Judging from the bemused, almost startled expression on Oliver’s face, he hadn’t expected to garner anything other than aggression from her.

“Whenever one of his vessels is… compromised,” Jon elaborates, “or nearing the end of its usefulness, he takes a new one.”

Recovering from his fleeting bewilderment, Oliver turns his attention back to Jon. “He wouldn’t be the first.”

“Maxwell Rayner and Simon Fairchild,” Basira says.

Oliver nods. “Among others.”

“Does that… I don’t know – offend the End?” Martin asks.

“No,” Oliver says. “They can’t outrun it forever, as so many have discovered firsthand.”

“Like Rayner,” Daisy says.

Once again, Oliver looks thrown off-kilter by Daisy’s diminishing hostility, but he does offer a wary nod in response to her contribution to the conversation. “And in the meantime, their fear of their own mortality ages like a fine wine.”

“Is an unnaturally long life somehow tastier for the End, then?” Martin asks. “I think most of the statements I’ve read about it involved somehow cheating death.”

“Perhaps. If my patron has a conscious mind, it has never spoken to me directly. Everything I know to be true is just… feeling.”

“So it’s as cagey as the other Powers, then,” Daisy says with a derisive chuckle. “Good to know.”

Oliver smooths his hands across his coat, draped across his lap, before glancing at Jon for guidance.

“I gave you a story,” he says reticently. “I would like to hear yours. Then I will answer your questions.”

“Fair enough,” Jon says – and abruptly realizes that he has no idea where to start. “You, uh… you don’t need to hear my whole life story, do you?”

“I did give you an outline of mine,” Oliver says with just a hint of amusement. “I admit I’m curious as to what led you here, but I imagine if you went into detail, we would be here for hours.”

“Much of it doesn’t bear repeating, anyway,” Jon says. “Just the highlights, then?”

“If you please.”

“Right,” Jon mumbles. He takes a deep breath. “Had my first supernatural encounter when I was eight, never got over it, and a combination of lifelong obsession and unchecked curiosity brought me to the Institute. After Gertrude died, Jonah chose me as her replacement because he knew I would be easily molded into the catalyst for his Ritual, and I was.” He looks up. “Is that enough?”

“Which of the Powers marked you first? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“The Web.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you seemed… entangled.”

There’s something… off about you, Oliver had told him when they last spoke. The roots, they look… sick. Wrong. And the threads are – tangled.

It’s possible that Oliver was speaking in metaphor – alluding to the threads of fate, so to speak – but the question has been simmering in the back of Jon’s mind for months…

“When you visited me before,” he blurts out. “You said the Web sent you.”

“Yes,” Oliver says candidly. “Not an explicit command, of course. It was more a… well, a feeling. A tug. The Web usually prefers subtlety, but there are times when it wants its marks to know the hand that moves them.”

“S-so, when you said the threads around me were tangled, was that figurative, or could you… see the Web’s influence?”

“The Spider might make its presence known sometimes, but Terminus doesn’t give me the ability to see the shape of its web any more than the Eye does you.”

“Not unless the Web allows itself to be Seen,” Jon says absently.

Despite how much he could See in his future, the Web always remained something of an enigma. It wasn’t until after his standoff with the Eye that he was able to follow the Spider’s threads.

But then, the Eye hadn’t been the only watcher lurking in the Panopticon. The Web had woven itself into the foundation of that place from its conception, and the Spider made no effort to hide. More than once, it stationed itself where he was sure to notice it. The more he thinks on it, the more he suspects that the ensuing ability to See its threads, to Know where they converged, was as much an allowance by the Web as it was due to his communion with the Ceaseless Watcher.

“When I spoke of threads, I meant more…” Oliver opens and closes his mouth a few times as he struggles with his phrasing. “Well, I’ve not yet found a perfect description for it. Think of a life and fate as… a jumble of intersections. Some people feel like thread-and-nail art. Others feel like a snarled ball of yarn. You,” he adds, looking at Jon appraisingly, “are something of a Gordian knot.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Martin demands, a protective edge in his voice.

“It’s not a compliment or an insult,” Oliver says mildly. “Only an observation. Come to think of it, Gertrude was much the same way. The fates of many hinged on the routes she took. Less of a butterfly effect and more of a hurricane.”

“So you can see fate?” Basira asks. A genuine question, but the flat skepticism in her tone makes it sound rhetorical.

