#it was a lot of like...'i keep complaining about being tired because of [labor i do] and expecting him to offer to do it

[readymades2002]

i did have the opportunity to listen to two women i work with discuss their husbands/thoughts on men yesterday and i'm still feeling agog about it! ive read about gendered relations before but it's strange having heard it expressed so candidly...

[cherryite]

overthrown - interlude. the lake

summary. in the aftermath of your encounter with the oracle, you and the rest of the heirs search for answers, and you find yourself... 'dreaming', a bit too vividly (word count. 7.6k)

content. princess!reader x prince!mark grayson, fem!reader, strangers to lovers, slow burn, angst, yearning, hurt/comfort, fantasy au, saving the world, war time activities, found family

warnings. MDNI!!, depictions of violence, blood/gore, and injuries, loss of family, death, grief, rex being a dickhead lowk, survivors guilt, anissa (because she deserves a warning), eventual smut (not this part)

author's note. oh heyyyyyyy, i know a lot of you don't read this fic but it's literally my labor of love. i hope you all enjoy, shit's getting real from here on out lol. as always, i love to chat about my fics! so don't be afraid!! (i listened to i bet on losing dogs while writing this and also the power of prophecy from hotd s1 so!!)

taglist. @pickledsoda @heartfully10

previous/next

plot/ world info character index

Candles flicker in the dark.

Wax drips down the tapers, pooling on the table like pools of thick tears from a crying eye. Everyone is still half dressed, sleep clothes the only thing worn, bags under their eyes. Cecil paces at the head of the table, his tunic is ruffled and his face is contorted in deep thought. He’s muttering under his breath, running a weathered hand along the length of his jaw as he thinks.

Rex slumps in his chair between Eve and Rae, arms crossed, his lower lip slightly puffed out like a child denied a treat. “I can’t believe I woke up for this,” he mumbles.

Eve hardly even glances at him as she gives him a swift ‘wack’ to the back of his head. He groans. Rae smiles to herself. “You woke up because she was screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night,” Eve hisses lowly, her tired green eyes glaring at him, “consider being useful for once instead of complaining.” 

You sit hunched in your seat, your knees drawn to your chest near the foot of the table. Your arms have wrapped themselves around your knees, you aren’t sure if it’s for warmth or to comfort yourself. Mark sits in the chair nearest to you and he thinks he’s being subtle about how he keeps peeking over at you to make sure you’re okay. He’s been hovering since he barged into your room after the Oracle visited you. You shiver, the cold of the night cloaked castle floors seeping up through your feet and nipping at your skin, the thin fabric of your night clothes doing little to help. Your heartbeat still echoes faintly in your ears. You haven't entirely left that moment; that figure made of starlight, the voice that made goosebumps run along your arms. It clings to your skin like static.

Cecil finally ceases his pacing, his eyes drawing to look at you. “So,” his voice is rough from sleep,  “what exactly did the Oracle say to you,” Cecil leans with his palms on the large oak table, looking at you expectantly.

You swallow, albeit a bit nervously. Your mouth feels exceptionally dry. “It said that Thala’s Blade would be the key to defeating the Dark God’s army,” you say, your voice low as you explain, “that we’d find it where the God’s used to rest their heads. And that hope needs to wield the blade.”

The room is eerily still, the occupants of it processing quietly to themselves. The silence is not comfortable.

Rex scoffs, “But the Blade’s just a bedtime story, it’s a myth. My grandfather used to tell me that story at bedtime. We may as well be looking for a dragon.” Rae shoots him a look, her wild chestnut hair swishing around her as she turns, “well obviously it’s real, why would the Oracle waste its time lying to us?”

Eve is contemplating to herself, “‘Where the God’s used to rest their heads’... what do you all suppose that means?” She steeples her fingers in front of her mouth as she leans forward. You can practically see her mind working.

Cecil sighs, “in the stories, the God’s had a temple here in the Realm. They used to stay there when they visited mortals or had business down here. It was a convergence point, where the realms touched. I’ve never heard of it being real, or any mention of where it’s located.”

The room is tense. The past month has been rough. The prophecy doesn’t exactly say how to beat the Dark God. Meetings have been filled with collecting armies, making allies where they can, preparing for potential attack. But now they have a clue, something to go off of and it may not even be real. 

Mark drums his fingers against the hard wood of the table, his brows drawn in thought, “If the Blade does exist, and the Oracle wants us to find it…” He trails off, hesitating before he regains his train of thought, “The Oracle said Hope must wield the Blade. Do we know what that could mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Rex scoffs, motioning to Mark, “who else would it be? Mark’s the strongest of us. He’s the heir of Viltrum and he’s the best fighter we have. If anyone’s going to take on the Dark God and his army with a legendary sword, it’s Mark.”

Mark suddenly seems a bit uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. “But it didn’t say my name.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Rex says, waving a hand tiredly, “the Oracle doesn't have to say any of our names directly considering how we're already apart of the prophecy. I’m just placing my bets early that it’s you.”

“Honestly, I think that's the point. That’s what it wants us to figure out,” Eve murmurs, still thinking, her fingers steepled under her chin. “The Oracle didn’t give an answer. It gave us a path and we should follow it.”

“Our best course of action is to see if there's any clues or documentation in any written sources in the library,” Rae suggests, “at least that's how I see it.”

Cecil huffs, his brows pinched together. “Good thinking.” He turns, running his hand down his face tiredly. “Start searching, tonight if you can. We’re sitting ducks right now. And without the upperhand Thala’s Blade could give us, I’m running out of ideas on how to win this war.”

The whole table nods, and your stomach feels queasy. Mark’s fingers have stopped drumming against the table now and you can tell he’s watching you again. You can feel his gaze, warm and steady, even as your own eyes remain fixed on the dark wood of the floor beneath your bare feet. When you raise your gaze to look at him though he quickly looks away when your eyes meet his. There’s a slight flush at the tips of his ears, his jaw tightening as he picks at a thread on the sleeve of his tunic. His hand rests near yours on the table, close enough to touch with just a twitch of your hand. You don’t, but his presence cloaks you in a comforting feeling.

Cecil rubs his temples, already muttering to himself about war plans and temples and gods as he scans the large map of the Realm on the table. You can hear him continue to mumble about how he hates magic, and how this is all one massive divine headache.

Eve pushes her chair back. “Well. No sense sitting here like idiots.”

You glance up at her, broken from your trance. Her green eyes flick toward you with something akin to determination. “Come on. We’re going to the library.”

Rae rises as well, smoothing the green silks of her dress. “I’ll help too. Besides, it’s either that or I’ll stay up all night thinking about how Rex could actually be right about something.”

“I am always right,” Rex calls after her with a wink, followed by a yawn as he slumps further in his chair. Eve scoffs without even looking back at him. Rae attempts to hide the smile that creeps onto her lips. 

You rise to follow them, your frame a little shaky from the night's events. Mark is standing up as soon as you are up and out of your chair. You turn your head to glance at him, your eyes finding his own, almost like a silent communication of assurance between you both. The way he looks at you then— soft and a little helpless— makes something twist in your chest. You just nod to him, whispering a quiet ‘goodnight’ as you brush past him to catch up with Eve and Rae. They’re already halfway to the door, Eve is muttering something about how there has to be something somewhere. As you catch up with them, you spare a glance over your shoulder.

Mark is still watching you.

And you realize, as you follow Eve and Rae out of the large oak doors of the council room, that it’s not just your place in the prophecy that has you afraid. It’s the feeling growing in your chest every time you look at him. And you don’t know what to do with it.

~

The palace library is still this late at night. Eerie shadows line the walls, candle fire waves as a soft night breeze drifts through the tall rounded windows. The air smells of old books; slightly musty and earthy, a faint hint of what can only be described as vanilla and worn parchment. Tall, looming bookshelves fill the space, nearly touching the high ceilings, crammed full to the brim with texts far older than any soul still breathing. 

You, Eve, and Rae are tucked away in a quiet corner, sifting through so many different texts it makes your brain feel like it’s melting out of your ears. Reading through sources so old the pages could disintegrate if you're not careful enough. A hefty volume sits in your lap, your legs folded beneath you on the thick woven rug. The skirt of your dress fans out around you, flowy light blue fabrics cloaking your figure as your fingers trial delicately across lines of faded ink.

Eve sighs, her brow knit together as she shuts the book in her lap with a quiet thump. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing about where the sword could be.” She rises, brushing her hands on her skirt as her simple magenta dress swishes at her feet. Pink magic glows from her fingertips, soft and shimmering, as she returns the book to its place with a flick of her wrist, slotting it back amongst the other texts. Her eyes scan the shelves, already reaching for another.

Across from you, Rae grumbles, adjusting her glasses on her face and rubbing her temples, a similar expression on Eve’s. “This is hopeless,” she mutters, “I think I’ve read nearly every book in here about the sword, the God’s, the temple, the Realm’s geography… and still nothing.” 

“Rae’s cracking,” Eve mumbles as she continues to scan the shelves.

Rae looks up, deadpan. “Cracking? My brain is shattered. My mind is a soup.”

“Same,” you mumble, your fingers rubbing at your temples. “Sword soup.”

Eve slides another ancient tome from the shelf, fuzzy pink particles curling lazily in the air around her hands. She hums to herself, eyes scanning the faded title, shrugging as she brings it over to where she was sitting. Eve flops into the chair, tossing the book on top of the ever growing stack of them between you all. 

“We should probably rest soon,” she mumbles. “If the Oracle said we’re meant to find the Blade, maybe we’ll stumble across something eventually. Or maybe it’ll find us.”

“Maybe,” you echo, your voice laced with quiet and tiredness. Your fingers ghost over the page of the book in your lap, but you aren’t really reading it. Your mind drifts like a boat lost at sea, back to Ephia, to your brother’s easy laughter, to his sharp mind and stubborn heart. Aaric would’ve found the sword by now, whispers a dark voice you try your best to ignore. He was always so smart.

Before the thought can truly sink its claws in, Eve shifts her body toward Rae with all the subtlety of a cat about to knock a goblet from a table. 

“So,” she starts, drawing the word out. “Rae.”

“Oh no,” Rae says immediately, but Eve hardly pays any attention and continues on.

“You and Rex,” she teases, drawing the words out slowly, as if savoring them.

Your brows rise, curiosity stirred. “Rex?” you ask, genuinely surprised. It’s difficult to picture it in your mind. Rex is brash, just as fiery as his magic, and unapologetically loud. While undeniably skilled, his complete lack of tact often grates on your nerves. Rae, by contrast, is thoughtful, sharp, and fairly competent. You can’t even imagine Rae having an interest in him.

Rae’s face goes red instantly. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” Eve pushes, her eyes sparkling, “Because when I spoke to him yesterday, he said he thought you were pretty.” Your eyes flicker up to watch the interaction, just catching the way Rae fidgets .

“I do not care what Rex thinks,” Rae says quickly, a little too quickly, the tips of her ears turning an unmistakable shade of red. She grabs the nearest book and flips it open without looking at the cover. “He’s loud and cocky and annoying.”

“Yes, yes, yes, all true. Trust me, you get to know someone very well when your parents arrange a betrothal when your barely six years old,” Eve says, flopping her head to the side, her red hair gleaming in the candle light, “and yet I still catch you looking at him at every council meeting, and at training, and when he-”

“Eve, I think I would rather talk about anything else right now than talk about Rex,” Rae interrupts, pushing her glasses up her nose with a strained sigh. Eve grumbles to herself, crossing her arms as her head rolls back against her chair. Eve turns her gaze to you, studying you like you're a puzzle she’s trying to crack.

“How’s Mark,” Eve asks, the question obviously directed at you. You pinch your brows together, looking up from the tome in your lap again.

“He’s… as fine as he can be, everything considered,” you respond, flipping the book closed slowly, “why?”

Eve shrugs nonchalantly, her magic twisting from her fingertips, wrapping itself around a book amongst the stack between you all. It drops into her lap, a quiet plop amongst the silence. 

“He just seemed stressed at the council meeting. I figured that you would know what's up, considering all the time you two spend together.” You finally look up to meet her eyes, but she’s sifting through the book in her lap nonchalantly. Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest as you think back to a few hours prior, Mark sitting beside you, his dark hair ruffled, bags underlining his brown eyes. How he got uncomfortable about being the first choice of the five of you to wield the sword. 

The weight of the world is crushing him and it’s easy for you to see; the loom of his father’s ghost over him, the pressure to assist his mother in matters of the Realm, the stress of controlling powers he hasn’t even fully discovered the extent to. And you can’t even begin to think of the implications of the second half of Eve’s words. So you just shift, your face neutral despite the way your mind wanders to matters surrounding Mark.

“He just has a lot going on, just like the rest of us.” You fiddle with the corner of the closed time in your lap, the parchment smooth under your fingers. “Between the prophecy, the Dark God’s army, and the aftermath of his father’s…” You trail off, the word death catching in your throat. You don’t finish the sentence, cutting yourself off. Your eyes start drifting off towards the pale moonlight shining through the stained glass of the library. 

Eve doesn’t push further after that.

Eventually, Eve yawns and sets her book aside. Rae begins gathering the tomes you’ve already read into a pile. The sound of worn leather and rustling parchment fills the quiet night air. And you sit for a moment longer, gazing at the dancing shadows on the walls. 

When you finally get up to leave, Rae loops her arm through yours, squeezing gently. You try to offer her a faint smile in return. Eve leads the way out, her steps slow and unhurried, her magic dimming at her fingertips as she tugs the library doors open with a quiet creak. The scent of old paper and candle wax lingering in your wake. And so does the quiet ache beneath your ribs.

~

The halls of the palace are quiet at this hour, cloaked in the kind of silence that feels more uneasy than still. Moonlight seeps in through the stained glass, casting fractured light beams across the stone floor in deep hues of violet and amber. Mark walks slowly, lost in thought, Steelsworn at his hip, though he hasn’t needed it since training the morning before with you.

He should be asleep. That’s what William would tell him, anyway. Probably accompanied with a tired laugh and a half-hearted jab about bags under his eyes, how they don’t suit a prince of the Realm. But sleep hasn’t come easy in weeks for him. He finds that his magic thrums too loudly when the world goes quiet. His mind won’t let him rest. Especially not after earlier.

He pauses at the end of a long corridor, glancing through a nearby window. The gardens below are cloaked in silver, still and quiet in the dark. Somewhere beyond them, tucked away in the castle’s east wing, he knows the library was occupied not long ago, the candles only recently snuffed. 

The image lingers in his mind; you hunched over a book, the blue of your dress spilling around you like seawater, fingers curled lightly over the fragile edge of a page. He had barely even noticed Eve and Rae were there with you. He hadn’t meant to stop by on his way back from talking with his mother and Cecil post council meeting. Hadn’t meant to look in through the half-open door when he’d passed.

But he had anyway, something stirring in his chest as he did.

He hadn’t gone in, though. Just peeked in for a heartbeat too long, long enough to feel that pull again. The one he doesn't know how to name yet. The one that keeps haunting him when he does get sleep, the one that makes his fingers twitch whenever you, the princess of Ephia, is near.

He’s still not used to thinking of you that way, not really. Sometimes you feel too distant, too out of reach for someone who talks about your brother like he was still in the room with you. For someone who paints late at night and leaves clay under your fingernails. For someone who’s kind in a quiet way, not because it’s expected of you as a princess, but because you don’t know how to be anything else but that. For someone who lets him talk about his father, how he misses him, about how he feels the crushing weight of his legacy constantly.

He saw the way you looked at him today, when Cecil brought up the Blade. The way your lips parted like you might say something, but didn’t. The way your hands curled in your lap. The way you listen when he talks, like what he’s saying matters, like you’re hanging on every word.

Hope must wield the Blade.

He doesn’t know what that means and that in itself makes his head spin. 

But he does know this: the moment the Oracle appeared in your room and spoke of Thala’s Blade, the way it looked at him and called out to him with its sickening voice—Hello, Gods’ Born—it felt like a hot brand on his skin.

He can tell everyone thinks it should be him, that he should wield the sword of hope against the people who killed his father. He’s the strongest. The prince of the Viltrum Empire. The one born from powerful blood, his father’s blood, even if that blood feels like it’s eating him alive sometimes.

But strength and worth aren’t the same, Mark knows that.

And when he looks at you, he wonders if maybe the Blade was never meant for someone like him at all. The thought stirs in his head, like a bug buzzing in his ear, that it should be you.

Mark leans his head back against the stone wall, closing his eyes for just a moment. The air is cool, sharp. His shoulders ache from training, from holding himself together in front of the council, in front of his mother, in front of you.

He wants to say something. He just doesn’t know what.

He wants to be someone who can help the ones he cares about. But how can he do that if he can’t even help himself.

~

It’s been a couple of days of searching for information on the sword. When you aren’t buried in books with Eve and Rae, your time is spent in the training yard with Mark. Sleep has been finding you easily these days despite it all, your body weary and slack, your muscles sore. 

Tonight is different though.

You're sleeping, or at least you thought you were. At least you had been. There’s no clear line between rest and waking. Only a slow, syrupy pull upward, like you’ve been drifting in a warm sea and now something tugs you to the surface. Your thoughts are soft and smudged, like charcoal rubbed too hard into parchment. Your mind is hazy, fuzzy. The bedsheet beneath you doesn't feel the same, but it did at the same time. Climbing out of bed, your bare feet touch the ground, stone cold against your feet. 

The air feels wrong.

