#in the fic that i read last night harding was doing chief's nails for him and it was so cute

[irimarzz]

smth that I didn't know that I needed until I read a fic last night was some sort of friendship between harding & chief . like ugh that'd be so sweet. little scenario of chief being so obviously head over heels for mack because duh and everyone can see how he's changed and harding notices and realizes it's because chief is so gay and he feels an intense solidarity with him and this urge to help him and make him feel secure in his feelings because no one was ever there for Him when he realized he was gay so he wants to be there for chief . but it's hard to really form that connection since harding assumes that chief is deaf but he tries anyway because he just wants so badly to have another queer friend and he wants to see things turn out good for chief n mack . sigh

[vraisetzen]

hiii i absolutely love your work! i’ve reread your fics like a thousand times 😭😭 could you maybe write about michikatsu/koku x reader in a modern office setting?

𝑨 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝑫𝒂𝒚'𝒔 𝑵���𝒈𝒉𝒕 – 𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕

Summary: A late night with Section Chief Kokushibo reveals a lot more about him and yourself than you realised.

Tags: Slightly suggestive, Pining, Modern AU (Non-Kimetsu Gakuen).

Author's Note: I'm sorry this took so long! I've hit a dry spell lately with writing, but I didn't want to disappoint all of you lovelies who sent in these wonderful requests, so I just spent a little more time making sure things were alright. There's no smut here, but I thought it would be cute to envision Koku in a modern, but non-KimeGaku setting!

You felt the gust of wind comb through your hair, before the inevitable smack of the papers on your desk as your manager bore down on you.

"What is this?" Kibutsuji Muzan demanded, running his thumb across the pages before letting the annual financial records for the company flop down on your table once more.

"Your errors have just cost us our budget forecast for the next two years; do you realise the shitstorm you have gotten our entire department into?" Muzan continued while you dropped your gaze, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fought the scorching heat burning through your cheeks. The office had gone painfully quiet, while you combed through the disarrayed thoughts in your head for an explanation.

The thing was, you could not remember what it was exactly that you had done wrong — Daki and Gyutaro had thrown you into the lion's den without so much an instruction for what it was the higher-ups needed, and it was not until you pestered Douma, your desk neighbour, by way of a strawberry frappucino trenta and a half-baked cheesecake did he finally told you that you just need to analyse the P&L statements against the EBITDA figures, while considering last year's debt to equity ratios, dummy.

And clearly, judging by how the blond had gone strangely silent as he tapped away on the instant messaging window on his laptop — you could not help but wonder if this was all part of an elaborate hazing ritual, with you as the newest arrival to this company, not knowing anyone or if they were being sincere with their every word and deed.

"I want this done by tomorrow morning," Muzan ordered, barely giving you a moment to collect your thoughts.

"But-!" Your eyes strayed to the towering stack of papers as it swayed and slumped over your desk, numerical figures splashing across the table.

"I won't have any excuses," Muzan said, his turning on his heel. There was a coldness to the sharpened edge of his tone that promised a something more than a reprimand should you decide to speak back, and you let your words wither in indignation and frustration on the back of your tongue and you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat.

This wasn't fair. None of it was. Your eyes swept with accusation to Daki, who had reverted her attention the glass file as she studied the gel tips of her nails, and her brother who slumped over his desk, his weed-like hair covering his eyes from your gaze.

"Kokushibo," Muzan ordered as he fished his jacket from his chair and fixed it over his shoulder, the sleeves swishing around his sides as the wings of a bat. "I'll be out to meet some clients today. Make sure everything's in order."

"Yes, sir," Kokushibo replied, fixing his reading glasses as he walked the division chief to the door.

Mumbles of Take care, buchō and Thank you for your hard work, buchō purled through the office as Muzan took his leave with nary a glance back at his juniors. As soon as he was out of earshot, however, the office burst into life once more as Douma stretched his arms like a prima donna belting the final notes of a torch song, and announced:

"Drinks! Who wants drinks?"

"Oh, me!" Daki exclaimed, tossing the file into her handbag and snapping it shut. "I heard there's a new spot just around the corner."

"The Thirsty Fish?" Gyokko asked, his wide, slimey eyes bulging further than ever as he considered the offer. "Count me in."

"Akaza?" Douma flounced over to the desk opposite his, and was met with a blast of arctic chill as Akaza packed his gym duffle and left without a single word. "Oh well — guess it'll be me, Daki-chan, Gyokko, Hantengu-"

"-You guys can go ahead," Hantengu creeped across the office, cradling the bump on his head. "I don't feel too well."

"Okay, then me, Daki-chan, Gyokko, Gyutaro — and Kokku-chan! Wouldn't you like to join us? For the first time in a million years?"

"No," Kokushibo said, who returned to his desk with a set of ring files piled high in his arms. "And you will refer to me by my name only."

Douma inhaled sharply through clenched teeth at the jab. "So, that was charming," he noted, before turning to you. Your eyes dropped back to the documents on your table, your stomach churning in anger at their flippant exchange.

"And you..." Douma's fingers danced across the top of your monitor, skipping along the line of trinkets that you have secured in place. "Will stay here and finish your work, won't you?"

He tipped over the last trinket — two rabbits perched on a crescent moon, a good luck charm your best friend gave you as a graduation gift — sending it on a loud thud on your desk. "Oops!"

Without so as an apology, Douma slung his briefcase over his shoulder and joined the rest of the crew, their giggles and cackles filling up the hallway in a haunting jeer. You kept your gaze on the fallen ornament, a torrent of irritation and disgust tossing in your gut. Reluctantly, you gathered the files in your hands, and flipping through them without much thought for the figures that laid within it.

Where should you start? You had no idea where things went wrong. A glance at the clock on the wall told you it was past dinner time; you should be so fortunate if you could leave the office for breakfast tomorrow...

"Show me the files."

A shadow fell over your desk as you gazed up to find Kokushibo hulking over your desk. Taken aback by his sudden appearance, you shrank into your seat.

"You don't need to stay, Kokushibo-kachō," you stuttered, as he held out a hand expectantly for the documents. "It's my mistake, after all."

"And how do you intend on fixing that?" Kokushibo raised a skeptical brow before grabbing a stack from the dizzying tower of accounts and records. "You'd be lucky to go through half the stack before the sun rises."

And before you could protest, he began sorting through the pages himself, long fingers leafing through years of backlogs and data entries. You watched as he, with impossible efficiency and precision, surveyed through the figures, his eyes scanning between the lines of numbers. Around three-quarters through the files, he tutted, and pulled out Douma's chair to sit next to you.

The heat of Kokushibo's body radiated from his pressed suit; it rose in palpable waves as you sank back to your seat, angled towards him to receive any directions. There was a warm and pleasant scent about him; something clean and mossy and green like the morning mist that drifted along a still lake.

You have never exchanged more than two words with your section chief prior to this, your interactions limited to polite greetings and acknowledgements when you bumped into him in the hallway — there was something elusive about him from which you could not quite tear your eyes away. More than his impressive height and cascading ponytail, Kokushibo's controlled calm made him both intimidating and intriguing; a subject of much speculation and interest on your part.

"I'm going to mark out the mistakes while you'll key the right figures into the spreadsheet," he told you. "Pen?"

In the haze of his presence, you were slow to take in his words, your hands reaching more like clockwork than any conscientious effort for your stationery cup. Dimly, you noticed a glint of impatience flaring across Kokushibo's eyes, and he cut across your outstretched fingers to fetch the pencil for himself.

You jumped, the static between the contact of your fingers sending electricity up your arms and into the pulses of your heart like an ungelled defibrillator. His hand had been warmer than your expected; you thought that perhaps they would be cold like his words and exterior — a man who spared few words and even fewer displays of emotion, who turned the clogs and gears of this department as a well-oil machine, a commandeer that navigated the inclement disposition of Kibutsuji Muzan with a face and heart of stone.

Kokushibo, meanwhile, was unaffected, engrossing himself with the task in silence. With precision and accuracy, he marked out where you had first made your mistake, the flourish of his wrist making sharp, scratching noises on the paper. One by one, you noted every correction into your laptop, the cells churning out a different set of numbers that cascaded to the end of the table.

How would the rest of him feel, you wonder? What laid beneath that steely exterior, those muted expressions and sparse words. Could you find warm flesh and blood, a rapturous passion waiting to unfurl for the right person? From the corner of your eye, you studied the way his sinew twisted beneath his forearms as he scribbled on the paper; Kokushibo was a strong man — you have seen him heft boxes and lift ladders during the department's annual spring cleaning.

He could easily carry you too, and hold you close to him as you trembled beneath his cool gaze and wide frame. The strands of his layered tresses would tumble over his shoulder as he trapped you under his body, tickling your cheeks. Your breath would hitch as you caught his wandering gaze. anticipating the moment when he would peel open your clothes, dragging his calloused fingertips over your soft skin, and down to where you–

"What is it?" Kokushibo asked, noticing how you had fallen silent, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You blinked, embarrassed at having been caught with your thoughts adrift; hopefully they had not been plastered across your face for him to read. Shifting in your chair, you crossed your legs and straightened your back. "Nothing; sorry."

Suddenly conscious of every movement you made, you kept yourself a few significant inches away from him, eyes fixed on the numbers that melted into a puddle of fluster and discomposure.

The parting of the Red Sea. The walls of Jericho.

"You ought to conduct yourself with a little more resolve if you wish to continue working here," Kokushibo noted, continuing with the papers.

"Ah?" You looked up at him again — against the brilliant beacon of light from the lamp on Douma's desk, his profile stood partially in shadow as an eclipsed moon. Breathlessly rare and hopelessly distant. "Yes, kachō."

"Don't count on Douma or the others for help either, things don't work that way around here."

"Yes, kachō," was all you could offer again, although for good measure, you added: "Thank you for helping me."

"I'm not doing this for you," Kokushibo remarked, hardly missing a beat. His eyes were still on the papers as the tip of his pen tapped in an off-rhythm on the pages. "This is for the sake of our branch, and that man."

Of course, you reminded yourself. The bigger picture. You were well aware of what Muzan had told you when you applied for this role in this company: the cutthroat world of finance and banking, his mysterious and inexplicable rivalry with Division Chief Ubuyashiki Kagaya of the Wisteria branch. In this office, there was no such thing as camaraderie; even with Kokushibo's help as the both of you finished the night's task with three hours to sunrise, you knew it would be foolish for you to believe there was any goodwill behind his assistance.

Your task was crunching numbers and pushing papers, after all — whatever fantasy you could conjure from their inanimate form was pure shadow puppetry, fictive and speculative.

But there was a small part of you that held out for the momentary thrill of heat when Kokushibo's fingers brushed against yours — it could grow into an inferno, melting away at the frost and uncover what is beneath: flesh, and something tantalising still.

Yet, as you placed the stack of documents on Muzan's desk for his vetting the next morning, and trailed behind Kokushibo out of the office, he felt so near and so out of reach, as if the warmth on your fingertips was no more than the refracted brilliance of the cold moonlight.

The elevator was silent as it skimmed downwards, and you trained your eyes on your muddled reflection in its brushed steel doors; meanwhile Kokushibo had traded his glasses for a pair of shades, and it was difficult to tell on where his eyes were focused. In the enclosed space, his presence was enveloping and fervid, the cloud of his cologne now flooding your lungs with every small puff of air you dared yourself to take. Him, everywhere and anywhere — if you had only the nerve to take a single step forward.

Taking a deep breath, you said: "Thank you for helping me tonight, kachō. I hope I didn't inconvenience you in any way."

He hummed gruffly at your words. "Just don't make the same mistake twice."

His stolid answer left you a little dumb, and as you wracked your mind for something to say, the elevator doors yawned opened as it reached the basement carpark — there were only a few cars left, stragglers who were sharing a similar fate as you two. The heels of Kokushibo's shoes echoed in soft clacks as he stepped out of the lift; you prepared to dip your head in a bow when he placed his hand on the doors, keeping them ajar.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Kachō?" you asked, apprehensive. Your eyes raked over his face and tinted glasses, unable to read his expression.

"It's late; the stations have closed," he said matter-of-factly. He's offering you a ride home, you deduced — it was tantalising, though with this surprising advance, any pluck you just summoned to initiate conversation evaporated into thin air.

In a brief second of clarity, you found your thoughts in disarray, scattered as the numbers you left behind in the office. Much as you would love to test your hypothesis, you were in no state to behave rationally or with resolve; there was no telling if you might do anything out of impulse or foolishness, and risk finding by next morning a box on your desk, with a letter of dismissal typed in Times New Roman, font size 12.

"Oh, I couldn't impose," you took a step backward into the elevator, itching to jab at the buttons to close the door.

From over the top of Kokushibo's glasses you can see a brow raise in question. He must think you were stupid for passing up such an offer; knowing him, he probably was cognisant of where you lived from your application letter. An hour walk home in the cold night from the business district to the outskirts of town was something only someone as foolish as you would do — and he would know that part of you all too well.

It would do nothing to help with his impression of you: meek, scatter-brained, but it was the right thing to do, you tried telling yourself — the two of you were colleagues; specifically, Kokushibo was your senpai, one you were supposed to hold at a professional distance. To breach to ocean and tear down those walls would be a gross misconduct on your part.

"Fine," he said, removing his hand from the doors and letting them close as he turned away without a second glance back at you.

And you felt the ground give way beneath your feet, the cool robotic voice announcing the floor that you were headed; you slumped on the cool railings lining the walls of the elevator, hating yourself.

...To be continued?

Thank you for reading!

For my longer writings, visit my AO3 here.

[honeypiehotchner]

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- chapter twenty-two

I’m liking this two updates a week schedule because I hate leaving you guys hanging like that!! I hope this chapter makes it all better xx.

Oh btw the title of this chapter and last chapter are lyrics from “Hold On” by Chord Overstreet! (Also I know the gif is irrelevant but the ~emotion~ of it is relevant)

ALSO (wow I have a lot I keep forgetting to add) I meant to @ her last chapter, but all of these medical scenes and things were 100% done with the help of @thedumpsterqueen​ because I know next to nothing about all this stuff and she was an angel and let me ask all the crazy questions <333 (P.S. she has a Hotch fic called Standards of Performance on her blog that you guys should alllll read if you haven’t already!! It’s SO good it’s one of my favorites)

Warnings: angst and sadness, but that’s pretty much it

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Two: I can’t imagine a world with you gone

Everything is a blur in Hotch’s mind before and after the first gunshot rings through the air. He didn’t need to hear the buzzing in his ear to know it had hit you.

He took off at a sprint, as did the rest of the team.

His ears are ringing. His thoughts are racing. He’s never been a man who talks frequently to God, but he’s praying. Hoping you’re alive. Begging you to not be dead.

Aaron would never forgive himself if you died. As it stands, though, he won’t ever forgive himself for this.

Prentiss, Reid, and Rossi take off in one direction. Hotch and Morgan take the other. Police officers fill the gaps and follow behind, everyone searching for you and Savannah.

Morgan is the first to stumble on the room. His throat aches when he screams for Hotch, keeping his weapon aimed at Savannah.

“Put the gun down!” Morgan yells.

Hotch comes skidding to a stop in the doorway a second later, weapon raised, but his eyes are focused on you. Savannah’s boot is pressing into your thigh, blood oozing from your wound, soaking your pants, spilling onto the concrete. Hotch’s heart drops at the sight. He’s seen enough bullet wounds to know how much blood should come from them. That is too much.

The bullet must’ve hit the major artery. And the thought terrifies him.

Morgan takes the shot when Savannah refuses to move. It hits her stomach and she stumbles for a moment before falling. Morgan yells for the paramedics again, distantly thinking they should be in here by now.

Hotch falls to the ground beside you, his hands cupping your face, not caring who sees. His thumbs tap your cheeks, willing you to open your eyes. You have a pulse, but it’s weak. Weaker than what it should be.

He presses hard over your wound, hoping to slow the bleeding, but there’s more surrounding your leg than he wants to see.

“Y/N?” He says, his eyes watching your eyelids for any movement. He lets out a momentary sigh of relief when your eyes open. “Y/N, please, can you hear me?”

You stare back at him, no signs of his words registering in your eyes. They’re empty. Haunted, again, but for a different reason this time. This time it’s different. “Aaron…”

“I’m here,” Hotch says gently, pressing his hand harder, his heart breaking when you groan in pain. “I know,” he says, shushing you.

Your eyes travel around the room then, and Aaron follows. Morgan is pressing his hand over Savannah’s wound, speaking into his wrist, asking the others where the hell the paramedics are at.

But Aaron doesn’t want you to see that, so he cups your jaw again, turning your eyes back on him. He smiles as best he can, the tears beginning to spill from his eyes as he takes in your face.

“There’s my girl,” he says softly. “Keep holding on. They’re almost here.”

“Aaron,” you try to say, your voice low and strained, and Aaron shakes his head, trying to get you to stop talking. “Aaron...I don’t wanna go without-- I need to tell you that I--”

“Shhh,” he tries again, not wanting you to waste any energy. “You don’t need to.”

“I love you,” you finally get it out. And he’s stunned to complete silence and tears. “I love you so...so much. It hurts.”

“Y/N,” he says, panicked. Your eyes are closing. “Y/N! Come back, Y/N, come back to me. Y/N. Y/N, please.”

Hotch is too caught up in holding your face and keeping pressure on your wound to notice the paramedics have arrived. One team goes to Savannah, relieving Morgan, while the other comes to you, trying to usher Hotch away, but he doesn’t budge.  

“Hotch,” Morgan tugs on the unit chief, grabbing at his arms, his heart breaking for the both of you. “Hotch, you need to let them get to her.”

Reluctantly, Hotch backs up, clenching his bloodied fist, grimacing at the way your blood sticks his skin together.

Everything else is a blur.

What does it need to be clear for, anyway? If you’re not here?

+++

You’re still in surgery.

It’s been an hour. But it feels longer. It feels like it’s been an entire twenty-four hours.

The entire team has taken up camp in a waiting room at the hospital.

Reid is reading and rereading every magazine he can get his hands on to distract himself, never mind the fact that he reads them so fast that he rips a page on one from turning it so quickly. Morgan has Garcia on the phone and has left to get coffee at least three times, the first time returning with a tray of steaming cups and the next two times returning with only one, but two tearful eyes. Emily has been pacing and will wear a hole into the tile at this rate if she walks for another hour. JJ has been staring at the wall, chewing so hard on the inside of her cheek that she flinches when she draws blood.

Rossi has been staring at the wall, too, but mostly he’s been worrying about and watching Hotch.

Aaron has been biting his nails, tugging at his hair, angrily wiping away tears, and left once to go on a walk before returning two minutes later, asking if they had heard anything. Those two minutes had felt like two hours and he was worried sick for all 120 seconds that he missed something.

Dave hasn’t tried to say anything to Aaron, though he wants to. It’s heartbreaking to watch Aaron like this.

You’re going to pull through. Dave — and the rest of the team — can’t afford to think otherwise. And they refuse to think otherwise, unable to imagine what it would be like if you weren’t here.

But it seems like Aaron is thinking otherwise.

Truthfully, he is. But he’s thinking about so much more.

You love him. You love him. You love him.

And he was too stunned to say it back. The one chance he had, and it might be gone now. Ripped away. Forever.

He sent you in there. He did this to you. He had his reservations, but the call had already been made. You seemed so sure. You wanted to do this so badly. He didn’t want another fight about him not trusting you because it’s not about his trust for you, it’s about how terrified he was for you.

He’ll never forgive himself for this now. Not ever.

It’s a world he can’t even bear to imagine. One without you in it.

Yet here he is, grappling with the fact that he might not have to imagine it soon. He sent you in there. He knowingly put your life in danger. And now he’ll have to live with the consequences.

+++

Aaron is shaken from his trance by the doctor and a nurse coming in to inform the team that you’re out of surgery and that it went well.

But you’re in the ICU.

“She lost a great deal of blood,” the doctor says gravely. “But we think she’ll pull through. She just needs to be watched closely for the time being.”

Everyone nods silently, not sure of what else to say, other than feeling relief that you’re alive.

“Visiting hours are long over, so I recommend you all get some rest,” the nurse says. “She’s in good hands here.”

“Thank you,” Rossi replies.

The doctor excused himself, but the nurse stayed, offering to answer any extra questions. “Visiting hours start at seven a.m.,” she says first. “And in the ICU, only two visitors are allowed in her room at a time.” She doesn’t voice an apology, but one is in her tone as she glances between the six team members.

“Can I stay?” Hotch blurts out of nowhere. The team member’s heads all turn to look at him in surprise. “Can anyone stay the night, I mean.”

“Uh, yeah,” the nurse nods. “One person can.” Her eyebrows furrow sincerely. “Are you her dad?”

Morgan internalizes a snort.

“No,” Hotch replies kindly. “I’m not, but I’d like to stay. I’m her boss.”

Still the nurse looks skeptical. “Would she be okay with—”

“She’s his girlfriend,” Emily blurts out, tired of waiting. And when Hotch sends her a look, she says, “What? It would’ve taken you hours to say it.”

“Oh,” the nurse chuckles, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. Yes, of course you can stay.”

Hotch lets a tiny smile shine through, but it’s not much. Truth is, he’s terrified to see you. But leaving you here alone – even if this is a hospital – terrifies him more.

The rest of the team says goodbye to head back to the hotel for some much-needed rest, if they can sleep at all. They know they’ll wake every couple hours to worry about you before sleep consumes them once more.

In the meantime, Hotch will be here to look after you for all of them. You’re like a little sister to the rest of them, even though Morgan is the only one to have voiced that. You’re loved here. Loved more than you’ll ever be able to comprehend.

You’re loved by Aaron much more than he’ll ever be able to articulate to you. But he’ll try. He’ll try to help you see.

+++

Hotch is finally walking to your room in the ICU after another half hour of waiting. The nurse said they had to get everything settled in your room before he could come back, which only made Hotch’s worry spike even more.

But eventually, he’s in your room with you. A pillow and blanket is in the chair by the window, but he’s not paying attention to it.

You. You’re asleep, of course, and probably will be for a few more hours. The nurse said you had already woken up once, but because of the pain medicine and the overall stress your body has been under in the past few hours, you fell back to sleep almost instantly.