“To a limited extent,” Oliver says haltingly. “I see the near-future as it relates to death specifically. When people near the ends of their routes, I can make out the details of their–”

“Seeing those awful veins crawling into them, into wounds not yet open, or skulls not yet split – they sneak up and into throats about to choke on blood, or lurch into hearts about to convulse – webbed over the face of a drunk old man stumbling into his car – one snaking along the road, over towards the railing – I’ll never forget seeing a field of cows the week before they were sent to the abattoir…”

Jon trails off with a tired groan, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“You have a good memory,” Oliver says.

“Sorry,” Jon mumbles. “Archivist thing. Can’t always control it.”

“S-so,” Martin redirects, “if any of us were about to die, you would be able to see it, right?”

“Yes. But I don’t make a habit of telling fortunes,” Oliver clarifies before Martin can ask. “Knowing your end is coming does nothing to prevent it. It only ensures that you will live your final days in fear.”

“Wouldn’t your patron like that?” Daisy asks.

Basira immediately latches onto that thought. “We have a statement here about a book that tells you how and when you’ll die.”

“Case number 0030912,” Jon cites. “Statement of Masato Murray, regarding his inheritance of an untitled book with supernatural properties. Each time the reader rereads their entry, they’ll find that the recorded date of their future death draws closer and the cause more gruesome.”

“Thanks, spooky Google,” Basira says sardonically. “Who needs an indexing system when we have a walking, talking card catalogue on staff?”

“One of my predecessors in ancient times once filed a complaint with the Eye, aggrieved by all the terrible powers it foisted upon him,” Jon says matter-of-factly, not missing a beat. “Being a benevolent patron, it granted him and all future generations of Archivists a convenience feature as compensation.”

“Smartass,” Basira says, but it sounds almost amiable, and Jon allows himself a tentative smile.

His tolerance for making light of this part of himself tends to be variable. Unpredictable, even. On good days, shared gallows humor is a balm, bringing with it a sense of solidarity and camaraderie; on bad days, even the gentlest dig feels like a barb.

He also tends to be selective about whose teasing he can weather. Martin and Georgie are safe more often than not. Daisy can usually get away with it; she’s prompt to let him in on the joke whenever he doesn’t pick up on her sarcasm. Given how blunt Melanie can be, it at least tends to be obvious when her pointed comments are meant in jest or in umbrage; and anyway, he hasn’t yet spoken to her directly since she quit.

Basira, though – she’s always been difficult to read. They have a similar sense of humor, but part of his brain is still living in a time when she saw the worst in him. No matter how many times he tells himself that things are different now, he can’t quite shake that feeling of being on indefinite probation. Hostile attribution bias, he recognizes, but having a label for it doesn’t make it any easier to silence those perennial fears. It’s only recently that he’s been able to take such joking from her in stride. Not always, but sometimes.

“Anyway,” Basira says, looking back to Oliver, “I take it that book is affiliated with the End. It feeds on the reader’s fear of knowing the details of their death.”

“Almost everyone has some degree of fear regarding mortality – their own or that of others,” Oliver says. “For some, that primal fear permeates their entire lives. Others only spare it any thought when it closes in on them. Terminus feeds on all of it equally. I suspect that active encounters with it are more about…”

“Flavor?” Basira suggests.

“So to speak,” Oliver says. “Welcome variety in its diet, but not necessary to sate it.”

“Which is why its Avatars have such wildly different methodologies,” Jon says, nodding to himself. “Justin Gough was allowed to survive a near-death experience, but acquired a debt that had to be paid in the lives of others, killing them in their dreams. Tova McHugh was granted the ability to prolong her own life by passing each of her intended deaths onto others, adding their remaining lifespans to her own. Nathaniel Thorpe was cursed with immortality after trying to cheat his way out of death. He was only one of many gamblers who played such games of chance–”

“Jon,” Basira sighs, “you don’t have to go through the whole roster of personified death omens.”

“Sorry.”

“So what kind of Avatar are you?” Basira asks, looking Oliver up and down. “How do you feed your patron?”

“For me, Terminus has not been particularly demanding. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because I never attempted to cheat my way out of death. It simply… chose me – or I wandered across its path – and it never left. Thus far, it seems content to have me play the observer.” He glances at Jon. “You can probably understand that.”

“The Beholding isn’t satisfied to have its Archivist simply observe. It wants its knowledge actively harvested, recorded, curated.” Jon huffs, not bothering to contain his disgust. “Processed.”

The conversation lapses into a tense silence for several seconds before Basira changes tack.

“About Gertrude,” she says. “You tried to warn her about her death.”

