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wordstome · 1 year ago

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Shrike pt. 3 - who we are

König x high school sweetheart reader

2nd person, she/her pronouns, reader is Austrian/has lived in Austria and speaks German for most of the story, romance, pining, friends to lovers, reader's nickname is Thorn, König's first name is Alexander, absolute tooth rotting fluff, corny as hell towards the end

2.8k words

tw: physical and emotional abuse, violence (chokehold, stabbing, throat slitting)

Hello to everyone reading this from my main blog! In case you haven't seen the pinned post on bucca2, this is my new writing blog. Everything I publish will be here on wordstome now. Please feel free to unfollow bucca2 and follow me here!

also PARIS PALOMA TEASED HER NEW SONG "DRYWALL" JUST FOR SHRIKE CHAPTER 3 SPREAD THE WORD

[PART 1] [PART 2 (PREV)] [MASTERLIST]

What I had left here I just held it tight So someone with your eyes Might come in time To hold me like water Or Christ, hold me like a knife

When you’re in total darkness, your eyes adjust. You can see everything around you, but it’s all devoid of color. Then when the light turns on, it blinds you, but it’s better to be blinded momentarily than to live in the dark forever.

That’s how it feels as you prepare to travel home. To escape. You’re antsy, excited and petrified at the same time. Before, it felt like the days flew past in a murky haze. Now, even the seconds crawl.

It feels like moving in a dream, like you’ll wake up any day now and it will all be taken away from you. Your hope, your new dreams for the future, your König.

A shiver runs through you. Where did “your König” come from?

When you’re not occupied with the anxiety of keeping such a huge secret from your husband, all you think about is König. You’ve spent the past few weeks in a haze, like he’s put some sort of spell on you. You do get a kick out of imagining him as a witch with a hat and cauldron.

But you know it’s something simpler than that. All the feelings you used to have for him have returned. It’s different than the heady rush you used to get with your husband. It feels sweeter, like you really are a teenage girl with a crush all over again.

It feels naïve, but you also don’t care. You feel safe despite the situation you’re still in, for the first time in a long time. You never would have expected to see König again—even less so for him to become your saving grace.

It seems silly in hindsight that you had been so frightened of him. Sure, the mask was a lot. But it had been something about his energy. It was different than you had ever felt from him, before or after your reunion. If he was that way on the battlefield, then no wonder he had earned the nickname König. You’re not sure if it scares or awes you.

You’re about to find out.

An anxiety attack is the worst feeling in the world.

You dry heave. Your chest feels like a roiling ball of angry carrion birds hollowing you out. You shake like a leaf in the wind. You fall down a long, dark pit of despair as your stomach seizes with nausea.

The train’s delayed. There’s been an issue with the tracks leading out of the city. No trains will be leaving for 12 hours.

You should have just sat in the terminal and waited, or tried to contact König, but you’re not thinking straight. All of your thoughts are focused on your husband, and what he’ll do if he comes home and finds you gone. You decide, somehow, that it would be wiser to throw yourself back into the lion’s den and pretend everything’s alright instead of waiting for him to come raging into the train station and pull you out by the hair. The thought of that is the only thing that gets you up off the wall you were hyperventilating against and back towards home.

The plan is to get home before he does and hide your suitcases. He’s usually not home by this time, anyway. You chalk the rising sense of dread in the pit of your stomach up to your anxiety and turn the handle to go in.

Fuck.

He’s standing in the kitchen.

The years have not been kind to him. He’s far from the charming young man you married. He’s wretched, unkempt, angry. It’s clear he’s been drinking, maybe even before he left work. The shadows etch themselves into the lines of his face as his expression twists into something awful, inhuman. You stand, frozen, as he approaches you.

“Planning a trip without me?” he asks with an awful grin.

You can still salvage this. “Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, but I just received word. My mother’s not doing well. I have to go see her.”

“You lie like a whore,” he snarls. “Don’t think I haven’t been paying attention. You’re different nowadays. Not the nice obedient woman I married.”