Tears well in his eyes at the sight of you, laid up in the hospital bed, IVs and wires all over you. The beeping of the heart monitor is the only real sign to him that you’re even alive. Your chest is rising and falling, but it’s barely visible underneath the gown and blankets and wires.

You have one regular IV placed on the top of your left hand. Some other line is in your upper arm, and another in your wrist. He has no idea what they’re all for, he just knows he hates seeing you connected to so much.

Aaron wipes at his eyes angrily. Does he have a right to be this upset when he’s the one who sent you in there?

He turns and sets the pillow and blankets in the other chair, knowing he won’t sleep tonight even if he wanted to. Instead, he pulls the chair closer to your bed, where he can place his hand next to yours.

And, if you happen to wake up, you can reach for him if you need to.

+++

Three hours pass and you still haven’t woken up. Aaron knows. He’s been watching you the entire time.

The nurses have come to check on you a few times, assuring Aaron that it’s normal for you to be sleeping like this. But he just nods silently.

He wants you to wake up. Just for a minute. He needs you to just open your eyes and look at him, just once. That’s all he needs.

But it’s wishful thinking as the sky begins to lighten, showing the first signs of dawn.

Aaron links his pinky with yours, afraid to do much else and risk messing up your IV. Holding pinky fingers is enough right now. Or at least, it’ll have to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says out loud, to you, or really to no one at all, because he’s not even sure you can hear him. “I’m just so...sorry, Y/N.”

Stupid tears gather in his eyes again, clogging his throat, stopping his words.

But he keeps going.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “And I know you’ll try to convince me that it’s not, but Y/N, it is and I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I let this happen to you.”

He leans his head into the palm of his free hand, tightening his pinky finger’s grip on yours.

“I love you,” he blurts it out, tears warming his palm as they cascade down his cheeks. “I love you and I need you to wake up because I need you to hear it. I love you. I don’t think there’s ever been a day that I’ve known you that I haven’t loved you.”

He sniffles, loud and body-rattling, glad he’s alone in this room with you because he’d never let anyone else see him like this. No one but you.

“I tried to get it out before, but you were already gone, and I— You need to wake up. I need you to wake up. Please.”

Aaron keeps his eyes closed and head down for a few minutes longer. He doesn’t even see that you’ve opened your eyes.

Until your pinky finger gently squeezes his.

He lifts his head quickly, eyes wide and wild when he sees you’re looking back at him, eyes glassy with tears and exhaustion.

And just like that, just seeing your eyes open and looking right at him, the dam breaks once more. He’s a mess of tears when he leans his head down onto the bed. You lift your hand and thread your fingers through his hair, closing your eyes as more tears slip down your cheeks.

You scratch a soothing pattern on the base of his skull, moving your other hand over your body to hold onto his arm. He senses the movement and lifts his head, grabbing your hand and pressing it to his lips.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, all he knows is his back aches when he straightens up again, and you’ve fallen back asleep.

Next chapter

[metalbvcky]

*Shows up late to the Stucky/Marvel fandom Post-EG with Starbucks and dozens of fics that I’ve read in hand* So you guys like fanfiction?

Yeah so, because of quarantine I’ve been consuming a ton of fic. I’ve probably read over 1.5 million words in just a couple months. So why not share what I’ve been reading! Note that some of these are older (popular) fics so veteran Stucky peeps will probably know of them since I not too recently delved into the realm that is Stucky fanfic. :)  

Down below are over a dozen fics with different tropes, Canon/AU’s, and what not. Please do heed the tags on some of these. For the curious: My AO3 bookmarks. 

Also shoutout to @stuckylibrary, the mods over there are doing the lords work. 

Key:  ♥ = My fave, S = Smut, DS = Dom/Sub 

Heroes are Easy, People are Hard ♥ by Halbereth, Lorien - Words: 152,284 | CW Fix It, Slight Canon Divergence, Recovery, Slow Burn

Shuri and Wanda cleared Bucky's triggers shortly after Killmonger's attempted coup, and he and Steve went on the run. But it turns out there's more to "fixing Bucky's head" than "getting Hydra out of it." When a group of rogue scientists manage to neutralize the serum and make Steve very sick--pre-serum "this is bad" kind of sick--and they're cut off from contact with Wakanda, Bucky knows only one person with resources to help. He calls Tony and surrenders on the condition that Tony tries to help Steve.

From there, it's basically three variously messed-up guys’ trajectories from "This Is Fine", "Reasonably Speaking I Know It’s Fine", "I Will Be Fine With It" to actually being fine, guest-starring a far-better-adjusted teenage boy who climbs walls, a 1957 Ford Thunderbird, two women with a keen sense of the absurd, and Bruce, the Zen master of “it’s fine that it’s not fine.” Add in the fact that Bucky's been secretly in love with Steve since the thirties and things only get harder. Learning to be a person is the hardest thing Bucky Barnes will ever have to do--but he's got company along the way.

Reap The Whirlwind by Cristinuke - Words: 18,221 | Canon Universe, Post CW, Domestic 

Bucky finds a cat. Or rather, a cat finds him.

Your Favorite Ghost by augustbird - Words: 21,013 |  Canon Divergence, Post TWS

It's harder than Steve ever expected to bring Bucky home.

Despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained) ♥ by praximeter (Zimario) - Words: 71,532 | Canon Divergence TWS, Body Modifications 

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips.

Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions—

“Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.”

Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

This city bleeds its aching heart ♥ by Renne - Words: 34,537 | Canon Universe, Fake/Pretend Relationship 

The one where Steve and Bucky pose as a happily married couple while on a mission for SHIELD, to catch an international arms dealer hiding in a suburban neighbourhood.

The Best Way to Wake ♥ by LeeHan - Words: 42,293 | Post TFA, Canon Divergence TWS, Recovery 

James Buchanan Barnes lay in a glass pod in the middle of the table, frozen since he fell. Steve’s hands were on the glass before he realized he’d moved. “Wait, Captain!” “Get him out,” Steve whispered, his hands searching for a clasp, a keypad, something. “Captain, we need to keep him in stasis—“ “I said get him out!”

Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail ♥ series by owlet - Words: 264,438 | Canon Divergence (sort of) 

The mission resets abruptly, from objective: kill to objective: protect

Undersell, overcommit by silentwalrus - Words: 10,222 | Canon Universe 

Steve goes so hard for Bucky that he becomes a licensed, practicing massage therapist.

Sparked Up Like a Book of Matches by Sena - Words: 26,734 | Post-TWS, Canon Universe 

Steve lives in Stark Tower and doesn't have much to do when he's not going after Hydra strongholds. He attends charity events to make Pepper happy. He goes hiking with Sam. He hangs out with Clint in Bed-Stuy and watches Dog Cops. Sometimes Tony gives him super alcohol in a sippy cup. Sometimes he sees Bucky out of the corner of his eye and wonders if it's real or if he's starting to lose his mind.

Alternately, the one with terrible jokes, a foot chase through the Lower East Side, and a tiny little robot named Shitcan.

Sugar Sweet ♥ from the Red Velvet series by ColorCoated - Words: 173,400 | Modern/Sugar Daddy AU, Age Difference, Slow Burn

"What's your name?" It wasn't even a line. He was just pretty and Bucky wanted a name to go with that face. With that strong jawline. With those deep blue eyes. A little smirk, "Steve."

Awww, Steve. He looked like a Steve. Bucky pursed his lips in a way he hoped was attractive, "You should buy me a drink."

College Student Bucky finds himself immediately attracted to Steve. He knows that Steve's a bit older than him, and that Steve himself is put off by the age difference. . . But that doesn't stop Bucky from wanting to climb him like a tree.

Steve and Bucky Go Away for the Weekend (and cook a lot) ♥ by E_Greer -  Words: 30,126 | Canon Universe, Domestic 

In which Steve coaxes Bucky out of the Tower for a birthday weekend away and sweet, fluffy domesticity ensues. Phlintasha helps keep Bucky calm, Steve has Opinions about how you set the table, stories are told, greenhouses are toured, baths are had, books are read, tears are shed, stars are gazed upon, and everyone makes Bucky feel loved. Includes Friday night dinner, Saturday morning breakfast, Saturday lunch, Saturday dinner, and Sunday brunch.

Dona Nobis Pacem by thegraytigress - Words: 65,214 | Canon Universe, Recovery 

"This job... We try to save as many people as we can. Sometimes it doesn't mean everybody, but if we can't find a way to live with that... Next time maybe nobody gets saved."

An incident on the battlefield exposes how much Steve's falling apart under the crushing weight of leading the Avengers after Sokovia. Now Bucky's adopting a new mission: save Steve before he destroys himself completely, even if it means the end of Captain America.

Give 'Em Hope ♥ by L1av - Words: 130,022 | Modern/Hospital AU, UA/Age Difference 

Dr. Steve Rogers likes to think that if his patients have hope- their chances of survival will increase. Bucky Barnes has a 20% chance of survival and a desperate yearning to experience life. Against Steve's better judgment, he develops a relationship with his patient. It's illegal. It's wrong. But it's giving Bucky the hope to keep going, so Steve's going to keep giving it, because he wants Bucky to survive. He needs him to.

You belong (to me) by hermionesmydawg - Words: 29,759 | S, DS, Canon Compliant, Post CW

"Hold on." Bucky lifted a finger and backed out of the doorway, returning a moment later with his cell phone. He snapped a photo of Steve, typed a few words, and then returned to his apple. "What the hell were you doing at a sex club last night?"

"Not having sex, if that's what you're wondering." An alert sounded from Steve's nightstand - a new Snapchat message. He rolled his eyes and unlocked his phone. Sam was always sending stupid Snapchats and frankly, Steve couldn't figure that goddamn app out and cursed whoever created that piece of shit.

The chat wasn't from Sam this time, however. It was a picture of himself, not looking guilty at all, with the caption "when your buddy catches you looking at p*rn."

Circling Back from the It’s Not Linear series by chaya - Words: 59,642 (Series Total: 136,782) | Canon Divergence

Steve looks for Bucky, Bucky finds Steve, Steve tries desperately to put Bucky back together. Bucky tries desperately to let him.

Continuing Education by 743ish, romanticalgirl - Words: 14,443 | S, Canon Universe/College, Shrunkyclunks 

Steve is invited to be a guest lecturer on the WWII unit for Bucky's college course. Bucky's more than happy to glean any extra knowledge (in more than just history) from Steve, and Steve's happy to eductate him. But then Bucky has to decide if he can handle the fact that Steve throws himself into danger, and if the sex is worth it. Or if it's not just sex anymore.

Salt & Sugar by GoldBlooded, stfustucky - Words: 19,598 | Modern/Restaurant AU

Steve Rogers is a bigshot celebrity chef in New York City, and Bucky Barnes is a classically trained pastry chef in Moscow.

When billionaire and mutual friend Natasha Romanoff calls on them to collaborate for her Memorial Day Benefit Gala, they both brace themselves to spend the week working with some jerk they're bound to hate. Except... Steve makes a burger that could bring Bucky to tears, and Bucky makes tartlets so beautiful Steve's sure they qualify as art. Maybe, just maybe, together they could make this a night to remember.

@/sgtbarnes1917 and @/cptrogers1918 by BayleyWinchester - Words: 114,203 | Canon Universe, Social Media Fic 

Bucky Barnes broke Twitter with one photo

Proprietary Information ♥ from the Additional Information series by notlucy - Words: 85,141 (Series Total: 165,871) | Modern AU, Age difference, Slow Burn

Okay, so Bucky Barnes has a crush on Steve Rogers. The guy's gorgeous, talented and, oh yeah, the Chief Design Officer of the biggest tech company in the world. In other words: he's so far out of Bucky's league that he might as well be in a different stratosphere.

Deep in the Woods (Where My Heart Has Been Waiting) by SilverMyfanwy - Words: 15,353 | Pioneer-AU, Shrinkyclinks 

Steve Rogers gets lost in the woods in a snowstorm. Bucky Barnes takes him in. Pioneer-era AU ish with Shrinkyclinks, evil chickens and a cabin in the woods.

A Bucky Odyssey by inediblesushi, thorstbench - Words: 9,952 | Shrinkyclinks,  Cap!Bucky, Nurse!Steve  

Bucky Barnes, Captain America, has a plan to make Steve Rogers, SHIELD nurse, fall in love with him. Confiding in the Internet might not be the best idea, though. So when the bad pick up lines do not work and Steve looks determined to staying single, he decides to be more himself and less what he thinks he should be.

At first I wanted to wait to post this until I finished a few more fics from my ever growing read-later list but what the heck, now or never! I’ll probably end up making a part 2 reclist by the amount of fic I’m reading these days. 

Happy reading and stay safe out there fellow Stucky trash members!!

[mystoriesofthegalaxy]

Need You Now

(Peggysous Week 2021)

Day 4: song fics; @peggysousweek thanks for hosting!

Summary: Peggy and Daniel are thinking about and missing each other while being separated by many many miles. (Set between Season 1 and 2)

Song: Need You Now by Lady A (listen here, this is my favourite version of the song!)

A/N: This is the first time I am writing a Peggysous fic, which is why I am quite anxious about uploading this, but here it is. I ended up writing something with almost no plot and a lot of yearning oops.

Also, English is not my first language so I apologise for all the mistakes and the misuse of words!

You can read this here on Ao3 as well if you like :)

~*~

Picture perfect memories

Scattered all around the floor

Reaching for the phone cause

I can't fight it anymore.

With a sigh, Peggy ran her hand through her hair and shook her head. It could definitely not go on like this.

Ever since he had left New York, she was behaving so unlike herself that even she found it hard to believe.

And yet here she was, sitting alone in her room, next to the open window, looking outside into the dark street, the shining of the street lamps the only light on that cloudy Friday night.

Daniel Sousa was gone, that was a fact, and instead of feeling miserable she should be moving on and should go on with her life like every sensible human being would do. After all, she should be happy for him, shouldn't she?

It was a big opportunity for him, becoming the chief of the SSR West Coast bureau, and why not take the chance if there was nothing - or no one - holding him back?

She couldn't help but wonder, though, about what could have been, would he not have decided to take the position. Or if she hadn't wrecked it all.

For a second, she closed her eyes, reveling in their shared little memories. All the times Daniel had aped Jack whenever the latter was acting up again, making Peggy chuckle. All the times Daniel had brought her a cup of coffee whenever she had been delving into the huge amount of paperwork that had to be done, that lovely smile of his on his lips when he had placed the cup on her desk.

And then, a certain memory resurfaced, a wonderful memory that was very dear to her and back then had whirled up the feelings in her heart.

It had been the birthday of one of the SRR's agents, and after finishing time most of them had decided to celebrate at a bar. While practically all of the agents had been either playing cards half drunken or playing a drinking game fully drunken, Daniel and Peggy had been sipping their drinks together, sitting slightly away from the others.

The two of them had been talking a lot that evening, sitting close to each other and really getting to know the other. They had talked about their childhoods, he had told her about his three siblings, and she had told him everything she missed about England.

And it had been that evening that Peggy had realised that she may be feeling something more than just friendship for that man in front of her.

But of course she had ruined it all and everything had gone downhill. Why exactly, she couldn't quite tell. Perhaps it had been because of her fear of falling in love again, or because of her fear of losing someone dear to her again. Or perhaps it had been something else, she couldn't quite say.

Her gaze fell upon the phone that was standing on her desk, and for an instance she felt the urge to call him. To hear his voice, to have a conversation like the ones they used to have during their little breaks. 

But quickly, she scrapped the idea and put down the receiver she had involuntarily picked up. It was already after ten o'clock in Los Angeles, and he was probably already in bed. And besides, she had already called him once two weeks ago, and once last week, but he hadn't returned any of her calls. For Peggy, this was a clear signal: he had moved on.

She couldn't reproach him, though, that he had decided to move on. After all that had happened...or more precisely not happened. No, she really couldn't have expected him to stay. Daniel Sousa was gone, and she had to get over it.

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind.

For me it happens all the time.

But despite her thoughts she couldn't help but wonder if after all, he still may be thinking about her once in a while. Because ever since the day she had come to know that he had accepted the offer, Daniel had never left her mind. Even though she had tried her best to distract herself.

It's a quarter after one.

I'm all alone and I need you now.

He had always taken care of her, and she had taken it for granted and had grown accustomed to it, not appreciating his efforts as she ought to have done. But now that he was gone, she realised how much he had grown on her, how much his absence actually hurt...and how much she actually needed him in her life.

And I don't know how I can do without

I just need you now.

~*~

Another shot of whiskey

Can't stop looking at the door.

Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before.

With a sigh, Daniel rose his glass to his mouth and took another sip. This wasn't exactly how he had imagined himself to be spending his first Friday evening off. But here he was, sitting on a bar stool at the counter, deep in thoughts.

The past few weeks had been very busy, moving to L.A. and taking a new position, a leading position, as chief of the new branch of the SSR, which was why he had barely had time to sit down and catch a breath.

But this had turned out to be a good thing after all, because otherwise he wouldn't have been able to bear the thoughts that he had been pushing aside into the deepest parts of his mind.

He had left New York with mixed feelings three weeks ago. He was excited for the new chapter of his life that was starting, and he was proud that he had been offered such an important position. But there were certain things that he was leaving behind that he really was going to miss. Or more precisely a certain person.

Daniel's gaze had wandered towards the door, watching the people who were occasionally coming in and out the bar. Suddenly, the door swung open and a brunette woman entered the room, walking hand in hand with a tall blonde man who was wearing a hat. As she turned over to her companion, Daniel could see that she was wearing red lipstick and that her nails were painted red as well. The way she was leaning against the counter, laughing while the man was talking, painfully reminded Daniel of that certain someone he had tried his best not to think of.

Oh, how much he wished that it was Peggy who had swept into the room that very moment.

No, he couldn't deny it that she was the one thing he was terribly missing since his move. If there had been a slight possibility, a tiny little chance, that she may be feeling that certain connection he thought he had felt between them, he may have thought twice before taking the job.

But apparently it had been all in his head, apparently he had been hoping for something that just wasn't there.

Maybe Krzeminski had been right after all. No girl was going to trade in a red, white and blue shield for an aluminium crutch, he was never going to be good enough for her. They may have worked good as a team, they may have even been friends, but that was it. Nothing more.

And even though being her friend wasn't bad, he had to admit that it wasn't enough for him. He couldn't just be around her and be her friend, it was impossible. The pain was to much, and he couldn't simply turn off his heart and stop feeling what he felt.

So the only thing left to do was to move on and to forget her. But this was so much easier said than done.

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind.

For me it happens all the time.

Two weeks ago, though, she had called. When he had left New York, their demeanour towards each other had been very awkward and uptight, which is why he never would have expected to hear from her again.

And yet she had called the office, two times so far, wanting to speak to him. He had been on the way both of the times, which had spared him the pressure of actually having to pick up the receiver and talk to her.

He hadn't been able to bring himself to call her back yet. Yes, he missed her like crazy, even though he had always tried to disregard those feelings. But would talking to her really change anything? Change the way he felt? And what should he have said to her? Should he just have talked to her like nothing had happened? Like there wasn't a 2.500 mile distance between them?

No, he may be behaving like a coward by not getting in touch with her and not facing her, but it was the only possibility for him.

There was a little comfort for him, though, in knowing that since she had tried to call him, she must have not yet forgotten him completely.

It's a quarter after one.

I'm a little drunk and I need you now.

It was a terrible state he was in, torn between yearning for wanting Peggy in his life, his heart completely having fallen for her and at the same time knowing that if he didn't let go of her, he would be feeling miserable forever. And even though everything inside him was screaming no, he had to forget her and move on.

"Great job so far.", he murmured sarcastically and took the last sip of Whisky. Of course he had ordered the very thing Peggy would have chosen if they had been out together.

Feeling how the Whisky was showing its effect and was starting to addle his brain, he picked up his crutch and stood up. He had had enough for the night. With a last glance at the brunette and her companion, he straightened his shoulders and left the bar, disappearing into the dark.

And I don't know how I can do without

I just need you now.

[wormstacheangel]

Since your last post implied it I would love to know about your AU recommendations ❤ I am obsessed too!! Thanks in advance 🙏🏻

hello! I hope you don’t mind if I just make a basic list of some of the AU stories I have read or want to read. Not in any order I just went through my bookmarks on AO3 :) Also I need to read more...Under the cut because it got too long! 

Angel's Wild (not gonna lie this is my favorite fic. I have read this almost a dozen times now)

Summary: But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels. 

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right? 

That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Checked Out

Summary:  Castiel Novak can think of many writers who would not be welcome under the roof of Heaven’s Gate library, where he is the librarian: Ayn Rand ranks highly (no explanation needed), as does Charles Dickens (he hasn’t forgiven Charles for the month he lost to The Pickwick Papers). And, of course, Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, local author and obvious a-hole, who is entirely too handsome to be true and who is clearly totally lacking in profundity, intelligence, sincerity, and self-awareness. Unfortunately, though, Dean’s been invited to do a book signing at Heaven’s Gate - and Castiel’s about to be confronted by some unexpected feelings when he finally meets Dean for the first time.

A Ghost Story

Summary:  Castiel Novak has haunted his family's estate for 150 years, awaiting the return of his lost love. Upon their reunion, Dean Winchester learns of his past reincarnation. After the night of Castiel's resurrection, the two try to find out why they've been given a second chance. The answers may be hidden in the forgotten memories of Dean's former life - but sometimes the truth is better left buried.

Patient Love

Summary: Castiel Novak is 27 when he suddenly loses his twin brother Jimmy, and his whole world turns to ashes. How do you deal with losing half of yourself when your whole life always revolved around the two of you, like yin and yang and black and white? How do you deal with a broken soul and old demons looming over you with no one to hold you back anymore?

After 10 years as a Navy Special Warfare Operator and more than a dozen deployments in both Afghanistan and Iraq, a battlefield injury forces 28-year-old Chief Petty Officer Dean Winchester to chose between being stuck behind a desk for the rest of his career or going back to civil life. When he learns about his friend Jimmy’s death, Dean makes his way back to Kansas with his heart in his throat and broken pieces at his feet.