“Yes,” Oliver replies.

“Why?”

“The evidence of her death snaked its roots all across London – as far as I could see, and perhaps further. At the time, I’d never seen anything like it. Such a sprawling web of repercussions stemming from a single death – I felt like I had to say something. As I expected, it made no difference in the end.”

Jon worries his lower lip between his teeth. “You said the roots surrounding me seemed sick.”

“You saw roots around Jon?” Martin says urgently, jolting up ramrod-straight in his seat.

“They’re… different from the ones I’ve grown accustomed to,” Oliver says slowly. “There’s no light pulsing within them, no life flowing to or from them. And looking at them, it’s almost like…” He frowns, squinting down at the floor as if it might offer up the words he needs. “It’s like they’re there and not there simultaneously. Faded, like an afterimage – one that can only be seen from a certain angle.”

“Okay, and what does that – what does that mean?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I was hoping Jon could shed some light on it,” Oliver says, raising his head to meet Jon’s eyes. “I may not have the same drive to know that you and yours do, but I find myself returning to the question frequently over the past few months.”

“R-right,” Jon says. “Let me just, uh… where to start…”

Jon rubs at this throat with one hand, the other clenching into a fist where it rests on his knee.

“Jon,” Daisy says, “are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I just, uh –” Jon breathes a nervous laugh. “This never gets any easier.”

“Do you want me to say it?” Martin offers, schooling his tone into something approaching calm. His posture remains rigid, though, hands balled into white-knuckled fists in his lap.

“No, it’s fine.” Jon takes a few deep breaths and then looks Oliver in the eye. “In the future, I ended the world.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think the Beholding gave you any precognitive abilities.”

“It, uh – it doesn’t. I didn’t foresee the future, I lived it. For… for a long time, actually, so I –” Jon exhales a humorless chuckle. “I probably meet your definition of past my expiration date.”

Oliver tilts his head, considering.

“Hard to say,” he settles on. “You’re… a bit of a paradox. Feels as if you exist in multiple states at once, and it’s difficult for me to tell which one is true.”

“Maybe all of them are,” Jon says distractedly. “But, I, uh – I eventually found a way to come back to before the change – or, to send my consciousness back, anyway. But only as far back as the coma. I… I wish it had taken me back further – back to the very beginning, though I” – Jon huffs – “I suppose it’s hard to say what counts as the beginning.”

“It depends on how you want to define a beginning,” Oliver says. “In a way, the advent of existence marked the beginning of the end. Everything since then has been just another domino.”

“Well,” Jon begins, but Daisy cuts him off.

“Nope,” she says bluntly. “You go down that semantic rabbit hole and we’ll be here forever.”

“Fine,” Jon says with a petulant sigh. “Anyway, I couldn’t figure out how to wake up on my own, so just like the first time I was here, I had to wait for you to come along and help.”

“I still don’t understand why,” Oliver says.

“Neither do I, I’m afraid.”

“Not to encroach on your sphere of influence, but I think in this case, not knowing the answer might bother me even more than it does you.” Oliver releases a quiet sigh. “So you came back to stop yourself from starting the apocalypse.”

“It’s not like he chose to end the world,” Martin says, immediately leaping to Jon’s defense once more.

“Apologies,” Oliver says with an earnest nod in Martin’s direction. “I didn’t intend to imply otherwise.” He glances at Jon. “I’ve known of many who seek to bring on the end in the hopes that they will be able to choose what shape it takes. You don’t strike me as the sort.”

“No. But Jonah is.” Jon ducks his head as he speaks, fingers twisting in his jumper. “He wanted – wants to rule over a world reshaped in the Beholding’s image. He needed an Archivist with particular qualities to serve as the linchpin of his Ritual. So he created one. By the time he showed his hand, it was too late. I was the key, and Jonah didn’t need my consent in order to open the door.”

“I imagine it didn’t go as he planned,” Oliver says.

“No,” Jon says with a grim laugh. “No, it didn’t. He suffered as much as anyone else did in that reality. It all started because he was afraid of his own mortality, and yet – in the end, he met a fate worse than death.”

“Whatever it was, he deserved it,” Martin mutters.

“Maybe so,” Jon says. “But it was never about deserving. There was some poetic justice there, seeing him brought down by his own hubris, but… at the end of the day, he got the same treatment as anyone else. Just – pointless suffering, utterly divorced from the concept of consequences. Had a way of… diluting the schadenfreude, honestly.”