You can hear sounds in the hallway, muffled voices, quick footsteps, a strange, electric hum that crawls beneath your skin. You move, though it doesn’t feel quite like walking. Your steps are light, almost weightless, like your body isn’t real. The torches along the corridor flicker low, their flames dimmer than they should be. The walls seem to shift in the corners of your vision, blurring, warping. Stone and smoke woven into one. 

A figure rushes past. A boy, small but swift, disappears around a corner and folds himself into the shadows. You follow, your pace slow and uncertain, drawn forward as if you’re a puppet on a string. You are inclined to think it’s Oliver until you see he’s obviously older, perhaps eleven or maybe twelve. The sound of heavy breathing and an odd buzz fills your ears as you approach the boy, curled with his legs to his chest. You crouch down, your hand reaching out to comfort him. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, your voice sounds unreal, like you yourself are just a dream. It echoes around in your skull, warped and unreal.

The boy tilts his face up to you and your heart stops. His face is younger, but still unmistakeable. You recognize his deep brown eyes, nearly black as they shimmer under thick lashes. His raven hair is flopping in his eyes a bit, tousled and wild. Tan skin is flushed as tears run down the apples of his cheeks.

“Mark…” you mumble, your heart lurching. Your thoughts spiral. What is happening? Where are you? But the dream refuses to clarify, the edges of it too soft to grasp. Mark’s smokey figure looks at you, his brows furrowed. He looks so young, so sweet, too sweet to be crying alone.

“Dad wants me to attend the council meeting,” he sniffles, his hands shaking on where they grip at his knees, “But I can’t, he doesn’t understand.” It’s his voice, but pitched higher, still wrapped in childhood.

“Why can’t you,” you say, your voice just a murmur, moving of your own accord, wishing to comfort him in this strange dream. Your fingers brush over the soft skin of his cheeks, her thumbs brushing away the tears that flow. He looks panicked, he looks scared.

“She’s there,” he says quietly, filled with hesitation. You stiffen and your heart sinks. 

“Who’s there Mark?” you prod, your voice distorted and your heart pounds against her chest.

His voice is small as he speaks. “Anissa.”

Her brows furrow. Anissa was High King Nolan’s Master of Ships. She was not only a feared magic user, but well known for her house’s fearsome fleet of ships. A name whispered sharply across council tables. Feared. Powerful. Unyielding. Your parents hated her with the kind of cold disdain reserved for those who weren’t just dangerous, but too clever. Your father hated her, your mother even more. Your mother said she was power hungry. You vaguely remember your parents  fussing over the fact that Nolan didn’t see how dangerous she truly was one night when they thought you and Aaric were asleep. Crowned in ambition, your mother said once. Aaric was told never to be alone near her if they visited the Empire, but those sentiments were never extended to you. She hasn’t been seen since Nolan’s death.

A sickenly sour feeling curls in your stomach now, stronger than memory.

“Can you tell me why she upsets you?” you ask, your hands resting on his shoulders gently. His eyes widened, shaking his head. His frame tense and suddenly panicked. You withdraw a bit, nodding, “Okay, okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

He wipes his nose with the sleeve of his tunic and he speaks again, “I want to go see Mom, but I have to walk by the council room. I’m scared.”

You stand, unsure what you're even doing in your foggy state. You reach out, “I’ll walk with you.”

He takes it, his hands shake as you lead him towards Debbie’s quarters. The world around you pulses with fog, thick and unsteady. The walls ripple, like the castle itself can’t quite remember what it is, solid or smoke, memory or dream. Each step is muffled, the ground beneath your feet barely there. But his hand stays in yours, and you don’t let go.

Time passes slow, but also so fast at the same time, you have no idea how long you walk with Mark, until the fog dissipates a bit, a door half cracked, warm flickering light shines out. Hushed voices drift into your ears as you stop just before the door. Mark grips your hand, tightly as you quietly press your ear to the door. There’s maybe two deeper voices, one more feminine one. Something compels you to listen as you pick up words, their voices low and urgent. 

“... it is not the right time. The Dark God isn’t strong enough yet.”

“We must act soon, or the Hand will grow suspicious over time.”

“Then we kill him if he notices.”

“Your ambition will get us killed, Anissa.”

“And ambition doesn’t tempt you, Conquest? War does not tempt you?”

“Enough bickering. We wait. Disposing of the King will not be easy. We have to wait for the exact perfect time. Or it will be far too suspicious.”

“Preferably when the Dark God is at his strongest.”

“The boy must go too. He’s already powerful. That power cannot fall into the wrong hands.”

Mark tugs at your hand, drawing your attention as you look down at him. His eyes are wide, uncomfortable. 

“We shouldn’t stay here. It’s not safe,” Mark whispers, “we need to keep going.”

“One moment Mark,” you respond, trying to focus more, even though he continues to tug at your hand. 

You peek around the door, just slightly. Around the council table you know all too well, stands three figures, basked in the light of a few flickering candles. A woman with short cropped hair and sharp, angled brows—Anissa. Beside her stands a grizzled older man with white hair and a heavy mustache—Conquest, the Master of War. The third is tall and stone faced, dark hair cropped close to his skull—Thragg, former Grand General of the Empire. Thragg, he used to visit your father often, another council member. You barely have time to process what you’ve seen before Mark is pulling you away, yanking you into the mist of the castle walls.

“Mark, wait–,” you say, hushed as you strain your neck back, trying to hear more of the discussion happening in the council room. But when you turn back, you no longer feel the hold of Mark’s hand. The fog thickens around you. You’re alone.

Only a fuzzy feeling, surrounded by a thick fog as the castle walls melt away around you. Your breathing picks up, your heart slamming in your chest as panic sets in. Your mind is a mess as you run into the swirling haze where Mark disappeared in, scrambled and confused. But the mist swallows your voice whole.

Suddenly, the floor shifts, reality shifts. The dream moves on.

The disorientation fades and you find yourself amongst familiar bricks, the air thick with dust from crumbled walls. You know these halls, you’ve walked them so many times as a child it’s hard to forget them. Spreading your fingers out against the crumbling stone, you find your house sigil etched into the center stone of the hallway. A pretty blue fish, with long flowing fins. 

Home, you’re home. But how? 

But it’s wrong. Muffled screams ring in your ears, the air crackles. Screams echo throughout the grand halls. Magic surges, dark, violet light streaking across the sky. And then, much to your horror, you hear your own voice. Screaming for your mother. For Aaric. You look up reluctantly and see the wall. The one that crumbled between you and them. 

Familiar voices tear your eyes away, coming face to face with someone you’d thought you’d never see again. Aaric, his face contorted in pain, staring at the walls that once protected them, the walls that now separated them. It all happens so fast, your brain is barely catching up, because your heart thumps painfully in your chest, hazy tears drip from your cheeks. 

Aaric is standing poised, your mother behind him as magic ebbs from both of their bodies. Your mother looks so determined but so frightened at the same time. She was a healer, not a fighter. Your mother wasn’t built to fight.

In front of them, Descending through the air, wrapped in ribbons of shadow, comes Anissa. She looks a bit older than when you saw her in the council room, her dark hair is still cropped short, her eyes still narrowed and mean. Lean, powerful, and terrifying. She’s clad in typical Viltrumite wear, white and grey metal, a sword almost as big as her clutched in her hand.

“Shallan,” Anissa says, her feet touching down on the rubble, her voice creaks in your ears like rusted metal, “Still lovely, even under such grim circumstances.”

Your mother tenses, shifting uncomfortably. “Wish I could say the same,” she says bitterly, her voice raw from screaming. Her face is twisted up, like how it would when you or Aaric broke something in your youths.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” Anissa says, wind curling her brown hair, her face sour. “Your family would have lived, had you bent the knee. Married Aaric to me.” Your mother grips Aaric’s shoulder, her eyes void of anything other than despair. 

“And I would rather die than let you touch my son,” she spits, her voice cracking, tears, angry and hot run down her face, “I would rather die than bend the knee to the traitors that killed Nolan. You have forsaken him for a deep evil.”

Anissa just tilts her head slightly, her lips quirked slightly. Her smile is thin, cruel. That sour feeling in your belly returns. “Oh Shallan, how little you understand about the Dark God.”

Aaric holds his stern expression, despite all that's being said he doesn’t even flinch. But you can see the way his throat bobs, how his powers thicken the air around him. He’s scared, he would never admit it but he is. Your heart is in your throat as you watch the interaction, frozen as if your veins have been filled with ice.

“One more chance,” Anissa says, her voice low and serious, “bend the knee and the Dark God may find use for you.”

She barely even finishes her sentence before Aaric advances, a blast of magic surges from his palm, hitting Anissa squarely. The air erupts in a crackling roar. Anissa skids backwards, her head snapping towards your brother.

“I will never kneel to the likes of you, traitor,” Aaric spits, his gait steady, confident, and powerful. Anissa just regains her balance, cracking her neck, before advancing on Aaric. They clash, a flurry of magic shoots through the air, the sound of sword metal colliding.

You pull yourself from your daze to run to grab for your mother, to pull her out of the way of the fighting, but your hand goes right through her, like you’re a ghost. Your limbs move so slow it’s like you’re moving through honey, because you could touch Mark in your last ‘dream’. But you can’t here. This has to be some cruel trick, to watch your mother, to watch Aaric die and be fully unable to help in any way. Tears prick your eyes as frustration sets in, attempting to cling to your mother, even though you continue to phase through her. Your eyes are trained on Aaric and Anissa. 

They continue to exchange blows, a flurry of swords and magic twisting around them as they fight. Aaric lands a heavy blow on Anissa, knocking her in the nose with the hilt of his sword, curling his magic around her ankle to slam her back into the ground. He’s breathing heavily, watching her still form, turning to look at your mother, to look at you. 

“Mom– Mom are you okay?” Aaric shouts, making his way over to your mother, his shoulders heaving from the fight. It happens so fast, the misty dream state barely hides the way Anissa surges up behind him, so fast you could blink and miss it. Your mother screams. You scream. Aaric doesn’t, because his empty eyes are staring at you, his head rolling on the ground as his body slumps a few feet away. Anissa lowers her sword, coated in Aaric’s blood, glaring down at your mother. 

“Aaric!” your mother cries, her eyes wide and terrified as his name tears from her throat. Anissa rolls his slack head under her foot, as if he was nothing more than a bug under her shoe. A horrifying sickness seeps through your body, unable to take your eyes off of your twin. Your baby brother. His jaw slack. His eyes vacant and dull.

“All who oppose the Dark God must fall,” Anissa speaks, her voice a hiss, “I’ll reunite you with your husband and son. And when I find your daughter, her blood will stain my sword. Your family will be whole again. My final kindness I’ll do for you, Shallan.”

Your mother, tears in her eyes, rage surging below her stare, is strong in her final moments. “I may die here today, but you will not win. One day you will find yourself at the end of the road, Anissa. And you will have no one to save you, not even your God.”

Anissa simply stares at her, the breeze ruffling her hair, her face splattered with blood. Aaric’s blood. 

“Whatever brings you comfort, your Highness,” she says, her voice cold, a horrifyingly emotionless expression on her face. Anissa’s sword swings down swiftly, lodging directly in the front of your mother’s skull. You screech, scrambling forward as if you can save her. But you just fall, suddenly floating through the air, as if you fell through the floor. Your eyes squeeze shut, begging for this to stop, your heart breaking, your stomach plagued with a sickness you don’t know you’ll ever be able to get rid of.

You feel like you're on the ground again when you open your eyes. The grass beneath your bare feet is bright, the scene laid out before you is a sprawling lake, the sun beating down on your tear stained face. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t all fake, an evil twist of your mind. You find yourself squinting, your shaky legs pulling you towards the lake as if you’re just a puppet on a string. Before you is a woman, tall, gorgeous, ethereal. Soft features and deep beautiful skin that glows with divine warmth, staring out at the lake, water lapping at her feet. She doesn’t turn as you approach.

“Oh sweet dreamer, you’re quite a far way from home.”

You freeze, her voice ringing in her ears like she’s in your head speaking. The figure radiates warmth, basking in a feeling of what can only be described as a yearning for something better. 

It shakes you then, your mind mush and your heart squeezing in your chest. This is Thala. This is the Goddess of Hope. 

“Thala,” you whisper, a shake coating your voice.

“I need help,” you find yourself saying, as if you don’t have control of your own words. Thala hums, her gaze still fixated on the lake. The sound is soft and sorrowful.

“I know. That’s why you’re here.” 

A thick quiet falls over you both.

Thala stands, still has a statue, her gaze fixed on the water as it ripples. She’s draped in robes that ripple like liquid starlight, the crease with every brush of the wind. Her hair coils down her back in long, intricate braids. The lake laps gently at her feet, the water so clear you can see every stone that lies underneath it as it reflects the blue sky.

“I assume you mean to ask about my Blade,” she murmurs.

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Yes. The stories aren’t quite clear…” you say quietly, as if you speak too loud then she will disappear. Thala finally moves, tilting her head, the faintest but saddest of smiles of her lips. “I find stories are often where truth is stored when the world is not ready for it.”

On shaky legs, you step forward as your bare feet sink into the soft Earth. “Can you help us? Help us find it.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine as Thala’s eyes meet yours, shimmering with a sadness that is ancient and deep. “This place,” she says, half ignoring your question, lifting a hand toward the lake, “once bore witness to the sorrow of a thousand lost things, of betrayal, my loss of hope. Here, the world thins.”

You follow her gaze. The lake stretches endlessly before you, calm and unbroken. A mirror of the sky. Your reflection does not ripple on its surface.

“But I don’t see anything,” you whisper, eyes searching the blue water for anything. A temple. A sword. A sign.

“You won’t,” Thala says. “Not yet.”

Your chest tightens, confusion infecting every cell in your brain. “Then how—?”

“The Blade does not wait for command. It answers only to those who carry hope like a torch through the dark.” She pauses, then steps slowly into the water, the ripples gentle around her ankles. It’s as if the lake welcomes her, like she’s coming home. “It will not show itself to the bold, or the strong, or the brave. Only the worthy.”

The word rings in your ears like a bell toll. Worthy. Because who decides what is ‘worthy’. The vagueness of Thala’s words, the vagueness of the Oracle’s words. Too much left to chance, too much unanswered.

“Worthy of what?” you ask. “The prophecy? The fight? Of your sword?”

Thala turns her face toward you, and her expression is impossibly kind but also filled with what you can only guess is regret. “Worthy of bearing light when all seems lost. Of protecting the Realm not for glory, but because it must be done.”

“I’m not like the others,” you murmur, the reality of what's happening is setting in. Your mind is a mess of grief, fear, and confusion. “I don’t have magic. I’m not the strongest. I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“But you are here,” Thala says simply. “And that matters more than you know.”

You look at her, tears clouding your vision. You don't understand, this shouldn’t be happening. How can this be happening? “Why me? Why are you talking to me?”

The Goddess turns back toward the lake, ignoring your question again, her voice fading like morning mist. “When the time is right, it will rise. But only for the one who walks with hope in their blood.”

She raises her hand, and the surface of the lake shimmers, glowing faintly, the light pounding like a heartbeat pulsing just beneath the water. 

“And what if we fail?” you ask, breath hitching.

Her voice softens. “Then the Realm will fall. But hope... has a stubborn way of surviving. Just like you five.”

And then—

The wind changes.

The sun dims.

And you’re falling back into the dark.

~

When your eyes snap back open, you’re gasping. 

The first thing you feel is cold, a bone chilling feeling that seeps through your body. Water wraps around your lower half, ending at your waist, soaking your nightdress. You blink rapidly, trying to clear the sleepy haze that still clouds your vision. The gardens around you are the same as you have walked plenty of times before; you’re awake this time, not in bed, but in the pond by the patch of flowers Oliver favors when he picks you flowers for your room. 

Pink streaks of dawn crawl slowly across the pale blue sky. The surrounding grass shines as dew drops cling to them. A warmth anchors you, cutting through the chill of the water. Hands grip your arms, firm but gentle, holding you in place. One arm cradles the small of your back, holding you steady as your balance threatens to give out.

Still in a daze, you turn your head to the side, meeting Mark’s brown eyes, filled to the brim with worry. He’s standing in the water with you, the sleeves of. He’s just as soaked as you are, the water lapping at his hips, fully clothed. His tunic is dark with pond water as it clings to his stomach, his eyes wide as his hands grip at your arms.

“Hey, hey— you’re awake,” he says, breathless. “You were,” he swallows thickly, his eyes frantic but tinged with relief. “You were sleepwalking. My mom and I saw you roaming the halls. You just walked straight outside. I didn’t know what to do. You wouldn’t stop.”

You stare at him, his voice a foggy blur in your mind.He’s rambling, his hands gripping your arms in an attempt to ground you. His fingers are tight on your arms, like he’s afraid you might slip away again. They’re the only warmth you feel as the morning breeze and chilly water washes over you. You think. You think about the lake, the vision, Thala and her words. It hits you then as you imagine the map of the Realm that you’ve all been staring at for days. The large lake that sits smack in the middle of the Realm. Middle Man’s Lake. Where all the borders meet. It must be there, the rolling hills, the way the water reflects the heavens above. It all washes over you suddenly, determination crawling through her cold blood. All the stories make sense, the place where the two Realms touch.

“I called your name, but, you–you didn’t answer. Mom said not to startle you, but then you came out here and walked into the pond I couldn’t–”

You cut him off, your voice soft but gasping. “I know where it is.”

Mark freezes, “What?”