Things are already complicated and painful enough as it is, but when former lovers Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak meet again after 10 years of radio silence and a galaxy of wounds and scars solidly standing between them, it feels like both a curse and a blessing has been placed on them both. Is there any hope in putting back their broken pieces together after a decade, and how do you deal with grief and broken dreams?

The Unbroken

Summary: Dean’s life had been made of running. He ran from a curse that had desolated his life ever since he was a child — whenever he got hurt, he turned into a goddamn human-torch, killing everyone around him — and he ran from himself and his own self-loathing.

But managing all that at the end of a world full of Croats lurking around every corner was easier said than done.

Until a mysterious man with tousled dark hair paired with blue eyes as clear as the sky during a hot summer’s day stopped him from free falling, literally. In one fell swoop, the stranger had not only saved his life but also calmed the wildfire threatening to burn everything in its wake.

There was something about Castiel that made Dean want to stop running but also hid something darker — something Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on. And between soft, pillowy lips and feather-like fingerprints, Cas could very well shatter Dean’s world and maybe help save the whole world in return.

While You Were Sleeping

Summary:  A Destiel version of While You Were Sleeping! Castiel is alone and floundering. He has a crush on one of the passengers who passes through his subway station every morning. When the man gets pushed onto the tracks, Cas saves him. But when they get to the hospital there's a mix up and Cas finds himself engaged to a complete stranger. Enter, the rest of the family, including big brother Dean. How will Cas navigate the relationship with his supposed future in-laws? What will he do when Sam finally wakes up? And why can't he stop thinking about Dean?

Purgatory, director's cut

Summary: this doesn’t have a summary but it is dean and cas in purgatory and it’s soooo cool! I promise it’s amazing and worth the read!

Basic Lessons in First Aid, Magical or Otherwise

Summary: Most people probably wouldn’t take the naked, heavily wounded man they found in an alley home with them. Most people probably wouldn’t also offer that man a place to stay and become his best friend after realizing he’s suffering from an intense case of post-traumatic retrograde amnesia. Most people probably wouldn’t then risk almost everything they know to save said man, and maybe save the world in the process.

But then again, Dean Winchester, RN (with a specialty in supernatural care), has never been like most people. He may not have a magical bone in his body, unlike his brother Sam, but he’ll do whatever it takes to help. Even if Castiel has questionable opinions about Star Trek.

What Greater Gift

Summary: Story idea: The most wanted woman in town has announced that she’ll only marry the one who can open her front door with the key around her cat’s neck. Many men try to hunt the cat down, chase and trap it, but to no avail, the cat is simply too quick, smart and clever, and always finds a way to evade and avoid them. You are the first one to figure out the obvious: Do not chase the cat. The cat is befriendable. Get the cat to trust you, to genuinely enjoy your company, and you can hang out with the cat. You may eventually be allowed to touch the cat. The cat will freely let you take the key.

From a prompt found on Tumblr. Saw this and I couldn't resist a Destiel AU, and I've been wanting to write Witch!Cas for ages.

I know when you go down all your darkest roads

Summary: Dean and Castiel go undercover as a couple going through therapy, in order to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain.

They end up going through a lot more than a case, unfolding feelings left untold for so long, discovering parts of each other they never intended to uncover.

But will the feelings raging inside them be enough to bring their walls down?

A Fish Out of Water

Summary: To tie up the loose ends of a hunt, Dean is forced to go undercover and visit Brock Pleasure Ranch, a horrifying establishment that markets its inhabitants to people with ‘monstrous’ tastes.

It should have been a simple thing, to persuade a mer to give him a few scales for a spell. All part of the usual Winchester byline: saving people, hunting things.

But Castiel is far less of a ‘thing’ than Dean expected. He might not be human, but he’s definitely a person. And that means he needs saving, too.

The Way to a Man’s Heart is Through Chlamydia

Summary: Dean doesn't expect to see his one night stand again, but then again he also doesn't expect to find out he has an STD. Sometimes life is hilarious like that.

Just as lost as I

Summary: Dean's been in love with Castiel for centuries. He keeps it buried, never letting himself get too close, but when Castiel goes missing he doesn't hesitate. He's going to find him if it’s the last thing he ever does.

Love Bites

Summary: Cas Novak graduated with a 4.0 in Mathematics, but not even Naomi Novak’s money could help him at job interviews. Anxious and dissatisfied with life, at nearly thirty he’s still washing dishes in the back of his best friend Hannah’s café.Until one night when his cat drags an injured bat into his apartment.

Dean may be a vampire, but he’s not an asshole (well, not much.) He feels like he owes the awkward guy for rescuing him from the cat’s clutches, so he sets about changing Cas's life.

A silly story about families who aren’t quite what they seem, fake boyfriends, and falling in love with someone who’s never, technically, met you.

The Bad Cop, Worse Cop Adventures of Freckles and Feathers

Summary: Miami. A place with beaches, babes, palm trees, and a growing drug-fueled crime organization. To help combat the drugs littering the streets, Captain Singer puts together a Tactical Narcotics Team composed of Miami's two finest and fearless officers. Charming casanova Dean Winchester has fought tooth and nail, rising through the ranks for this position. Trench coat toting Castiel Novak knows more hand-to-hand combative techniques than he does people skills. Between Dean's big mouth and Castiel's take-no-shit attitude, their introductory meeting ends on a less than stellar note and a couple of hard to shake nicknames.

After six months of partnership, the nicknames have stuck and so has the sexual tension. When a murder in the middle of the night launches their biggest lead on a cleverly evasive drug lord, Dean is shocked to find Sam at the center of it. Sam comes clean with his involvement and Charlie, their witness, seeks revenge against the man responsible for killing her friend. As the stakes rise higher so do Dean’s feelings putting everything in jeopardy. Is a cop with everything to prove, a cop with everything to lose, one computer hacker witness, and a damn good ADA enough to save the day?

The Care and Feeding of Castiel

Summary: Dean’s quiet time in the bunker is interrupted by some stranger-than-usual behavior from his angel. Oh, and feathers...there are a lot of those, too.

First Gentleman Wanted

Summary:  President of the United States Castiel Novak is popular, charismatic, and knee-deep in campaigning for a second term. He’d be the ideal candidate if it weren’t for the fact that he hasn’t dated once while in political office. With his opponent’s relentless PR team calling him incapable of emotional commitment, Castiel’s staff decides to remedy the situation by finding their boss a fake, picture-perfect boyfriend. And when Dean Winchester enters the scene, he and Cas become America’s new favorite couple, except they’ve got a whole lot of history between them and complicated feelings to resolve.

The Graveyard Shift

Summary: Dean’s favourite coffee shop, The Graveyard Shift, is only open after the sun goes down. Which is perfect for him, because that’s exactly when he craves coffee the most while doing the overnight at the fire hall. The coffee shop’s owner is pretty perfect too, but it’s kind of a bummer that Dean never gets to see Cas during the day. In a world where the supernatural live more or less in peace with the rest of humanity, it’s a little impolite to ask Cas just what he really is - or what his dark past entails.

The Path of Fireflies

Summary: After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years.

The Five People You Meet in Heaven

Summary: Heaven is white.Well. Isn’t that fucking stereotypical.-Dean isn’t really sure how he got here. Or even why he’s here. And hell, for all the times the Winchesters have died, he thinks he ought to know the drill by now. But what he doesn’t know is when most folks go, they find something different.

There’s a system God put in place. That when you’re gone (for good), there are a couple things you gotta do first. There are five people waiting for you.

They are the five people you meet in heaven.

Doing this made me realize I need to read more longer fics. I usually just read the short ficlets on tumblr but I need to broaden my horizon and read more. But yes! These are the AU’s currently in my bookmarks. Hope you find one to enjoy :)

[fanfics4all]

Painless

Request: Yes / No 

Requests are closed <3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3200

Warnings: SCHOOL BOMBING, CURSING, it’s criminal minds so read at your own risk! 

Y/N: Your Name 

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

Another day at work. Another day of someone dead. I thought as I walked into the office. I saw everyone was already in the round table room and sighed. Another case. I put my stuff down at my desk and walked into the room. I took my seat next to my boyfriend Spencer and gave a smile at everyone. 

“Does anyone remember this picture?” Garcia asked, bringing up a picture of a man and a girl looking distressed. 

“Hotch and I were there. That’s Principal Doug Gavens. We had to drag him to safety.” Rossi said, making everyone look at him. 

“High school bombing in Boise, right?” Emily asked. 

“School shooter and school bomber.” JJ said and it triggered my memory. 

“A kid named Randy Slade shot three students and then set off an I.E.D. in the cafeteria via cell phone, killing himself and thirteen kids total, but not before posting all his plans online.” I said and Garcia nodded. 

“It was one of those “Where were you?” events. My whole campus was glued to the T.V..” JJ said. 

“Last night, Principal Givens was killed by a bomb modeled exactly like the old one.” Garcia said. 

“It feels like the unsub wants to attack the man who kept the school together after the bombing. It’s a pretty symbolic target.” Morgan said. 

“And this week is the tenth anniversary of the massacre.” Hotch said. 

“And today is the first day of a four day event to commemorate the bombing at the school.” Garcia said. 

“Except commemorating it isn’t enough for this unsub.” Emily said. 

“No. He wants to relive it.” Hotch said. We gathered our things and got on the plane. We were all sitting down and going over the case files. 

“Perpetrators of school violence are often sophisticated with their weapons. Randy Slade carried his bomb in his backpack. This guy hid his in Givens’ clock radio.” Spencer said. 

“Yeah, and progressive. Each one tries to top the body count of the one previous.”  

“And they’re loners by default, not by choice. They try to join various social groups, but they get shut out.” JJ said. 

“Randy Slade wasn’t a loner at all.” Hotch said. 

“The family cooperated fully with us. He was a high-functioning psychopath, straight-A student, varsity wrestler, lots of girlfriends.” Rossi said. 

“With an above-average intelligence that made him incredibly resourceful. His explosive of choice was Semtex.” I said looking at the files. 

“It’s found at demolition sites, but it’s held under lock and key.” Spencer said. 

“Which made us consider the possibility of a partner. Never found one.” Rossi said. 

“Slade was too much of a narcissist to share credit. But he was also an impulsive teen, which is what bothers me about this unsub.” Hotch said. 

“His sense of control?” Emily asked. 

“And the end game that he’s working toward.” Hotch answered with a nod. 

“Slade’s pathology revolved around the big kill. This unsub could have done the same if he’d waited for the candlelight vigil.” Hotch added. 

“Which means there’s no blaze of glory fantasy here. This unsub has more bombs made, and he’s savoring the anticipation of his next attack.” Rossi said. After we talked everyone moved to their own spots to think and relax before we had the hard work to do. I sat next to Spencer and smiled at him. 

“This poor town.” I said and he sighed. 

“I know, but the odds are against them in this situation.” He said and I nodded. 

“I know, but that doesn’t mean it sucks any less.” I said and he nodded. 

“It’s a hard thing to deal with.” He said. 

“Yeah…” I sighed. We tried to keep our minds on things that would help us, instead of how much people were hurting right now. 

As soon as we landed we dropped our stuff off at our hotel then split up. Hotch and Rossi went to the station with Emily and Morgan. Spencer, JJ and I went to the crime scene. We walked inside and it was a mess, not shocking though considering what happened. 

“Okay, so the unsub has to be tied to the school somehow, right?” JJ asked. 

“Current student, alumni, family member who lost someone…” I listed off. 

“It could be Slade groupies celebrating his hero. He taped nails to the exterior of the bomb, specifically to rip open flesh. That’s a sadistic detail of Slade’s the unsub copied.” Spencer said. 

“Except he tricked Givens into blowing himself up. A groupie probably wouldn’t show that much self-control.” JJ said. 

“But someone with an ax to grind against the principal would. Maybe he’s a surrogate for the tomenters in high school he can’t punish.” Spencer said. 

“Who were yours?” He asked us. 

“I don’t even remember.” JJ answered. 

“You don’t even remember? Wait, were you one of those mean girls?” Spencer questioned. 

“No.” JJ said. 

“Valedictorian, soccer scholarship, corn-fed, but still a size zero. I think that you might have been a mean girl.” Spencer said. 

“Spence.” I said. 

“I was actually one of the nice girls, even to guys like you.” JJ answered and I shook my head. There was no stopping this now. 

“Guys like me? I’ll have you know that my social standing increased once I started winning at basketball.” Spencer said, I always forget that he coached basketball. 

“Oh yeah? You played basketball?” JJ asked. 

“Actually he coached it.” I answered. 

“You coached it?” She asked. 

“Yeah, I broke down the opposing team’s shooting strategy.” He said. 

“Is that why Morgan kicked you two out of the pool last week?” She asked. 

“Yeah, it took him three rounds to realize we were hustling him.” I answered with a laugh. 

“Huh.” She said and we went back to looking at the crime scene. As soon as we were done looking we got a call about another murder. So we made our way there. The three of us looked around and JJ decided to call Hotch and tell him.

“You’re on speaker JJ.” Hotch answered. 

“So, we might have another one.” She said. 

“Might?” He asked. 

“One of the North Valley alumni was killed in her motel room.” She answered. 

“No bomb or gun this time. Looks like he used his bare hands.” I added. 

“You got a name?” Hotch asked. 

“Chelsea Grant.” Spencer answered. 

The next day Spencer and I returned to the crime scene with Hotch. It was good to come back and look at it with fresh eyes. 

“The unsub crushed Chelsea’s throat so she couldn’t scream, then he pulverized her ribs, sending fragments of bone into her heart.” Spencer said. 

“Principal Givens was high-profile. Chelsea wasn’t. Right now the only thing connecting them is they’re both on the kill list.” Hotch said. 

“A list that Brandon kept secret for ten years, but he was in custody when this happened. So the question is, how did the unsub get the exact same list?” I asked. 

“Well, we ruled out a partner, but not conclusively.” Hotch said. 

“Slade made every part of his plan public. It doesn’t make sense that he would hide a partner.” Spencer said. 

“He didn’t want to share the credit. And this weekend is the partner’s best chance to claim it.” Hotch said. 

“Let’s go back to the station, we have a profile to deliver.” He said and we followed him. 

When we got back to the station we gathered everyone up and we were ready to deliver the profile. 

“Partners of dominant psychopaths are usually submissive, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t be intelligent or that they’re physically weak.” Hotch said. 

“This unsub laid low after the bombing and successfully evaded police and FBI. That took cunning and patience, which he’s exhibiting now with his current murders.” Morgan said. 

“We think he fits the loner profile Slade debunked. He grew up in an abusive home, which kept him from forming the normal social bonds in high school.” JJ said. 

“We interviewed all the outcasts from back then. How did this guy slip through?” Chief Cole asked. 

“Even outcasts eventually form friendships. But this unsub was the outcast the outcasts rejected.” Spencer said. 

“Exactly, he won’t stand out in any capacity, and as a matter of fact, most of his fellow students probably won’t even remember graduating with him.” I said. 

“And that invisibility is what made him attractive to Slade. This partner wouldn’t steal the spotlight.” Rossi said. 

“Slade targeted the cafeteria because most of the names on his list ate there together during fifth period.” Spencer said. 

“So his hatred festered when the names on the list emerged from the cafeteria as media heroes. And now he wants to finish the job that Randy started.” Morgan said. 

“Emotionally, this weekend is more a high school reunion to him than a memorial. We go to reunions to show who we grew up to be. Often that means changing everything about who we were.” Rossi said. 

“Consciously or not, Randy Slade revealed clues as to his partner’s identity when he detonated his bomb. Agent Prentiss will be conducting cognitive interviews to see what the survivors might remember.” Hotch said. We answered a few questions the cops had then went on to try and work out who this guy could be. Emily was with the survivors now working on them. 

“So, as you can see from your board there, this kill list is weirdly similar to high school. 

“Group on is like the popular kids, prom court, football team, dean’s list. The Heathers, if you will.” Garcia said. 

“Kids in Slade’s social circle.” Hotch said. 

“What about number two?” JJ asked. 

“Uh, mmhmm, that would be the kids from the other side of the tracks, 180-degree difference, kids this close to getting kicked out, Stoners, burnouts, mental cases. Chelsea Grant is on this list.” Garcia said. 

“Maybe Slade targeted them because they disgusted him?” JJ asked while Spencer’s phone was ringing. We have been doing a lot of that since we got here. 

“But they didn’t threaten Slade’s sense of superiority. He wouldn’t have even cared about them.” Hotch said as we ignored Spencer’s phone. 

“So maybe the partner put them on the list. They’d be closer to his social status than Slade’s.” I said as Spencer’s phone stopped ringing. 

“Why would the-” Spencer was cut off by his phone ringing again. 

“I’m so sorry.” He said, taking his phone out and hung up. 

“Why would the unsub list kids that he fit in with?” Spencer asked, putting his phone away again. 

“Apparently that’s how this clique worked. The kids in it were meaner to each other than kids on the outside. Garcia, separate out all the kids who got into trouble regularly. Then eliminate the names that the partner put on the list. Now, who’s left that came to the memorial?” Hotch asked. 

“Right. Whoever made the list wouldn’t put their name on it. Uh… sir, I think- I think I’ve got him. His name is Lewis Ramsey.” Garcia said. 

“Where is he?” Hotch asked. 

“Uhh… According to his cell phone he’s at a local bar.” She answered. 

“Send it to Morgan’s phone.” Hotch ordered and called him. Morgan brought him in and him and Hotch started interviewing him. Once they were done they told the rest of us. 

“You buy it?” Emily asked. 

“He fits the profile, and the evidence points to him, but he seems sincere.” Hotch said. 

“He’s not the unsub. He was the partner, but look at how Slade added “All the losers in this Godforsaken school.” This capitalization isn’t an accident. Look.” Spencer said and wrote it on the white board. 

“L-S-R, Lewis Stuart Ramsey.” He said. 

“So Slade named his own partner.” I said. 

“Ironically, Lewis’ marijuana addiction saved his life.” He said with a nod. 

“Well, that puts us back to our original problem. If the unsub isn’t the partner, how did he get his hands on a list that Slade and Lewis kept to themselves?” I asked. 

“The only answer is that part of the profile is wrong. The unsub’s vendetta has nothing to do with the list. Did you get anything from Jerry Holtz?” Hotch asked Emily. 

“Only that he mixed up the cell phones that Slade used. It felt like he was making the story up, but I only had a hunch.” Emily said. 

“We need to find him now. There’s a connection to the victimology that we’re missing. Whatever he’s holding back might be the key.” Hotch said. We found Jerry, but he was dead. He was killed at the school. We made our way there and Emily met us there. 

“Jerry Holtz? How long?” She asked. 

“Less than an hour. Security guard heard the commotion, but the unsub was already gone.” JJ answered. 

“The only people who knew we were doing the cognitive interviews were the other survivors. The unsub must be part of that group.” Emily said. 

“Well, we don’t know that for a fact. He could have been lying in wait.” I said. 

“Look, Hotch wants me to go through the victims’ lives and find the overlaps. We can compare their histories with the unsub’s.” JJ said. 

“What else do we have to go on?” Emily asked, looking at Spencer and I. 

“Spence said the unsub would have broken his hand beating Chelsea to death. Did you notice anyone with a cast on their hand, someone who seemed hurt?” JJ asked. 

“No.” Emily shook her head. 

“I might know why.” Spencer said and we all looked at him. 

“This unsub doesn’t feel pain.” He said. 

“You mean he has pain asymbolia?” I asked and he nodded.

“We need to get back to the station. Spencer told them about his theorie and no one understood what he was saying.  

“In english for the other people in the room.” Morgan asked. 

“There’s a medical condition called pain asymbolia, where patients register harmful stimuli without being bothered by it. They’ve been documented holding their hand over an open flame because their brain doesn’t send pain signals to the central nervous system.” Spencer explained. 

“Sounds pretty rare. You sure the unsub has it?” Rossi asked. 

“The crime scenes prove it. Once Spencer said it, everything clicked. He displayed an unusual level of savagery towards his victims. And consider this, he smashed through a glass display case, but there were no cuts on Jerry. That means he most likely punched through it as a show of force.” I said. 

“Now, the only way the human body could withstand that level of pain is if he couldn’t feel it at all.” Spencer added. 

“It must take a major toll on someone’s emotional development.” Rossi said and Spencer’s phone rang… again. 

“A significant contributor to our sense of empathy is the way we personally experience pain.” Morgan said and Spencer silenced his phone again. 

“And the unsub didn’t develop his sense of empathy because it was cut off. Does every person with Asymbolia have this?” Hotch asked. 

“Actually, most feel empathy just fine, which makes me think the rest of our profile is still accurate. Loner, invisible, outcast, boiling rage- Son of a bitch!” Spencer said, pulling out his ringing cell phone and answered it. I notice Morgan trying to hide a smirk. 

“Hi! This is Dr. Spencer Reid. I actually can come to the phone right now with a very special message that your mother is-” 

“Reid.” Hotch cut him off and he hung up. 

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Where were we?” He asked, putting his phone away. 

“I’m going to have Garcia check medical records. Uh, what causes Asymbolia?” Hotch asked. 

“Ssss- Severe trauma produces lesions on the insular cortex, usually after a stroke but this unsub’s so young, it’s most likely caused by an external factor.” Spencer said looking at Morgan the whole time. 

“Like a bomb going off next to him?” Rossi asked. 

“Yeah, like a bomb going off next to him.” He repeated at Morgan. Morgan just smirked and Hotch walked off to talk to Garcia. 

“I will crush you.” Spencer whispered. 

“What?” Morgan asked. 

“What?” Spencer repeated and walked off. I looked at Rossi and shook my head with a smirk. 

“You two are seriously pranking each other while on a case?” I asked and Morgan just smiled. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said and I shook my head again. I swear these two… 

JJ and Emily came by a little later with some new information. JJ was rearranging some pictures on the board. We looked on with confusion. 

“Recognize the top ten?” JJ asked. 

“No.” Hotch answered. 

“They were the students that went in front of the cameras after the bombing.” She answered. 

“I thought all the surviving students were interviewed?” I asked.

“After the initial aftermath, yes, but these are the kids that went on talk shows, traveled to other schools. My guess is that they didn’t self-select who made the cut.” JJ said. 

“Principal Givens did.” Hotch said. 