Your fear turns to anger in an instant. Years and years of this horseshit, waiting on him hand and foot, placing his smallest whims before your own needs and wants—it rushes up through you like hot steam. His nice obedient woman. And the worst thing is, you hate that he’s not wrong. That is what you’ve become.

“Yesterday I came home and you hadn’t even started dinner. Where were you, huh? Running around on me behind my back?” It’s difficult to describe, but his smile is oily: sleazy, untrustworthy, dangerous. “With that big fuck in a hood that came here with the mercenaries, perhaps?”

Your blood runs cold at that. Has he seen you with König? When? Why hasn’t he said anything? It feels like you’re stepping into a trap, but you must move forward if you want to get out.

“He’s going to get what’s coming to him, alright. My manager has a direct line to his boss. One word from him will get that fucker deployed to the middle of nowhere on a suicide mission.”

It’s an absurd threat, and you know it. This drunken idiot has no idea what he’s talking about—as if some middle-management bureaucrat could persuade a PMC to dispose of a soldier like König. But it’s the audacity that irks you. You’ve lived your life serving this man for too long, and now he thinks the world will bend to his whims. There’s absolutely no way he can touch König, but an old and familiar anger rises in you.

A long overdue revelation dawns on you now. He’s a bully. The same as Andreas: little boys with petty insults and empty threats. Pushing people around because their own lives are empty and unsatisfying.

An eerie calm breaks through you like the sky cutting through a storm. The man before you is just a feral animal, snarling and snapping in desperation. You’re not afraid of him anymore.

You reach behind you and slowly roll open the knife drawer, grabbing the first one your fingers land on.

“I’m leaving. I’m leaving this house, this country, and this marriage,” you say, gripping the knife in a defensive position. Your father taught you how to hold a knife like this: backwards, with the blade along your arm, sharp edge facing outwards.

“This way, it’s much more difficult for someone to turn the blade against you,” he had told you, demonstrating the motion by moving your arm towards your chest. The memory makes you smile. At the time, you’d been indulging your old man—he had always said that violence was a last resort, but that the world was unkind and one day you may have to defend yourself. He was right, just as he was when he told you he had reservations about your marriage.

You’re going home. You’re going to see your father again. And you’ll never have to tolerate the loathsome toad before you again.

The beast laughs. “What do you think you’re going to do with that? Stab me?” He’s up against you before you can react, the breath leaving your lungs in a gasp as he pins you against a wall by the throat.

“You. Are. Mine. You will never raise a hand against me because I own you,” he hisses, his alcohol-laced breath foul against your face. “And it’s high time you remembered that.” His grip tightens like an iron vice around your throat, but you’re not afraid. Even as your vision begins to blur and blacken, you stare directly into his eyes. They’re like red-hot coals of fury, but you see what’s behind them now. The fear. The cowardice of a desperate man who has no recourse but to lay his hands on someone who can’t fight back.

“You’re pathetic,” you rasp, lips tugging into a smile. The coals burn brighter. The hand squeezes tighter. The adrenaline surges through you like a tide—and your body acts to protect itself, in a way that you haven’t allowed it to in a long time. A feeling as sweet and familiar as an old friend.

The knife makes its home right between his ribs.

He staggers away from you, as if you had slightly winded him instead of stabbed him in the heart. Your hands instantly go to your throat as you cough and sputter, lightheaded and dizzy but alive, so alive. You’ve never felt so alive as you do right now, watching the demon of your own personal hell look down at the blade sticking out of him.

“You stupid little bitch—” He makes as if to lunge at you, but time slows. Your eyes widen as the shadows behind him melt and solidify into a figure. Tall and hooded. No knight in shining armor, but an assassin of deepest night.

König slashes through your husband’s throat in one deadly, beautiful motion.

Your husband falls to the ground like dead weight, gasping and choking on his own blood. Your eyes are fixed on him, a strange sensation bubbling through you. You’re making some kind of noise, loud and cacophonous, as König steps over the dying animal who has controlled you your whole adult life.