Martin’s spark of vindication appears to fizzle out as Jon speaks, his shoulders slumping and his eyes softening.

“Regardless,” Jon continues, “Jonah wanted to be a god, but at his core, he was no different from any other human. Fodder for the Fears. And the one he feared the most – it was in no hurry to finish the meal. I imagine by the time Terminus finally came for him in earnest, he would have welcomed it.”

“Those who seek immortality always come to see it as a curse in time,” Oliver says sagely. “When they come to terms with the fact that there is no such thing as a truly immortal existence, it comes as a relief.”

“I walked through your domain once,” Jon says after a pause. “You gave me a statement about the End’s place in that world. The domains were reluctant to let their victims die – they’d bring them to the brink, then revive them and repeat the process – but the Fears are greedy. Eventually, they would suck their victims dry –”

“– bones – every one of them – picked clean and cracked open – desperately gnawing – trying to reach whatever scant marrow might have remained inside – sucked from them to leave nothing but dry, white fragments – the hunger he saw in their eyes–”

Jon bites down on his tongue. That’s quite enough of that.

“You alright?” Martin says, leaning over and putting a hand on Jon’s knee.

“Sorry,” Jon says gruffly. “That one was…”

“Grisly?” Daisy says.

“Yeah,” Jon huffs. “But – not necessarily inapt? That reality was a closed economy. No new people were being born. The ones who already existed were destined to die, no matter how unwilling the other Fears were to grant that release.”

“As has always been the order of things,” Oliver says.

“You predicted that eventually the Fears would start poaching victims from one another’s domains – and they did. There were…” Jon grimaces. “There were a lot of territorial disputes, towards the end there. Domains encroaching on one another, monsters fighting over scraps. The Eye got its fill Watching it all play out, of course, but given enough time, it would have starved, same as all the rest.”

“And once the world was rendered barren,” Oliver says, understanding, “Terminus itself would die.”

Jon nods. “And until that happened, both you and your patron were content to let things play out.”

“Terminus is patient.”

Too patient, Jon thought at the time.

“I don’t think it was your intention,” he says, “but your statement did come as a relief. I already expected as much – that eventually it would all end – but having it corroborated by an authority on the matter was… very welcome.”

“People may fear death,” Oliver says, “but anyone who outruns it long enough finds that there is a much deeper fear hiding underneath – that of having the release of death withheld from them.”

“We have a lot of statements to that tune,” Basira says.

“I imagine so.”

“So,” Daisy says brusquely, “is that enough of a story for you?”

“I suppose,” Oliver says. “Although it raises more questions than it grants answers.”

“Our turn for questions, then?” Basira asks. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “The… veins, or… roots you saw around Gertrude. You’re saying they didn’t just foretell her death, but showed how it would impact everything else. So, what about the ones you saw around Jon?”

“It’s difficult to observe them for any length of time, but they do seem… more sprawling.” Oliver studies Jon for a moment, considering. “Like you are the heart of a watershed moment destined to happen.”

“So that’s it, then,” Jon says dully. “I’m still the spark for it all.”

Pandora’s box with a ‘use by’ date, he thinks to himself, somewhat hysterically.

He already knew it to be true, but that doesn’t make the confirmation any less harrowing. Everything hinges on his ability to keep his head above water, but the fate of the world weighs ever more heavily on his shoulders, pressing down, down, down –

“Does that mean…” Jon hugs his middle, slowly curling in on himself. “Does that mean it’s going to happen again?”

“I cannot say.” If Jon’s not mistaken, Oliver sounds… almost sympathetic. “This is unprecedented. I can only theorize. It’s possible that you’re like Gertrude, and what I see is a premonition. Or maybe the reality you came from still exists, parallel to this one, and it still clings to you. Perhaps it’s a Schrödinger’s cat, and it both does and does not exist, right up until the point where you do or do not bring it into being. Or maybe it doesn't exist, and the roots I see are only… imprints, so to speak. Echoes of a time and place that this world will never overlap.”

“Like trace fossils,” Jon murmurs. “Ghosts.”

“If you like.”

“Could you – could you follow them?” Jon can feel his pulse quicken, his heart thrumming in his throat. “See where they originate?”

“They originate from you.”

“O-oh.” Jon’s gaze darts uncertainly around the area before fixing on Oliver again. “Then, uh – can you see where they end?”

“You have a suspicion,” Basira says, watching Jon carefully.

Jon swallows around the breath caught in his throat. “What if they go back to Hill Top Road?”