“That’s why the unsub killed him first. He was an outcast who wanted to fit in. Being a survivor should have been his golden ticket.” She said. 

“But he was excluded again, and that’s why he’s killing them.” I said. 

“Yeah. The rules of high school never changed, not even after a tragedy.” JJ said. Hotch’s phone rang and he put it on speaker. 

“Go ahead, Garcia.” He said. 

“Hey, listen up. I crossed-referenced student files with medical records. Now, there were six kids that were knocked unconscious in that blast, but only one fit the outcast profile. His name is Robert Adams, and he just used his credit card at a local restaurant, the address of which I just sent you right now.” She said. 

“I’m on my way.” Hotch said looking at us. Hotch gathered everyone up and JJ and I stayed back. When they came back Robert wasn’t with them. Hotch had to shoot him, there was no other way this was going to end. Once we got everything sorted we got on the plane to go home. I was sitting next to Spencer, who was resting his head on my shoulder while I read a book. We were sitting across from Morgan and Emily, Morgan was listening to music and Emily was reading a paper. He took his headphones off and we heard Spencer screaming from them. 

“Okay, kid, that was cute. But that’s all you got?” Morgan asked him, he was very clearly pretending to be asleep. Morgan’s cell ran and he answered it. 

“Hey baby girl-” He was cut off by Spencer screaming coming through his phone. Spencer had a smile on his face and Rossi held up a white napkin. 

“Uh-uh. Alright, Reid, it’s on. Just know that paybacks are a bitch.” Morgan said. Spencer just responded with snoring. I shook my head at the two of them. 

“You started this Morgan, it’s your own fault.” I said with a slight laugh. 

“Of course you’re taking his side, Y/N.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Well I am dating him, so yes I’m taking his side.” I said and Rossi chuckled. 

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[astridthevalkyrie]

My Companion: Chapter 3

"Maybe, somewhere along the way, Astrid had fallen in love with her husband, and now she had to pay the price." Or, they have an arranged marriage and Astrid isn't sure how dedicated Hiccup is to her. Oneshot. {Now a series of oneshots!}

Read it on FF.net or A03

Time to come back to Arranged Hiccstrid! I was watching the show for which this fic was named and naturally, felt inspired. Have a little looky into Hiccup and Astrid’s early days!

The Night of the Wedding

Astrid felt like a stranger in her own dress.

She wanted to take it off. Technically, she could. Hiccup Haddock was her husband, as was made official in the past few hours, and it would be appropriate to undress and change in front of him.

In fact, it’d be expected. The night of their wedding...a night to conceive the heir.

Odin curse all of the expectations! If she wanted to make a fuss about propriety and wanted to keep herself clothed in front of him, then she reserved her damn right to do just that.

The chief was not a cruel man, that much she knew. Still, his new and tolerant approach to dragons hardly meant that he’d give the same respect to a woman.

She grit her teeth furiously. The idea that a dragon could be respected more than her on this island filled her entire being with anger. It wasn’t fair.

Hiccup walked into the bedroom behind her, closing the door. Astrid’s heart drummed painfully, and she thought longingly of the boat that Rosie had prepared for her. She could have taken it. She should have taken it. But the thought of bringing such shame on the Hofferson name was one she couldn’t bear.

“This is your room,” Hiccup said quietly.

“My room?” Astrid turned and looked him in the eye for the first time since they had abruptly kissed at the ceremony. “Not...ours?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a light blush on his cheeks. Astrid found it rather awkward. “No, I can’t imagine you want to sleep with me. As in, in the same bed! Thor, I’m not even - not even talking about…”

He trailed off, coughing into his fist and averting his eyes.

Astrid bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She hadn’t considered that he would give her a choice.

“But this is your room, isn’t it? Your father’s before you?”

“Yeah. It’s okay, though. The bed is new and fresh. I made it myself - not that it matters. The point is, you can take it.”

“Kicking my chief out of his own room would be...dishonorable.” She took a deep breath and sat down. “You may stay.”

Her permission sounded more like a demand, and she thought she saw the briefest flash of a smile on his face, but it was gone so soon that she must have imagined it. He sat down next to her hesitantly, clearly nervous about crossing the line.

Frankly, Astrid found his hesitancy made her feel safe.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Every few seconds Astrid wanted to say something, anything, to get rid of the torturous silence, but every time she opened her mouth to speak, the words died on her tongue. She knew an injustice had been done upon her when she was forced to marry a man she didn’t know. But it was the first time she considered it unfair for him as well. What made her certain that he had wanted to marry a woman he didn’t know?

Astrid looked at him, really looked at him, and felt unsure. He was an attractive man, to put it simply. With a sharp - sharp - jawline, striking emerald eyes, and auburn hair that fell into his eyes, she could gaze at him for hours if it was appropriate. It wasn’t unlikely that he had been courting someone before this.

“I’m not your chief, right?”

“What?” She snapped out of her daydreaming in an instant, looking away to pretend like she hadn’t been looking at him. 

“I’m not your chief. You’re not a Berkian.”

Astrid frowned, not having expected to hear such harsh words so soon. And not from him. She had figured the people would not accept her right away, but would her husband resent her because of her blood too? That was hardly fair.

Hiccup’s eyes widened at her dejected look. “That’s not what I meant. I mean - I just thought...I thought you’d want to remain loyal to your own tribe. You don’t have to think of me as your chief just because I’m your husband. I don’t want to be - ” here he winced - “forceful.”

Astrid breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re really not like most vikings, are you?”

Hiccup laughed, an open laugh that didn’t sound too horrible. “No, but I’ve learned to be okay with it.” He gazed at her hopefully. “Will you be? Okay with it, with me.”

“That’s…” She bit her lip, thinking carefully. “Don’t ask me tonight. Ask me...later.”

He gave her a long, hard look, but nodded. “That’s reasonable.”

With that, they both stood up, and Hiccup stepped out to change into his clothes, leaving her to do the same.

Astrid stared at the door. She didn’t feel...wooed. Or even understood. Nothing in her indicated that she could ever love the chief of Berk.

But marrying wouldn’t be the worst decision of her life.

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

The Day After They Slept Together

“You know, I’ve been wondering for ages what that noodle has been hiding.”

“Ruffnut,” Astrid said sternly. “I hardly think that’s appropriate.”

“Which is precisely why we’re in your house, and not the Great Hall. So?”

Astrid sighed, exasperated. “I never should have told you we were planning to do it yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Ruff snorted, “You really shouldn’t have.”

She sighed, blowing on her bangs childishly and leaning against the wall. “He was...nice about it.”

Ruff whistled. “That bad, huh?”

“I didn’t say it was bad...”

“There is no good meaning to what you said.”

“I don’t know, Ruffnut!” Astrid slid down the wall dramatically until she was on her knees. “You’re the only person I can talk to about this, but even then I can’t find the words for it. It was good.” At Ruffnut’s dubious look, she doubled down. “It was really good. I don’t have anything to compare to, but it felt good. And that was more than I needed. The point is to conceive an heir.”

All of a sudden, Ruff’s eyes narrowed. It was an unusual look for her - in the few months Astrid had known her, the other woman had rarely ever been angry or upset. “He didn’t pester you about this, did he? He didn’t force you?”

“No! Gods, no.” She took her hand and tugged so she’d sit down. “I brought it up, and asked him if he wanted to, and so we did. It was fine. It was good.”

“No one who actually had a good experience says that, Astrid,” said Ruffnut, giving her a deadpan look. 

“What do you want me to say? How magnificent and thrilling the experience was? Of course I can’t, there were no feelings behind it.”

Well, Astrid thought privately, that wasn’t entirely true. There had definitely been a slight bit of sadness. She had imagined that her first time would be, at the very least, with someone she loved. She hadn’t needed it to be amazing, as long as it had been special. But her and Hiccup...what they had done last night had been duty, not love. It struck her as tragic, as much as she tried to get the thought out of her head.

Still, there was no reason to tell Ruffnut that, so she put on a smile and changed the subject.

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

The First Fight

Hiccup had always struck Astrid as...calm. He didn’t act on his first emotion (which was a stark difference from his childhood, as Snotlout and Fishlegs had told her). He tried to find the good side to every situation, and he rarely got upset. Anger never clouded his judgement.

She must have caught him on an off day, then.

Astrid knew there was something wrong when he came in and didn’t bother to spare her a glance before going up to their room to change. Usually, they would exchange meaningless niceties, while, while grating, had become a part of her routine. Still, she brushed the uneasy feeling off and told herself that he was probably just tired.

When Hiccup came back down, she chanced a glance at his eyes, and was stricken by the intensity in them.

He sat down on the chair opposite from her and without missing a beat, asked, “What did you tell my people today?”

The possessive way he spoke was the final warning, and Astrid got ready to defend herself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hoark said you told them we were going to war.”

Astrid frowned, leaning back. “I did not say that. I said it was likely, but I certainly did not give a declaration in that way.”

“You,” he spoke with barely contained venom, “are the chieftess. Everything you say is a declaration. I’ve had to tell everyone that you were exaggerating.”

“I - so what if they did take it as a declaration? It is the truth. I believe in telling the truth. We probably will be going to war with the Lava Louts, so people should be prepared -”

“That wasn’t your choice to make,” Hiccup snapped, and for the first time since she had met him, Astrid felt some passion from him towards her. Too bad it was negative.

Digging her nails into her skin under the table, Astrid answered in her most monotone voice. “I apologize. I did not realize that talking to your people would be against the rules.”

Hiccup had looked like he was going to fire back, but instead, he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, oddly reminding her of a blubbering fish.

“Is that what you think I’m doing right now?” he finally muttered. “That I’m setting down the law? That I’m restricting you?”

Even before she spoke, she knew it was a dirty blow, but she couldn’t help it.

“Well, that is what people do with their prizes, isn’t it?”

She knew it wasn’t fair. She knew that Hiccup had never treated her like a prize, or anything less than her own person. But the conversation she had had with the people today had been the closest she had ever felt to them, with a similar sense of pride. She had felt like a Berkian. And Hiccup was once again telling her that she wasn’t.

Hiccup stood up so quickly that the chair fell back behind him. “Hel of a prize, Hofferson. I thought they were supposed to be rewarding.”

Astrid scoffed, standing up as well. “You don’t even deny it. You don’t like me talking to the people, you just want me sitting in here everyday, smiling and knitting a-and cooking you a nice dinner, isn’t that it?”

“That is exactly it!” Hiccup said, his words laced with cutting sarcasm. “Didn’t you read the prisoner’s pamphlet the night of our wedding? Or did you miss it under the guide on how to act like a victim?”

“Oh, right, because I should be happy! I should be thanking you, Chief.” She spat out his title like it was a curse. “For giving me the honor of marrying me and taking me away from my home!”

“You think I wanted this!?”

“No, Hiccup, clearly you didn’t!”

“Oh, for the love of - I don’t want you telling people unconfirmed things so that they don’t go around calling my wife a liar and a gossip!”

“I’d rather be a gossip than an enemy!” she cried.

“Dammit, Astrid, I’m looking out for your reputation!”

“Well I think you’re just looking out for yours!”

They both glared at each other. Astrid realized her fists were clenched, while Hiccup’s hair was unruly and there was a fresh cut on his neck.

She swallowed, not liking the feeling of her anger thawing out. She wanted to be angry. This was the most passionate she had felt in ages. Anger had always been her strong suit. Still, she couldn’t in good conscience ignore the cut either.

So in the most uncaring tone she could muster, Astrid said, “You should probably go get that checked by Gothi.“

“What are you - oh.” Hiccup put a hand over the cut as though she hadn’t already seen it. “I...I meant to go anyway.”

“Then go.”

Hiccup stared at her for a few seconds with an unreadable expression. “Yeah. I think I should.”

He brushed past her, their shoulders knocking into each other. Her heart felt...heavy, and when she heard the door shut, she desperately wanted to go open it and run after him, just to yell some more.

That couldn’t be what love felt like. No, this was just her anger issues. They had always been pretty bad.

Astrid sunk back into her chair, and buried her face in her hands, wondering why arguing with him had been more pleasant than any nicety they had ever exchanged.

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

That Time They Got Drunk

Hiccup hiccupped, and the sight and irony of it sent Astrid over the edge. She giggled, her head falling on Ruffnut’s shoulder. Ruff shrugged her off, but only so she could stand up and pull Astrid to her feet to dance.

“Here’s to...er…” Snotlout looked around for help but when no one offered any, he shrugged and went on. “Here’s to Berk’s nine hundredth anniversary!”

“It’s Berk’s four hundredth anniversary, you knucklehead,” said Fishlegs, who definitely held his alcohol better than the rest of them.

“Come o-o-o-n, Astrid, you can dance better than that!”

“Here’s to the greatest chief Berk has ever seen!” Tuffnut shouted. Him and Snotlout hollered and congratulated Hiccup with affectionate punches. While usually more serious than this, Hiccup laughed, taking another swig of his mead. 

The music that they were playing in the Great Hall seemed to grow louder. Astrid, who had grumbled about the dress she had to wear only a few hours before, now twirled magnificently in it, her steps becoming lighter and her rather mesmerizing dance getting the attention of several people across the room, including Hiccup, who was all of a sudden looking at her rather appreciatively.

“Here’s to...here’s to Gobber!” Snotlout shouted, looking around wildly. The man in question was fast asleep, slumped over Grump in the middle of the hall.

Astrid’s eyes locked with Hiccup’s, and her heart pounded. His gaze was intense, and something inside her thrummed with anticipation. There was something intoxicating about having the most powerful man in the room watching you with such a hungry gaze. And there was nothing anyone could say about it either, he was her husband.

“Here’s to Astrid’s dancing skills!” Snotlout cheered, sloshing a bit of mead over himself.

She finished grandly and got similar cheers of approval. Only Hiccup remained quiet, and their eyes stayed glued on each other, drinking up all the mead allowed them to see.

“That was amazing, Astrid.” Fishlegs smiled. “Very fluid.”

“Yeah, I bet Hiccup thinks so too,” Snotlout muttered not-so-quietly with a snicker.

The two of them broke out of their trance and shot similar dry looks to Snotlout, who shrugged. “What? I’m just saying, Hiccup thinks you’re beautiful, Astrid.” Then he laughed as though he had just said the funniest thing ever. “Isn’t that right, Hiccup?”

Everyone looked at the chief, who looked up at his wife.

“Of course I think she’s beautiful,” Hiccup said easily, and Astrid’s cheeks flushed.

Hiccup and Astrid left much later, still heavily drunk. Tuff and Ruff had kept them drinking, with their constant dares and challenges. Stumbling and giggling at nothing in particular, they finally reached their hut. 

Hiccup placed his hand on the handle, but before he had a chance to open it, Astrid grabbed his arm and tugged him back.

He looked at her, completely bewildered. “What?”

Feeling ridiculously bold and giddy, Astrid leaned in as close as she could and whispered, “I did that dance for you.”

Immediately, Hiccup’s eyes darkened, and he trapped her against the walls of the hut, a hand on each side, just as she had planned. His gaze went from her eyes, slowly, teasingly down to her lips. Astrid saw his throat bob, but without another moment of hesitation, he leaned down and kissed her.

It wasn’t their first kiss. But, Astrid knew as she tugged him closer, this was what she had wanted to feel the first time she kissed her husband. He wasn’t suffocating, but he was there, overwhelming her senses. The quiet possessive growl he let out drove her crazy, but Astrid remembered to pull back for air. She let herself have a second before kissing him again. One of his hands snaked around her waist and pulled her even closer, before he pulled back only to pepper hot kisses down her neck.

Astrid let her head fall back against the wall, panting excitedly.

They went inside, only pulling away from each other to take off articles of clothing…

Astrid climbed into the bed, with Hiccup only a few steps behind her…

She gripped the sheets in excited frustration...

Her head hit the pillow….

And the two of them were asleep in minutes.

Turned out, they really were very bad at holding their mead.

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

The First Time They Were In Sync

Spitelout’s voice grated on Astrid so much that she was ready to jump across the table and smack the man. Gods, he ran his mouth as though he actually had anything meaningful to say. And Sven! Odin help her, the man only saw fit to screech at the most unimportant of issues. 

“I say we cut them off entirely!”

Hiccup sighed, and she saw his lips twitch in annoyance. “As I’ve said about six times” - not that anyone was counting - “that seems more like a punishment than a compromise.”

Astrid could predict what Spitelout was going to say next the second he opened his mouth.

“Vikings do not compromise! That isn’t our way!”

Astrid stared sadly at Stormfly, the Nadder she had bonded with recently. Flying, surprisingly, was an extremely fun pastime, it was no wonder Hiccup did it so often. She longed to get on Stormfly’s back and fly away from this council meeting. It wasn’t like anyone but her husband cared what she had to say anyway.

“Just because something has been done a certain way for ages, does not mean that it’s how it has to be done. Just take -”

“The dragons, Spitelout,” she drawled. “You do have one, do you not? Or is it a sheep you so joyously fly? If we stuck to what Vikings did, then we’d have that dragon’s head on a stick.”

“Exactly the point, if a little crude.” Hiccup snapped his fingers and pointed dorkily. “We’re friends with the dragons, and better off because of it.”

“The dragons,” Spitelout began nastily, “are the reason why other tribes mistrust us.”

“And they are also the reason that none of them would actually be mad enough to attack us. Which means there is no need to punish them for something they haven’t and won’t do.”

Hiccup looked like he was desperately trying to hide a smile. “I don’t think I have anything to add to that. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe I have to attend to the forge, and Astrid - have you done the perimeter check today? You should get on that.”

Astrid, who had certainly done the perimeter check that day, stood up eagerly. “Yes, I should definitely get to that. Very important business.”

Hiccup disguised his laugh with a cough. 

“The council is adjourned.”

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

When Hiccup Got Injured

“Get in, get in, get in! What happened!?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, honestly,” Hiccup said, waving a dismissing hand as though his armor and tunic weren’t torn and there wasn’t a cut on his torso. “Just a wild dragon acting...well, wild.”

“I’m not a medic, Hiccup. Why didn’t you go straight to Gothi?” She directed him to sit on one of the chairs before using one of the fire prevention stations that Hiccup kept around to fill a bucket with water.

“Because it’s a small cut?”

Astrid sat in front of him, hesitantly wetting a rag before pressing it to his torso. Hiccup hissed in pain and she winced. It hardly seemed like a “small cut.”

They sat in silence as Astrid dabbed the wound gently, hoping Hiccup wouldn’t realize how thoroughly inexperienced she was at this sort of thing. She bit her lip and continued awkwardly pressing the wound until their eyes met.

Hiccup smiled, genuinely. “Thank you, Astrid.”

She found herself smiling a little too. For some reason, the typical uncomfortable tension wasn’t in the air tonight, and Astrid felt a little...relaxed. There was a comforting aura in the room that she faintly realized had not been there before he came in. It was strange, almost as if him being there put her at ease. But that sounded ridiculous, they weren’t even friends.

Astrid stood up, brushing the distracting thoughts out of her head. She started to head for the stairs, until Hiccup quietly murmured, “Astrid?”

She turned around. “Yes?”

Hiccup looked like he was struggling to ask her something, but so quickly that she nearly missed it, he asked, “Is it later?”

Astrid could have pretended she didn’t know what he was talking about, but the second he said it, she knew. She knew he was referring to the night of their wedding, when she told him to ask her later whether or not she’d be okay with him. With all of it.

She had a fleeting fantasy, one where she said that she was more than okay with him. She was happy! She was in love with him! She would embrace him and they would go up to their room together, lay by each other, and bask in each other’s love.

“Not yet,” she responded truthfully.

Hiccup did not look disappointed. He did not look happy. But he looked like he understood, and nodded. They exchanged a meaningful look, before Hiccup stood up, yawning. “I actually have to go back to the forge, I have a few things to work on.”

Astrid hesitated only a second before blurting out, “Do you need help?”

His head snapped up to her gazing hopefully, fiddling with the wet rag still in her hands. 

“I’d appreciate it.”

Astrid smiled again.

I hope you liked it! Remember, in these moments, they don’t love each other, they barely know each other. For the cute romance, I’d read the previous two chapters. 

Until next time!

[sa-gt-tarrius]

Liars Ahead: Proceed with Caution

Warnings:

Foul language, needles, lots of injuries, character death. Tread carefully!

@cakercanart @secret-shifters

This fic is a bit gritty, moreso than what I usually write. If it’s too much for you to handle, or if it’s just not up your alley and you don’t really like the harsher elements, please feel free to let me know! I’d be happy to edit it down to make it less angsty.

***

No one knew exactly how many secrets MIRA Incorporated kept under wraps.

Their kind of work demanded secrecy, of course. When a company is involved in such groundbreaking fields, they are bound to draw prying eyes. MIRA specialized in relativistic aeronautics, atmospheric engineering, and long-term spacefaring. These terms were new-age babble that roughly translated to “living in outer space.” MIRA studied things that science fiction nerds could only dream of seeing. 

However, MIRA understood that profits would tank if any old Joe Schmoe could walk into their headquarters and leak their data. It was no surprise, then, that the employees of MIRA knew so little about their own company. Most workers had to stay on their assigned floor for their entire careers. Three whole levels of clearance were required to use the fancy upstairs bathrooms!

But there was one thing that was no secret to anyone: MIRA was planning something big. Something amazing. And whatever it was, it was going to happen soon. Excited whispers swept through every office and laboratory—the company had something in store that would rock the world. 

But to Henry Newground, this was all a bit underwhelming.

Henry had been tirelessly working at MIRA HQ for five years. He was an accountant for MIRA’s payroll, which meant he spent most of the day staring at lists of numbers and rummaging through file cabinets. When he was first hired, Henry naively believed that he could climb the corporate ladder and become an astronaut if he just worked hard enough. But alas, it was not to be—even after long years of no sick days and lots of overtime, Henry was still a simple accountant. He fought tooth and nail for a goddamn raise, so it was no wonder that his dream job was a mere fantasy. 

At least, that’s what he thought. But then a letter appeared on his desk one morning. 

Mr. Henry Newground,

We at MIRA have accepted your application to join our spacefaring and research apprenticeship program. Enclosed in this letter is a Level 10 Clearance Card. You will need it to access the upper office on the 50th floor, where more details will be provided. Please come to the office as soon as your shift ends. 