His arms find their way around you as you slowly sink to the ground, howling and wailing. He’s so patient, you think numbly with some corner of your mind that remains untouched by the mania seizing the rest of you. The two of you sit there, his body warm and solid against yours, as your body slowly exits fight or flight mode.

“Alex?” you say hoarsely once you’re in your right mind again.

“I’m here,” he rumbles.

You turn to look at him as he pulls the hood off his head. There he is, your Alexander, all grown up. He’s rugged, with nasty-looking white scars streaked across his face, but so, so handsome. His eyes are still the same as he looks at you with something akin to rapturous adoration. Your green-eyed boy.

“You’re back, rosethorn,” he says with a wide grin. There’s a touch of madness to it, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Was I…” Exhaustion sets in, seeping through your whole body. “Was I crying or laughing just now?”

He shifts you onto his lap, cradling you like a baby as you look up at him.

“I think you were laughing.”

The police release you after just over half an hour of questioning.

You aren’t going anywhere, of course. They’re leaving you, exiting your hospital room with murmurs of well-wishes for your health. They’ve hardly left the room when König comes striding in, instantly moving to your bedside and holding your hand in his.

He looks tired too, his eyes soft as he takes in your small smile. You’re sure he was being interrogated for much longer than you, but it looks like he passed muster as well. Not as if you had anything to worry about—what could the local police have done to the commander of the mercenaries taking down their local terrorist cell anyway?

“Are you alright? Did they clear you?” His expression hardens as he glances at your neck. You nod weakly. Your throat is going to be bruised for a while, but your attacker hadn’t done any lasting damage.

Attacker. Husband. Corpse. All of these words describe the same thing now.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner,” he says mournfully. “He shouldn’t have had the chance to attack you like that.”

You shake your head at him. He didn’t know that you weren’t on the train heading home, after all. The room is quiet for a few moments, save for the distant beeping of a heart monitor.

“Why…” you manage to ask. He knows what you’re trying to say.

“Why was I there?” He glances around to make sure nobody’s listening, and leans in to whisper in your ear.

“I was there to kill him, of course.”

You shudder a little. He admits it so casually, that he was in your house because he was there to commit a murder. You should be afraid of him, but you feel around in your brain and come up empty-handed.

Instead, you find yourself worried. For him. “What if you had gotten in trouble?”

He snorts. “You underestimate me, rosethorn. I would have just framed it as a robbery.”

You nod. Oh God…does that mean he had planned this? Why doesn’t that horrify or disgust you? You’re just going to have to dissect that later. Right now, you only feel a warm affection towards the man stroking his thumb along your hand in a soothing motion.

“So…what comes next?”

“You’re asking me? We can do whatever you like. I can take you home.”

Home. Where is that, now? It’s certainly not in the house you’ve left behind, where the ghost of the man you were married to settles in every nook and cranny. It doesn’t feel like your childhood home where your parents are, either.

It’s such a corny saying, “home is where the heart is”. But home feels like it’s already here, sitting next to your hospital bed with the fondest look in his eyes.

“I’d like to travel,” you whisper. The with you goes unspoken.

“I have plenty of leave time saved up.”

You flip your hand so you can hold his. It’s huge next to yours. This is the hand that slit your husband’s throat, a hand that has killed countless people.

You’re not sentimental enough to pretend that’s not an issue. You’re not entirely sure this is happily ever after: that all of your problems are solved because you’ve replaced one violent man with another. But another part of you yearns to be the one who gets protected. You’ll take care of König, and you know he’ll take care of you. In his own way.

You can ask the questions later. Right now, you have lost time to make up for.

“Are you sure you should be wearing that scarf?”

The air is cold, but the wind is soft instead of feeling like tiny blades against your face. You tug said scarf down from your face and take in a lungful of crisp, icy air.

“I’ll be fine,” you reassure König as he hauls himself up the last ridge to where you’re standing. “It’s loose enough. And it’s chilly.”

“If you say so.” He tugs his neck gaiter further up his nose. “What a view, hm?”