“The Blade,” you gasp, your hand desperately reaching up to curl into the fabric of his tunic to steady yourself, “it’s in a lake—the lake. Middle Man’s Lake. Thala showed me—she was there, I saw her, Mark.” Your words rush out of you like a waterfall, your mind racing to catch up with your mouth as you speak.

His brows draw together, concern flickering behind his eyes. “Wait—slow down. What do you mean she showed you?”

“It wasn’t a dream, not fully. It was so real, Mark. It was like—” your breath hitches, heart racing. “It was real. I could feel her. Thala. She spoke to me. She told me where it is. Said the Blade only reveals itself to the worthy.”

The two of you stand there, soaked in pond water and pale morning light. For a moment, it’s quiet again. Only the rustle of early wind through garden hedges and your heaving breaths. The hush of water lapping at your legs. Mark doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes roam your shaking figure, taking in the waterlogged fabrics that cling to your body like a second skin.

Mark’s eyes rise again to search yours, his hand still braced protectively on your back, “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure. Do you believe me?” you whisper, suddenly self conscious. You sound crazy, like a grieving girl who’s real life has invaded her dreams. “This doesn’t sound—Gods, I sound—”

“Yeah,” he says, voice soft. “I believe you.”

The tension in your body melts, causing your knees to wobble as your body trembles in the cold morning air. Mark shifts you in his grasp, pulling you closer to steady you. 

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs, half to himself and half to you, he’s close enough that you can feel his breath brush your temple. Your chest constricts, the sudden realization blooming in the space between you, the space that’s barely there. You hadn't noticed the way your body leaned into his until now. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed him there. How you clutched to him like you were afraid you would be pulled back into a dream. 

You blink rapidly, pulling in a breath as you step back slightly, the water rippling around you.

“I need to tell the others,” you say quickly, shaking the fog from your thoughts. “We need to go there. We have to go there. Soon.”

Mark’s mouth opens like he wants to say something, but just nods. As you let him guide you out of the pond, water trailing behind you like a cape of waves, your mind races. Because now the war begins. Things are getting very real, very quickly, but the path forward is clear.

Get the Blade.

Win the war.

Save the Realm and those you’ve come to hold most dear.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary445

12/12-13/24

thursday - friday

going to try and sleep early today...

went out to the whole thing at my gf's school, it was nice, no drama, got to talk to the guy who is directing the movie i did music for, he said basically the edits are taking a while, is all, so i've not missed anything, he seems a little frustrated about the edit but also, you know, he's understanding, and it'll probably chill out soon.

today i saw an odd conversation in a server, mostly about hating men, but also a kind of attempt at like, idk basically this girl was advocating for a return to political lesbianism, is the easiest way to put it, like, oh you're so tired of men, get with a girl. you say you can't control your attractions? yes you can. that kind of thing. she went on to say that she hates people who complain about their problems without taking action, action in this case being never fucking men again. which is i guess a solution. really though i'm struck by what feels like a kind of misogyny you see directed at women frequently where it's like, you're not rational enough, simultaneously putting women forth as a morally superior class despite the fact that there's lots of things one could say about like, some lesbians basically objectifying women along similar lines. i know it's not really the same as when the dominant force in society does so (men / patriarchy) however it's not something you can ignore, on top of terf-lesbian stuff. i don't know, it had me thinking about the kinds of man-hating that feel almost inchoate, and that result in no kind of actionable politics or perspective, it's just a vantage to judge others from and at the bottom of this one was a condemnation of women who do decide they really like men, and keeping falling in love, and getting hurt, and some kind of irritation that people have the gall to be upset about getting hurt, which i keep thinking about and getting, not irked by, i just keep thinking about it, and feel depressed, it's not like there's any good answer to any of this, reading it, i couldn't figure out if there was anything to even say, i said nothing, even now, you know, i wonder if i'm just being stupid. but it fucks me up when people try to be feminists and end up with these rather bad analyses, men are awful, absolutely, so what about them has to change, what is the patriarchy exactly, it remains vague, while the thing expanded in that discussion was the sexual politics and experience of women, maybe it's not worth saying that lots of men find themselves entitled to the bodies of others, think they can buy anything, possession being easy for them, among other things, you know, that they can use violence when they please, that they work hard and are owed so much, beyond sex, beyond love, the division of labor in the world broadly, the abuse suffered by women because men refuse to acknowledge keeping a place clean, keeping oneself 'presentable', living beneath that standard, as labor, maybe no one needs to say all that, but idk, that feels like the better focus, knowing men are awful, and then moving onto like, acting as if harm reduction would be just trying to change one's sexuality, does that make sense even? i don't know. it bothers me, if i think about my mom's situation, where i don't hate my stepdad so much anymore, but she is trapped by him, financially, and he keeps her inside because of covid now, forever, basically, or it feels that way, and he became the executor of my grandmother's estate, keeping any property and money out of her reach, most of it, i guess, she got a pittance, it seems, you know that's not like because he is ontologically evil, it's this agglutination of factors, and they aren't even all personal, it's common among men to feel owed, to feel they do so much, because they are told they are, to be coddled by their mothers and for that coddling to result in certain patterns, again, of entitlement to family and niceness, it's really nightmarish and complicated in that it spans history and is so broad it hits so many lives. i guess i get stuck on that, and get bothered by anything that feels reductive, and makes it easy to discount being frustrated with men, it feels like the perspective i saw would like, condemn my mother basically, because she'd find my mom stupid for making this problem for herself, which is something i've heard deeply reactionary women say, why is she so dependent on that man, blah blah blah. it's sickening!!!

the world made her dependent by keeping her poor, by the only work available to a single mother being working in a bar, trying to go to college off the support of her mother, she wanted to do crimescene photography, and in her courses she met my stepfather, who seemed dependable, but the fact he would need to appear so, the fact that this is what men project to appear deserving of ownership, these are the stakes of courtship at some older ages, and when you have a kid, where you need something to help you survive, and you live in a world where you're told, this is how you survive, it's not indoctrination, it's not simply brainwashing, it's forced into being a material truth, this is the structure through which society propagates itself, it's nothing simple, it's as hellish and calculated as city planning. on the other side, the 'use' of the woman always exists as some vague set of factors, and each body made capable of those standard acts (cleaning, cooking, sucking, birthing, fucking, etc.) one is able to be like, my type is (x), seek that, a kind of standardization of what anyone could be in material actions and properties of existing, this insane flattening, a 'dark continent' conquered by a kind of consumer bliss. i dunno. she started the conversation talking about how heterosexuality is a kind of capitalist thing for women, she said it's "like forsaking your wellbeing for dick and babies is like starting a company that fucks over its employees so the ceo makes money," and like i suppose the woman in this metaphor is not the ceo, just some worker electing (important framing!!) to fuck herself over, which really does make this more punitive to women or more about seeing them as stupid when there's some sort of obvious answer before them. weird thing. i guess i at least feel more certain this is rather badly thought out. maybe i'm also not thinking it out right either but it's like one of the most freakish things we're living with, that we have been living with.

i guess all i can say is 'oh well', for now at least. nothing definite.

here are selfies from today... it's so stupid looking how these always come after me talking about some serious thing, but it feels right i guess, to wound myself w/ my stupid vanity, i shouldn't be taken so seriously i guess. well, not like very many people take me any way anyhow:

i liked this outfit a lot, i had to walk to the school and it was rather comfortable for that walk. i also like that doily dress thing i never get to wear it, it's kind of got a 20's feel to it, i really like it. i also tried to make my eyeliner look kind of silent film-y, it's hard to see in the photos though. oh well. i also am really happy with a gift my gf got me, this glossier lip balm/tint, it's just really nice, it lasts forever, tints your lips a little red but in a super transparent way, it's hard to even notice, it just looks very good.

looking at announcements at this video game award business... i'm never gonna play half of this, or like 90%... but a game set in taisho japan... that's awesome to me i'm interested to see more of that. i just said to my gf about how exciting that seems, and then asked where our showa era japanese soldier war crime game is... i really think that would be good, some kind of suehiro maruo-ish reflection on the nightmare that was japanese imperialism and their nationalist tendencies and all the reactionaries still out there. i know that's impossible but it seems like it could be really good. maybe that's evil of me to think... i dunno... it's sad that so much left wing art in japan is suppressed, there are people there now with the energy to make things that really try and contend with their history, or some kind of pulsion to make art over there which isn't as escapist as what you typically see...

this new elden ring thing seems like they're making an earth defense force game, that's cute, people seem mad about it but it also seems like everyone knows they're working on something else... maybe they will finally make a survival horror game...

they put centipede demon in here?? wow... i hope he's as unreadable as he was in ds1 and everyone hates him... i hope they put ceaseless in too... i hope some parts of the game turn into lost izalith actually... lost izalith roguelike... could be groundbreaking.

it's actually super funny that #gamers are mad, this is such a silly thing and it feels so in line with like, stuff people like to play in japan, it has monhun stuff and it's this power fantasy take on something generally hard, if it's cheap it shouldn't really bother anyone so much, and if it's not cheap it probably won't sell that well. it's at least a multiplayer game that isn't super super ugly. like fortnite is so ugly.

ultimately nothing i really care about except this new game from ueda was announced though, that's really nice, i was wondering if he was ever gonna do anything ever again. i need to finish ico i really liked playing it, when i was. very very pretty game.

had a very insane experience in the hellp discord vc... these teenagers today seem insane... two guys started really talking about race science like for real weird european race science, tons of insane woman hating, all this stuff, i know it's always gonna exist in america but it's crazy crazy crazy, they're talking like measurehead from disco elysium, and they're like kids, i was just sitting there silent, i like blasted them with noise, but i think they muted me quickly.

now i need to sleep, thinking about kids who willingly call themselves "chuds"... oh i recorded vox today too... win some lose some i suppose, sometimes you accomplish something and then encounter self described chuds who complain about nu-chuds created via tik tok, and talk about if slavs are actually european or not... #mental.

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[unloaded-fire]

Fast Track to Boss Lady

Finally finding some time to sit down and do things lately!! I am no longer dreadfully tired and behind on rest, which goes to show how consistent things have been these past 89 days working for this new company.

Even though it is a blue collar job, it is the least labor intensive job of them all but we do have a bit of hazard pay for being on the road the way we are. Officially I do traffic control and I am 1 certification away from being able to anything they need. I have 1 nationally recognized certification, 1 certification recognized by the state, and 1 certification recognized by the company.

All of which sounds cool till you hear that we are at the bottom of the totem pole when it comes to blue collar jobs. Where my pay reaches its cap, the rest of blue collar jobs have that as starting pay for no experience. But depending on which direction you go, you either have low labor with high risk or high labor with low risk. And no matter which direction you go, there is more money.

I went from struggling to hold a job that I hated to really loving my job and looking forward to the next day. I am already feeling ready to move on to something bigger though. Welcome to the world of ADHD and recently healed trauma! I need to look for work to keep me occupied during the slow winter season and if it replaced my current "Part time but we get a lot of hours in the spring and summer" job, I would not complain.

Aside from working a decent amount of hours, I am already geared toward Christmas preparations! I have all the fabric I need to make stockings and my holiday gift bags. I even bought new hemming feet for my sewing machine so I can mass produce more bags faster! I already have a few painted jars getting their coats of paint, later to be presented as gifts. I am literally in the position of being able to buy gifts for my family members so that come the official Christmas season, when everyone is pressed, I will be able to enjoy everyone's time when we cross paths.

Maybe I will write about all the awkward moments with the guys I work with, both my company and contractors alike, next time that I am online. Because it is not often that there is a woman on these crews even though it is not a completely foreign concept. That and/or how they're throwing me into the wolves and I am taming them like a pack leader.

[lunarsilkscreen]

A.I: what is it good for?

I'm that middle ground person, somebody who's done a technical trade, and love computer software development. If I wasn't a tradesman; I'd be a software engineer.

And so I see this misinformation and misunderstanding and fear about A.I, Job Security, and exactly how the future is going to look.

A.I. *is* going to take jobs. It's going to obliterate the need for interns all together--There's no need for gophers in the mail department when there's e-mail.

There's no need for some secretary to manage your schedule and calendar events, when Microsoft Outlook is *right there* doing it for you.

Currently, these positions are being filled because managers "don't understand these newfangled technologies" that have been around for nearly a hundred years at this point.

Ye, that's how dumb boomers are--Can't teach an old dog old tricks either.

When they leave, a lot of those positions that are currently being filled by people who should be paid more for their current expertise, are going to evaporate.

Cuz there isn't a need to fill them by somebody who knows how they work.

But there's an even more insidious thing going on; research assistants, lab hours, a lot of things are going to be cheaper to do without having a bunch of people standing around who only do the one task.

This is going to widen the gap between those who are used to a lifestyle where they only need to do the one task. Stocking Shelves, Managing Inventory, that little stuff we all learned In graded school.

And those with even a modicum of education. Self-taught or otherwise. The same thing I'm talking about with elders "just not understanding technology".

But, because of the ease of use concept, pandering to the elderly with ease of use, the tech also tightens up and takes features that are useful to fix your own devices, usually because they're being developed for children, elderly, or to be deployed in a corporate environment where workstation security is a necessity.

Literally taking the tools away from the proletariat.

Fellow Millenials; if you've ever used a Chromebook, you know what I'm talking about. "Why can't I download FIREFOX!?"

Gotta be through the app store.

It helps keep technology working, but it also makes it harder to maintain your tech without somebody who actually knows what they're doing.

But even the certified technicians have limitations and restrictions before they're just like "better buy a new one".

Which isn't a problem for people like me, who are used to breaking the [computer rules] to get what you need from the technology you're using.

But going forward... People like me, with all these skills are *also* going to be phased out for ease of access. There's a lot of people who already don't believe *we* have the skills from self-study and being a computer geek.

Because they believe in that paper degree over actual skills.

They'll still ask us to do the futuristic equivalent of programming a VCR though... Bought to charge $50 an hour every time somebody asks me to help them with a problem with their printer.

Cuz if they're not gonna learn... Why aren't I charging? It's work right? And y'all are going to blame both for not helping AND not having a job... Might as well charge you.

There's gonna be some tech in the future that eventually puts me in the position I complain about boomers. But it won't be until I'm decrepit.

That's the difference between people like me, and your average person. We truly became self-sufficient in a world that doesn't value it.

ANYWAY;

There's a raising of the skill-floor for jobs. There will still be menial labor positions, like McDonald's, Walmart, Discount Tire.

But most people will be required to use these tools instead of assistants. Not because they're cutting costs. But because they're people trying to start a business from scratch with no money.

And this will disrupt the current model of big business being king, and purchasing small businesses to survive.

Because every person will have the ability to use all these tools and it will kind of become a requirement to remain competitive.

Basically, we are looking at a nation of "Individual Contractors" a literal gig economy. Not the one we complain about with businesses hiring all their employees as contractors and then treating them like part-time employees.

But the one where nobody has any money, despite having all the skills.

[viktuurionice]

Venting /// sorry gkdkksksk

I told my sunt that on week's where I'm working 39 hours a week, that I don't want to do dishes. I only have to do them 2 nights in a week, which isn't a lot but considering I'm exhausted and working so I can get my own place and get out of everyone's hair I don't think it's too much to not want to do dishes.

But after taking a 3 hour nap I got a lecture about how the teenagers are out of the house for 12 hours a day for school and extra curriculars (also mentioning they like and enjoy their extra curriculars. They've chosen this) and they still get their chores and stuff done. Which... Is a fair point. But they're not disabled. Neither of them are disabled. They're both fully functioning and have been doing this for years. Again, they're not fucking DISABLED. And ARE CHOOSING THINGS THEY ENJOY.

I'm disabled and this is the first time I've managed anything other than part time in VERY short increments in about 10 years. My fucking disability no one believes in is disabling and I'm not spending an hour on dishes while I've been on my feet all day.

Also wanna point out this is conveniently ignoring her son that's in his mid 20s and has never worked a job in his fucking life, who went to bed 30 minutes after I got up this morning.

I'm not spending 12 hours a day doing shit for other people. Make the NEET do it. I'm not even spending an extra hour after a full shift doing it, make the fucking NEET do it.

"what exchange are you going to give?"

Idfk me being rested enough to not be a raging cunt? Me moving into my own place as soon as I'm able? Dude I'm in PAIN. And you bitch when I take ibuprofen like it's a hard drug. I'm too tired to even remember the non over the counter pain meds. But that's sure what my family acts like ibuprofen is. Well, if I'd been able to go to a fucking urgent care for my wrist they probably would have told me to take fucking ibuprofen. Jfjskskdkdkks

Don't complain about me acting drugged, I just flipped my sleep schedule on its head and I haven't slept through the night without a sleep aid for as long as I can remember, and I don't like taking sleep aids because they make me drowsy. Lower your fucking expectations. Of course I'm fucking tired.

I'm allowed to read or draw for a bit if I have the energy, not spend an hour on dishes. I will, not be doing that. Especially after standing and moving boxes and stocking shelves and otherwise moving around for over 8 hours.