Kind regards, 

Elliot Rose 

Chief Executive Officer of M.I.R.A. Incorporated 

At first, Henry thought this was just a joke. His boss Kerri didn’t mention the letter all day, so she must’ve not known about it. (Either that or she had been in on it the whole time. She was a well-known jokester, after all.) And none of Henry’s coworkers spared him a second glance as he quietly left at five o’clock to head upstairs. 

The security guard at the elevator tried to turn Henry away, which seemed to confirm his just-a-prank theory. But as Henry fumbled over a frantic apology, trying to explain that he must have been set up by his coworkers, the security guard spotted a shiny blue rectangle dangling from Henry’s neck: a Level 10 Clearance Card. The guard opened the elevator door without a word, ushering the confused man inside and pressing the button for the fiftieth floor. 

“Ms. Rose doesn’t usually let people into her office,” the guard murmured as the elevator ascended ominously. “You must be helping with that big project they’re talking about. All the nerds upstairs won’t shut up about it.”

“Sh–she said she’d give me details when I got to her office.” Henry spun to face the guard, his face scrunched up anxiously. “Do I look okay? I didn’t have time to put on a suit…”

“You look fine. Stand up straight, we’re almost there.”

Given the air of mystery surrounding the upper floors of the building, Henry had no idea what to expect. But what he didn’t anticipate was to be met with a gust of wind. Henry shielded his eyes as a glare of sunlight began to burn his retinas. He was outdoors—on the roof of the building. It looked like a helicopter pad, only much, much larger. 

The security officer cleared his throat, gently ushering Henry out of the elevator. He jutted his finger towards the other side of the launch pad, towards a hallway that led back inside the building. “Just follow the path for a bit, and then take the left path at the fork. If you make it to the greenhouse, you went too far.” 

“Er, thanks…”

“And make sure you knock. Ms. Rose hates when people barge in.”

Henry nodded tentatively. He took a deep breath and marched towards the entryway, determined to get to the office before chickening out. 

The upper floors weren’t that unusual, Henry thought as he trotted along. He passed by a smelly locker room, a tiny medical bay, and a grimy computer room. Nothing about this place seemed particularly flashy or elite. Henry was starting to think he was on the wrong floor. 

Henry made the left turn, as the guard told him, and arrived in a small alcove with three rooms. One of the rooms was a lab of some sort, although it was barren and empty for the time being. The room ahead was filled with bushes and shrubs, with a large glass tube in the centre. And the last one was closed—a sign reading “please knock” hung nearly on the doorknob. 

Henry knocked three times and yanked his hand away like the wood was searing hot. 

Then the door creaked open. 

No one knew much about Ms. Elliot Rose. Even the managers and supervisors scarcely spoke of her at all. Henry honestly had no idea what to anticipate from her, aside from the cutthroat ruthlessness most company owners tended to have. But instead of a snide, fierce woman who could tear him apart with a glance, the woman standing in the open doorway was hardly remarkable. She was just barely taller than Henry, no older than thirty, and her red hair bristled out in all directions like she hadn’t brushed it in days. Her eyes were bagged and sunken, almost sickly, and her gaze was panicked and wild for a moment before locking onto Henry. 

She frowned. “Can I help you?”

“Ms. Rose?” Henry tried, unsure if he was truly talking to the CEO of the largest corporation on the planet. “My name is H–Henry Newground. I was told to come here at five, I–I have a clearance card if you need to see it—”

“Oh, right. Henry.” The woman suddenly straightened up, swinging the door open fully and gesturing for Henry to enter. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry to inconvenience you like this.”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry for the delay.” Henry stepped inside, clearing his throat in a sorry attempt to appear composed. The room was nothing special—just a small office with four computer desks and a box-shaped radio. The woman took a seat at the messiest desk, leaning back into the chair. Henry claimed an empty chair from a desk nearby, bouncing his leg anxiously. “So, um… about this spacefaring program…”

Elliot Rose smiled, sinking into the chair cushion and leaning back. “I’ve looked over your application and was very happy with what I saw. I think you have potential, Henry.”

“Thank you,” Henry sputtered, baffled and giddy that the CEO was singing such high praises of him. “I’ve always loved learning about space, you know. That’s why I applied for this job. Even as a kid, I—”

“That’s great, Henry,” Elliot hummed, slipping out a gaping yawn before continuing. “Anyway, I just wanted to run a couple of things by you before we send you off. You got your master's degree in microbiology from Harvard, correct? I’ve also heard you’ve taken courses in astrophysics.”

Henry nodded eagerly. “That’s right. I’ve also taken extracurricular classes on geology, I was the leader of the chess club… a–and I sold drinks at the campus football games,” he finished lamely.

“You see, Henry,” Elliot drawled, twirling a pen with her fingers, “I have thirty-four other applicants with higher education than you do. Half of them have three or more doctorates. I don’t care much about your education.” She leaned forward, crossing her arms firmly over the desk. Something glinted behind her eyes—it was impossible to read. “But you have special skills, ones that could greatly benefit my crew.” Elliot leaned forward, crossing her arms firmly over the desk. “Our coordinators are getting ready to send supplies to Polus on a small dropship. The trip will last about two days. I want you on that ship before it takes off.”

“Y–you want—” Henry choked on his breath. “You want me to go to space?”

Elliot smirked. “Is that a problem?”

“I–I just— Y–you don’t— W–well—“

“Use your words, Henry.”

“I’m just…” Henry sputtered, struggling to find words to say. “Don’t I need training?”

“You don’t sound very excited… I thought you would be happy about this. Didn’t you apply to join our spacefaring program last year?”

“I mean, yeah.” Henry shuffled in his seat awkwardly. “But my application was turned down. I didn’t have enough education for it. Why do you want me now?”

“Things change,” Elliot laughed. “I’d like to personally ask you to join the Polus crew and help document alien life.”

The two fell silent. 

Elliot smirked coyly. “Is that a yes?”

“I–I mean, absolutely,” Henry sputtered. “I’m just… a little confused. Are you sure you’ve got the right person?”

“I most certainly do,” Elliot replied. 

“Okay,” Henry muttered, unsure of how he managed to get into this strange situation with no warning. “So… what now?”

“Go home, get some sleep, and come back here tomorrow. Same time, of course. I’ll get you all the details by then.” 

“Okay.”

“Have a good night, Henry.”

“Th–thanks.”

Henry’s head was still spinning as he made his way out of Elliot’s office. 

“You alright, buddy?” the security guard piped as Henry entered the elevator, his eyebrow raised curiously. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I’m fine.” Henry gripped his forehead, fighting off another dizzy spell. Butterflies were forming in the pit of his stomach as the elevator descended. “I just need to go home.”

And that’s exactly what Henry did. As soon as he fetched his lunch kit from the office fridge, the young man hopped into his SUV and drove straight home. Not even bothering to change out of his work uniform, Henry collapsed on the bed. His head continued spinning. 

Surely this was a big joke. 

Elliot herself said that many people were far more qualified than he was. So why was she so adamant about having Henry on her crew? It made no sense. 

Henry knew he wouldn’t have gotten any answers that night, not by muttering and mumbling into his pillow like a lunatic. He’d have to get the details tomorrow like Elliot told him to. So instead of uselessly mulling it over, Henry plucked his phone off the side table and quickly dialled a number. The phone barely had time to ring before someone on the other end picked up. “Hey, sweetie. How was work today?”

“Hi Henry, it was good! What about you?”

“Well, I–I was called into a meeting by the CEO. She said she wanted me in her spacefaring program.”

“Oh, that’s… hang on. Are you serious? They accepted you?!”

“Yeah. She asked me to help with some research. She said she was impressed by my application and—”

“You’re going to space!” A young woman’s voice bubbled ecstatically over the phone. She laughed and giggled, even belting out an excited shriek for good measure. “I’m so proud of you! I knew you’d get in, I just knew it!”

“You did, yeah.”

“God, I wish I could be there right now,” the woman chuckled. “I want to give you a big hug.”

Henry smiled faintly. “Thanks, sweetie.”

“I’m going to go buy a bunch of chocolates for you today. I don’t know if it’ll get delivered before you leave, but it can at least be a welcome-back present.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, Sigrid,” Henry replied. “How would you even send it? The post office won’t accept packages that big. I don’t even know if a box of chocolates would fit in the mail truck.”

The woman, presumably named Sigrid, huffed indignantly. “Well, fine. I’ll just think of something else.”

Henry had never actively sought out a relationship. He was too focused on work to consider dating, and his social circle wasn’t large enough for him to start dating around. And yet, for three years now, Henry had been in a lovely relationship with a woman named Sigrid Brandson. She lived in northwestern Canada (according to her), far away from any large cities, and Henry wasn’t yet lucky enough to meet her face-to-face. 

The reason? Sigrid was a giant. 

There few places giants and humans could casually be together—and much fewer ways to travel to each other—so they usually spent their time on the phone or video calls. Henry didn’t mind much, although it was disheartening to have never kissed Sigrid even after years of being committed. 

It was thanks to Sigrid that Henry learned to speak and write Riesian, the language of the giants. When the two first met on an online fan forum, Sigrid spoke very little English, and Henry didn’t even know the Riesian language existed. But with time and effort, the two were able to cross the language barrier, eventually teaching each other their native tongues. 

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Yeah, she said I’m going to a planet called Polus. They have a research base set up there.”

“Polus?” Sigrid repeated. “Oh… that’s… that’s nice.”

It was then that Henry realized Sigrid’s voice had become a tad crestfallen. He frowned. “Everything good?”

“Just… be careful out there,” Sigrid murmured. “I know it’s probably fine and I’m worrying about nothing, but make sure you stay safe, okay? And call me if you can. I’m so proud of you, Henry.” She suddenly stopped speaking English and switched to Riesian. 

“Bai tcho eim, honey.” 

Be safe.

***

On the days leading up to takeoff, Elliot had been vigorously training Henry. He learned how to fix wiring issues, how to power up engines, how to use the weather nodes, and how to examine and sort specimens that were brought into the base. Henry was very quickly becoming a rather competent spacefarer. 

But still, Henry was on edge. Despite the training and the reassurances from Elliot, something didn’t sit quite right. But none of that mattered—before he knew it, Henry was stuffed into a white spacesuit, complete with the MIRA logo and the American flag emblazoned on the shoulders. Dozens of people swarmed around him, talking to each other and furiously taking notes. A brisk wind punctuated the murmur of the crowd. 

Elliot knelt before him, her hands running along the fabric to make sure the suit would fit Henry. 

“You’ll be accompanying Aesir Vidstrom while you’re on Polus,” she said as she worked. “He’s the new chief of medical staff. He’ll meet you at the landing site and help you get settled in.” Elliot fiddled with the straps on Henry’s waist, tightening the suit until it fit. Henry was quite a few inches shorter than prior astronauts, so his spacesuit needed to be altered before he could use it. “You’re to stay with Aesir at all times unless he says otherwise. Is that clear?”

Henry nodded and glanced away, choosing to stare at the looming spaceship atop the crowded launchpad—a dropship, Elliot had called it. The ship was fairly large, about eight meters in height and width, and the nose stretched outwards almost twelve meters. The jet black paint glistened in the early morning sun, and Henry’s nose crinkled at the smell of something burning. 

“And remember, my crew is always on standby. We’ll be ready to help you whenever you need it.”

“Th–thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t mention it.” Elliot finally stepped away from Henry, admiring the finished spacesuit. “I think you’re ready. Let’s get you out of here.” She turned around, facing the crowd, and raised her voice. “Five minutes to takeoff!”

“Five minutes!” someone screamed over the din. “Fire up the reactors!”

“Starting reactors! Diverting power to the left and right engines! Standby…”

“All clear, ma’am! Someone get Newground on board!”

“Let’s go, Henry.” Elliot shoved Henry towards the dropship. The large metal plating began to slide up, similar to a garage door. A pair of men in uniform guided Henry up the steps and into the cabin of the ship. Ten plush seats lined the walls—Henry took a tentative seat in the closest one, the farthest to the left, and began to buckle himself in. The men in uniform quickly left as the engine roar increased in volume. The other staff members gathered along the edges of the launch pad in anticipation. 

“Good luck, Henry!” Elliot hollered, waving her arm up over the crowd. “You'll do great, I know it!”

Before Henry could reply, the door began to slide shut. The ship shivered and groaned, and within seconds, the whole thing began to rise and sway. Henry barely had time to squeeze his eyes shut before the ship suddenly lurched forward at unimaginable speeds. 

The poor man clenched his seatbelt like a lifeline. He knew takeoff would only last a minute or two, and yet the ordeal seemed to last a lifetime. Henry felt his body being squished against the chair, constructing his lungs and preventing him from breathing. As much as he tried to, he couldn’t even scream. 

And then, as quickly as it began, everything started to slow down again. The roar of the engine faded somewhat, and the whole cabin gradually stopped shaking. Henry wasn’t quite confident enough to get out of the seat, so he remained strapped in, gasping heavily as he tried to soothe his racing heart. 

Finally, when everything was calm, Henry shakily unbuckled himself and rose to stand. As he shuffled through the cabin, he took the time to properly examine the interior of the dropship he would be riding in. There were various steel crates scattered about, each containing canned rations and various tools. A small laptop was placed on the smallest crate, detailing the dropship’s velocity, fuel levels, turbulence, and current distance from Polus. He made a mental note to check on it later to make sure everything was normal. 

And then, on the starboard side of the ship, a solitary window glimmered.

Henry dared himself to peer outside. 

He paused, then gasped.

Even after seeing outer space countless times in photographs and videotapes, Henry was still gobsmacked by the vast starry void before him. To his right, the planet Earth was rapidly shrinking as he blasted further away, and the sun was a mere speck of light in the distance. This wasn’t a fantasy anymore—Henry was hurtling through the solar system in a spaceship, making his way towards an alien planet. 

A childish grin crept onto his face. 

This was it. After years of daydreaming, Henry was a real-life astronaut—his younger self would be so proud. Henry was so ecstatic that his earlier anxieties and frustrations were completely forgotten, left behind on his home planet. 

In less than two days, Henry would arrive on Polus to begin his spacefaring apprenticeship. He kept thinking about Sigrid, imagining all the stories he’d get to tell her when he got back to Earth. 

This was going to be amazing.

He just hoped nothing would go wrong. 

***

The trip to Polus was progressing faster than Henry ever expected. He wondered how MIRA’s ships could move so quickly and yet use so little fuel—it was a blessing of science, to be sure. 

But by the twentieth hour of the trip came and went, Henry felt anything but blessed. 

There wasn’t much for entertainment in the dropship. Henry could only fumble around on the laptop, gaze out of the window, or pace the cabin a few times. The boredom was excruciating, but the anticipation was even worse. Luckily, Elliot had reached out to him a few times via video calls, answering questions and keeping him company during the arduous journey to Polus. 

“Any turbulence today?” she asked. 

“None,” Henry replied. “No asteroids, either. Everything is fine so far.”

Elliot smiled. “Good. The dropship has a bit of a reputation for rough rides, so I was worried about engine damage. Seems like I was worried about nothing.”

The two made idle conversation every four hours or so, which was a welcome distraction. As much as Henry adored being in space for the first time, he couldn’t deny how lonely and boring it was. And having someone like Elliot to guide him was another welcome addition, even if her presence unnerved Henry somewhat. 

Two more days passed. Henry was munching on his lunch ration. He’d opened the package to find sliced canned meat—bland and oily and smelly. But with the addition of some crackers and canned oranges, the meal made for a decent lunch. However, before he was even halfway finished eating, a rumbling began to overtake the cabin. His lunch contained tumbled onto its side, spilling cracker crumbs all over the floor. Henry instinctively latched onto a nearby crate, trying his best not to fall over as the entire ship swayed. 

A synthetic voice rose over the fray. “Entering the Polus mesosphere,” it announced in a polite, monotonous tone. “Current velocity: 326 miles per hour. Engine temperature: nominal. Distance from indicated landing site: estimate of 833 miles. Please fasten your seatbelt and prepare for landing.”

Henry was knocked to the ground as the shaking intensified. The ship was approaching Polus, and fast. He crawled to the nearest seat, restraining himself a bit too tightly in his haste. The voice continued droning on as the ship entered the planet’s atmosphere. 

“786 miles… 721 miles… 678 miles…”

And then a deafening screech sounded from above. Henry winced and tightened his grip on the seatbelt as the ship suddenly did a nosedive. 

“504 miles… 452 miles…”

A siren overhead wailed loudly. Bright red lights flashed in the corners of his eyes. 

“310 miles… 259 miles…”

Something was very, very wrong. 

“199 miles… 97 miles…”

He braced himself. 

“12 miles… 2 miles…”

Everything went white. 

***

“Come on, don’t die on me.”

Black dots continued to bounce in Henry’s vision as his mind stirred. The young man let out a miserable groan, clutching his forehead painfully. 

“That’s it… Wake up, little guy…”

Henry paused. It took him a moment to realize that the voice overhead wasn’t speaking English. It took two more seconds to realize that the voice was extremely loud, almost like it was coming from a speaker. 

Both these mysteries were solved as soon as he opened his eyes. 

A monstrously large figure loomed above, blocking out the light of the bulb dangling overhead. Ginormous eyes, hazel and bright, were locked onto Henry’s trembling body. And it—he—was smiling gently. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” the giant man murmured in Riesian. “I’m not gonna hurt you, little guy.”

Henry swallowed hard. He took a moment to gather himself so he wouldn’t have a panic attack, then turned his attention back to the giant face hanging above him. The huge, strange man cocked his head curiously. “Ah geez, I hope you’re not broken or anything… That would suck.” The voice boomed and shook Henry’s core, even though the giant was trying to speak softly. Henry couldn’t even keep eye contact without his heart dropping, so he kept his gaze locked onto the giant’s chest. He only barely noticed the white MIRA spacesuit the giant wore, identical to Henry’s suit in every way aside from its massive size. “Oh yeah, you can’t understand me, huh? Maybe we have a translator lying around here…”

“I–I am fine,” Henry fumbled in awkward Riesian, forcing his voice not to waver. He wasn’t even sure if he was even speaking correctly—but he was too nervous to care about his grammar. Fluency was the least of his problems. “I am okay.”

“Sweet.” The giant nodded, froze, then gasped. “...Wait, you can understand me?”

“I d–d–do.”

“But you’re human.” The giant’s face descended further—huge strands of curly brown hair brushed along Henry’s stomach. “Humans don’t speak Riesian.”

“Y–you’re right,” Henry murmured, flinching away from the enormous eyes drilling into him. “It’s a long story.”

The giant suddenly scoffed, his sheepish half-smile giving way to a full grin. “Cheeky bugger, huh? The name’s Aesir. What’s yours?”

“You are Aesir?” Henry perked up. “Aesir Vidstrom?”

Aesir’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, yeah. You’ve heard of me?”

Henry licked his lips, trying to remember some difficult Riesian words. “You are a… scientist. A space e–explorer. B–b–but Ms. Rose… never said you are a… giant.”

“How about that,” Aesir laughed, stroking his chin. “Never thought I’d meet a human like you.”

Thinking for a moment, Aesir snapped his fingers in a sudden realization. 

“Oh, wait—then that would make you what’s-his-name, right? HQ said some random new guy was on his way. But they never said you’d be a human. That’s MIRA for you, I guess… If they were stupid enough to wreck your ship, then they’d forget to mention that.”

“Wreck my ship?” Henry repeated slowly. Memories began flooding back into his mind. The alarms, the flashing lights, the sudden nosedive…

The dropship crashed. 

“Wait, then I—” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, buddy.” The giant winced when Henry scrambled to sit up. “Take it easy, yeah?” Aesir paused for a moment, tapping his foot a few times. “Actually… Wait here for a sec, alright? I need to grab something.”

With that, Aesir moved away to shuffle out of sight.

With the enormous face out of his vision, Henry was able to sit up and finally assess the surrounding area, hissing a bit as he aggravated his injury. He was sitting on a mattress that stretched several meters in every direction. The blue sheets and white pillow were reminiscent of a gurney, like ones you might find in a hospital. And sure enough, upon closer inspection, the room appeared to be a small medical bay, white walls and smell of disinfectant included. There were three other identical beds lined between curtain barriers, just like the bed he was sitting on. Henry peered to the right. He could see the silhouette of Aesir leaned over a countertop through the wall of curtains. 

What was he doing over there?

Henry forced himself to speak. “This is Polus?”

“Sure is,” Aesir replied from beyond the curtain wall. “You were lucky you made it this far on that hunk of junk—if your ship malfunctioned any sooner, you might’ve crashed into an asteroid or something.” Aesir came back into view, sidestepping the curtain to approach Henry. “Now stay still.”

“I… uh…” Henry held up his hands, carefully scooting back a few inches. Aesir hadn’t come back to Henry empty-handed; in his left palm, the giant cradled a glass syringe filled with a bluish liquid. The needle was almost six feet tall, taller than Henry was. “I–I do not need that.”

“Yes, you do. Come over here.” 

“It is t–too big,” Henry wavered, curling in on himself as Aesir continued to approach. “Nothing hurts. I am… un–uninjured. Do not need that. Do not need it.”

Listening to Henry’s trembling voice and weak attempts to dissuade him, Aesir’s face fell. “Look,” he whispered, getting onto his knees to kneel by the bed, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be. When we’re in medbay, I’m the boss.” The giant slowly reached out his free hand, grasping Henry’s shoulder with his enormous finger and thumb. His other hand, the one bearing the syringe, began to drift closer to Henry. “Now stay still, or this will hurt more than it needs to.”

In a fright, Henry leapt away from Aesir’s hand in a frantic escape attempt. He scrambled across the sheet, making a beeline for the white pillow at the head of the bed. 

“Shit—” Aesir cursed under his breath, tossing the needle to the side. He made a lunge forward, both hands outstretched, reaching for Henry’s tiny form. Before Henry could reach the pillows, the terrified human being suddenly found himself encased in musty, cramped darkness. His stomach sank when he realized what just happened—Aesir had trapped him in his hands. 