“As far as I can tell, they reach out in all directions,” Oliver says. “There may not be a single end point. Regardless, I have no desire to visit Hill Top Road.”

“Oh,” Jon says despondently. It’s not like he expected Oliver to go out of his way to help, but…

“Would it really tell you anything of value anyway?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know,” Jon says, running a hand through his hair, one finger getting caught in a knot and pulling hard at his scalp. “But – but it feels like something I should at least check –”

“To what end?” Daisy asks. Jon looks at her blankly. “No offense, Sims, but the most likely outcome is you get no real answers, you lose yourself obsessing over theories, each more catastrophic than the last, and you spend the next few weeks compulsively checking yourself for spiders. Some things aren’t worth chasing after.”

“I just – I feel like I should know one way or the other –”

“Is that you or the Eye talking?” Martin asks.

“What’s the difference?” Jon says flatly. He immediately regrets it when he glimpses the expression on Martin’s face – a very familiar mixture of concern and frustration. “I’m sorry. Just… I don’t know. I don’t Know.”

Jon tugs on his hair once more, focusing on the dull ache it produces. He’s always had trouble letting things go. Letting questions go unanswered; letting mysteries go unsolved. The Beholding just nurtured that obsessiveness, encouraged that impulse to proliferate in his head like a weed and choke out his inhibitions.

“You’re here now,” Martin says firmly. “You can’t go back, so you may as well go forward.”

“Yeah,” Jon says, guilt heavy and searing in his chest.

“Like I said,” Oliver says, rubbing the back of his neck, “my knowledge of the future is narrow. I can’t tell you anything about parallel universes, or branching timelines, or the ability to alter history. The only certainty is that anything that begins will have an end, one way or another. All the rest is just… details.”

Martin folds his arms across his chest, examining Oliver with narrowed eyes. “You say that like the details are irrelevant.”

“I wonder about that,” Oliver says softly.

“Well, I think our experiences matter,” Martin says. “The fact that we were here at all, it’s… it’s not nothing.”

“Even those who make the greatest impact are forgotten in time.”

“So what? It will always have happened, even if no one is alive to remember it. And – and you never know when something little will have an impact on someone, which contributes to them doing something that makes a greater impact – that changes history.”

“Even time itself will end eventually. History will be forgotten, and nothing will remain to register its loss.”

“And?” Martin persists. “We won’t be around to see it. In the meantime, we’re here. We’re alive. If we’re going to end no matter what, why not make it worthwhile? Sure, there are no equivalent powers of hope and love to counter the Fears, but – but who cares? That just means that we have to make up for that absence.” Jon smiles to himself as Martin builds momentum – shoulders pushed back, chest thrust out, head held higher, speech growing more impassioned as he argues his point. “If a few mistakes and some asshole with a god complex can end the world, who’s to say a few deliberate kindnesses can’t save it?”

“Am I the asshole with the god complex?” Jon says drily. Judging from Martin’s disapproving scowl, he is not in the mood for self-deprecating humor. “Sorry, sorry. But, uh – in all seriousness, I think it was more than a few mistakes on my part–”

“You know what I meant, Jon,” Martin snaps. “And – and fine, maybe a few kindnesses can’t save the whole world, but – but they can save someone’s world. They can save a person. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“Yes,” Jon says with a small smile. “Yes, it does.”

“R-right.” Martin blinks several times, momentarily stunned by the lack of resistance. “It doesn’t change the world – except for how it does. Just – the universe might not care, but we can, and that’s exactly why we should. It’s… it’s what we owe to each other. That’s what I think, at least.”

Martin goes quiet then, arms still folded with a mixture of self-consciousness and sullen defiance.

“How long have you had that rant queued up?” Daisy teases.

“A while,” Martin says, rubbing his arm sheepishly.

“You’re quite the romantic,” Oliver says. He says it like a compliment, albeit somewhat wistful.

“Yeah, well.” Martin blushes at the praise in spite of himself. “Someone has to counter the fatalism around here.”

If you ask Jon, there are many reasons to love Martin Blackwood. This is doubtless one of them.

“Besides,” Martin recovers, apparently on a roll now, “it seems to me there’s as much evidence for fate being changeable as not. Yeah, sure, eventually everything dies, but who’s to say that the details are set in stone? Like – like that book, the one where the details of a person’s death change every time they read it.”

“But does their fate actually change, or is it just the book messing with their heads?” Basira says, tapping her fingers against her lips and looking down at the floor pensively. “If the End has foreknowledge of a person’s death, maybe the last entry a person reads before dying was always their fate, and all the previous accounts were just lies intended to seed fear.”