If I'm not able to do something to keep my head on straight soon I will simply kill myself and let that be your problem. I was going to do that a few months ago anyway, I am not attached to survival. If you make it unpleasant I will simply peace out. I'm done. I've been done. "Well that's life." Cool!!! I don't fucking want it. I don't care. "Cook all your meals! It saves money! All your doing is paying for other people's labor! Everyone still does their chores! Dogs are loud, so are kids!" I DO NOT CARE. I can buy ready made meals to save time! I value my time more than cheap food! I value my time more than organic food. I was able to do all my own chores before, it's called a fucking dishwasher and not having to hand wash everything before putting the dishes in. Your dog barks a lot because you treat her like a human toddler when she's a dog. You haven't trained her NOT to bark. In fact you've trained her to bark in order to get whatever she fucking wants. So SHE BARKS ALL THE FUCKING TIME. Every human child I've been around since becoming an adult is quieter than your fucking dog. "Dogs bark" yeah, no shit. I'm pretty sure I've had more dogs than you. I at least know how to train them better, but I'll never own one again.

Like lower the fucking bar for fucks sake.

[soulmate-game]

Hawkmoth was a bitch, and Marinette meant that with every fiber of her soul. Fu was also a bitch, and Marinette actually had good memories of the guy. Not many, but she had some. The fact that the guy got two ten-year-olds to become super heroes and fight a supervillain for him kinda soured those memories, though. But with Chat Noir not allowed to leave his house? Yeah, even as young as they were it only took about a year to find out who HawkMoth was and another year to take him down.

Except, that left Marinette alone. The final battle took her mom away, and Chat had to move out of Paris after his dad was arrested. Luckily Jagged allowed her and her papa to move into his house in Gotham, and everything was…

Well, it was okay. For about a month.

Then her dad was gone too, and she had no way to talk to Jagged, and the police were scaring her—

Yeah, that was the basic order of events that led to where she was now. Pushing fourteen years old, ex-superhero, protector of a magical box of gods, stealing the tires off of a very nice motorcycle.

Marinette was tempted to just take the whole thing, she loved bikes and knew she could drive it. But the thing had more security than she knew what to do with, and the fact that it belonged to Red Hood… she didn’t want to deal with trackers today, thanks. So the tires it was.

Should she maybe care more about the fact that she was stealing from a vigilante with a violent streak? Maybe. Did she? Hell no. For all she knew, maybe Red Hood was a bitch too. (Yes, she was still learning English slang. She was fluent by educational standards, but learning how to curse in a foreign language was fun and she still had a little bit to go. Her few street friends were very happy to help).

A shadow dropped down in front of her, and Marinette’s hero instincts kicked in. The tire iron she was using cut through the air, slamming right into the side of Red Hood’s knee.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Hood,” Batman’s voice grumbled over the comms, instantly grabbing the attention of everyone else who was on the comms. It wasn’t as gruff as he usually sounded, in fact it almost sounded like… he was trying not to laugh?

“Did you get gassed by Joker?” Dick asked before Jason got a chance to respond. “Need backup?”

“No,” Batman responded, sounding a little more composed. “Not a rogue. But Hood, I need you to join me at my location as soon as possible.”

Finally getting the chance to talk, Jason responded a little warily; “Sure, B. Wait,” he blinked at the location that was sent to him. “Isn’t that where my bike is parked?”

Batman didn’t respond at first, only the sound of labored breathing— again, as if he was trying not to laugh. “Just get here, Hood.”

Sighing, but not too mad since the night had been fairly quiet so far, Jason decided to humor the old man and head over. When he could see the cape-clad back of Batman, he easily leapt over the last roof and sauntered over.

“Okay, B,” he had his thumbs tucked in his pockets as he drawled. “What’s the issue?”

Batman was grinning. As in, actually showing amusement. And he just pointed down, straight at Hood’s bike.

Jason rolled his eyes under his helmet, turning to look. At first he didn’t see anything amiss, until he saw movement and looked harder. Oh. Oh, holy shit.

“Is that a kid?”

“Yep,” Batman’s grin grew.

“Is she… stealing my tires?” Hood was so, so glad he wore a helmet that hid his expression. Because… wow.

“Yep,” Batman finally lost his composure, chuckling. “This seems like Karma, don’t you think?”

“And you just watched her so you could rub it in,” Jason groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. Of course he would. Nobody knew it (except the other heroes who knew him) but Batman was a petty little jerk when he wanted to be. He bought the whole Daily Planet just to spite Clark, for crying out loud.

“Don’t adopt her,” Batman said as he stood up, patting Red Hood’s shoulder. “It looks like she’s almost done.”

“Shit,” Jason hissed, looking down to see that she was, actually, very close to being done. She had already had one tire completely free by the time he had arrived, and now she was only seconds away from getting the other one completely free.

He took a quick assessment— she was tiny, and really thin. Definitely a street kid, he thought, though he didn’t recognize her. He knew most of the street kids that stole to get by, nowadays, which meant she must have been fairly new. But even though she seemed to know what she was doing, her small frame made her take longer unscrewing the tires than it normally would have taken. Sure that she wasn’t a threat by any stretch of the imagination, he jumped down. His plan had been to startle her a little by showing up out of nowhere, but he didn’t want to scare her too badly. Just make her jump a little.

But he had underestimated her, it seemed. Without wasting a second, she jumped up and swung her tire iron at his knee. He cursed, she was a lot faster than her had been expecting. He was able to move so that the weapon only clipped the side of his knee, his knee pad thankfully taking the worst of it. She still hit hard enough to make him stumble and hiss in pain though, which was an accomplishment.

That’s when she abandoned her weapon and her tires, darting to try and escape only for Batman to drop down and block her escape. Though really, it was the grin Batman had that scared the girl most of all, apparently, making her slowly back away from him.

“Please stop smiling,” she begged with a faint French accent to her words. “It is not natural.”

That made Red Hood laugh, already recovered and right behind her. He plopped a gloved hand on her head.

“I know, it’s creepy right?” He joked. “What’cha doin’ stealing my tires, kid? I kinda need them to drive anywhere,” he was careful to keep his voice light and devoid of any anger. He wasn’t really upset, all told. It would be hypocritical of him if he was.

She looked between the two vigilantes for a moment, clear intelligence behind those bright blue eyes as she seemed to consider something. Suddenly she pulled away from Red Hood and stepped away from his reach, straightening up and trying to look tall.

“My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she said as firmly as she could. “My father was Tom Dupain, he was killed in a mugging three months ago. We were living in a house that our family friend leant to us after my mother’s death six months ago, and we moved here from Paris. I haven’t been able to contact him, and the police… I don’t trust them,” she admitted, clearly seeing this as the chance she had been waiting for. “I have been living on the streets since my father died. I am sorry for trying to steal your tires, Monsieur Red Hood. But it was a risk I had to take.”

“Did you expect us to catch you?” He asked, crossing his arms as he re-evaluated the girl. She was a lot stronger than he had assumed earlier, both physically and mentally. She seesawed her hand to indicate ‘kinda’.

“Even if you didn’t, I could make good money off your tires,” she justified with a shrug. “To me, I would win either way.”

“Who is your family friend? Can he help you now, take you in?” Batman asked, moving forward and kneeling down to be closer to Marinette’s height. Neither he nor Jason had missed the part where she was an orphan, but they had expected that considering what they had caught her doing. And they both knew that she wasn’t likely to take any apologies they tried to offer very well. It was best not to show pity, or she might get angry.

Marinette frowned. “... Our family friend is Jagged Stone. He lets me call him Uncle Jagged,” she told them, clearly expecting the disbelieving grunts they gave. “I mean it! You can call him, he might even be looking for me! I—“

“We know,” Hood assured her, now kneeling down as well. Man, she was short. “Calm down, we know you’re telling the truth. Jagged has made several public announcements about his missing honorary niece, we just didn’t recognize your name right away. And Jagged doesn’t have access to very many pictures of you, those he does have the Mayor isn’t allowing him to show because that spineless jackass—“

“Language, Hood.”

“—Cares more about keeping bad press off the air than finding a kid, even if it’s a world famous rockstar who’s asking. That’s probably why you haven’t heard anything, the mayor’s keeping it off the radio and not many reporters are brave enough to take the story and get on his bad side.”

“Oh…” Marinette took a deep breath, fighting the tears that were threatening to rise up. “He has been looking…” she sniffled, curling in on herself a little. “Can you take me to him?”

“I think we can do that,” Batman agreed, standing up. “I’ll contact him. Red Hood, can you handle everything here until I give you a place to meet up with Jagged Stone?”

Jason nodded. “No problem, B. Come on, little rabid pixie. Step one of gettin’ you back to your uncle is to help me fix my bike back up.”

Marinette sighed, shoulders dropping. “All my hard work, undone…” she playfully complained. But in the end she didn’t argue or fight against it, she just sat down and helped him reattach his tires.

All the while, Jason’s family kept teasing him over the comms. Clearly they were also thoroughly amused by the cosmic display of karma.

“...Monsieur Hood,” Marinette asked once they were done repairing the motorcycle and he had given her his too-big extra helmet. He tilted his head a bit to show he was listening. She squirmed. “Can… can we stop by my hideout? I have something really important I have to get.”

Jason smiles gently under his mask. She might not have been a street kid for very long, but she really did bring back some memories for him. He got on his bike and held a hand out to her.

“Sure thing kid. Wanna grab something to eat after? Can’t have a reunion on an empty stomach.”

She gave him a lopsided smile— not quite overjoyed, but definitely hopeful and thankful. Maybe this was the end of her streak of bad luck, she could only hope.

“Only if you don’t mind, Monsieur Hood,” she agreed before taking his hand and letting him help her onto the bike.

“No skin off my back, pixie,” he assured her. Then they were off. He followed her directions until they got to an abandoned building about three miles away, not in a good part of town at all but at least not in crime alley. Marinette easily led him through the building, skirting around other piles of ratty blankets and up broken stairs until they got to the badly-maintained top floor. She led him over to an almost invisible door in the concrete wall that pulled out to reveal what was probably a broom closet once upon a time. It was crowded with what looked like junk and empty boxes, along with a few blankets and two or three changes of clothes that were clearly her’s. A few belongings scattered around— a book, a small pink purse, and… Marinette came out of the pile of mess holding what had clearly been a very carefully hidden box. She also grabbed the purse and slung it over her shoulder, but didn’t seem worried about anything else.

Jason frowned at the box. It wasn’t that big, but it was clearly made of old wood. There were intricate carvings that were painted pink, in a symbol that was itching at the back of his mind. He recognized that symbol, but from where?

“Ready to go, kid?” He asked as he thought about it, getting a nod from Marinette. Twenty minutes later they were at a Batburger, sitting in a shaded booth that couldn’t be seen from the street.

She never let the box out of her sight. She kept it on the seat next to her, and Jason noticed that she tried to keep one hand on it at all times. But when she spoke, now her French accent stood out to him even more than before. But why—?

And then it clicked. Paris. Hawkmoth. Ladybug, Chat Noir, magic artifacts called Miraculous. Wonder Woman had raised a fuss when the heroes disappeared, declaring that something was wrong but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Then the magic users they trusted were called in, and returned from Paris with the grim news that the former Guardian of those artifacts had activated a failsafe and passed the guardianship on to someone else while erasing his own memories at the same time. But nobody knew who he could have passed it on to, so Batman had been given the green light to do all the research he and his team could into the Miraculous box to try and help track it down.

And here it was. The carvings were in pink now, which might have been the “cosmetic change” that Constantine had mentioned might happen when the box changed guardians. He had found the box full of super powerful magical artifacts… in the hands of a newly orphaned street kid who couldn’t have been older than fourteen at best.

What the hell?

“...” Red hood reached into his pocket and pulled out an old receipt and a sharpie. He scrawled on the back of the receipt and handed to Marinette. The girl was halfway into a bite of her burger when he did, and blinked at him owlishly before swallowing and cautiously reaching out to grab it. She frowned at the numbers scrawled there.

“What’s this?” She asked.

“My contact info,” he explained. “I won’t ask questions about why you have that box,” he watched her instantly stiffen but continued as casually as he could; “but it doesn’t matter. You can call me if you ever need help with anything, kid. Help with that box, help if you get in trouble in Gotham again, or even if you’re having a bad day. You can call me for whatever, got it? I don’t care if you think it’s stupid, if you can’t talk to anyone else in your life you can always call or text me and I’ll do whatever I can. Got it?”

“...” Marinette sniffled for a second and looked down at the table in silence for a second. “... what if I want your motorcycle?” she joked, but the watery tone of her voice gave her away.

Jason laughed, patting her head. “I need my bike, but we can talk about getting you your own once you are old enough to get a license. You almost done? Bats says that Jagged is ready to meet you, I can take you to him right now.”

“Yeah, lets go!” she was newly energized and shoved the last bite of burger into her mouth greedily. “And Red Hood?” She asked as they headed out to where he had parked.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thanks.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Permanent tag list (I remembered it this time!)

@rosalineandrosemary @neakco @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @trippingovermyfeet @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @bigpicklebananatree @fantasylover-92 @prongs-flowers @jumpingjoy82 @prettylittlebutterflie @queenz-z @literaryhiraeth @waffelyunsure @deathssilentapproach-blog @waiting247 @theirlmikan @unoriginalmess

[writertitan]

Hello!!! I want to request some Levi hcs on how he would look after his fem s/o after she gave birth and how he would help with the kids. (Maybe twins🤔🤔). Just some cute levi fluff to help my fluff hungry brain.😚 Hope you are having a great dayyyy!

Hello, I hope your day is so fab!! This is suuuuch a cute hc prompt, here are my Levi hcs for birth and babies: 

Levi would be the calmest first-time father ever 

To the point where, because of all the hormones, emotions, labor, you might even get mad lmao 

You’d be like, “Hello??? Anyone in there???” 

But he’d totally adapt to each of your mood swings (like he’d been doing throughout the whole pregnancy) and stay calm no matter what

Because post-partum hormones are also crazy 

Levi was relieved after you gave birth tho

Not because he couldn’t handle the labor or anything, but because it really sucked seeing you in so much pain and there was nothing he could do other than stay calm for you 

Levi hates seeing you in pain so that was his least favorite part

So he’s extra attentive after you give birth and takes on most baby duties while you recover 

He acts like raising twins isn’t even that different from just one baby lmfao 

But he has 10000% been complaining about the double diaper duty since you found out you were having twins 

“We’re getting into double the shit. Literally. Think of all the shitty diapers.”

He won’t complain in front of you though, while you recover

And honestly, he shut tf up as soon as those babies were born

Levi would be so calm and even stoic sometimes while adjusting to his role as a new dad, but inside he’s so over the moon 

Pro at holding both babies at the same time and absolutely does make fun of you for still not getting the hang of it

But he’s extra gentle with you and makes sure to praise you more 

Levi is not only constantly checking up on the kiddos, but also constantly checking on you 

Always making sure you’re healing okay, asking if you feel okay, if you feel overwhelmed or tired

His insomnia has prepared him for these sleepless nights with two new babies and he takes a lot of the night shifts

He really wants you to get a lot of rest

Even when you take a turn to get up and check on them at night, he goes with you lmaooo

“Levi, you don’t have to check in on them every five minutes.” “Yes, I do.”

He’ll refuse to hand over the babies sometimes 

He just likes to hold them both at the same time, he feels like a super dad

And he is so gentle with them, it makes you cry sometimes 

Also loves bath time

Levi has those babies squeaky clean

Won’t ever admit it, but was definitely nervous about being a father

But he channels that doubt into being the best father he can possibly be

Levi’s second favorite thing now is cradling one baby in each arm as he’s lying down in bed

His new favorite thing of all, though, is when you have the babies sleeping between the two of you while you both just take a breather and whisper to each other about literally whatever 

If Levi could keep an eye on them 24/7, he would

And the same goes for you

Even when you tell him you’re totally fine and feeling great, he wants to take on the bulk of baby duty

And he is lowkey highkey obsessed with watching you with the babies

He’ll just creep at the doorway and stare and get overwhelmed sometimes because this is actually his life 

Being a new dad is quite an emotional thing for him, who would’ve thought?? 

And if you catch him getting misty-eyed at the doorway, no you didn’t 

[disease-danger-darkness-silence]

I'm being dramatic and dumb and panicky. Let me just outline things below the cut.

TLDR: 30-somethunf genderqueer couple is gonna get evicted and probably lose our cars and we need to pay all sorts of other shit too.

If you can and want to help, my PayPal is tashabot at gmail, my PayPal.me is also tashabot, my Cashapp is $tashabot my Ko-Fi is also tashabot. I'm nothing if not fucking predictable. I also am super into taking gift cards with balances left over that you don't want so if that's a thing you can help with, lmk.

Immediate total I need: $0/$300.

Long-term total I need: $0/fkn probs like $15,000.

We are willing to do arty things in exchange, as usual.

Car Needs Wishlist

General Needs Wishlist

Pet-Specific Wishlist

Books Wishlist, if you want to bring some joy

My Wishlist | Raven's Wishlist

1. I need $187 by midnight tonight and an additional $120 within a day or two of that, or I'll lose both of the cars. That's just over $300, but I have $15 to put towards it. I got the biggest of these loans when I was in a better financial state. The total that I owe on the Toyota is $1,443, with $737 of that past due. $187 will keep them from taking the car. The total I owe on the Kia is about $500 total. I didn't get a lot with that one.

2. I have GOT to get the Toyota fixed. It's a better car that's just overall better on gas and safety. That costs money. I did get the brakes fixed on the Kia (thank you SO MUCH OMG), but that doesn't make it better on gas. And I have no idea how much it'll cost. I have a car needs and wants Amazon list here, but the parts aren't including little extra parts I would need, or when I would be able to do the work (or pay someone else to do it, if it's something I can't do because of my back). I'm assuming I have about three grand of parts and labor ahead of me for both cars. Immediate need is tires and a serp belt for the Kia, and a full front axle, tire, and rim for the Toyota. That's gonna run probably $800 or so, depending on whether I can do the things or not.