A feeling of intense vertigo overcame him as Aesir stood up straight; he felt himself being slammed against the giant palm beside him. Despite being very obviously trapped, Henry continued to squirm, searching in vain for an opening to crawl through. He pawed at the skin surrounding him, growing ever more desperate. 

And then a light shone through the fingers above him. “Stop being a brat,” Aesir muttered. Henry opened his mouth to retort, but his breath hitched in his throat when a sharp pain pierced his lower back. He let out a strangled sob, trying not to thrash around and hurt himself more. 

Aesir hummed contentedly. “There we go… nice and easy.” The needle retracted as quickly as it was injected. Henry took the moment of reprieve to dry his eyes and ease his pounding heart. “Told you it wasn’t that bad,” he chuckled. “Just be thankful it wasn’t worse.” 

Henry refused to reply—he focused on keeping his eyes locked downward. Aesir’s lack of empathy was beginning to unsettle him; although the giant paid lip service to Henry’s discomfort, he ultimately seemed to care very little about the pain and terror he was causing. 

Aesir, oblivious to Henry’s plight, lifted his hands to his face, staring down the sniffling, petrified human with unbridled excitement. “Well, now that you’re all drugged up, I figure we’re good to get your suit back on. Don’t want you freezing out here, you know.”

“Suit?” Ah, yes. They were in space, after all. It made sense that he should have to wear a spacesuit, even if they were indoors. “O–okay.”

Aesir pulled his left hand away from Henry, reaching for the nearby countertop. His hand returned quickly, dangling the white spacesuit with his index and thumb. “Legs up, bud. Let’s get you dressed.”

“I can do it,” Henry said quickly, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. 

“Yeah, nah,” Aesir chuckled. “Doctor’s orders. Now hold still this time, you brat.”

Henry huffed pointedly, knowing that he wouldn’t be getting out of this. With heavy reluctance, Henry slowly raised his legs into the air, allowing Aesir to slip the pant legs on, followed by the sleeves and the helmet. Unfortunately, the visor was cracked along the upper edge, but Aesir urged him not to worry. “The glass is three layers thick,” he explained. “You’ll be fine until we can get a replacement.” Surprisingly, Henry didn’t quite believe him. 

Henry had only just gotten the suit fitted (or rather, Aesir did the fitting for him) when someone suddenly spoke up. “Aesir.”

At the sound of the firm, strange voice, Henry flinched. His eyes landed on a figure standing in the corner of the room, dressed in a bulky green spacesuit. Henry couldn’t see her face—the light of the room reflected off the visor, obscuring whatever was behind the glass. Henry briefly imagined that she looked like a war veteran, stoic and hardened, probably with lots of scars decorating their skin.

“Oh, Svikari!” Aesir whirled around at the voice, clearing his throat and donning a lopsided grin. “What brings you here?”

“I came to see the human.” The woman, presumably named Svikari, barely budged as she spoke. It was like she was a statue with a voice of its own. “But I see you’ve taken care of things. I’ll be on my way, then.”

Aesir choked on something. “W–wait! Hang on a tic, alright? Why the hurry?”

Svikari cocked her head, acting as though Aesir’s question was incredibly stupid. “I have work to do. I came to see how the human was doing, and now I have to go.”

“Well, hang on,” Aesir stammered, fumbling over his words. “How about you come with me to storage today? I have to do some refuelling there.”

“I don’t have any tasks in storage today,” Svikari replied curtly.

“Come on, boss,” Aesir urged, lowering his voice. “It’s safer in groups. You know that.” He perked up a bit, raising his cupped hands. Not expecting to be jerked upward, Henry was almost launched off his palms. “A–and I know you wanna meet the human! He’s kind of bratty, but I think you’ll like him.”

Svikari paused. “Hello, human,” she said softly. “I trust you’ve been treated well?”

Henry hesitated. What was he supposed to say? He was tempted to start ratting off all the bruises he was getting thanks to Aesir, but he bit his tongue. Would he get in trouble if he told the truth? This Svikari character seemed far less sympathetic than Aesir, so perhaps there would be no point in complaining. They might even hurt him even more for speaking up. So he swallowed his pride and nodded slowly. “Y–yes, I am fine.” 

Svikari paused, glancing between Henry, who shuddered under her scrutinizing gaze, and Aesir, who smiled hopefully. 

“If you’re that afraid to go alone, I suppose I can come,” Svikari sighed. 

“I’m not scared!” Aesir retorted, tightening his painful grip on Henry. “I just don’t wanna get jumped in there.” Shrugging, Aesir once again prodded Henry in the stomach, chuckling as he did so. “I guess if an imposter shows up, I can use Henry as bait. You wouldn’t mind, right bud?”

Svikari laughed in reply, although something about her tone seemed… off. Henry wasn’t able to tell if the laughter was genuine or sarcastic. Henry said nothing at first, focusing on clutching his stomach to keep himself from throwing up. 

“I–imposters?” Henry finally coughed. “What are imposters?”

“Oops.” Aesir winced painfully. “Uh, well… we weren’t supposed to tell you.”

“I see no harm in explaining,” Svikari interjected. “If he’s going to stay here, he should know.”

“But Ms. Rose said—”

“I’ll handle Rose. Just keep your mouth shut.”

Aesir groaned, scrunching up his face in discomfort. “I mean… you’re the boss, dude. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’s scary when she gets mad.”

“Thank you, Aesir.” Svikari nodded, finally turning her attention back to Henry. “I assume Elliot never told you about the strange happenings on this base?”

“N–no.”

“I thought not. It’s in her best interest to keep this all a secret, after all.” Svikari folded her arms, exuding that terrifying, ominous energy that only giants were capable of. “Elliot probably told you that we found life on this planet. The life forms we discovered are what we’ve been calling imposters—carnivorous, man-eating shapeshifters that we’ve been trying to get rid of for the last few months.”

Henry felt his stomach drop. Carnivores? Man-eating? Shapeshifters? Someone had to be pulling his leg at this point. “Ms. Rose said you found plant life,” he countered quickly, not willing to believe Svikari’s wild claims. “She said nothing about aliens.”

“That’s because she was lying.”

“B–but why would she lie?”

“Telling people would be bad for business, I guess. Who knows what goes on in her head.” Svikari shrugged weakly. “Imposters have been wreaking lots of havoc lately. They kill the lights, mess with the reactors, cut off the oxygen supply… and I’m willing to bet they caused your ship to crash.”

“You’re right,” Aesir gasped. “I didn’t even think about that. They probably messed with the radio signals or something.” 

“We’re pretty sure we got rid of them for now, at least.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” Aesir corrected. “Remember what happened to Tor?”

“Of course I do,” Svikari huffed. “It took Bastion weeks to get the blood out of the carpet.”

Oh, dear god. 

There was no room for doubt, then. Henry began to tremble, tears causing his eyes to glimmer. What sort of cruel joke was the universe playing on him? After so long, he manages to achieve his dream of becoming an astronaut, only to find himself stranded on a faraway planet with malicious giants and man-eating aliens. Some malicious deity had to be laughing their ass off right about now. 

“Aww, don’t worry, little guy!” Aesir cooed behind his visor, bouncing the human seated in his hand. “Big bad imposter people can’t hurt you out here.”

While Aesir continued to coo condescending reassurances, bouncing his hand in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, Svikari stared thoughtfully at the minuscule human. Henry had no idea what was going on in that strange head of hers. Henry simply gripped the coarse fabric of Aesir’s glove, trying his best not to descend into a full-blown breakdown. 

“We should be going,” Svikari said suddenly. “Let’s take care of refuelling so I can finish my tasks.” 

Aesir hummed in agreement. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

***

If Henry was being frank, which he usually wasn’t, he’d say that Polus was a bit… underwhelming. If he wasn’t looking at the dank, snowy, barren landscape, or the abnormally large scale of everything around him, Henry would truly believe he was still on earth. Still, Aesir seemed determined to remind Henry just how small he was at any given opportunity. He’d croon, poke, and tease him incessantly, despite Henry’s continual whimpers of disapproval. 

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Aesir to fill up the fuel tank in the storage room, which was a cramped little building in the centre of the base. Svikari decided to just follow Aesir around until all his tasks were done, with the promise that Aesir would return the favour afterward. 

Svikari offered to carry Henry while Aesir worked. The giant was visibly hesitant about this proposition, refusing the offer the first few times Svikari asked. But eventually, Aesir relented, and Henry had been relegated to riding in Svikari’s hands. Henry sat in silence, rubbing his newfound bruises absently. He briefly wondered if someone would give him painkillers if he asked, but he pushed the thought away. There’s no chance they’d even consider the idea. 

“Almost done,” Aesir announced after a while, leading the group down a long hallway. Small patches of snow crunched beneath their boots as they trudged along. “I just gotta check the oxygen supply. Svikari, what tasks do you have left?”

A beat of silence passed before an answer came out. “O–oh, I need to fill the air canisters,” Svikari said quickly, stumbling over her words a bit. “And then I have to upload some data to HQ.”

“Cool.” Aesir glanced behind him, eyeing Henry with a cheeky grin. “You good back there, pipsqueak? Need anything?”

“No,” Henry mumbled. 

Aesir laughed, unfazed by Henry’s sneering tone. “Alright, don’t get your panties in a knot.”

After his initial wave of terror had passed, Henry found himself becoming increasingly agitated. He was upset with Aesir for terrorizing him in the lab. He was angry at Elliot for sending him to Polus. And he was mad at Svikari, too. He didn’t have a reason to be, but darn it, he was mad anyway. 

Henry was broken out of his thoughts when something brushed against his shoulder—a thumb. “Hey.” Svikari tapped him gently, her head tilted to the side. “You look upset. Is everything ok?”

With her intimidating presence, Henry could barely keep his eyes on Svikari. His eyes drifted to the ground, locked into his feet as he replied quietly. “Yes.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” the giant prodded. “Did he... Did Aesir hurt you? You don’t look too good.”

Henry bit his lip nervously. “N–no, he didn’t.”

Svikari sighed. “You’re lying. I can tell.” She adjusted her hands, swiveling Henry around so he had to face her completely. “Tell me what happened.”

“I–I...” Henry backpedalled, scooting as far away from Svikari’s looming face. He found his back pressing against Svikari’s curled fingers, and through the shimmering glass, he could almost see two pleading eyes locked into him. “H–he didn’t mean to. I just... wh–when he tried to give me those medications, I tried to run away—”

“What?” Svikari frowned. “Hang on, back up. What medications? What are you talking about?”

“U–um, he didn’t say what it was. Maybe it was a painkiller.”

“...Did he use a needle? Was it a blue liquid?”

“H–how did you know that?”

Svikari fell silent. She glanced towards Aesir, who was walking a ways ahead, and her muscles tensed. “That wasn’t a painkiller,” she said lowly. “It’s an experimental drug that our old medical chief was working on. We aren’t allowed to use it until we test it, since it killed our test subjects a few days ago. Aesir seriously could have killed you.”

Henry’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“I knew something was fishy,” Svikari growled, her grip on Henry tightening slightly. “Aesir was just an intern until our old medical chief got killed by impostors. No one thinks he’s cut out for the position, but we don’t have anyone else who’s even remotely qualified.”

Silence overcame them for a few minutes.

“Aesir,” Svikari finally called, a hard edge lining her voice. “Can we talk?”

Aesir stopped in his tracks. He turned to Svikari questioningly. “Hey, boss. What’s up?”

“About that drug you were working on... Have you tested it lately?”

Aesir paused, tapping his foot as he descended into thought. “Hmm... No, I don’t think so. Not since the rats died on me.”

“I see.” Svikari huffed indignantly. If she weren’t holding Henry, she most certainly would be crossing her arms. “So you haven’t used it at all since then?”

“Nope.”

“That’s funny,” she laughed. “Because I’m pretty sure you used it on the human this morning.”

Aesir’s arms and shoulders locked up.

“Am I right?”

“...Did he tell you that?”

“No, I figured it out.”

“Oh.” Aesir looked down at Henry, a faint scowl crossing his face before he turned his attention back to Svikari. “Don’t tell anyone,” he breathed. “Please. I could get fired.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Svikari snapped. “You weren’t worried about killing him? God, it’s just like you to pull a stunt like that. You only care about yourself.”

“I–it’s not like that, boss. I promise.”

Svikari groaned, rubbing her face with her free hand. “I won’t tell anyone. But you have to get your act together or I’m bringing this issue to the captain.” Her fingers curled inward, shielding Henry from Aesir’s view. “And until then, I’m revoking your jurisdiction over the human. He’ll be accompanying me from now on.”

“But I—”

“Is that a problem?”

“N–no, ma’am,” Aesir replied shakily. “You’re the boss.”

“Good.” Svikari nodded firmly. “Now, then... let’s finish our tasks before I change my mind.”

Aesir nodded, ducked his head, and continued walking in silence. His footsteps clomped much faster than before, but Svikari continued at her usual slower pace.

“I’ll take care of this, Henry,” she whispered. “Don’t worry.”

Way to make an impossible request. Henry wasn’t just worried—he was terrified. Not only did Aesir try to make him a test subject for his weird new drug, but now he had to face the wrath of the very giant that could have killed him. The only thing standing between himself and Aesir was Svikari, who Henry wasn’t even sure he could trust.

Svikari probably meant well. At least, Henry wanted to believe that. But something was off about her that Henry couldn’t quite pinpoint. The way she carried herself, her odd way of speaking, her constant bouts of silence… She was weird. No one would deny that.

But there was something else. Svikari wasn’t just strange—she was downright creepy. She obviously knew much more than she was letting on, and Henry couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d met her somewhere before. 

And then a thought struck him. 

Henry craned his neck up to look at Svikari’s visor, and through the glass, he could almost spot the outline of two large eyes. “How do you know my name?” he asked. 

“You told me earlier, remember?”

“No, I didn’t. I never told you my name. Neither did Aesir.”

“Oh.” Svikari slowed to a stop. She glanced at Aesir, who was too far ahead to hear them conversing. The giant huffed and lowered her voice, a frantic tinge lining her words. “I’ll… I’ll tell you later.”

“No. Tell me now.” Henry wasn’t sure why he felt so brave all of a sudden; maybe he was fed up with being constantly treated like a child, or maybe he was just experiencing an adrenaline rush. But he felt he had nothing else to lose at this point—Henry wouldn’t be giving up until he got an answer. “What’s your deal?”

“Deal?” Svikari laughed nervously. “I… I don’t have a deal. I’m just Svikari.”

Henry found it a bit strange that Svikari was caving so easily to his interrogation. She had no problem shutting down Aesir, so why was she losing face in front of a human? It made no sense. But Henry was beginning to put puzzle pieces together. Svikari knew Henry’s name. She was invested in keeping him safe. She was able to tell when he was lying. And here she was, her tail tucked between her legs, being verbally grilled by a human being. 

This Svikari person… seemed awfully familiar.

“Are you?” Henry glared daggers at Svikari’s visor. “Because I don’t think you’re telling the truth. Is that even your real name?”

“It’s—!”

 “Tell me the truth!” Henry hollered, throwing his arms to the air in frustration. “I’m tired of being babied! I’m tired of you two hiding things from me! Tell me the truth right now!”

“Okay, okay!” Svikari hissed. “Keep your voice down, alright? I don’t want Aesir listening.”

At that, Henry sobered a bit, tossing a cautious glance at Aesir walking ahead. Luckily, he didn’t seem to have heard anything. “So out with it,” Henry snapped, facing Svikari with a scowl. “What’s going on?”

“...You were onto something when you mentioned my name,” Svikari said slowly, every word hushed and deliberate. “Just so we’re clear—my real name is Svikari. But you wouldn’t know me by that name.”

“You used another name,” Henry finished, the dots finally connecting in his mind. “When you talked to me.”

The giant’s empty hand falling limp at her side. “I… I was hoping we’d get to see each other on peaceful terms, and… I wanted it to be on Earth, to be honest.”

Henry swallowed hard. “You… You’re Sigrid.”

Svikari smiled, trying her best not to look intimidating. “It’s nice to meet you, Henry.”

“This is impossible. I–it can’t be you. You’re a—”

“You fellas good back there?” Aesir called, swivelling his head around to peek at the pair. “Sounds like a real bout you’re having.”

Svikari cleared her throat. Her hands lowered, taking Henry out of her field of vision. “We’re fine. Just keep going.”

Aesir simply shrugged. “Alright.”

The group hooked right when the hallway abruptly ended. They found themselves standing before a small room secluded in the corner of the building. Something akin to grass lined the ground, and a large, towering tree stood proudly in the centre of the room. Embedded in the trunk of the tree was a small monitor, complete with wires looping in and out of the bark. While he couldn’t be certain, Henry wagered that this was the oxygen supply Aesir mentioned, although he didn’t expect the oxygen supply to be a plant of all things. 

“This won’t take long, ma’am,” Aesir stammered as he stepped into the threshold of the room, bending over to peer at the monitor. His face contorted into an expression of disgust. “Yeesh. Who messed with the RAD settings?”

“Beats me,” Svikari hummed.

“Whatever... Hang on, I just gotta fix this mess real quick.” With that, Aesir fell silent, sliding his fingers rapidly along the screen. Svikari simply stood nearby and waited, while Henry fidgeted anxiously. He couldn’t get their earlier conversation out of his head. Svikari’s words—or rather, Sigrid’s words—echoed in his brain, rattling his thoughts around. 

Svikari, meanwhile, was extremely quiet. Henry gazed at her, opening his mouth to ask a question, only to have a giant finger press against his mouth. Shh. 

Henry blinked, a little unnerved by how Svikari was acting, but nodded slowly. Svikari lifted her head and peered at Aesir, who was still focused on the monitor screen. Then, moving as slowly as possible, Svikari knelt down and tilted her hands, sending Henry sliding onto the grass below. 

It took Henry a moment to orient himself. He diligently wiped off the grass that clung to his suit and looked skyward just in time to see Svikari approaching Aesir from behind. The human watched intently as Svikari snuck up on Aesir, a kitchen knife clutched tightly behind her back, wondering what she was up to.

… 

...A kitchen knife?

Before Henry could even think to look again, he was subjected to the sound of a hideous squelch. There was a flash of red, a pained grunt, and suddenly Aesir collapsed to the ground, motionless. 

Svikari loomed ominously over the limp body, her hand still latched onto the knife that she’d plunged into Aesir’s back. Murky blood was beginning to pool at her feet, staining the grass a horrid shade of crimson. And then Svikari’s head pivoted like an owl, boring her gaze into Henry. 

“Don’t scream,” she heaved.

“Y–you—” Henry’s hands flew to his mouth. “You killed him.”

Svikari faced Henry fully. She extended her hands slowly and carefully, taking cautious steps forward as she spoke. “I know. Just… please stay quiet,” she whispered as she drew closer. 

“G–get away from me,” Henry choked, stumbling backwards and throwing his hands up to protect himself. “Please, don’t— d–don’t kill me.”

“Henry!” Svikari suddenly exclaimed, speeding up and making a beeline for Henry. “Be careful, you’re going to—”

Seeing Svikari quickly approaching, Henry made the split-second decision to spin around and bolt. But by the time he noticed the gaping crater in the floor below, it was too late. His foot whizzed through thin air, and with no further fanfare, he tumbled down into the pitch-black abyss. Time froze—a shout echoed from above. 

Then he hit the ground. Hard. 

Something snapped. Henry yowled in agony. He found himself unable to budge without pain coursing through his battered limbs. Tears began welling in his eyes, but he fought the urge to sob—crying would make it hurt even more. Thankfully, his visor was still intact, although the same could not be said for his bones. He simply laid motionless on his stomach, his arms and legs spread out, praying he would just pass out already.

“Oh no.” Svikari’s voice echoed off the crater walls, but Henry couldn’t see where she was standing. Even if the human was able to move his head and look around, the darkness cloaked everything in the vicinity. There was no telling where the giant was, but she was close. “Henry… It’s alright. I’m going to help you.”

“N–no,” Henry hissed, weakly hacking out the taste of copper from his mouth. “Not like this. Please.”

“Stop that. You’re hurting yourself. Please… let me help.”

“But you killed—” Henry couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He began to cry softly, despite how much it hurt him to do so. Every sniffle was excruciating, wracking his body from the inside-out. “You’re an i–imposter, aren’t you? And you’re going to kill me next.”

“No no no, honey… I would never hurt you.” Svikari’s voice was right next to his ear at this point. A huff of hot breath washed over Henry, rustling his hair. Wasn’t Svikari wearing a helmet, though? How could he feel her breath? “Listen… you’ve gotta trust me. I’m going to get you out of here.”

Henry cast a bitter glance to the side, unsure if Svikari was even standing in that direction. “You’re a liar.”

Svikari didn’t grace Henry with a reply. Instead, two long fingers slowly and deliberately dug beneath his stomach and hoisted him into the air. Henry squeezed his eyes shut as he was pressed against Svikari’s chest. Maybe this would be quick and painless. He could only pray at this point.

“Let me think…” Svikari inched her way forward, snaking through the dark underground pathway so as to not jostle Henry too much. In his daze, Henry failed to realize that there was no way Svikari could fit into the crater, let alone move around freely. But the only thing he was focused on was making peace with his life, knowing that he was about to die at the hands of the one he loved more than anyone else. 

Suddenly, Henry was blinded by sunlight. Svikari had begun crawling out of another crater located outside of the building. The holes in the ground seemed to be interconnected. But how did Svikari know that? And where was she planning on taking him? 

Before Henry could voice any of these questions, a deafening alarm sounded from above. He looked up just in time to see a flashing red light next to a speakerphone attached to the roof nearby. “BODY REPORTED,” a voice blared. “ALL PERSONNEL TO THE OFFICE. REPEAT, ALL PERSONNEL TO THE OFFICE.” 

Svikari swore under her breath. She lifted Henry out of the crook of her elbow, quickly swooping him towards a pocket located on her chest. “I’m gonna need you to stay quiet for now, alright?”

Henry’s breath hitched, eyeing the pocket warily as his legs were swallowed by it. “Why do I—”

“Shh.” Svikari cut him off. “Just trust me. I’ll explain everything once I take care of this.” With those ominous words echoing in his head, Henry was once again plunged into darkness, trapped in the front pocket of her spacesuit. 

There was no way this would end well.