When Jon opens his mouth to chime in, the Archive seizes the initiative, unceremonious as ever.

"When did it change?” comes the cadence of Masato Murray. “Was it when I turned back to read it again? Or perhaps when I had made the decision to never visit Lancashire? If the book knew the future, then how much did it know me? My decisions and choices were my own, so was it responding to them or simply to the fact that I opened the book again? Perhaps it changed every time I opened it, even if I didn’t read the page, every interaction changing my fate…. When I close the book I wonder: are those same words still there, squatting and biding their time, or have they already changed into some new unknown terror that I can neither know nor avoid, waiting to spring on me.”

Jon holds his breath in anticipation. After a few seconds of suspense, the pressure recedes, the Archive having spoken its peace.

“Archive’s talkative today,” Basira observes.

“Apparently,” Jon grumbles. “What I originally meant to say was that I’ve wondered the same thing – whether the book was really telling the future or simply playing on the fears of the reader.”

“Maybe offering textual support is another convenience feature?” Daisy keeps her tone carefully neutral, gauging his mood.

“The Beholding is known for being exceedingly generous,” he retorts.

Basira ignores the banter and speaks directly to Oliver. “Do you know?”

“I’m unfamiliar with the book in question,” he replies. “All the deaths I’ve personally foreseen have come to pass so far. That says nothing about whether or not the End always reveals the truth to all who cross its path.”

“Right.” Basira shakes her head. “Not sure why I expected a straightforward answer.”

“Maybe there isn’t one,” Martin says. For a fraction of a second, Basira tenses. Jon suspects she’s just as repulsed by such a prospect as he is.

“Whatever,” she says curtly. “It isn’t important right now. What I want to know is how to deal with Jonah Magnus. So” – she pins Oliver in place with sharp, unblinking eyes – “what can you tell us about his mortality?”

“In short? He won’t live forever, regardless of how much he wants to deny that reality.”

“Yeah, you’ve said,” Daisy says, tossing her head back with an impatient groan. “Him dying eventually doesn’t help us now.”

“I’m not a mind-reader,” Oliver says. “If there’s more to your question, you’ll need to elaborate. What are you actually asking? How to kill him? For me to tell you whether his death is on the horizon?”

“Jonah claims that he’s the ‘beating heart of the Institute,’” Jon explains. “He says that if he dies, everyone else who works here dies as well. You were able to see the ripples created by Gertrude’s death. I suppose I thought – maybe you could tell us if there’s something similar with Jonah.”

“If his death was imminent, perhaps.” Oliver averts his eyes as he twists a ring around his finger, growing increasingly tense under such concentrated scrutiny. “But as I said before, I don’t make a habit of telling fortunes.”

“So you won’t tell us,” Martin says.

“To be frank, this place is rife with potential.” Oliver casts his gaze around the area, as if seeing something the others cannot. “It would be… difficult to untangle it all.”

“Fine,” Basira says tartly. “Then can you tell us whether it’s possible for him to set up a dead man’s switch in the first place? Seems to me something like that would be the End’s domain, wouldn’t it?”

“It would.”

“Then would he be able to exercise any real power over it?” Basira persists. “There’s nothing inherent to the Eye that suggests its Avatars should be able to bind others’ lives to them. Even the Archivist doesn’t work like that – we’re linked to Jon as far as being unable to quit goes, but we won’t die if he does. I think it’s more likely that Jonah did something extra to bind the Institute to himself.”

“Assuming he’s even telling the truth,” Daisy says.

“So, is there an artefact that could let him do it?” Basira asks, still staring Oliver down. “A ritual? A favor from an affiliate of the End, maybe?”

“Terminus has a variety of ways in which it operates,” Oliver says cagily, “same as all the other Powers. I don’t seek out instances of those manifestations. Given the sheer number of statements collected here, it's likely you’re all more familiar with the breadth of its influence than I am.”

“You’re very helpful,” Daisy scoffs.

Oliver hunches his shoulders, chastised. It’s an odd sight – Jon wouldn’t have expected him to be particularly affected by such an accusation. Oliver never promised to be helpful; does not owe them his cooperation. Before Jon can pursue that thought any further, though, Oliver continues.