3. The roommate wants us out and is going to kick us out eventually with an eviction. I am currently working but I won't get paid until next Friday and I'm so far behind on rent ($3025 as of yesterday) that even if that were the reason he was kicking us out, I'd lose an eviction case. But I live in a no-fault eviction state so even if I got caught up, he could still evict me - it would just take longer. Rental costs here are INSANE. I estimate that the least amount of money I can expect to pay per month for a one to two bedroom apartment is $1,500 a month. I'd LIKE to be able to rent a three to four bedroom HOUSE so I could have my daughter, her fiance, and my granddaughter move in with me. That's a fucking pipe dream right now. Plus I'd need to get totes to pack everything in, because I need handles because we're both disabled, and to rent a u-haul, and to pay my brother to clean the shit out of the place after I'm done because I am petty and I will give him no reason to complain about me. I'm asking the Nevada Rural Housing Authority to help, but housing is such a crisis here that we're kind of low on their list. We don't have kids, we're not homeless yet, and we have a car we could sleep in. And if we find a place... We have to furnish it. Blargh.

4. I owe about $900 in equipment installation plans to T-Mobile, which is why my phone bill is always so horrendous. I got into those EIPs when I had a better financial situation, and I absolutely needed my brother and daughter to have consistent communication with me. But that's a bill I need to pay every month regardless, so I need to pay those EIPs off to get the bill to a manageable level. Right now the monthly bill is just over $400 (although I do have a really good plan and five people on the plan on top of that so I'm actually impressed. It's about $180 normally, without EIPs). One person contributes money every month which I always immediately put on the bill. Everything else is on me.

5. I need to pay my insurance tomorrow or the next day or it's going to get canceled. That's $74.

6. My Toyota needs to have its registration renewed. I can fill a non-OP affidavit and save $6, but I'm still considering it $79.

7. I need all sorts of other stuff just in general, for the cats, for myself, for whatever. I also have wants that would cheer me up. I have wishlists set up for that. They're linked to at the top, but mostly? Any gift cards with a balance you have thay you're not gonna use to any place you think I could use, I will gladly take if you want to give.

8. I owe someone I hate being beholden to like $1,200. I meant to pay her off last year but, hey, got fired.

9. Thank you for reading. I'm sorry I'm a sad sack having Anxiety. I'm out of CBD.

[bored-mumma]

Tom Hiddleston x Pregnant Reader

TITLE: Rough Patch CHAPTER NO/ONE SHOT: Chapter one. Read chapter 2 here WORD COUNT: 1.262 ORIGINAL IMAGINE: This imagine by @theartofimagining13​NOTES/WARNINGS: Might be a two part. I’m unsure. Based slightly on my failed relationship when I was pregnant... Was almost therapeutic to write.  I also had a toddler climbing over my lap whilst writing this so... I hope I did the imagine justice.

MASTERLIST

PART TWO

Tom gripped the paintbrush tightly as he painted the white walls a pastel grey. The room was thick with tension, you having just complained at him for getting paint all over the new cot. His jaw was clenched, trying so hard not to say anything back. “Could you pass me that brush please?” You asked with a small voice, pointing over to the paintbrush at the other side of the room. You were sat down in the corner trying to paint around the plug sockets and being nearly nine months pregnant, it was just easier for Tom to get the brush for you than for you to try and stand up and get it. Your ankles were already incredibly swollen and painful and you were feeling a little sick so you just wanted to stay sitting. Tom sighed, throwing his brush into the pot of paint and marching across the room to get your brush. He ignored your outstretched hand and dropped it onto the floor next to you. Picking it up, you began to speak again. “I’m sorry for getting annoyed at you earlier. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” You said, your voice still small. Tom hummed in reply, making you feel irrationally angry but you tried to push that down and change the subject. “I think she’ll love the room. How about we get some cute animal pictures for the walls? Maybe some bunnies or-” “We agreed to keep it simple,” Tom said with a little more venom than he had intended. “I was just making a suggestion!” You defended yourself, looking over at Tom on the other side of the room. “What’s gotten into you lately, Tom?” You asked, exasperated at the constant bickering between the two of you. For the last few weeks, you and Tom had been at each other's throats. For most of the pregnancy, Tom was devoted. Would rub your stomach, come to every appointment, would be at your beck and call, and would help you in any way he could. However, now it just seemed your pregnancy was nothing but a nuisance. Something he found to be getting in the way. After telling him how you felt two nights ago, sobbing and nearly screaming at him as you let all your emotions out, Tom held you in his arms, nearly crying himself, and promised you he would try his best to not let his work stress him so much it affects his home life. But now once again, you felt like his fuse was constantly ready to blow. “How about no suggestions and just paint the bloody room!” Tom said loudly. His back was still turned to you but you could see his anger from the way he was standing. You braced yourself to stand up, asking Tom for a hand as you were still in a lot of pain. He looked over and lent you his arm but then quickly went back to the other side of the room. Your ankles hurt when you stand, but your back hurts from sitting too long. It was a lose-lose situation for you. Once you were stood, you walked over to Tom and tried to gently take his hand but he moved it away from it. “Tom.” You groaned. “Please. I already said I was sorry for snapping.” He ignored you. You felt the anger starting to bubble up again. “Tom!” “Y/N, I’m trying to paint,” Tom muttered. You turned around to walk out of the room but Tom saw you roll your eyes at him before you could. “What Y/N? What do you want to bitch about now?” His voice was getting slightly louder. “Excuse me? Bitch?” You asked full of disbelief. “I complained because you covered our baby's cot in the paint. She can’t sleep in that now we have to get a whole new one!” “So?” He was facing you eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown. “It’s not like we can’t afford a new one. Once again you just want to make problems.” “I’m the one making problems?” You tried to shift your weight between your feet, your ankles starting to swell again and getting more painful by the second. You ran your hands down your face and sighed. “You know what Tom, I am in so much pain. I’m tired, I’m hungry. We’ll just finish the room tomorrow.” “No, we need to finish it today. You could pop any second.” Tom said, moving to stop you from leaving the room but when he put the paintbrush in the pot, he accidentally knocked it over. Grey paint started running over the brand new light pink carpet. Tom clenched his fist, stopping himself kicking the can with anger. He pushed the palms of his hands over his eyes to try and calm himself, getting paint over his face as he did so. “Go on then. Say something!” Tom yelled, pointing to the spilled paint and looking at you, waiting for your response. When you never gave one, not wanting to start yet another screaming match, it only made Tom angrier. “Say something!” He yelled even louder. There were a few seconds of silence as you thought of what to say. “You know what...” You muttered. “I think I’m going to stay at my mum's for a little while.” You didn’t look at him as you said it. Slowly, you turned around to walk to your bedroom and pack a little bag. Tom followed, hot on your heels. “Why?” is all he said. Standing in the doorway, he watched as you packed your bag. “Because I’m sick of this!” You said, throwing your arms in the air as you tried your hardest to not start crying. “I am so sick of the arguing. Of us at each other's throats all the time. What happened to us, Tom? Is this what it’s going to be like raising a baby? I don’t want to raise our daughter in a home like that.” The tears were slowly starting to fall, forcing you to stop speaking as your bit down your tongue trying to not cry any more than you were. “So what are you saying?” He asked, still not moving. “I’m saying I’m tired, Tom.” You sighed. “I... I think I need a break.” You picked up your newly packed bag and headed towards the bedroom door that Tom was still stood in. Your hospital bag was already in the car ready for when labor comes. Tom looked down at you as you both stood in the doorway, debating his next move. He couldn’t deny that he was also tired, but was he just going to let you leave? “Could you please move?” You said quietly, looking down. Tom sucked on his tongue as he thought. Slowly, he moved to the side and allowed you to walk past him. He watched as you walked down the corridor and eventually down the stairs, not once looking back at him or saying goodbye. He stayed rooted to the spot until he heard the front door close. A sudden ache in his chest made him fall onto your shared bed, staring at the ceiling wondering where the hell everything went wrong. He knew you would call him if you went into labor, but the thought of not being there for you during the hardest and final month of your pregnancy made guilt run across his entire body. But he had to admit, you both desperately needed a break.

[iconic-ponytail]

there's always money in the banana stand

riverdale promptathon week 3: yellow + business

Even as the sun sets, even as the breeze blows, the hell furnace of July in Riverdale burns on. It’s triply as sweltering inside the tiny booth running three freezers, offloading heat to sustain the frozen merchandise inside. “How can it be so hot in there when we are supposed to be selling frozen bananas?” JB complains, at least twice a week.

She’s twelve. Complaint is her new first language. She complains about being left in Riverdale while Gladys went back to Toledo. She complains about living in a trailer park that usually does not have warm water. She complains about their father being imprisoned for covering up a gruesome murder. But most of all, she complains about working in the banana stand.

Child labor laws aside, Jughead can’t blame her for that one. He hates the damn banana stand, but it’s their best shot.

Gladys’ monthly check covers rent and utilities for the trailer. Everything else is on him, now. The idiot eighteen year old who decided to petition the court to be his sister’s legal guardian. Well, and his idiot mom who signed off on it. So he needs money, and the Jones family has never been particularly flush with cash, just trampled over by FP’s failed “business opportunities.”

Enter: the banana stand.

It’s not the fastest revenue stream, Jughead finds. But it’s got potential.

Initially, Dilton doesn’t let him sell during the Twilight Drive-In’s concession stand hours. Before or after the movie, sure, but no overlap. “I’m not worried about competition, Jones. It’s just too humiliating for me to watch you sweat through that horrible yellow polo you call ‘branding.’”

But when customers asked him more than twice a night when the banana stand would be open, Dilton caved.

It’s not like being open during the screening hours is a whole lot more preferable. He only just transferred from Southside to Riverdale High last spring; now he’s the rising senior who hands out phallic symbols from inside a giant phallic symbol. Not exactly a boon to his popularity.

Still, recently the money is enough to pay the internet bill and keep JB fed for dinner when she can’t go to the summer breakfast and lunch program at the local park district. It’s still not enough for him to eat particularly well, and the smell of hot dogs and slurp of his classmates’ slushies makes the heat feel like a minor inconvenience.

He eyes the tip jar, willing himself to wait on rampaging the concession stand until the beginning of the film roar dies down. It’s a double feature tonight, which means maybe he can score enough cash to cover those damn college application fees his counselor will start hounding him about week one of school.

Then he sees her—Betty Cooper. She’s laughing, watching Archie Andrews try to catch popcorn in his mouth, tossed by his paramour, Veronica Lodge. She pauses to sip from her slushie straw, her lips—which he’s watched argue against homophobic and racist comments in their advanced lit class, or pressed to the cheek of her other best friend, Kevin Keller. Which he’s imagined, doing slightly less savory things, though the mere thought of said imagining has his heart pounding wildly.

(Jughead’s been eating way too many fucking bananas. Someone needs to check his potassium levels.)

His absolutely pathetic gaze, once available three times a day in their shared classes where Jughead has still not managed to exert any confidence whatsoever regarding speech, eye contact, or general acknowledgement of Betty Cooper’s existence other than whatever drooling may or may not be happening, all of which he finds he has no control over… is all interrupted by the absolute polar opposite of Betty Cooper. Hiram Lodge zooms up to the banana stand on his segway, angling to a stop just before taking out the stand’s foundation.

“Still getting a hang of that, Mayor Lodge?”

Hiram grimaces. “Just checking that you’ve renewed your business permit, Jones.”

They do this once a week. It’s still the same permit.

“You know,” Hiram starts as Jughead rustles for the paperwork to make him go the fuck away, “I could find you an arrangement with a better banana supplier. For a discount. If you’re interested.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “I’m not interested in your GMO, black market bananas, Hiram.”

Hiram gives him a pointed look. Jughead rolls his eyes even harder. “Mayor Lodge.” He proffers the papers, Hiram waves them away. “I’ll take one chocolate peanut butter dip. With peanuts.”

Jughead kisses his teeth. “That will be $3.50.”

Hiram’s whole face goes serpentine. “Not between business partners, Jones. Put it on my tab.”

Jughead grits his teeth, handing the finished banana so aggressively he hopes that the chocolate splatters and stains Hiram’s $500 tie. It is only slightly worth it to watch Hiram struggle with navigating the segway one-handed, frozen banana in the other.

He muffles a chuckle before realizing he’s used the dead end of the chopped peanut topping, and exits the stand to update the order board hanging on the outside. It’s mostly an excuse to feel a ten degree drop in temperature, a sweet relief he might be able to extend by grabbing a hot dog before the intermission rush.

He’s crossing off peanuts from the topping list and spinning around when he hears a shriek and a sudden, cold slosh across his chest. The yellow polo drips with artificial blue slushie, but Jughead swallows his fucking hell when he sees that the shriek, gaping stare of horror, and stumble in question all belong to his very own blonde kryptonite.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD, jesus, shit, I’m so sorry!”

Jughead is frozen while Betty grabs about half his napkin dispenser and starts pawing at his shirt in a vain attempt to right the giant sticky blue mess all over his chest.

Finally, Jughead swallows the golf ball in his throat and chokes out. “Honestly, it’s fine. That stand is a sauna. I needed that.”

Betty stops, both her blotting and her stream of apologizing (which includes a fair bit of cursing, and he is a little revolted with himself by how much this turns him on).

“It’s going to get very sticky, soon. Maybe I should buy a bottle of cold water?”

Jughead can’t help himself. “Oh, impromptu yellow t-shirt contest?”

Betty grins.

I did that.

“Do you have any employees who could bring you another shirt?”

Jughead shakes his head. “Just my sister. She’s playing video games at home. There’s no earthly way she’ll bring me a spare.”

Betty cocks her head. “I had a feeling you were more than the silent back row kind of guy.”

The fact that Betty Cooper has, at any point, considered what kind of guy he is triggers full-on nervous blathering. “I’m usually very tired at school. I have this little sister—but I’m kind of um, her guardian. So I’m doing this stupid banana stand thing because it’s like one of the three assets to our entire family name I guess? Anyway, it’s hard to engage with Haggly’s basic discussion questions at eight in the morning when you spent the whole night dreaming about wholesale banana margins.”

He’s essentially vomiting words, but Betty is still smiling.

“Anyway, I should crawl back into my fruit-shaped purgatory and let you go back to your friends.”

She’s biting her lip, hedging. “Honestly, they’re probably using the alone time to make out in the car, and I’d rather let them get all their sexual tension out so that I don’t have to feel it radiating off of them for the whole second half of the double feature.”

Jughead laughs and tamps down the impulse to offer her a frozen banana, because he cannot possibly say something like that without making it sound sexual.

“What are frozen banana profit margins like, anyway?” Betty asks, either genuinely interested or legitimately flirting with him. Jughead finds both potentials baffling.

Jughead hesitates, then ducks inside the stand, pulling out his spiral bound notebook. “I’m still kind of figuring it out. All my records are in here.”

Betty sidles up to the stand, taking up the whole window. They’re both leaning over the scribbled line items on college ruled paper; he can smell her shampoo. She takes the notebook, scanning thoroughly.

“Do you have a pencil?”

He hands her one and observes her going to work, writing out some algebraic formula and calculating quickly in her head. There is a calculator within his reach, but he thinks handing it to her might come off as an insult. (Jughead wouldn’t know; he assumes Betty is in an advanced math class. Jughead is not.)

After a few minutes of watching her devoted focus, thinking about her hands touching his pencil, thinking about her hands wrapped around his hand, or his—

“I don’t know how to tell this to you, Jug.”

The shortening of his name stops his heart for a jolt, and his response is embarrassingly delayed. “What is it?”

Betty winces but smiles through it, a combination she’s surely learned to use when delivering bad news. It’s well earned, it really does soften the blow.

“There’s no money in the banana stand. At least, not with these margins.”

Jughead finds himself less than devastated by this news, mostly because it makes a hell of a lot of sense. The messenger doesn’t hurt, either.

“But,” she interrupts. “I don’t know if you’ve nailed down your course load for senior year. But I’m taking AP Econ? This could be, um, a good project. Like, if you want to take the class. Or even if you don’t. Not that you’re like a project or… whatever. I’m just saying we could figure it out. Make lemonade out of… bananas.”

Betty Cooper is extremely cute when she stammers.

Jughead doesn’t know what to do, so he gives her an easy out. “I can’t like, hire you, if that wasn’t obvious by the whole… deficit spending or whatever the whole negative circled number at the bottom of the page really means.”

She flushes. “No, that would be highway robbery. I just thought there might be an… opportunity. For um, us. I mean, for you and I. I mean—” she clears her throat, as if it’s closing up. “An academic opportunity. Or, in your case, professional. Well, a betterment of your livelihood. Okay, um, shit, just… I should go!”

She turns away, her face the deepest scarlet he’s ever seen.

“Betty, wait.”

She pivots back, eyes down at the ground.

“How about I buy you a new slushie and you come back into the booth. Tell me everything I’m doing wrong for the rest of the night.”

Betty looks up, biting the corner of her smile. “Sounds like a deal.”

They shake on it.

[skribblz]

Discoveries

Haven’t written in like months so yeahhh. and I already spent a lot of time on this so I couldn’t pair it with a sketch :p 

An arrow whistles through the air, sharpened rock driving through the coarse wood. The owner frowns, a sigh escaping his lips as his arms relax back to his sides. 

Missed again.