***

[himjopper]

the flea & the acrobat (jim hopper fic)

pairing: hopper x reader, stranger things chapter: 2/? chapter rating: teen, 18+ (mention of violence, fear, mild swearing, mention of sexual intentions) summary: you’re an FBI agent from the behavioral analysis unit, living in the big city and enjoying the hustle and bustle of the 80’s crime scene. you’ve worked your ass off to get respect around a male dominated field, earning yourself a promotion as the head of your department after you helped solve a missing persons case that swept the nation just short of a year ago. the case closed, but something happening in a small town in Hawkins, Indiana is making your bones chill with its similarities to your closed case. a young girl, barbara holland, is missing and you’ve got a hunch on how to bring her home. little do you know, Hawkins isn’t exactly textbook and you need the locals’s help. a/n: oh my goodness, I finally got a chapter 2 out and we’re getting to meet Hop. I know I only hinted at it in chapter 1, but I didn’t want to rush it! trying to build some tension before we head down the road of uh cough tension ;-) anyway! please enjoy and send me ideas or thoughts! also let me know if you’d like to be tagged! <3 gif credit & tagged: @chiefharbour​

Indiana.

The air was drier than Seattle’s, certainly promising that you weren’t going to be rained on all morning. Your plane touched down in Indianapolis and the drive between the city to this nowhere town was vast. You saw less and less as the miles continued. However, there were definitely more corn fields. Your mind immediately jumped to the possibility Barbara Holland was tortured and thrown in one of those fields. Surrounded by husks, glasses broken, windpipe probably shattered, blunt force trauma to the back of the head and if this really is an admirer of Schwartzmen, they would have removed all her teeth and fingertips to try to keep her from being identified. That’s how the original killer stayed under the radar for so long and how this case earned the name Snake Hole. It felt like every time you had a lead on Schwartzmen and you were on his heel, another murdered redhead would pop up on nearly the other side of Alabama. Every time you had him, he’d disappear before he would strike, just like a snake you didn’t see on a path. He’d keep his victims for a period of two to three days of grooming before the torture, making them feel guilty for abandoning him as a baby as if he was their son, anything to get them to confess before he’d forgive them and eventually “save” them from their sins. He was fast, manipulative, cunning, and obsessive. You had every hope whoever had Barbara Holland was anything but.

        · · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·

Pulling up to the Hawkins’s Police Department left you a bit nervous and you weren’t entirely sure why. You’ve done plenty of solo investigating in your career and if anything, you’re a better agent when you work alone, but the idea of speaking with people from a close knit small town has its up and downs. On one hand, they’re eager to get their local to return home safely. On the other, they have no idea what the FBI should be doing in their town, they think their local PD is more than capable, and they don’t trust the FBI with their personal information because there’s a conspiracy that you’re the government and you’re going to sample their DNA for cloning to breed with aliens in Area 51.

You take a deep breath as you kill the ignition in the rental and check your appearance in the rear view mirror.

Be positive. This could go over smoothly and quickly if you are confident and strong. God, listen to yourself. What a load of shit.

Eventually you’re greeted by a front desk and you’re already noticing the difference in volume this office was compared to yours back home in Seattle. The fax machine was quiet. The conversations were low. There was very subtle sounds of keyboards clicking. Somewhere there’s a radio, still quiet but humming today’s popular hits. Even your heels seemed too loud.

“Good morning,” you began as you made eye contact with the older woman at the desk. Had to have been in her early sixties, been here since her thirties. Her nails were painted a fuchsia color, not a nail chipped, and her fingers decorated with jewelry including an older wedding ring. She seemed sweet, maternal, maybe a bit stern. Behind her thick rimmed glasses, her eyes looked up at you and she adjusted the frames to get a better look at your face before you spoke again.

“I’m special agent Scotch with the FBI, I spoke briefly with a Florence over the phone?”

Suddenly her hands fly up in excitement as she exclaims, “Oh! Yes!”

She stands up from her office chair to hold your hand over the counter, not even much of a shake but just a gentle grasp and supportive squeeze that took you off guard at first, but actually relieved a lot of your stress.

“It is so nice to meet you, I’m Florence, but please address me as Flo; my mother was Florence. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate you coming down here from your big city crimes to want to help us down here!” Your lips parted to speak, but she was already guiding you to the other side of her desk and towards a table decorated with various breakfast pastries and the smell of caffeine comforted you instantly.  “Come, come, let’s get you a coffee and you tell me about your flight, is it a long trip from Washington? I don’t travel much, they’ve had me glued to this desk for nearly half my life now,” she trails off with a laugh to herself.

You make small talk over semi-stale croissants with jam and burnt coffee, but you’re grateful for her hospitality nonetheless. You notice there’s a couple other desks covered with stacks of paper thrown around haphazardly. The lack of organization and order was clear here. Your hear some men’s voices down the hall towards more office space.

“Flo, thank you for your kindness,” you start. “I just have a couple of questions, if that’s okay? Who was in charge here for the case on Barbara Holland’s disappearance?”

Immediately, she puts her paper plate down on the table you’ve been conversing next to and she sprinkles the crumbs off her fingertips onto the plate. She sighs, but it’s not out of frustration or exhaustion per say. Sympathy, maybe? “That’d be our chief of police here, Jim Hopper. It’s been a wild ride, I’ll tell you what. Seems like a bit of a dead end for our chief, but he’s a stubborn man, ehm ....?” she looks at you then, realizing she doesn’t know how to address you properly. Something about your last name and “agent” didn’t seem friendly enough for Flo, you’re inclined to introduce yourself again with your first name to which she then adds to her statement.

You squint in suspicion. “Stubborn?”

Flo nods feverishly with a comedic roll of her eyes. “Beyond belief,” she exasperates, “he has a hard time letting anything go or run its course. It’s difficult to see him at such a loss with Miss Holland’s disappearance. He’s been at that like a dog tied to a tree, I’ll tell you.“

Interesting.

By nature, you want to trust Flo’s judgement. However, the files she had faxed to you to read over with Hayes last week weren’t matching up with her words. The lack of information for Barbara’s disappearance made you believe this was a chief of police in charge who either got promoted too early and wasn’t sure how to investigate properly or he was a lazy cop who figured a sixteen year old girl ran away from her wholesome and structured square lifestyle to indulge in some teenage rebellion. Was it genuine carelessness or just sloppy law enforcement? There seemed to be nothing to really work with from Hawkins PD.

Your lips relieve themselves from the hard line you had pressed them together in, you make a hum sound of understanding.

“I see. Is your chief of police, Jim Hopper, available to speak to? I think he’d have more answers for me regarding this case.”

She shakes her head then and explains she hasn’t seen him since last night, your eyes catching the ticking clock above to see it was already a quarter passed ten. Incompetent as predicted, you think to yourself. “Ms. Flo,” your attempt at keeping your voice soft and patient was partially failing due to the frustration you were feeling in your chest. “I don’t mean to rush you or your team, however, this is a time sensitive case. Where is your chief of police?”

As if on cue, there’s a loud chime of the front doors opening and two men’s voices bellowing over each other in a heated discussion.

“For the last time, Mr. Larson, I don’t know where your damn gnomes are this time—“

“I think you do, chief, you’re just too lazy to do something about it—!”

There’s a louder roar from the first man’s voice, “Alright, alright! Enough!”

Flo excuses herself to see the problem, you assume. There’s some quieter bickering between the three of them now before the chime of the front door is heard again and one of the men comes into view first. He’s taller than you expected, clad in khakis and a pack of cigarettes is peeking from his pocket. Based off the scruff, off balance posture, and cold demeanor, you were left to assume this was the infamous chief.

Your breath catches in your throat when he catches your eye contact for the first time. You didn’t expect his eyes to be that blue, either.

“Who’re you.”

His voice is so gruff and flat, he doesn’t even ask it like a question. His brow is knitted together as he stares at you, you notice his eyes scan you up and down a few times.

Before you can speak, Flo rushes passed him and stands in front of you.

“Hopper, this is federal agent Scotch, she’s with the FBI-“ His hand flies up to stop her excitement and he has a clear look of distaste before he starts storming to his office with a string of grumbling, “No, no, no FBI, I don’t care where she’s from, I’ll be in my office, just show her out...”

This is where you lose your patience. “Excuse me, Chief.”

Hopper turns half way to look at you again, brows raised and obviously not expecting much from you. However, you’re unfortunately used to being patronized, especially in this field of work.

“My name is special agent Scotch, I’m with the behavioral analysis unit in the FBI located in Seattle. I really don’t care if you don’t want to talk with me, but I’ll have to rule you as a suspect if you keep me from information regarding the missing case of Barbara Holland, especially because you already fit our rough profile of an unsub from the matching murder cases from a year ago we believe is being mirrored here in Hawkins. Now, it’s just me and not the rest of my team, but I wouldn’t hesitate to make the call and have you arrested myself since you’re not in the position to refuse me, do I make myself clear?”

Flo’s widened eyes move from watching you to the chief. He looks skeptical and almost lets out a laugh with an unlit cigarette now dangling between his lips, “You think I took the missing kid?”

Your facial expression, however, doesn’t falter. You held his eye contact as he raised his lighter to his mouth.

“I said, do I make myself clear?” You repeat.

There’s a few small puffs of smoke while he continues to hold your gaze. There’s a different light in his eyes, the blue much darker than before. “Crystal,” he mutters.

As subtly as possible you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. He draws in another drag before tilting his head towards a hall, motioning you to join.

“We’ll discuss this in my office. I don’t need the town gossiping about why there’s a goddamn FBI agent in my town.” With a turn on his heel, he doesn’t wait for you as he’s already halfway down the hall. You watch the muscles on his back and shoulders as he walks off.

Flo’s sudden grip on your wrist makes you flinch. Her smile is soft though and she gives you a reassuring squeeze. You return her smile for a moment before your heels match the rhythmic stomping of Hopper’s much heavier boots as you both entered his office. For a brief second, he was behind you and you could feel how much he really towered over you, it felt like nearly half your size. You could smell the cigarette smoke mixed with his aftershave and you became suddenly aware of how loud your heartbeat was. The slam of his office door that he kicked close woke you up from your senses quickly. Hopper went behind his desk, nudging several files and papers to the sides before he sat in front of you now, leaned back in the creaking chair and cigarette between his lips.

“You wanted to talk?”

You say nothing as he ashes his cigarette in the dish in front of you.

“Let’s talk.”

[celtics534]

Covert Love: Everything Has Changed

And here we go, as promised chapter 1 of Covert Love! @gryffindormischief​ and @thedistantdusk​ have been helping me with this fic so I just wanted to thank them! 

A little background: a magical AU. Harry never went to Hogwarts so he doesn't know any of the Weasley’s.

Also Read On: FF.net or AO3

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"Potter!" Jamison's deep Irish accent echoed through the room. Harry stood up to look over his cubicle. His detective chief was standing in the doorway to his office, his eternal grimace in place. 

  "Yes, sir?" Harry pushed in his chair, knowing full well he was not coming back to his desk anytime soon. When Jamieson had that tone, it meant Harry was gonna be gone for a while. 

  The look on Jamieson’s face suggested Harry’s premonition was correct  before entering the room. Excitement and nerves started jumbling in Harry’s gut. After months of desk duty, Harry was ready to get back out there. 

  Desk duty hadn't been his idea, but after the way his last case had ended, his boss had taken him away from active duty. It was fair, and the logical part of Harry agreed with his boss’s decision but that didn't make it any easier to be stuck doing paperwork. 

  Jamieson was already sitting behind his desk when Harry entered the office. He didn't look up from his work as he gestured at the chairs in front of the desk. "Potter, take a seat."

  Harry did as he was told, remaining silent. Jamieson preferred questions at the end of his briefings, and Harry was not going to chance being removed from the case due to speaking before being called upon. It only took a moment for Jamieson to finish his paragraph. He put his quill aside on the desk before lacing his fingers together, creating a bridge to rest his chin on.

  “You ready to go back into the field?” That was Jamieson for you, direct as a well-cast stunner. Jamieson just needed to know the basics. Are you fit and able? Good, then it’s time to get back to work. 

When Harry nodded, Jamieson studied him for a moment before he echoed Harry’s nod. “Aye.” He pulled a folder from underneath a pile of parchment. He handed Harry the file. “In there is the description of the individual who you’ll be protecting.”

  “Protecting?” Harry asked as he flipped open the manilla envelope. The front page held a basic profile. Ginny Weasley. Chaser for Ballycastle Bats. Threatened via numerous letters and notes left in her locker. 

  “Yes, I’m going to be sending you in to remain near Weasley. I want this to be a covert operation, in hopes of catching the perpetrator. If they have been leaving the notes in Weasley’s locker they have access to the changing room—”

 “Which means a player, staff, or security guard for the stadium may be involved.” Harry finished as he continued to read through the notes. “These are rather -- tame, all things considered.”.”

  Harry looked up in time to see Jamieson nod. “We have seen much worse, but if you noticed, there is a definite obsessional undertone. Mentions of knowing where her home is and where she shops. If I had to guess, I’d say we’ve got a stalker of some sort.”

  “No doubt about that,” Harry agreed, re-reading the line about how easy it would be to fly up to her fifth-floor flat. “So we’re getting involved because of the insinuation that one of her staff may be entangled in all this?” 

  Jamieson’s lips twitched in the closest thing he had to a smile. “I knew I hired you for a reason. Yes, that is the main reason, but I also happen to be mates with her brother Bill. We were in the same house and year at Hogwarts.” His brow quirked. “You didn’t go to Hogwarts, right?”

  Harry nodded absentmindedly, his focus back on the letters in hope of finding any indicating phrases. “My Godfathers homeschooled me.”

  “That’s right. Well, Bill asked me to check into this as a favor, and I can’t say no to the man who just named me the godfather of his next daughter.” 

  The obvious fondness in Jamieson’s voice surprised Harry. He’d never imagined his captain as the touchy-feely type, but it was obvious his affection for his friend and his family was great. Harry wisely chose to keep his observations to himself, figuring his tough as nails boss wouldn’t appreciate the callout. He flipped through the pages of Ballycastle staff.  “Fair enough. Do any of the suspects stand out more than the rest?”

  “Ah, well, we don’t have much information on the actual situation.” 

  Harry stopped mid-flip. When he looked up at Jamieson he noticed a pink tinge around his ears. “What does that mean?”

  Jamieson took a deep breath, his chest rising. “The only intel is public knowledge, or what Bill has provided.”

  “Wait.” Harry couldn’t quite contain his surprise. “Are you telling me we’re going in blind?” 

  “Not blind, per se.” Jamieson scowled as he rubbed the back of his red neck. “I mentioned you’ll be undercover, yeah?”

  “You said covert.”

  Jamieson raised his hand. “Exactly. You were almost signed by a professional quidditch team, if I’m not mistaken.” 

  Harry nodded slowly. He had gone to the league tryouts a few years back, but decided to decline the offers, instead taking the advice of a trusted friend and enlisting in the Auror academy. “I played seeker.”

  “And that is exactly the position that has opened up for Ballycastle.” Jamieson gestured to the folder still on Harry’s lap. “Their current seeker, Malcolm Kalvin, was seriously injured two days after their reserve seeker Philip Henson quit.” 

  It only took Harry a moment to read the notes on both of the Bats’ seekers. “Henson left to go be with his family in America and Kalvin has periodic memory loss.”

  “That’s right. Which means they are having an emergency trial on Friday.” Jamieson scratched the stubble along his jaw. “When was the last time you flew, Potter?”

  “Uh -- I’d guess maybe last week, maybe the week before.” 

  “Well, the rest of this week you’ll be doing nothing but flying.”

  Harry’s mind needed a moment to comprehend everything his boss was telling him. “So I have two days to be at a professional level?” 

  Jamieson waved off his concern. “We’ll get you into tip-top shape. Bill knows Oliver Wood from Puddlemere and he’s agreed to come work with you.” 

  “Sir—” Harry wanted to object that even with one of England’s best keepers there was no way he was going to be selected for the squad, but Jamieson interrupted him. 

  “Potter, I know you, and when you set your mind to something… you don’t stop until the end. It’s one of the reasons you’re my best detective.”

  Harry was stunned into silence. Never before had his chief given him such a compliment. “Thank you, sir.”

  Jamieson waved him off again. “Now, let’s discuss Miss Weasley. You read her profile?” 

  Nodding, Harry flipped back to the starting page. 

  “Good. Now, she will be unaware of your mission. Same with the rest of the team. I need you to stay close to her. Befriend her. I want it to be inconspicuous that you’ll be around her often.”

  Harry nodded. It couldn’t be too hard to find a topic to bond over with a professional quidditch player. “Who is my contact?”

  “Bill Weasley. It will be easy for him to around Miss Weasley so you’ll report any important findings to him. He has been staying around his sister’s flat at night, so really we just need a day shift.”

  “Okay.”

  Jamieson laced his fingers in order to rest his chin again. “Any question right now?”

  Harry thought about it. He knew his purpose, target, contact…  “When you say undercover, what’s my backstory?”

  “Ah, that’s the easiest part. You’ll be Harry Potter, who changed his mind and decided to re-tryout as a professional seeker. You can craft any tales you want to tell people, but I’d advise keeping it close to the truth.”

  “Easy enough.” Harry took a deep breath. “Then I have nothing else for now.” 

  “Good.” Jamieson stood from his chair, offering out his hand. “Thank you, Potter.” 

  Harry grasped his boss’ calloused hand. “I’m happy to help.” 

  “I knew I picked the right man.” Jamieson released his finger. “Now, dismissed. Wood should be here within the hour and you need to give your remaining paperwork to Finnigan.”

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  Harry clutched the handle of his Firebolt as if he was afraid the broom would fly away without him. He’d forgotten how intense tryouts were, and he was saying that as a member of one of Ireland’s most elite auror squads. And it wasn’t even over yet! He’d made it through the first three cuts, which had left only himself and one other bloke, and now they were going to have a one on one seeker battle. 

  His fingers felt numb as he forced himself to loosen his grip. It wouldn’t do him any good to let the snitch slip out of his fingers because he’d lost feeling in them. 

  “That was an impressive feint earlier,” a voice spoke behind him. Harry turned and was face to face with the most gorgeous smile he’d ever seen. Add that to an adorably freckled nose and hypnotic brown eyes, and Harry’s mind went completely blank. He was certain that if breathing it wasn’t integrated into his hardwiring, he might have stopped.  

  The woman, or goddess, pointed up into the sky. “I saw you feint past McNabb when he was coming for you. Most can’t get past him.” 

  Harry discreetly used his free hand to pinch his leg, hoping the pain would jolt his mind back into making coherent sentences. “Uh - Thank you.”

  Her smile became sympathetic. “Nervous about the one-on-one?” 

  “Y - Yeah.” Harry was happy to have any reason other than the truth for his incompetence. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m not sure how I’ll match up against the titan over there.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the bulky man stretching before his flight. 

  “Oh, I’d say you have it in the bag,” said the red-head, waving off his concern. “And if he gets too close…” A wicked smirk curled on her lips. “Just ask him to spell his name, and you’ll have a twenty-second head start.”

  “Is his name that difficult?”

  “If you think Jack Smith is a challenge, then yes.”

  Harry snorted. “That does sound very complex, but hasn’t he been spelling it his whole life?” 

  She shrugged nonchalantly. “You’d think so, but after watching him struggle to write it on the sign-in sheet this morning…” She shrugged again. “Anyways, your name is Potter, right?”

  “And I know how to spell it.” Harry wanted to pat himself on the back when his joke made her laugh. Instead, he held out his hand. “Harry.”

  Her grip was strong in his. “I’m Ginny.” 

  "Ginny, as in Ginny Weasley?" Harry blurted before he could stop himself. 

  She laughed. "Glad to see my reputation precedes me." 

  Harry couldn't get his mind to wrap around it all. This was Ginny Weasley, his charge. She didn't seem like the kind of person you'd want to threaten. Ginny was too nice and funny for the kind of shit to happen to her. Then again, he might just be biased because she was the most attractive woman to ever talk to him… 

  "Harry?" Ginny waved a hand in front of his eyes. "Did you get lost there?" 

  "Huh? Oh, sorry." Harry forced himself into his work mindset. A little warning in the file would have been nice. Why Bill didn't include a photo of her… he could have prepared himself! No! Harry couldn't allow himself to admire her beauty, no matter how attractive her smile was. She was his ward and nothing could happen between them. The sooner he got that through his head, the better. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

  “Oh yeah! Ballycastle stadium is quite a sight.” Ginny looked across the perfectly cut grass, her smile serene. “It’s one of the many reasons I choose the Bats.”

  “What are some of the others?” Harry praised himself for his casualness. This was what he needed to do, these were his orders:To become her friend. And  that was done not by fawning over her, but by keeping things smooth and easy. Having simple, friendly conversations. 

  “Ireland’s lush green fields.” Ginny didn’t miss a beat as she started ticking off fingers. “Not being the only red-head for twenty kilometers, and don’t get me started on my passion for a good Irish ditty.” 

  “I’m guessing that means you know some good places to relax with a pint and music?” 

  “You could say that.” Ginny leaned in closer, and Harry was floored by a scent so intoxicating words were lost on him again. It was like she’d combined the sweetest-smelling flowers in the world and added something indistant… so indistinct he couldn’t  describe it in words. “How about this; after you’ve signed your life away to the Bats, I’ll take you out for a pint or two. The first shout on me.”

  “Th -/” Harry cleared his throat. “That would be amazing. But wh -- what if I don’t get signed?”

  Ginny’s hand came up to pat his shoulder as her lips twisted into a doubtful smile. “Then Coach Nessa really does hate the team, because why else would he want to the torture the team with that brainless brute?” 

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  “One Kilkenny Ale for you, and one Harp Lager for me.” Ginny set the glasses down on the table. Harry took his drink with a quick thanks. He was still in a shocked state. Signing to a professional quidditch team would do that to you. No matter what Ginny had said before the one-on-one flight, Harry really hadn’t expected to win. But Ginny had been right. Harry had flown circles around the larger man.

  Ginny raised her glass. "Welcome to the team." Harry followed her lead, taking a large gulp. Ginny put her drink back onto the table. "So, I'd say it's about time I get to know my newest teammate." She placed her elbow beside her glass and rested her head on her hand. "What do I need to know about you, Potter?" 