“I will say that Terminus is its own master. Those who believe they have tamed it are only fooling themselves. Orchestrating their own misery. The moment in which they finally realize that fact – that they have never had the upper hand, that the entire time they have never strayed from the route to which Terminus binds them…” Oliver chews the inside of his cheek, considering. “The existential terror that moment creates – I wonder sometimes whether it’s a delicacy to my patron.”

“Sounds a lot like the Web,” Basira says. The suggestion must pique his interest, because Oliver sits up straighter and leans forward ever so slightly.

“Except the Web reviles its extinction as much as the other powers, and as much as any mortal mind,” he says – not quite excited, but more engaged than before. “Terminus, on the other hand – its eventual oblivion is part and parcel of its existence. It does not fear the conclusion of its story. The Web will never surrender to such a fate. It will always seek an escape route, some way to appoint itself the weaver of its own ends. Its threads can never stray from the confines of the routes dictated by Terminus, but the concept that it may itself be under the guidance of another… such a thing is incompatible with its definition. Still, the shape of the Spider’s web will always mirror the blueprints of a greater architect.”

“And you think the same is true for Jonah,” Jon says.

“I know it is.”

“Okay, but – but Jon changed fate,” Martin protests. “In a million little ways – some we probably don’t even know about – and some big ones, too. So who’s to say that every step of the route is part of the End’s blueprints? What if – hold on.”

Martin stands and moves to Jon’s makeshift desk, rummaging around for a few seconds before coming up with a pen. He snatches one of Melanie’s therapy worksheets from the top of the pile and turns it over to the blank side.

“What if the only things set in stone are – are certain points along the route,” he says, scribbling a scattering of dots across the page, “but all that matters is that the route eventually intersects with those points?” Martin connects two points with a wavy, sine-like line. “Maybe it doesn’t even matter how convoluted” – he draws another line, this time with several loop-de-loops – “or long” – yet another line, this one traveling all the way up to the top of the page and making several winding turns before plunging back down to connect with the next dot – “the path is.” He holds up the finished product for everyone to see. “As long as the dots connect, the rest is free reign.”

“I like to think that choice plays a role,” Oliver says. “That fate is less of a track and more of a guideline. But honestly, there’s no way to know for certain. I only know the end point. The rest is speculation.”

“It’s also possible that the rift brought me to an alternate reality,” Jon says, eyes downcast. “If the reality of my original timeline still exists, I haven’t changed fate at all. I’ve just jumped to a different track.”

“Okay, and if that’s the case, and this is a different dimension,” Martin says heatedly, “then that means it has its own timeline and its own future, and whatever happened in your future has no bearing on ours.” Martin glares, daring Jon to argue. He doesn’t. “So it’s a moot point. If we can’t know one way or the other whether the future is already written, then let’s just act as if it isn’t. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best. At least then it will feel meaningful.”

“The worst isn’t something you can prepare for,” Jon says darkly. “Trust me, I know.”

“If I want ominous proverbs, I’ll let you know,” Martin immediately counters – and Jon loves him for it. Daisy chokes on a startled laugh; Martin ignores her, instead pivoting to face Oliver. “We want to kill Jonah Magnus. Or, at least make it so he can’t perform his Ritual. But preferably kill.”

“Never realized you were so bloodthirsty, Blackwood,” Daisy says approvingly.

“The world will be a better place without him in it,” Martin says without a hint of indecision, not looking away from Oliver. “Jonah’s original body is in the center of the Panopticon. Except his eyes, because apparently transplanting them into innocent people is how he cheats death, because of course it is, why wouldn’t it be some messed up–”

“Martin,” Basira sighs.

“Okay, fine, moving on,” Martin sasses back. “It makes me wonder, would destroying his original body hurt him, or do we need to destroy his original eyes as well, or would destroying just his eyes be enough? And – and would it kill him, or just – blind him, disconnect him from the Beholding? Or – or would that kill him, because the Beholding is what’s keeping him alive?”

“Your guesses are as good as mine,” Oliver says. “Much of this really does come down to speculation and thought experiment, and it seems you’ve done plenty of that amongst yourselves already. I’m afraid that the only certainty I can offer is the certainty of an ending, and I don’t think that’s as much of a consolation to you as it is to me.”

“No, it’s not,” Martin says.

“But, uh – thank you for your honesty,” Jon jumps in. “For trying.”

“I really do wish I had better answers for you,” Oliver says, not quite meeting his eyes. “The End is… somewhat of an echo chamber at times. When you’re already on the inside looking out, it can be… difficult, to shift perspective.”

“I wouldn’t be able to offer many straightforward answers about my patron, either,” Jon admits.