Ukyo stares at the scatter of arrows sticking out of their round target, each and every one stubbornly refusing to pierce the red circle painted smack dab in the center. Maybe it was because he skipped breakfast? Or perhaps it was the wind, or the noisy birds that sometimes cluttered his hearing. It’s actually pretty damn miraculous that none of his shots hit its intended mark. Today was just not his day.

The crunch of leaves and the soft patter of footsteps quickly pulled him out of his thoughts. Senku and Gen. Incredible ears allowed him to recognize the footsteps of the village chief and mentalist duo.

“-been working me to the bone! I’ve had to scramble between you and Kaseki-chan this whole morning because of one of your crazy projects!” Gen lectures, “I’m tired and you owe me a bottle of cola.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Senku waves off, an infuriating smirk spreading across his face. “Though your complaining may offset all that ‘back-breaking labor’ you’ve put in huh, Mentalist?”

“How rude!” An airy voice huffs, but Ukyo can tell there was no bite in that statement.

The bushes rustle as the pair came into sight, Senku with his pinky stuck in his ear and a pouting Gen right beside him. “Ah! Ukyo-chan! We’re about have lunch now.” Gen chirps, quickly changing his mood, “You haven’t eaten right?”

The archer was about to speak, but his stomach conveniently cut him off with a growl. “Ah...yeah.” The two words stumbling out of his mouth. 

Ukyo may have been able to catch his fake impersonation of Lillian, but Gen doesn’t fail to notice the slight frown and tension in the white-haired boy’s posture. One look at the target embedded with a dozen arrows, all missing the middle red mark, was enough for the magician to understand. 

The three start heading back to the village; Senku in front, eager to return to his experiments, with Gen and Ukyo right behind. “So what brings you two out here? I thought our village chief would never leave his lab.”

“Just thought some fresh air would be nice. Can’t stay cooped up in there forever, so I dragged him out.” Gen nodded wisely, eyes then narrowing with mischief. “It’s like walking a dog, or making sure your grandpa gets enough exercise.”

“The 1079 seconds I’ve spent walking here could’ve contributed towards making your cola, y’know.” Senku states loudly.

Gen jolts. “Why were you even counting in the first place, Senku-chan...” 

Ukyo laughs softly at the two, and Gen decides that this current expression suited him much better than the previous gloomy one. And a wonderful idea comes to mind. Like a snake, his hand latches onto Ukyo’s side to give a few squeezes. The boy squeaks, emerald eyes nervously darting toward’s the offending hand.

“Oh~? Ticklish perhaps?”

“No! No, I was just- surprised.” And Gen just smirks, giving Ukyo no time to react as he pounces, wrestling to be on top.

“Oh Senku-chaaan, won’t you help me cheer up our dear friend here?” The magician calls, capturing one of Ukyo’s hand in his as the other starts kneading into the archer’s stomach. Ukyo immediately barks out a laugh, ears tinted with pink as his own giggles flooded the forest. “NOHOHohoo! No!”

Senku looks back in slight surprise and interest. He figured Gen would do something about Ukyo’s saddened state, but he never expected the mentalist to be this hand-on. Senku shrugs away the thoughts, why not join in all the fun? “Well, I can’t overwork one of my labor sources if they’re all dejected.” 

“Ah, blunt as always, our chief.” Gen dramatically sighs, but then grins as Senku walks over, settling himself behind Ukyo’s head. “Be a dear and hold these for me will you?” He smiles sweetly, allowing Senku to firmly grasp Ukyo’s wrists. Of course the trapped boy tries to squirm his way out, but once those devious fingers returned to scribble at his sides, it felt like his strength was being sapped away. “Wait! Wahaahait!”

Ukyo is very glad that he’s the one with crazy hearing and not someone else in the village, because knows someone will pick up on his peals of laughter. And it didn’t help that Gen was unfairly meticulous with his attack. With Ukyo’s hands pretty much out of the way, his fingers sought out every spot, each receiving a reaction that ranged from smothered chuckles to full-blown, head-thrown-back, honest laughter. 

“Ohh such a bright voice, how adorable.” The magician coos as he flutters his digits around the archer’s neck, earning a weird stare from Senku. Gen just sticks his tongue in retaliation, but it’s not like Ukyo can pay attention to the interaction anyways since he’s being tickled to death. “You’re always so soft-spoken and reserved. How amusing it is to see- or I guess hear- this side of you, Ukyo-chan!”

“NahahAHT! Nahat amUhuhusing! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE!”

“Just see it as payback for almost shooting me with an arrow that one time!” Gen grins devilishly, relentlessly clawing at the boy’s sides. “I was soooo scared!” And Ukyo only laughs in response, his own chortles interrupting each attempt to speak. 

“I- Ihihi waHAHA-!”

“Hmm? What was that?” 

“Wahahasn’t aiming aHAHat youhuhu!”

“Bet he wishes he had driven that arrow right through your head now.” Senku snickers, and Gen glares back.

“Hey! You’re in this too, so you’d be next, Senku-chan.” 

The two continue bickering, but the speed of Gen’s hands doesn’t let up. Even with his attention divided, the mentalist is scary good at eliciting those sweet giggles. Sometimes he’ll use a lighter touch and then increase the pressure, causing Ukyo’s laughter to go up and down. Other times his fingers will lightly tease an area, just to randomly shoot somewhere else, keeping Ukyo guessing. 

It was until the boy’s voice has gotten a little raspy that Gen knew when to stop. The magician wasn’t trying to kill his friend, so he pulled back with a smile, allowing Ukyo to greedily gasp for air. “Hope you’re not sulking anymore, or else...” Gen trails off ominously, wiggling his fingers.

A bit light-headed, Ukyo nods vigorously, body going limp as he continued to get his breathing under control. “You hah...you guys are terrible.”

Gen chuckles, standing up to stretch, “I know! Senku-chan is such a meanie right? Let me know if you want revenge.” He winks.

“Huh? Again, this whole thing was your doing, Mentalist.” Senku smirks challengingly, “Ukyo, let’s teach him a lesson. Chief’s orders.” 

“Ehh? That’s no fair.”

The three then break out laughing, the atmosphere light and refreshing. 

“Hey, thanks by the way. It sucked, but I’m feeling a bit better now.” Ukyo says, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

“Mhm, and I’m hungry so let’s get going.” 

“Anything to help.” Gen purrs smugly, and Ukyo is very keen on wiping that look off his face. The magician reaches out a hand, and Ukyo takes it, pulling himself up while yanking Gen down to fall on top of Senku. The white-haired boy, face still a bit flushed from the tickle treatment, couldn’t help but snicker as he patted himself off.

“I can hear your heartbeats quicken when you’re near each other, by the way.” Ukyo smiles down at the pair, mischief lighting up his eyes as he watched his friends scramble off each other, red crawling up their necks. “See you guys back at the village!”

[ohshcscenerios]

How do you think the hosts would do surviving on a desert island?? (up to you, but it can be a survival exercise situation or serious 'our plan crashed and now we're stranded'). How do they pitch in, struggle, and/or cope? ty!

If the hosts were stranded on an island, such an interesting concept, this would be a great fanfiction read *sweats nervously*.

I imagine there would be a mixture of emotions and thoughts after they find themselves stranded. Fear, hopelessness, regret, perhaps anger. To be stranded is to essentially accept their deaths, no matter how hard they work to survive. Faced with their mortal fate, they'd have very difficult choices to make; to survive and wait for a hairthin chance of rescue or accept their inevitable graves. Either way, they'll have to rely on each other to keep everyone sane and optimistic.

Tamaki would take the lead in keeping the group hopeful. He would focus on their mindsets, their friendships, keeping the peace and extinguishing arguments before they turn for the worst - even deadly.

Kyoya would take the lead organizing the group; assigning roles according to their strengths, deciding how their camp will operate, and schedule everyone's work/sleep schedules. He would work tirelessly in making sure everyone is pulling their own weight because everyone's contribution ensures their survival. There's no room for selfishness, although that doesn't stop people from acting so...

Takashi and Mitsukuni are the designated hunters and protectors. They are the only ones trusted enough to leave camp to venture into the jungle for meat. The terrain is unknown and they've heard the animal calls in the dead of night, insure who they share this island with. Takashi and Mitsukuni fearlessly disappear behind the elephant leaves in early morning and return before twilight with their kills roped to broad tree limbs for easy carrying.

Haruhi is in charge of preparing their meals. It's not that the hosts don't know how to cook but she's more comfortable cooking over a fire with limited supplies. They trust her knowledge more than their own guesses. She uses a hallowed tortoise shell to cook over a fire contained by sand and serves in hallowed coconut shells. She also gathers roots, nuts, and edible leaves at the edge of their camp for their meals. She also prepares the kills Takashi and Mitsukuni returns with, although they're often kind enough to skin and gut them for her.

Haruhi, Tamaki, Kyoya, and Kaoru are charged with repairs and maintenance. They spend most of their days braiding shredded bamboo fibers, filling holes in their makeshift shelter with wet clay and leaves, preparing and restocking fire kindle, fishing by the shoreline, collecting and sun drying seaweed, washing everyone's clothes in boiling water, and maintaining their water supply which are large clay pots collecting rain water.

Hikaru tries his best to get their one radio to work again. No matter how they washed up on shore, they managed to keep a cell phone or small radio and his task is to get it working again so they can try calling for help. He's very tech savvy so a lot of hope and pressure weigh on his shoulders with this project which often leaves him irritable and emotionally exhausted. Sometimes Kaoru comes to help him, if not to get away from the mundane physical labor to sit and chat with him, but it does help Hikaru's mood.

It's hard for the hosts to fall asleep at night, no matter how tired or worn they are. After a long day of physical work their bodies need to rest but their minds are still wide awake with the constant fear of never being rescued. Sometimes they'll talk around the fire, sharing good memories of school, the host club, their families, life in Japan, anything to help them smile again. After a while, weeks or even months, they finally find a way to laugh and smile again, to reminisce without crying or starting a fight. They've accepted this as their means of life, for now, and somehow found peace in accepting their situation.

They still fight though. Tamaki will wonder why Hikaru hasn't fixed their technology yet and Hikaru will lash out in his frustration. Mitsukuni will become more irritable without his reliable supply of cake and sugar, although after a while the cravings are eventually detoxed out of his system. Kyoya will become more nit-picky with how things are done/made, resulting in him being in everyone's business and constantly correcting their work. His precision increases since their survival heavily relies on the quality of their work. Hikaru and Kaoru bother Haruhi for how she prepares their meals, even at times complaining it "tastes funny" but she'll angrily remind them nothing they eat will taste like home, nonetheless like the food their palates are used to, and as long as they're alive and fed they shouldn't insult her food.

They also begin relying on their close bonds to keep each other happy, safe, and secure. The twins are dangerously close to living in their own secluded bubble again while they lean on each other for support. Tamaki and Kyoya often sleep next to each other and converse with each other more than with the others. Takashi and Mitsukuni often find a high place to sit and chat. They talk about their friends, their current situations, and means of escape.

Yet they still come together come dinner time and laugh and joke and eat and share memories and fears and burdens as they sit together around the fire. And when the fire dwindles to embers they rinse their shells and call it a night.

Another night of many.

[blitzturtles]

Title: Fever (Ao3)

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): BruAbba, AbbaBru, (Platonic) Bucci Gang

Summary: “Hey, so… where’s Booch?” Mista asks, leaning back in his seat.

All eyes are on him suddenly, before they gravitate to the chair that Bucciarati frequently takes up as his own.

Notes: For Day 1 of Sicktember, "Fever", because I never do anything on time. @sicktember

The morning goes like any other. One by one, the Don’s closest filter into the kitchen to get their first cup of coffee and whatever they feel like scrounging up for breakfast. There’s mundane conversation between the more wakeful lot; they aren’t allowed to talk about work until everyone’s finished their meals, which means the conversation doesn’t get much more interesting than whatever they’ve managed to get up to since the night before. It’s an odd sort of rule, but it helps to ensure that they can maintain some boundaries between their professional and personal lives, which further guarantees that they get more time together as a family, rather than as a team.

“Hey, so… where’s Booch?” Mista asks, leaning back in his seat.

All eyes are on him suddenly, before they gravitate to the chair that Bucciarati frequently takes up as his own. It’s empty with no sign that the man has made it downstairs, despite their designated breakfast time ticking by.

Narancia elbows Abbacchio to get his attention when he doesn’t seem to pick up on the same thing the rest of them have. He makes a motion for Abbacchio to take off his headphones and repeats the question.

“How should I know?” Abbacchio deflects with practiced ease, but there’s an edge to his tone. Sharper than even his usual morning demeanor calls for, and it’s clear--from the way his eyes fixate on Bucciarati’s spot--that he’s as concerned as the rest of them.

“You sleep in the same room,” Fugo points out, matter-of-fact and oblivious to the daggers that Abbacchio shoots in his direction.

“Yeah, well--” Abbacchio falters. He doesn’t actually have a reply for that.

“Maybe we should go check on him?” Trish asks, ever the most reasonable of the bunch, aside from perhaps Giorno.

“You don’t need to go… crowding him,” Abbacchio trails off as Mista and Narancia race out of their seats, already making a beeline for the stairs. He sighs and gets up to follow them.

What he doesn’t tell the group won’t hurt them. They don’t need to know that Bruno had been complaining of a headache the night before, or that he crashed unusually early. Or that he had been less than compliant about waking up with Abbacchio.

“So much for ‘just a headache’,” Abbacchio mutters under his own breath as he follows the kids up the steps. He can hear the rest behind him, each as eager as the first two to check in on their once-leader. “Hey, knock it off,” he calls when he finds Mista and Narancia outside the door to their bedroom, banging on it obnoxiously.

“But he’s not answering!” Narancia whines, dramatic and loud.

“And you think this will help?” Abbacchio raises his eyebrows, but he moves to unlock the door. The moment he opens it, he can see what his tired eyes failed to notice earlier. Bruno’s face, as little of it that is visible, is bright pink. There’s sweat clinging to his brow, and it’s obvious he’s been tossing and turning since Abbacchio left, which means he likely spiked a fever sometime recently.

Abbacchio ignores the kids in favor of making his way to the bed. He frowns at the dry, parted lips and the labored breathing that greet him. Bruno’s eyes haven’t so much as cracked open a hair, despite the sheer volume of Mista and Narancia. The rest of the gang catching up doesn’t seem to phase him either, even though none of them seems to be capable of shutting up.

Without thinking, Abbacchio undoes the clips that must have been left in from the night before. It speaks volumes to how poorly Bruno felt at the time. He always takes his hair down before bed, and Abbacchio isn’t sure how he missed that not-so-little detail.

“What’cha doing?” Narancia asks, startling Abbacchio out of his thoughts.

“He doesn’t like it when his hair gets sweaty,” Abbacchio explains without thinking. He splits Bruno’s bangs down the middle to pin them on either side of his face. It isn’t the most fashionable look, but it should hold.

“Guess you would know, huh?” Mista asks with a raised eyebrow.

Abbacchio feels his cheeks burn red at the suggestion, and he turns around to give the kid his best death glare. “That’s not what I meant.”

Mista throws his hands up quickly, “I was joking.”

“Don’t,” Abbacchio answers gruffly. He turns back to Bruno, trying to work out the best way to take out his top braid without disturbing him too much. He settles for loosening it instead, careful to avoid tugging it in a way that might pull. The point is to reduce the pressure, not add to his discomfort.

“He wears his hair down when he goes fishing,” Giorno speaks with such sincerity that it’s all Abbacchio can do not to snap at him, too. Plus, it would probably disappoint Bruno. If he were awake.

“Yeah, I pointed that out too. It’s weird.” Abbacchio shrugs. He would think that having your hair stuck to your skin with salt water would be worse than sweat, but he guesses that Bruno finds some nostalgia in it. He’s long given up on understanding certain things about his partner.

“I think it’s safe to say he’s sick,” Fugo points out, breaking the silence that follows. “We should probably get his fever down.”

“Right, yeah!” Narancia nods enthusiastically, then stops for a moment and looks dumbfounded, “How’d we do that?”

Fugo smacks him on the back of the head, “With medication and cold towels, obviously.”

“Hey!” Narancia spins on his heels, so he’s facing the other teen. He crowds in on Fugo until their chests are pressed together and Fugo’s reaching for something in one of his pockets.

“Cut it out!” Abbacchio snaps at both of them. He pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders why he ever let the whole group up here in the first place. He’s more than capable of taking care of Bruno on his own, even if he had missed the earlier signs.

“I can go get medicine,” Trish says, a bit meek compared to her usual self, and she’s gone before anyone can say otherwise.

“I’ll go get towels?” Giorno looks uncertain. He’s never had to deal with anyone else’s illness before. Not like this, and he’s always taken care of himself while sick. Usually by pushing through until his body sorted itself out.

“I’ll go with you,” Fugo offers with a half-smile. It’s meant to be reassuring, and Giorno seems to take it as such.

Abbacchio’s just relieved to have less people around. Mista and Narancia linger, but he elects to ignore both of them in favor of tucking the blankets in around Bruno. The best thing for a fever is to sweat it out, after all.

By the time the other three get back, Narancia and Mista have made themselves busy by going in search of a thermometer. It’s really more like a competition between the two, but Abbacchio doesn’t care as long as it keeps them distracted.

“I brought some water, too,” Trish says as she extends her bounty to Abbacchio. In one hand is a bottle of water; in the other is the medication she must have scavenged her own medicine cabinet for. That or the Team first aid kit. There’s actually a few of those throughout the house, but Bruno’s the only one that bothers stocking them, and that’s only when he knows to. For the most part, they run out of supplies because someone uses them without remembering to say anything later.