  Harry hated how -- for lack of a better term -- turned-on he was from just the look she was giving him. It wasn't necessarily flirtatious, but rather intense , and made him feel as if the rest of the world didn't exist. 

  He took another quick sip of his pint before answering. "Uh -- not much, really." 

  Ginny rolled her eyes. "I doubt that. A guy like you --" Ashiver ran down his spine… that damn look !— "has something interesting about him. Maybe like where you learned to play like that? I know it wasn't Hogwarts, because I'd remember you."

  Part of Harry, the part that was a glutton for pain, wanted there to be more to her words. He wanted her to admit he hadn't gone to Hogwarts because she found him too attractive to forget. There was also the desire for her cheeks to darken with a pretty flush because she was nervous, and not just appear darker in the flickering of the faint pub light.

  Harry ran a hand through his hair. "We —I guess I —learned from my godfather, Sirius." 

  "With a name like that, I'd guess he had a serious side." Ginny laughed at her own joke, which was too endearing.

  "Hardly. The man can't stop himself from making a joke. Being raised by him was an interesting experience, to say the least." 

  Ginny lifted her head off her hand and tilted it slightly to the side. "You were raised by your godfather?" 

  "Yeah." His hand unconsciously came to rub the back of his neck. He'd never liked talking about his past. People always got awkward when he explained what had happened to his parents. Not that he could blame them. Death was always awkward. "My parents they -- er -- died when I was one." 

  Harry prepared himself for the oh I'm so sorry or that's horrible. Instead, Ginny reached across the table and took his free hand. She didn't say anything, just squeezed his fingers. Warmth spread from her touch. Normally, Harry would retreat from the conversation when his parents were brought up, but for the first time in a long time, he felt like he could talk about it. 

  "It - They were murdered by an old friend of theirs from Hogwarts.” His throat always closed up every time he said those words. Harry could see the surprise in Ginny’s eyes, but she still didn’t say a word, letting him be in complete control. “Peter, their friend, joined a gang and his leader knew my parents had money, so he and Peter went to go rob my parents. Things went -- South in the end.”

  “I’d say things were South from the start.” Ginny twisted their joined hands so she could rub her thumb over his palm. 

  To Harry’s surprise, he laughed. “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “So your godfather raised you after that?”

  He nodded. “Sirius and Remus, actually. They were both friends with my father, but Sirius is legally my godfather. Remus is now a teacher up at Hogwarts, and Sirius owns a muggle motorcycle shop.” 

  “Really? You don’t hear about many wizards starting muggle businesses.”

  “Sirius has always loved bikes. He told me it started just because his parents hated anything to do with muggles, but then he realized how interesting they were. And after what happened to my parents -- Sirius said the muggle world was a nice break from it all.” Harry realized how dry his throat had become and took a deep drag from his pint. 

  “And I’m guessing he knows how to ride them?” Ginny was still looking at him as if there weren’t twenty other people in the pub, as if there weren’t  an entire world outside that front door. It sent shivers down his spine. 

  “Yeah, and he taught me.” 

  Ginny’s grin became wider and a little mischievous. “ Really ?” She slid her hand out of his, Harry instantly bemoaned the loss of her touch. She linked her own fingers together in a praying stance. “How long do I have to beg for you to take me on a ride?”

  “You -- you wanna go for a ride?” 

  “Hell yeah! I’ve never met anyone who actually knows how to drive a muggle vehicle.” She waved her hands in excitement.“My father works for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office in England, and he’s gone on and on about motorbikes and automobiles. He’s also obsessed with aeroplanes, but that’s another thing entirely.”

  Harry couldn’t stop staring as Ginny eagerly chattered. She was...amazing wasn’t a strong enough word.  “I’d love to take you for a ride sometime.” 

  Ginny beamed at him. “Awesome! When would you be free? Tonight?”

  “Well, night time isn’t the best time.” Harry paused, going through his mental calendar. “We have practice all week, but I should be free next Saturday. Maybe go sometime in the morning?”

  Before Harry could comprehend what was happening, Ginny had risen from her chair and her arms were wrapped around his neck. “That’s perfect, Harry! Thank you!” 

  Her flowery scent filled his lungs, making his mind lose connection to the rest of his body for a moment. When he finally came back to his senses he stuttered his response. “O -- Of course. Any time.”

  “I’m gonna go get you another pint,” Ginny proclaimed as she drew back. Harry watched her practically skip across the room. He let out a long breath. Harry knew when he was in trouble. Self-preservation had always been a strong skill of his, and at that moment, he knew he was in way too deep. Yet, he had no desire or will to evaluate the turbulent situation. No, instead all his mind could do was think of was ways to get Ginny to wrap her arms around him again. 

  Fuck, he was in so much trouble… 

[kneworder]

chapter 2 of recompense (for all my crimes of self defense), my post season 2 stranger things fic is up now!! read it on AO3 now here, on FanFiction.Net here, or below the break on this very post!!

Chapter 1: AO3  ||  Fanfiction.net  || link to tumblr post

Chapter 2: kind hearts don’t grab any glory

Thin, watery light streams through the window, drawing creatures in shadow across the ivory carpet. The light attacks Steve’s eyes the second he opens them, like knives pushing through to his brain. “Fuck,” he croaks, and tries to bat the light away.

Nothing happens, predictably.

Sitting up is such a daunting task that he lays there with his eyes shut for another hour. It takes that long for him to remember how to close the blinds, or that there are even blinds to begin with.

Steve pushes up from the couch, but his wrecked hand crumples when he puts weight on it, and he falls back, the world upending and spinning around him. Steve tries again, pushing up from his elbow this time, and manages to force himself into a sitting position. He puts his head in his hands, breathing deeply and focusing on anything but the pain. He feels too hot and too cold at the same time, and suddenly, he’s hyperaware of his jacket, rough against his skin and radiating a sickly warmth. Frantically, he tries to escape it. One arm gets stuck in its sleeve, and he stops abruptly, exhaustion overtaking him. He sits there, trapped in his own jacket, until he regains the strength to pull it all the way off.

He’s had sports injuries before, and gotten in fights before, but this is different. This is a whole new level he never wanted to reach. Idly, he thinks, something’s wrong , and almost laughs because that’s the understatement of the year.

Steve cracks open an eye to search for the offending window that’s letting the torturous light in. Dimly, he notes the empty bottle of Jameson seated in a chair in the corner of the room, a remnant of the night Nancy told him it was all bullshit.

That’s not a memory he needs right now.

He finds the window; it’s somewhere to his left. Steve gets to his feet, and has to grab the top of the couch in order to stay that way. He stumbles forwards and ends up falling against the window. From that position, he turns and reaches for the string that controls the blinds. It refuses to stay in his hand, and he has to concentrate in order to grab it and pull it downwards.

The blinds snap shut, and he slides down to the floor, sighing in relief as the light dims to a dull gray.

He must pass out, because the next thing he knows, the doorbell is cutting through his brain like a bullet, the tone echoing around his skull. He groans.

The doorbell rings again, and he covers his ears against the noise.

One more time, and he remembers what a ringing doorbell means.

Steve pulls himself up, scrabbling for purchase at the window ledge. The room around him capsizes, and he blinks hard to bring it back to fuzzy normal. Steve starts towards the door, but runs straight into a chair instead. The empty whiskey bottle that was in it hits the hall’s wood floor and shatters on impact. The sound makes him jump, and he trips over the chair, falling into the wall and swearing a blue streak all the while.

The ordeal wakes him up enough to stagger to the door and open it.

Four kids are crowded on his doorstep.

…

They stand in the driveway for a good ten seconds, frozen. An unexpected, but unanimous hesitation grips them as they look up at the veritable mansion that is Steve Harrington’s house.

Finally, Max lets out a shaky breath and says, “Okay.”

It’s like an electric shock, spurring the four of them into motion. The boys unceremoniously drop their bikes and follow her to the door. “Okay,” Max says again, and presses the doorbell.

No one answers.

“Maybe he’s asleep,” Lucas suggests as Max presses the doorbell again.

“We should probably just…” Mike starts, nodding towards their bikes.

“No!” Dustin cries. He eyes the windows and says, “One more time.”

Max frowns deeply. “One more time,” she agrees, and jams her thumb against the doorbell.

They wait.

“You know what, we should--,” Dustin says, but stops as something inside crashes.

There’s a long string of curses and more crashing, and suddenly, the door is open. “The hell’re you doin’ here?” slurs Steve, squinting down at them.

He looks awful, the cuts and bruises of the previous night even more pronounced in the daylight; his face is a mottled painting of yellows, purples, and blues. Steve leans heavily against the doorframe, and considers the kids with unfocused eyes.

For a moment, they are stunned back into silence. “We, uh,” Max begins, “we wanted to make sure you were okay. After, um. You know…”

Steve snorts out a laugh. “Your stepbrother kicked my ass?” he asks, the words running together. He runs a hand through his uncharacteristically messy hair.

“Um. Yeah. That.” Max says in reply.

“Well, I am gr- reat ,” he answers. “So can I go back to--?”

“And also thank you!” interrupts Lucas. He seems surprised to hear himself speak, but continues nonetheless. “You, uh, stood up for us, and, um. Thank you.”

“Yeah, don’ sweat it, kid,” Steve says. He looks like he’s about to keel over, moments from sliding down the doorframe and to the floor.

Dustin says, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Steve glances at him. “I’d like to go back t’ sleep, but yeah,” he says.

“You really shouldn’t--!” Dustin begins, but gets cut off.

“We should go,” Mike says. “We’ll just…” The four begin to move backwards, nearly tripping over each other on the crowded stoop.

“Mm-hmm,” Steve says, and as soon as it had opened, the door slams shut.

They all jump at the sound.

On the way back to their respective bikes and skateboard, Max says, “That went well.”

“D’ya think he’s really okay?” asks Dustin, his expression betraying his concern. “He looked like shit.”

“I dunno,” Lucas says in response. “But it’s not like we can do anything.”

“You’re not supposed to sleep with a head injury,” Dustin whispers, to no response.

A somber quiet falls over the four.

“Okay,” breathes Max, and they wheel into the street.

…

Once the kids are gone, Steve falls against the door and tries to make his breathing normal again. It’s gone too thin, but too slow, and he has to concentrate in order to fix it. The world is spinning again; he buries his aching face in his knees.

Every second the pain seems to mount, sawing into his skull with each desperate breath. He regrets slamming the door with every fiber of his being, because now his ears are ringing with no sign of stopping.

When Steve was eleven, his parents deemed him old enough to be left home alone, and promptly took off on business trips. At first, they hired nannies, babysitters, but as time went on, they either forgot or decided he no longer needed supervision. They returned at least once a month, but that trickled down with every passing year, until he found himself celebrating Christmas alone. The last time he’s seen them was three months ago, but he’s grown used to living without them.

Right now, he misses them desperately. His father’s voice, quietly comforting. His mother’s fingers, brushing across his forehead and smoothing back his hair.

His already stuttering breath catches when he realizes both memories are from before he turned ten.

Steve wraps his arms around his knees, hugging them tight to his chest. The pain is warping time; he has no idea how long it is until a pounding at the door startles him from his position.

He’s confused – the noise came from behind him; made the wall shake. With a start, he turns to see the door, having forgotten his position.

Whatever hit the door hits it again, this time calling, “Open up, kid!”

The words are distorted; they bounce around the room without Steve registering their meaning. He pulls himself up by the doorknob, answers the door. Sunlight pours into the hall. Steve squints and manages to discern the visitor’s identity: “Chief Hopper?” he says. Or at least, he thinks he says it. He can’t be quite sure.

The chief’s face visibly changes when he catches sight of Steve, but Steve doesn’t notice, he’s too busy trying to remember where he left his bat. The chief means danger, and danger means fighting, no matter how much he’d rather just collapse on the floor.

“Yep,” says the chief, frowning at him. “It’s me.”

…

Hopper wishes he wasn’t so bent on saving everyone. If it weren’t for his damn hero complex, he’d be at the cabin, spoiling Jane rotten and making sure she was every bit as ‘okay’ as she said she was. He’d be pretending he wasn’t scared out of his mind whenever he saw blood on her face and that he didn’t still feel the fear of losing his daughter whenever he looked her way.

He’d be spending every damn minute with his girl, because hell if she didn’t deserve everything he had to give and more.

But no, the Wheeler kid and his friends just have to show up and ruin his afternoon with their story about their ill-fated journey to the Harrington house.

So instead, Hopper is standing on the stoop of said house and praying to whatever god is out there that he won’t have to make a trip out to the hospital.

Then the door swings open and Hopper decides there is no god, because shit, this kid can’t even stand on his own.

“Chief ‘opper?” croaks Steve Harrington, squinting at the watery sunlight coming through the door.

“Yep,” sighs the chief. “It’s me.”

“’S something wrong?” asks Steve. He looks behind him, his expression miserable. “I can…”

The kid starts to stumble back inside, but he barely makes it to the staircase before his knees buckle. Steve grasps the banister and sinks to the bottom step. Hopper takes this display as an invitation to come inside. “Jesus, kid. How the hell did you drive last night?”

Steve ignores his question and reaches somewhere to his right. He blinks slowly. “It’s over there.”

Hopper looks to where the teenager seems to be gesturing and sees a bat filled with nails and coated in blood, at odds with its position on the shining hardwood floor.

“Nothing’s wrong,” says Hopper, “No monsters or anything; everyone’s safe.”

The chief crouches next to the kid; ignores his screaming back and knees. Glazed brown eyes look back at him. “Safe?” asks the kid, his voice reminding Hopper of Jane whenever she encounters a new word, and damn, if that doesn’t hurt.

Hopper nods, and Steve lets out a breath. He leans against the banister in relief.

Briefly, Hopper examines his surroundings. The hall is dark; the sole source of light is the front door. An upturned chair lies on the threshold of the living room, and if Hopper isn’t mistaken, there’s broken glass around it. “Where’re your parents, kid?” he asks, almost to himself.

Steve just shuts his eyes and spits, “Gone.”

There’s a pause as the chief processes this information, and the many things that ‘gone’ could mean. Deciding he can deal with the absent Harringtons later, he says “Hey, how about we go get you cleaned up?” ‘cause if this kid isn’t concussed to hell and back, the earth is fucking flat.

Steve manages to shake his head while pressed up against the banister. “Tired,” he says.

A sudden flash of panic makes Hopper shake Steve by the shoulder. He’s no doctor, but he does know that sleeping with a head injury risks never waking up. “Hey, hey, let’s stay awake,” he says.

He receives an annoyed glare and moan in response. Hopper sets his jaw, looks Steve up and down, and scoops the kid up bridal style.

Luckily or unluckily, Steve is too confused to put up much of a fight, so getting him into Hopper’s cruiser isn’t difficult.

On the way to the hospital, Hopper growls question after question at the kid to keep him awake. He tries to be satisfied with the muffled groans he receives in response: it’s better than nothing.

It’s not until he asks, “Hey, kid. Who’s the president?” that nothing is exactly what he gets.

Hopper feels his heart skip a beat, his breath catching. “Hey. Hey, ” he says, but no response. He glances into the front mirror and sees that the kid’s skin has gone waxy pale, eyes shut. Hopper can’t tell if he’s breathing.

Hopper leans on the gas, speed limits be damned.

Steve’s loaded onto a stretcher the moment he’s dragged into the ER, nurses already swarming. Hopper watches helplessly as they strap an oxygen mask on his face and wheel him into another room, the sterile smell of the hospital already making the chief remember things he’d rather keep buried.

But then a nurse is asking him about next of kin, and shoving paperwork into his hands, and he can’t check out because there’s no one else in town over the age of fourteen who knows that Steve Harrington is just hanging on.

Fucking hero complex.

[kinetic-elaboration]

Fic Rec Tag Game

I was tagged by @dylanobrienisbatman​, @thelittlefanpire​, and @eyessharpweaponshot​ -- thank you for the tags!

Post your fics you are most proud of! No limit on how many, just the ones you look at and just feel so pleased that you wrote something so great! Tag as many people as you like to get them to share their own fics! 2k19 is the year we love our own fics babes!

This is probably going to get long because I love my own writing and I’m not going to lie about it. But I’m mostly only going through my T100 fic because that’s simpler and I’m full of self-love but also lazy. (Bonus HP at the end though!)

Since There’s No Place to Go - Bellarke, 2.5k, Modern AU

West Virginia 2009. Clarke visits the Blakes and brings them a post-Christmas gift.

A fave because: I think I really nailed the style and tone I was going for: simple and clean and soft; imo it’s just pleasant to read.

This Night is Wild, So Calm and Dull - Bellarke, 1.7k, S1

Clarke is so sure that Bellamy isn't the boyfriend type that when he kisses her, and it's sweet and gentle and soft, she's more taken aback by the careful way he lets his palm rest against her cheek than by the kiss itself. 

A fave because: This one sat unfinished for a long time, and I was pleased with the final outcome and glad I bothered to finish it instead of just letting the first few paragraphs grow dusty in a wip folder. Also: this could have been S1. We could have had it all!

if you yell like that, you’ll wake the dead - Jonty, 1.1k, canon-divergent S4

I woke up with the taste of metal in my mouth back from the dead

A fave because: Jonty angst is my secret favorite thing in this fandom, tbh. Also I wrote this all in one go after getting the idea on the bus and it helped me resolve at least some feelings from the trauma of Jasper’s canon death. Bonus: finally got to use that Naked Lunch quote that haunts me.

My Whole Expanse I Cannot See - Mackson, 3.5k, S4

Miller and Jackson share a room on Science Island and start to grow closer as they contemplate the end of the world. 

A fave because: Classic Me style. And the only full length Mackson I’ve yet written.

Pause; Rewind - Monty & Bryan, 12k, S3 / canon-divergent

Monty and Bryan take a trip to the former dropship camp; Monty reminisces about the past and considers an alternate life not lived. 

A fave because: I enjoy getting into Monty’s head. I know gen fic, especially long gen fic, has no readership, but I personally love how this turned out. (I like the fic to which it is a sequel, too, though I decided not to include it on this list.)

oh well, you’ve got me under your spell - Bellarke, 8.7k, high school au

Clarke is sophomore class president, assistant copy editor on the school paper, and a member of the debate team.

Bellamy is her best friend's tough, troublesome, protective older brother.

They barely even know each other. And yet for some reason he keeps showing up at her house.

A favorite because: I love this universe and think about it all the time, but I have such major writer’s block on chapter two that I haven’t even touched it in months. So in that sense this story makes me sad. But the first chapter at least is the kind of high school aesthetic that I’m allowed to be nostalgic for, now that it’s so far in the past that I never have to think of all the crappy parts of hs again.

We’re Home at Last - Bellarke, 4.5k, S1 (rated E on AO3 but more like M tbqh)

“The King fell in love with his Queen.”

A favorite because: I hated this while I was writing it, but now that it’s done and I have distance, I’m very proud of it. Pretty vague-smut and Earth-lovin’ scenery porn.

Iridescent - Jonty, 10k, Modern AU

Jasper takes up photography in the wake of Maya's death, and in the process makes a new friend. 

A favorite because: Writing recovery arcs for Jasper makes me feel calm inside, and I had fun with the plant aesthetic of Monty’s apartment.

Bring It On Home  - Bellarke & Miller, 10k, Modern AU

While working his summer job, helping with the repairs to Police Chief Miller’s house, Bellamy meets the Police Chief’s son and his best friend, with whom he becomes increasingly entangled in the last weeks before he leaves for college. 

A favorite because: I worked super hard on this fic and it was sort of an experiment for me, but what I ended up with was a universe I think about semi-often and feel nostalgia for. I miss this fic a lot.

The Oasis - Gen, 2.2k, Apocalypse AU

Four survivors of the nuclear apocalypse find refuge in a farmhouse and receive aid from its two inhabitants. 

A favorite because: I had a ridiculous amount of fun writing this series of Halloween fics and the aesthetic of this one worked out especially well imo.

The Sea - Lincoln/Luna, 2k, Canon-divergent (?)

Lincoln follows Luna to their new home on the sea. But on the oil rig at night, strange sounds can be heard from the water.

A favorite because: Another Halloween fic. The last one I did, and I almost skipped it because I was getting burned out, but I’m glad I didn’t because it’s a unique little story by my standards, both in terms of pairing and plot.

Anchored in the Ground - Bellarke, 9k, Canon-divergent

As they approach a relationship milestone, Bellamy and Clarke consider their personal futures, and the future of Arkadia.

A favorite because: This could have been their future! No, seriously, this is a pretty succinct summary of my ideal Bellarke/T100 endgame. Bellamy is Chancellor, Clarke is an Ambassador, the community is thriving and open, and there is peace. Also Bellarke are married. Obviously.

Bonus: Harry Potter Favorites

Words Like Smoke - Sirius/Remus, 6k, MWPP / AU

It's almost Christmas, and Sirius is missing again.  James and Remus come up with a brilliant plan to keep track of him.  

Or, a 1920's/post-WWI AU in which the wizarding community rejects magic, Remus makes maps in his spare time, and Sirius suffers from invisible scars.

Or, a love story.

A favorite because: I wrote this in college after reading Mrs. Dalloway and honestly I feel like that’s pretty much all I have to say about that. (Seriously this is probably one of the best things I’ve ever written though.)

Elegy - Sirius/Remus, 2.3k, OotP-era

Remus wrote poetry.  Sirius finds it.  Dinner is burned, dishes are rattled, the ceiling has mysterious stains, and Remus quotes John Donne.

A favorite because: I miss my favorite dysfunctional wizards. I reread this yesterday and legitimately got teary at the end.

Burning Straight Down - Sirius/Remus, 2.1k, First War Era

Sirius, sleepless and twisted inside; and Remus, feeling down on himself again; and the summer, heat waves and Death Eater attacks and letters from home.

A favorite because: I mean, as above, pretty much. An experiment in style that I think, with 10+ years of hindsight, worked.

...So I’m pretty sure everyone has already been tagged in this so if you haven’t and want to do it, do it and tag me! I always need more lists of fics to someday get around to reading... (That sounds sarcastic but it is not. I really do love seeing everyone’s favorite works floating around.)