“Wait,” Martin says. “Could you… could you at least tell us whether you can see anything about our deaths?”

Oliver draws in a deep breath and releases it slowly. “In my experience, there’s nothing to be gained from such knowledge.”

“Tell us anyway,” Basira says.

“Why?” Oliver says tiredly, his hands curling into loose fists. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because if you can see something, it could help us narrow down possibilities,” Basira replies. “If you see all of us dying in the same way, maybe it means we all die when Magnus does.”

“Or it just means you all die in the same freak accident.”

“Wait, do we?” Martin asks, his voice pitching higher in alarm.

“It was just an example,” Oliver says, scrubbing one hand down his face. “I’m just saying that this kind of knowledge doesn’t tend to give people the answers that they want.” Met with nothing but four determined stares, his shoulders sag in defeat. “Are you all certain you want to know?”

Everyone nods. Oliver equivocates for a full minute, rubbing at his forehead in complete silence. Eventually, he releases a long, low sigh.

“Right now,” he says, “I don’t see death closing in on any one of you.”

“Shit,” Martin says on a heavy exhale. “The way you were putting it off, I was sure you were going to predict a massacre.”

“Honestly,” Daisy mutters. “Bury the lead much?”

Jon ignores them, preoccupied with the implications of Oliver's revelation. If they were planning on killing Jonah tomorrow, it would say nothing about whether they were to succeed, but it would suggest they don’t die in the process, which would at least offer some reassurance going in. But Jon has no idea when they’ll be able to execute any sort of plan. This only confirms that none of them are likely to die in the next few weeks – and that’s assuming that Oliver’s premonition is accurate. Up until now, his predictions have come true, but there’s a first time for everything.

Judging from the contemplative frown on Basira’s face, she’s running through the same calculations.

“How far out can you see?” she asks.

“It varies,” Oliver says. “Weeks, usually. Sometimes months.”

“And it could change in a few weeks,” Daisy says.

“It could change tomorrow. It could change an hour from now.” Oliver looks between the four of them with a faint, melancholy smile. “I did warn you that it wouldn’t offer much sense of security. It only makes you want to know more.”

“Look where you are,” Basira scoffs.

“Point taken,” Oliver says with a startled laugh. “But honestly, ask yourself whether it’s all that different from Masato Murray and his book. If it’s worth living your life around the question of when and how – especially when the answer, should you receive one, will never put your mind at ease.”

“Just to be clear, ah – was I included in that prophecy? Or do you still see the veins around me?” Jon asks. Oliver raises his eyebrows. “I know, I know – the answer won’t satisfy me. Just – humor me?”

“Yes,” Oliver sighs, “I can still see them, if I look for them, but as we covered quite exhaustively, they look atypical and wrong and I don’t know what to make of them.” A tinge of indignation breaks through Oliver's characterisic mild manner – and then the moment passes. “I don’t think they indicate an imminent demise, but much about you is an enigma.”

“And there’s nothing else you can tell us about Jonah Magnus?” Basira asks.

“It isn’t a matter of if he can be killed, but how. Unfortunately, you’ll have to figure that part out for yourselves. As for whether or to what extent he could bind his fate to the rest of the Institute… there are any number of strange phenomena and improbable feats in this world. I would never claim to be an authority on the scope of it all.” Oliver offers another wistful ghost of a smile. “I’m afraid you might just have to take a leap of faith.”

Again, Jon thinks with an inward sigh.

But at least he can say he’s had practice.

End Notes:

Citations for Jon’s Archive-speak are as follows: MAG 011; 011; 168; 121; 156; 070. The “I still remember the first time…” & “And the worst part was that…” Oliver quotes are from MAG 121.

Yes, “what we owe to each other” is a nod to The Good Place.

So. This… was a beast of a chapter, and the last half of it really kicked my ass, which is why it’s taken so long to finally finish it. Still not sure how I feel about it – it’s a bit of a digression, but I’m hoping it still fits in thematically. Either way, next chapter we’re moving on to Ny-Ålesund.

Hopefully it won’t take me an entire month this time to write the next chapter, but… we’re down to two episodes left, folks. Chances are, next time I update, we’ll have heard the series finale. Are you all ready? Because I categorically am NOT. aaaaaaaaa

(That said, I already have a handful of epilogue standalone fics planned for this AU once the main story is done. Because hurt/comfort and recovery fics are going to be at the top of my hierarchy of needs once Jonny Sims destroys me in two weeks, I s2g.)

Thanks for reading!

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

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