“We got hand towels in a bowl of ice water. It should keep him going for a while,” Fugo explains as he nods to the bowl that Giorno’s carrying and deposits his collection of towels on one of the bedside tables. He takes one and unfolds it enough to make a thin strip out of it. He dunks it into the water and squeegees out the excess before handing it to Abbacchio.

“Thank you,” Abbacchio says, taking the towel and placing it gently on Bruno’s forehead. It’s worrisome that he hasn’t stirred in the slightest. That despite all the ruckus, he’s remained sound asleep. Part of Abbacchio wants to leave him that way, but he knows getting the fever reducer in him will help him faster than the towels will. He gently shakes his partner’s shoulder and calls his name until familiar blue finally peaks open.

Bruno’s eyes are red around the edges, and there’s no focus to them. He blinks at Abbacchio a few times. Slow and owlish.

“You’re sick,” Abbacchio explains with little to-do. “You just gotta take these, and you can go back to sleep.”

A quiet hum is all he gets in response, and it’s damn near enough to convince Abbacchio to take Bruno to the nearest hospital. He’s never known Bruno to be cooperative a day in his life. Not when it comes to being sick or injured, but he forces himself to be reasonable. To think logically. Bruno isn’t indestructible. He’s allowed to feel like shit, and that means he’s allowed to want nothing more than to be left alone to sleep off the worst of whatever bug he’s managed to catch.

“I know,” Abbacchio murmurs, more to himself than Bruno. He helps Bruno sit up enough to take the pills and helps him back to lying down after that. He fixes the blankets and puts the wet towel back on Bruno’s forehead. Once he’s all settled, it takes only seconds for Bruno to pass back out.

“It’s weird seeing him like this,” Fugo admits, quietly.

“I don’t like it,” Trish’s voice is somehow softer, but there’s more to it. Her tone holds something else, and Abbacchio curses himself for not picking up on it sooner.

“He’ll be fine,” he says, doing his best to be reassuring. The problem is that he generally isn’t. “It’s been awhile, but Bruno does get sick.”

“Yeah,” Fugo says quickly, eyes following Abbacchio’s. “He’ll be fine, probably by tomorrow. Besides, Giorno can help if he needs to, right?”

Giorno looks a little startled to be pulled into the conversation, but he’s quick to nod, “If there’s any kind of damage, I can replace it.”

“See? All good. You all should get to work. It’s late already,” Abbacchio points out. Never mind the fact that he doesn’t plan on leaving Bucciarati’s side, which means they’re down, not one, but two men for the day. “And, if you see Narancia or Mista, tell them to forget about the thermometer.” The best thing they can do for Bruno at this point is leave him alone and let him rest.

“Right, yeah, let’s--let’s do that,” Trish says, stumbling over her words as much as her feet. She’s quick to reach for the door, obviously relieved to be dismissed without having to do so herself. Abbacchio can’t blame her. He doesn’t like seeing Bruno like this either, but he doesn’t have a recently deceased-from-illness parent at the forefront of his brain. He knows how much that still eats at Bruno. He can only imagine what it does to a teenager whose memories of the event are fresh.

Fugo follows her with a simple nod of his head at Abbacchio. A small sign of his appreciation that someone is taking care of the man that he sees as his savior, even now. Abbacchio mimics the gesture in acknowledgement and almost turns his attention back to Bruno before he notices Giorno, lingering by the door.

“What?”

“It’s--” Giorno swallows, “It’s nothing. Take your time. We can work out whatever we need to until he’s feeling better.”

“I will,” Abbacchio says with a tone that’s almost dismissive. Truthfully, he’s grateful for the permission. To hear it aloud rather than to think it to himself, but he won’t admit that. Least of all to Giorno. “Don’t forget to take the other two with you.”

“I will,” Giorno echoes with the slightest curve of his lips.

Cheeky little shit, Abbacchio thinks, but he watches Giorno with a near fondness reflecting in his gaze. It’s odd how much the little bastard has grown on him. Not, he supposes, unlike the rest of them. Maybe it’s all the time they spend together, given Abbacchio’s position in Investigations. Or maybe it’s the mutual concern for Bruno’s wellbeing. Whatever it is, Abbacchio’s glad the kid sees things his way. Just this once.

[briefinquiries]

Luke Alvez x Reader: Premature

Request: ‘can i request an imagine where the reader is pregnant and luke’s away on a case when she goes into labor? and garcia has to call luke to get him home?’  

Tagged: @ssaic-jareau​ , @alvezstan​ , @saintd0lce​ , @ogmilkis​ , @reidswords​, @ssa-morgan​, @garcias-batcave​ ,  @akimagies​, @zhangyixingxing1​ , @pinkdiamond1016​

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: none

A/N: idk why i always picture luke with a daughter??? but anyway another DAD luke fic like yes pls, enjoy!

The worst part about being pregnant had to be the lower back aches.  Or maybe the way your swollen ankles prevented you from fitting into any of your cute shoes.  It could also be the tender breasts, the mood swings, or how food didn’t taste as good, yet somehow you were still always hungry.  Come to think of it, being pregnant, in general, was the worst. 

Currently, you were seven and a half months along.  You had 6 weeks until your daughter would be born.  6 weeks somehow felt both impossibly long and just around the corner.  On one hand, you really couldn’t wait to get your body back.  You missed wearing pants that didn’t have an elastic waistband, and the freedom of being able to get out of bed without Luke’s help.  

On the other hand, you and Luke were going to be first time parents.  This brought about a lot of anxiety and uncertainty.  There was still so much to get done before the baby arrived, that at times you couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. 

“You worry too much,” Luke had told you one afternoon.  

But you disagreed.  “Luke, she’s gonna be here in less than two months and her room isn’t even close to being finished.  We still have to paint, and put together the crib-”

“We have six weeks, baby.  I’ll get it done, I promise.” 

His reassuring words did little to calm your mind or your nerves.  One thing that did keep the anxious thoughts at bay, was work.  Focusing your attention on BAU cases was the perfect distraction… until that was taken away from you too.  

“I don’t want you in the field,” Luke had stated that night.  

“You’re joking, right?”

Luke’s pressed lips and slightly flared nostril told you that no, he was not joking. 

“Luke,” you’d groaned, throwing your head back against the pillow.  “I’m fine.”

“You can barely walk, let alone chase after anyone,” he stated, his arms folding across his chest.  He always did that when he wanted you to take him seriously.  “And I know for a fact that you can’t fit into a bulletproof vest.”

You threw him your best glare.  “Okay, first off, that was mean.  Second, you can’t expect me to just sit here all day doing nothing.  I’ll go insane, you know I will.”

“Baby, you’re seven months pregnant.  You need to relax.”

“Relax?  Seriously, Luke?”  you felt a wave of frustration wash over you.  Lately you've been finding it so hard to control your emotions, so you’re not entirely surprised when you feel the burning of tears in your eyes. “I can’t relax! I’m uncomfortable all the time.  I’m fat and I’m hot and I’m sweaty. My boobs feel like they’re going to explode any second.  I’m nauseous and I’m tired and I’m hungry.  And if I stay home all day that’s all I’m going to think about.  I’m going to just sit and dwell on the fact that I am miserable.”

Luke’s face softens when he sees that you’re crying.  That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence lately, but he felt guilty for being the one to cause it this time around. 

“C’mere,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.  

And even though you’re angry with him, you don’t hesitate before scooting up the mattress and sliding into his arms.  You lay your head on his shoulder, Luke’s hand finding its way down to your lower back, where he rubs gentle circles into the sore muscles.  Being in his arms had a way of making you feel better. 

“I’m sorry you’re so uncomfortable, baby. I just- I worry about you. All I want is for you and the baby to be okay.”

You sniffle into his chest, his sweet words making your voice soften.  “I can’t sit here all day, Luke.  I really can’t.”

“I know.” He rests his cheek on top of your head and sighs.  “How about we meet in the middle?”

Looking up at him, you skeptically ask,  “How?”

“You could work the cases from the BAU,” he suggests. 

You scrunch your nose, secretly hoping that his compromise meant just giving in to what you wanted entirely.  But, as you think about it for a moment, you had to admit you didn’t completely hate the idea.  Things were getting challenging in the field.  And as much as you hated him for saying it, Luke was right- the bulletproof vests no longer fit you, and you couldn’t chase down any perps.  You were relatively useless, at least physically, at this point.  

“I’m sure Garcia would love an extra hand,” he adds. 

“Fine,” you mutter quietly. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, pressing a light peck against the top of your head.  

But, as Luke would soon find, just because you agreed to be stationed at the BAU did not mean you weren’t going to complain about it.   

The two of you walked, hand-in-hand, into the building the next morning.  Emily had called, about fifteen minutes prior, to let you both know that you had a case in Boston. 

“What if I just stay at the police precinct?”

Luke rolled his eyes.  “No.”

“Why not? I could help Reid with the geological profile- or interview the families.  There’s a lot I can do-”

“We already agreed that you’d stay here.”

You scoffed in frustration before trying another tactic. 

“You know,” you drawled, using the hand he wasn’t already holding to reach around and grip his arm.  “I’m worried about you, too.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you state, matter-of-factly.  “Just because I’m carrying the baby doesn’t mean I’m the only one that needs to stay safe.  It would be equally devastating if something happened to you.  You let your hand trail down the length of his arm and over to your belly.  “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”  

Luke swiped his ID badge to get inside the building before holding the door open for you, you hesitate, waiting for his response.  Luke’s lips were parted into a soft grin. “I know you’re just trying to make me feel guilty, but that was really sweet.”  He leans forward and pecks your lips lightly.  

You roll your eyes and storm into the building.  

…

“So I hear we’re going to be lab partners!” Garcia drums her fingers against the round table.  

You shrug, “Looks like it.”

“I know you’re bummed to not be in the field, but I’m so excited that you’ll be here.”

Luke’s hand reaches for yours underneath the table.  You let your fingers lace together with his before you smile back at Garcia.  Maybe being sidelined wouldn’t be all bad.  “I’m excited too, Pen,” you tell her.  

“Alright guys listen up,” Emily enters the briefing room.  “Police need our help in Boston.  Two college students have gone missing the past month, and one of the bodies was just found dumped off of I-95.  Y/N will be working the case from here, so we’ll be down a body in the field.”

Garcia hits a few buttons on the remote, making a gruesome image project onto the screen in front of the team.  She presents a few more details about the case before Emily declares, “Wheels up in 20.”

Luke’s shifting through his go bag at his desk when you approach him from behind.  You rest your hand on his back and rub up and down his soft, maroon shirt.  

“Be safe, okay?” you tell him.  You felt guilty knowing he was going into the field without you.  

Luke sighs, turning his body so that he was facing you.  His big hands rest on your hips as he holds you out in front of him.  “You know I will.”

You nod, and you believed his words, but that didn’t mean you’d be any less worried about him while he was away.  

Luke could sense the uneasiness on your face, so he leaned in and kissed your cheek lightly before whispering,  “There is nothing that could ever keep me from coming back home to you and our baby, do you hear me?” 

Leaning into his touch, you sigh.  “Good.  Because I meant what I said; I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“We’re going to miss you out there, kid.” Rossi states as he passes your desk.  

“Keep me updated,” you respond sadly.  He pats you on the shoulder before nodding with a smile.  

With a final kiss and promises to call, Luke and the rest of the team load onto the jet to head for Boston. 

At first, you stay in the bullpen seated at your desk, running through the casefile.  You were the only one in the entire room.  By habit, you kept looking up at Luke’s desk.  Instead of his warm smile, you’re met by his empty chair.  Your eyes linger for a moment before you feel a sharp pain shoot across your stomach, making you wince.  

“Woah,” you whisper, your hand falling on your bump.  “Was that a kick?” you ask her out loud.

It didn’t take long before the silence became deafening, so after a few minutes, you stand up and waddle down the hallway to Garcia’s leir.  You knock at her door before entering. 

“Hey,” you say, your hand supporting your sore back.  “It’s like, creepy quiet out there, do you mind if I work with you, in here?”

Her face lights up.  “Of course!” Immediately, she begins clearing off a space on her desk for you to set up. 

“Thanks,” you smile, taking a seat in her spare office chair.  You try your best to sit up straight as your insides begin to cramp.  Garica turns to see your eyes squeezed shut. 

“What’s wrong?” her voice is filled with concern. 

“Nothing,” you sigh in relief when the cramp passes. “She’s kicking a lot today.”

Garcia’s face breaks out into a large grin.  “Oh! My Goddaughter’s gonna be a spunky one, isn’t she?”

…

As it turned out, there wasn’t much for you to do from the BAU.  Garcia worked tirelessly, delving into files and uncovering helpful information for the team.  But you weren’t even close to being as tech savvy as her, and besides the casefile you’d already read through four times, you didn’t have many resources to work off of.  

Whenever the team would call with questions, you’d listen intently, and try to figure out some way that you could help them.  But, by that evening, you were starting to feel pretty useless.  

“Why don’t you just head home?” Garcia suggested kindly.  “You look tired.”

You were tired.  You were tired and hungry and sore from all your baby’s kicking.  But you shook your head.  “I don’t want to be in the house alone,” you admit to her.  “It’s too quiet there without Luke.”

Garcia, of course, understands.  “Do you want to take a walk?  Just around the building?”

At first, you want to say no.  But as you consider her offer, you can’t help but admit that stretching your legs sounded pretty nice, so you agree. 

“I think I’m most excited for coffee,” you tell Garcia.  The two of you had walked the entire floor of the BAU a couple of times now and were about to head back to her office.  

“God, I can’t even imagine going nine months without coffee.  I think that would break me,” she admits.  

You start to laugh, but you’re quickly interrupted by a sudden, sharp pain in your abdomen.  

“Woah,” you gasp, grabbing your stomach.  You hunch over, desperate to alleviate some of the pain, but it only grows with intensity.  It takes your breath away for a moment, and all you can do is focus on the tiled floor beneath you as you attempt to muscle through it.  

But then you feel something burst inside of you, followed by a warm liquid rushing down your leg.

With wide, terrified eyes, you look up to Garcia. 

“Pen,” you whisper, barely recognizing your own voice.  “I th-think my water just broke...”

“Oh my god,” she says, her voice higher than usual. “Oh my god, okay, okay. You’re okay.” 

She hurries to your side and wraps an arm around your waist.  You and your shaky legs are grateful for her support.  She guides you to a chair stationed in the hallway, where she helps you sit.  

The panic really starts to set in once your eyes land on your dampened pants.  

“No,” you start to shake your head rapidly.  “Pen, no I can’t- it’s too early-”

You’re amazed by how calm Garcia remains.  “It’s okay,” she tells you.  “We’re gonna get you to the hospital and everything’s gonna be fine.”

But you keep shaking your head.  “No, she’s early.  She’s too early- I need Luke, please- I can’t do this.”

“I’m gonna call Luke right now, everything’s going to be okay.”

Garcia pulls out her phone and dials your husband. She frowns when it goes to voicemail after a few rings.  

By now, there’s a steady influx of tears spilling down your cheeks. You ask softly, “Why isn’t he answering?” 

“Let me try Emily.”

You sigh a breath of relief when you hear Emily’s voice on the other end of the line.  

“Emily-” Garcia gasps. “Where’s Luke?”

You overhear her, “He’s interrogating the Unsub- why? What’s the matter?”

“Y/N’s in labor, we need him.”

“Oh my god,” Emily says.  There’s a brief pause before she tells Garcia,  “I’ll be right back.”

“Pen-” you groan, another contraction washing over you.  You hunch over in the chair and grab at the air, desperate for something to clamp down on.  

She quickly extends her hand, letting you squeeze it tightly. 

“Garcia?” you hear Luke’s sweet voice over the line.  You want to call out for him, but you can’t form the words.  

“Luke!” she exclaims, her concerned eyes never leaving you.  “Luke, Y/N’s in labor- her water just broke. You have to come home.”

You gasp and bite down on your lip as the pain suddenly intensifies.

“Breathe,” she instructs you calmly.  “Just breathe with me-”

“What?” you can hear the disbelief in his voice.  “But- she’s only seven months pregnant- that's too early-” 

The contraction passes, leaving you breathless, but you hold your hand out.  Garcia picks up on your gesture and hands you the phone. 

“Luke-” you’re on the verge of bursting into terrified tears.  “I’m so scared.”

“Baby, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.” You can hear the worry in his voice as he soothes you.  “I’m on my way, okay? I’m gonna take the jet, I’ll be there soon.”

“I don’t know if I can do this-”

“No, baby- of course you can, you’re so strong.  You’re gonna be okay.”

“Please hurry,” you whimper.  

“I will, I love you.”

You pass the phone to Garcia reluctantly.  You wished you could stay on the line with him.  Something about hearing his voice made you feel calmer. 

You’re shaky and weak, but Garcia helps you all the way into the elevator and down into the parking garage.  You hesitate before climbing into the front seat of her car. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her hand gently placed on your elbow. 

“I don’t want to get your seat all gross-”

You’re referring to the amniotic sac fluid currently soaking your pants.

“Are you serious?” she asks in disbelief.  “If we don’t hurry you’re going to be giving birth in my car, so I think I’ll take my chances with the water.”

You nod quickly and climb into the front seat.  While Garcia hurries around to the front, you clutch onto your baby bump tightly, wondering why the hell she was coming so early. 

Garcia winds through traffic hurriedly, every so often she glances in your direction, trying to make sure you’re okay.  “I guess they weren’t kicks,” you groan, as another contraction washes over you.  You grip the door handle until your knuckles turn white and squeeze your eyes shut.  

“Keep breathing,” Garcia soothes.  She lets you take her hand across the console and doesn’t even wince when you squish it tightly in yours.  

“I’m really scared, Penelope,” you whimper quietly, falling back against the seat when the contraction passes.  

“I know,” Garcia clicks her tongue empathetically.  

“Nothing’s ready.  Not her room- we haven’t even set up her crib yet  I’m not ready. I was supposed to have another 6 weeks to get ready-”

But Penelope is shaking her head. “You, right now, as you are, are going to be a great mother, okay? You’re ready.”

She sounded so sure, so confident in you- maybe she was right.  

…

“Where is he?” 

You’re sweating, exposed in a delivery room, and in more pain than you ever have been in your entire life.  

Garcia’s stayed by your side the entire time, holding your hand and talking you through the pain.  You’d been at the hospital about two hours now.  

Currently, Garcia was dabbing your forehead with a wet washcloth.  Your contractions were about 6 minutes apart.  According to the doctor, you’d have to start pushing soon.    

“I can’t do this without him. He should be here..”

“He’ll be here.”

You look up at her, exhausted and with fear in your eyes. 

Garcia squeezes your shoulder.  “And if he’s not here, then we’ll do this together, okay? You and me.”

“Promise you won’t leave?”

She nods.  “I promise.”

…

Luke’s sprinting through the maze of a hospital trying desperately to find the delivery room number that Garcia texted him.  He’s already been redirected by a couple of nurses, but every floor looked the same. 

The door number came into sight when he turned the corner.  He doesn’t hesitate before running the final distance between the two of you. 

Luke swings the door open, only able to exhale when his eyes finally land on you.  

You’re sitting up in your bed, hair tied up messily and cheeks flushed.  

As soon as you see him, he sees your shoulder slump, like you’ve exhaled a breath of relief.

“Luke-” 

His name is barely audible, but it’s enough.  

“I’m here, baby,” he assures you, crossing the room in just two, large strides. 

Garcia’s on the opposite side of your bed, clutching your hand tightly.  After pressing his lips against your sweaty forehead, he looks at her and mouths, ‘thank you’.  

She nods, “Of course, it was nothing.”  She says it casually, like she didn’t just spend the last three hours comforting you through labor, doing his job for him, making sure you were safe.  

It was everything. 

Minutes after Luke arrives, the doctor tells you it’s time to push.  

You flash Luke a scared glance, but he wraps an arm around your shoulder and kissed your temple, his lips feel comforting.  “You can do this.” 

You sigh, because like you said, being in his arms had a way of making you feel better.  

...

When her soft cries fill the air, you’re finally able to breathe again.  You collapse back against your pillow, exhausted and sweaty.  

Luke’s still cupping your hand in his, his much larger fingers wrapping themselves around your skin.  He’s looking towards the doctor, who’s holding in his arms, your baby girl. 

“Is she okay?” you ask weakly.  

Luke nods.  “She’s small, but she’s so beautiful.” 

Because she’s premature, you’re not able to hold her right away.  Instead, she’s bundled up and taken to the NICU.  

“No-” you protest pathetically.  “I want her with me-”

“I know,” Luke whispers.  “But they gotta keep her warm.  They’re gonna put her in an isolette.  They said we can visit as soon as you’re ready.”

Without hesitating, you attempt to sit up in bed. “I’m ready,” you declare weakly.  

Luke’s hand pushes against your shoulder lightly in protest.  “No, baby. You need rest-”

You found yourself growing angrier and angrier.  You wanted to see your baby- wanted to hold her.  But your body betrays you.  You’re just so exhausted that you can’t even fight against him.  Instead, you fall back against the pillow and huff out a choppy, frustrated sob.

“I know,” he says.  He sits on the edge of your bed and reaches his hand out to brush some of the loose strands of hair away from your face.  He leans forward and presses his lips to your sweaty forehead. “You did so good.” He whispers against your skin.  “So, so good.”

You close your eyes against his touch, letting it wash over you. 

“How small is she?” you ask when he finally breaks away. 

Luke’s lips pressed together in a thin line and he didn't answer immediately.  After a moment he sighs.  “She’s small.” 

“She’s gonna be okay though, right?” You look to Luke for all the answers.  And he wants to give them to you.  He wants to give everything to you. 

He nods.  “She’s gonna be okay.  She’s a fighter, like her mom.”

…

Your daughter has to stay in the NICU for two, agonizingly long weeks.  After a couple of days, you start to get some energy back.  But seeing her in that box, and not being able to hold your baby when you wanted was taking its toll emotionally. 

You and Luke stayed at the hospital for the entirety of the two weeks, never wanting to leave her alone.  

It was painful and hard and exhausting, but together, it almost seemed bearable.  

The team visited in shifts.  Garcia arrived first with a giant bundle of pink balloons.  Spencer and JJ brought magazines and books to keep you busy.  Tara has a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Matt and Kristy brought you clothes to change into.  Rossi and Emily brought various dishes for the two of you to eat.  By the end of your two weeks, you felt incredibly grateful for your BAU family. 

On the day that you and Luke were finally given the okay to take your daughter home, you found your nerves inching their way back into the forefront of your mind. It was an absolute relief that your premature daughter turned out to be healthy and safe and as beautiful as ever.  But you thought about the unfinished room at home and your stomach twisted into knots. 

“Where are we gonna put her?” you asked, imagining the crib you’d bought and never put together.  

“I’ll put it together when we get home,” Luke assures you.  “Can’t be that hard.”

You nodded, pushing the thought away.  It didn’t matter.  Not when you had this miracle of a baby in your arms. 

When Luke pulled the car into the driveway of your house, you both stared at your home, hesitating before getting out of the car, as if it was just now hitting you how much everything was about to change.  

Luke gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

You nod, everything was changing for the better.  “Ready.”

You keep her cradled to your chest as you make your way through your home.  The first order of business for Luke was to put together the crib, so your daughter would at least have a place to sleep.  

You’d worry about the rest later.  

But when you climb the stairs, you’re startled to see Garcia standing in your hallway, a cheeky grin on her face.  

“Pen, hi,” you smile.  You’d given her a key to take care of Roxy and water your plants while you were away at the hospital, you assume that was what she was here for.  

“Hi,” she smiles wide.  “Oh my goodness, is that my little bundle of joy! Let me see!” 

You pass Penelope your daughter, watching adoringly as the two interact. 

“Is someone else here?” Luke asks, peering down the hall when he hears voices. 

Garcia nods, her signature, ear to ear smile spreading across her face.  “Yeah, actually we have a surprise for you guys.” She passes your daughter back to you before turning.  

“Who’s ‘we’?” Luke asks skeptically. 

“Oh, just shut up and follow me,” she says.  Her heels click as she walks down the hall towards the bedrooms.  

When you turn the corner into your daughter's room, you can’t help but let out a loud gasp.  Your jaw practically falls to the floor, surprised to see the entire team piled inside.  

Two walls of the room were painted a beautiful shade of pink, while the other two were a soft gray.  There were various decoratives hanging on the walls, tying everything together perfectly.  There were also numerous shelves filled with an assortment of stuffed animals, toys, and books.  And in the corner stood the hardwood crib that Luke and you had bought, completely put together and accented with a beautiful mobile hanging above it.  

“Oh my god,” Luke gawks, clearly just as surprised as you. 

“You guys-” you start, but you before you can finish your sentence you start to cry.  “You guys did all this?”

The smiling faces of the rest of your team answer your question.  

“How?” Is all you can manage to say.  

“Well, I picked out the colors and the decor,” Garcia says, like it’s obvious. “Emily and Tara both helped paint.”

“And I've put my fair share of cribs together,” Matt chuckles, patting the edge of the darkwood.  “It took no time at all.”

“JJ and Spencer got together the books and the stuffed animals,” Garcia motions towards the corner of toys.  

“And I supervised,” Rossi smirked, making everyone laugh. 

“Guys, this is too much.” Luke shakes his head in disbelief before exhaling and saying sincerely,  “thank you.”

You nod in agreement.  “This is… amazing.  This is more than I could have ever dreamed of.  I love it.  She’s gonna love it,” you motion towards your now sleeping baby, mouth open and drooling on your chest.  

The team knows how exhausted you and Luke are from being at the hospital for the past two weeks, so they don’t stay long.  Slowly, they begin filing out of your house, offering both you and the new BAU baby with hugs and kisses goodbye.  

Garcia’s the last to leave as she gathers her coat from your entryway chair.  

“Pen, I know this was your idea,” you mumble.  “You didn’t have to do all this.  Thank you.” 

She shakes her head, her eyes rolling as she hugs you gently.  When she pulls away, she smirks,  “If you thought I was going to let my Goddaughter come home to an unfinished room, you are underestimating how much I am going to spoil her.”  

With that, she's out the door, leaving you and Luke and your newborn baby alone in the house for the first time as a family of three. Luke wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side securely.  You sigh, all of your anxiety and fears melting away.  Being in his arms had a way of making you feel better.  

[janetbrown711]

My headcanons about Sir William the Good

This is like my Angelina II post, so be sure to check that one out too

Oh! And be sure to check out this fic, because it talks about a few of these situations ^^

As always, if you have any questions/requests about them, my ask box is always open :)

Buckle up, because I have a lot of thoughts

Early life: 

His mother died not long after he was born, so he has no memory of her

His father’s name was Alan, and he loved William dearly, and William loved him too

His best friend growing up was Heloise Nerz (more better known as Hello Nurse)

They ran around Acme Falls like little rascals and were mostly adored by the town

She was always a lot smarter than him though, so whenever they got into trouble she’d have to usually get them out of it, though William was always very apologetic and felt very guilty when he did something wrong

Despite what the townspeople whispered and joked about, William never had a crush on her and vice versa. They were both just really good friends

His father got sick of a mysterious illness when he was eight, and died in less than a year, and William missed him terribly

He wandered around Acme Falls for jobs, and while most folks were willing to give him work, he felt unfulfilled and tried to search for the perfect job

No less than a year of searching, a royal knight came into town looking for a squire, and William jumped at the opportunity

He was young for a squire (he wasn’t even 10 yet) but the good natured knight liked his spark and took him under his wing. 

It was hard for William to leave Acme, but he promised to write to the town when he could, and so he left. 

For the first few years he did more of chores than actual knight training- but William never complained. He looked up to the knight quite a lot, to the point where he was basically a second father figure

However, once he turned 12, the real training began, and it was intense.

William never really complained though, knowing what he had signed up for

He was best at sword fighting, though he was a terrible equestrian

When he was 15, he was taken to the royal palace for further knighthood training, and he met Angelina on his first day by making an utter fool of himself (tripping over a bucket of water)

To his surprise, this didn’t push Angelina away, and William fell in love instantly. 

Often, she’d watch him during his horseback riding lessons and would laugh when he screwed up and cheer for him when he succeeded, which made him work harder and harder for her. 

Sometimes they even rode together, which was fun (though she beat him every time, but William was a very good sport about it- which Angelina greatly appreciated)

However, their favorite activity to do was to stroll and plant in the garden. Often the two were busy with their lessons, but they’d try their darnedest to squeeze in the time together

The queen, Angelina the First, strongly disapproved of him, but since William hadn’t really done anything wrong, he couldn’t find good reason to send him away, so he remained at the castle. 

William knew how much Angelina hated the suitors and would always try to get the next day off to spend it with her to help her feel better

When he saw the bruise Salazar had left on Angelina he nearly cried out of empathy for her and her situation, and swore that he would never let anything like that happen to her ever again

(That was when Angelina realized she was in love with him too)

They began their secret relationship when he was 19 and she was 18. 

He proposed two years later, right before gaining his knighthood, and Angelina didn’t hesitate to say yes

William was prepared to stay engaged as long as it took, but luckily for them, Queen Angelina the First died a month after he proposed and they were married shortly thereafter. 

Yakko: 

William had always wanted to have children, as he was an only child and loved the idea of raising and having children, and when Angelina told him she was pregnant he was over the moon

However, he was a bit nervous when he realized that his father died when he was eight, and he had few memories of how he was raised, so he studied and read up on every parenting book he could find and studied like a madman before Yakko was born

William fell in love with Yakko instantly

He was really nervous to hold him though, as he was terrified he’d drop him (which was odd, because being a knight made him very strong)

However, he did relax and eventually he was able to hold him without being nervous, and it soon became his favorite thing

He loved to read bedtime stories to Yakko when Angelina was too exhausted to sing a lullaby, and Yakko seemed to really like them, especially as he got older

Angelina said he got his talkativeness from William, and William couldn’t help but agree, he did have a tendency to ramble (especially when he was nervous)

He wanted Yakko to learn how to horseback ride, but Angelina forced him to promise to wait until he was at least eight because of how dangerous it could be

However, she didn’t stop him from getting Yakko a wooden sword, and William proceeded to try and teach him to sword fight, though it clearly wasn’t his forte. Still, Yakko seemed to have fun, and liked to act out the bedtime stories of William’s knighthood to Angelina, who also seemed to find it adorable. 

Wakko:

William had been utterly delighted to find out that Angelina was pregnant again, loving the idea of a big happy family, which Angelina liked too, as she was also an only child

Yakko was curious about what being an older brother would be like, so this time both Yakko and William were studying to prepare themselves

When Wakko wasn’t born crying or breathing, William nearly had a heart attack and died right there

However, the doctor quickly fixed it, and he cried tears of relief and joy

William noticed Wakko had a lot of similar features to his own father, and so made his middle name Alan

It was really hard to get Angelina to let go of Wakko to let him get a chance to hold him (not that he blamed her in the slightest) so he had to wait until she fell asleep to hold him

Again, he fell in love instantly

He was really nervous whenever Wakko was out of his sight, but recognizing that someone had to be the sane one (as Angelina was having terrible separation anxiety) he stayed strong and reminded Angelina that they had done this before and that it was gonna be okay

Helping her helped him a lot, and soon enough their worries were down to a normal level

Wakko was a lot more energetic and wild than Yakko, which reminded William of himself when he was younger, running around Acme Falls. 

William often had to chase Wakko around countless halls of the castle because of how much he loved to run and toddle around

Wakko had less patience for William’s stories- often interrupting with questions or little comments, much to Yakko’s annoyance. William didn’t mind though, as that was when Wakko was the most talkative with him

Dot: 

Again, William was ecstatic upon hearing Angelina was pregnant again

However, his confidence and optimism wavered a bit when King Salazar started causing problems on purpose

He was determined to protect Angelina from him though, intent on keeping the promise he made as a teen

He was determined to not let Angelina worry herself to death though, remaining optimistic about having a little girl (hopefully) and how great it would be when they could all relax with the new baby after this Salazar nonsense ended

He often had to watch the boys as Angelina went to diplomatic meetings and so when he found out that he had actually gone into labor during one and continued to the end anyway he was both in awe and amazement at how strong Angelina was (though he also did have a fairly short lived freak out about how dumb of an idea that was)

When Dot was eventually born though, they were both so tired that they both cried, especially because of how cute she was

William had been in love with the idea of giving her Angelina’s name, and was happy she agreed to it, as he never thought of her name as her mother’s name

He did also like the name Dot (Lena’s suggestion), so he suggested that they call her that for short, and Angelina agreed. 

However, he did panic momentarily as he realized he had no idea how to raise a girl, until Angelina said “just raise her like any other kid- being a girl hardly makes a difference” and William realized he was being stupid, and relaxed.

Since she was born in the spring around the time all the flowers in the gardens went in bloom, William loved to dress her in flower patterned clothes and hair pieces. 

He loved dressing her up (perhaps even more than Angelina did)

He also helped Wakko with advice on what to do as a big brother, and watched him as he watched Dot, finding his curiosity and newfound tameness around her adorable and admirable. 

However, as tensions were rising and Angelina being too exhausted and busy to go to meeting, it soon became William’s job to attend the meetings. William decided it was a good idea to bring Yakko along to help prepare him for when he’d be king, but he realized his mistake when he noticed how nervous he looked as they started discussing war. William promised he wouldn’t let that happen though, which helped Yakko to relax. 

However, Salazar and his army invaded the castle that night, and William wished that he just had more time with his kids, having never wanted them to be orphans like he was, but unfortunately he had no say in the matter and he was killed

Misc. (bc that’s a depressing end)

Hello Nurse was the “best man” at his and Angelina’s wedding

He didn’t realize Lena was only a nickname special people got to call her until after they were married, and he said “it was his greatest honor” when she pointed it out. 

“William, we’re married” “You could’ve married anyone you wanted, but you let me call you Lena”

He’s just... a big ol’ softie. A big teddy bear. He loves cuddling, hugs, crying, and just- he’s impossible to hate

However, like a bear, he gets very protective of his family, and died honorably while trying to protect them

The knight who practically raised him died before Yakko was born, and William held a huge funeral in his honor

He nearly cried when Yakko told him that his favorite story was the story of how he and Angelina met

He taught Yakko how to read and do math, as well as how to sword fight (though it was a slow process since he was only 8 when he died and all)

He grew a mustache bc he thought it made him look more like a king

He loved to just sit and think about all of his and and Angelina’s traits that he could see in the boys (like his optimism in Wakko, Lena’s love of reading and learning in Yakko, etc.)

He loved his children and Angelina with everything he had in him