You’re standing on Mont Blanc, blanketed by serene white snow just as the name promised. Further below you, the skiing slopes are crawling with tourists, but here in this little outcropping, the only sound is the occasional rush of wind and your voices.

“I think I can see Salzburg from here,” you say, pointing off into gorgeous landscape spread out before you.

“That is most certainly still Switzerland,” König says, amused. You turn to look at him instead and are rewarded with his shining green eyes looking right back at you.

“Whatever!” You let out a dissatisfied hmph, which draws a hearty laugh from him.

“You came all the way to Chamonix just so you could look at Austria again?”

“It’s a very tall mountain,” you argue.

“It’s one of many very tall mountains. We could have just gone to Großglockner.”

“That’s boring. I’ve always wanted to visit France.”

“You wanted to visit a very expensive ski chalet.”

“Bite me.”

“I just might!” You giggle and squeal as he grabs you, chasing your face with his as you squirm around.

“It is beautiful,” he concedes as he holds a hand above his eyes to keep off the sun. “Almost as beautiful as you.”

“I should push you off this peak right now.”

“You couldn’t move me an inch.” He grabs you by the waist and holds you tight to emphasize his point. You can’t even shift his arms off you, no matter how hard you push.

“Ok, fine, you win.” You pout at him, but he doesn’t let you go.

The dynamic the two of you share is so easygoing and relaxed, it’s like you had a rhythm all along that both of you just fell back into. But of course, there are some things you’ve never done together. Like travel together.

Or kiss.

“Are you going to do it this time?” you ask him, smiling.

His nose wrinkles up, uncharacteristically cute for someone like him. “Well, I was going to, but then you had to open your mouth.”

You cackle. “Go on then.”

“Can I?”

“I just said yes!”

“I forgot how much you like to talk,” he complains. Before you can say another word, he captures your lips in his.

The sky is vivid and blue as the whole world stretches out before you.

#RIPBOZO

Here we are! We're at the end of this little story I started writing on a whim. Honestly, this means a lot to me personally: I wrote a lot when I was younger, but high school and university were very difficult times for me, and I stopped writing fanfiction. I tried to get back into it during the pandemic, but I was never able to finish anything beyond a long-ish drabble. I'm quite proud of this.

Even still, I feel like there are a lot of stories that I still want to tell about this couple. There's quite a lot that I decided to cut from these main 3 chapters for the sake of pacing and time. There's a little bit of dissatisfaction at not having crammed in every little detail that I wanted, but if there's one thing that writing university papers has taught me, it's that perfectionism will keep you from getting anything done. So you will be getting more from Alex and Thorn in the future!

I know a lot of you were anticipating what delicious revenge König was going to exact on Thorn's husband, so I hope you weren't too disappointed ;; While I personally would have loved to have König strap him to a chair in the basement and do some morbid things with a knife, I think it was important for Thorn's character that she's involved in it. While of course the main focus of this story is König, Shrike is also about his beloved Thorn. I hope to explore König and the darker (and pervier) aspects of his character more in subsequent stories. But for now, they're getting a well-deserved happy ending.

One last thing before I go: Chamonix is a resort town in central/southeast France, not far from Lyon. (Sorry, I don't know whether Lyon is south enough to be considered southern France lol). Mont Blanc is Chamonix's main peak of the Alps, and is known for how pretty it is and being at the border of France, Switzerland, and Italy. As König said, if you wanted to visit a mountain as an Austrian, there are several of them at home you could visit, but since I visited it a few years ago, Chamonix has a special place in my heart. I just had to cram it in!

As usual, I'm excited to see your comments and feedback. I've read every single thing everybody has commented about this fic, even if I couldn't respond to you all, and I appreciate it so deeply. Whenever I get feedback I literally feel like kicking my feet and giggling. And if you want to ask questions or request specific scenarios with Thorn and Alex, please do send me an ask!

@crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @kneelingshadowsalome @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @fireballoveraltanta

psst. to my tag list people while I have you here: naturally I will continue tagging you in other Shrike stories, but I'll also be using this same tag list for every other König fic I write. If you'd like to opt out of that, let me know. (No hard feelings, of course :3)

#könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod #mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig x reader #fic:shrike

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daddyd0nt · 3 months ago

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Why are you pretending to talk like a Muslim it is weird

Im not pretending lol I attend a unitarian church and a lot of my friends in the fellowship come from Muslim backgrounds and their little sayings just kind of made their way into my speech because I have BPD and copy the speech patterns of people i like. Also Allah is God is Yahweh is Elohim it is all the same guy sometimes I call him his Muslim name sometimes I call him his Christian name. I literally still drop German words in sentences and I went there 15 years ago. A decade ago I spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent/slang because I spent all my time in Brooklyn. When Im in the psych ward or with my therapist in a relaxed setting I slip into either a child's voice or a southern drawl and I have no control over it.

Its so distinct that it was one of the main factors in me being diagnosed with OSDD, which we were looking into deciding if it met the full criteria for DID but I had to stop seeing that therapist for insurance reasons and have not been able to find one in months because nobody wants to take on a patient with 2 different cluster B disorders and a history of bi-monthly suicide attempts, pre-verbal sexual trauma and homicidal ideations so Im stuck between being honest about my condition and nobody writing me back or not being honest upfront and risking therapist who can't handle me like the last 3 especially since Im strongly against DBT, Ive been told by therapists that they will only work with cluster B patients who are open to DBT and didnt want to work with me when I said Id already completed the program and found it useless at best).

But I have an identity disorder so I pick up on the speech patterns of those around me. Ive been hanging with my Muslim friends a little bit more recently so I guess their language is just slipping into mine, the same way Id say "brick" for cold or "tight" for mad when I was spending all my time in Brooklyn, even though in my hometown "tight" meant good and all my hometown friends said I was "talking like a drug dealer" (which i was but that is beside the fact). I still say "bunk" for when something is bad or "fire/heady" when something is good even though I have not taken acid in a decade and dont plan on taking it again outside of a therapeutic setting.

But im not doing it to be insensitive or make fun like when I say "inshallah" I genuinely mean it I just find it more phonetically satisfying than saying "god willing" in English, Similarly Ive developed "Allah Akbar" as a verbal tic/echolalia but I like it because it makes me feel closer to God, I like how it sounds better, but Allah is just the Arabic word for God we are praying to the same God I don't think he cares what name we call him as much as he cares that we do good deeds to show our faith and treat each other with the same love he has for us. But yeah im not making fun or trying to be ironic but most of the women in my fellowship came from a Muslim background and from hanging out with them I've picked up little utterances that I think are nifty (and likewise they've picked up drug slang/early '10's city slang from me). Cultural exchange is a beautiful thing.

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allterrribleideas · 7 months ago

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TADC Ep 2 Rampant Theorybaiting

Is this all spoilers? I guess I'll just spoiler it all. It's probably not even relevant though!

So the fun theorycrafting discourse from this episode that isn't centered around whether the purple psychopath rabbit is redeemable is who in the cast may or may not be an NPC. Caine seems to suggest he has no method of determining this, and I'm willing to accept him at his word since he doesn't ever seem actively malicious. With that in mind here's my absolutely straw grasping theories on who may be an NPC. It should also be said that since we don't know what magic technology this world runs on, there might not BE any difference between a 'human' and an 'npc' beyond like, I dunno, admin rights? They might all get simulated the same way but humans only get so and so treatment while npcs get this and that, I dunno, it's episode 2, let me have my fun damn it.

Pomni: Seems very unlikely to be an NPC owing to her knowledge of the outside world and ability to curse. Caine also explicitly identifies her as a human, so if she's an NPC, she was created by some other entity and we haven't really gotten any evidence there's anything 'above' Caine yet apart from whatever originally built the world. So she's pretty likely human.

Ragatha: Technically I feel like she's confirmed human via Kinger, who I didn't talk too much about but is my favorite character. Also she got obliterated by the abstracted Kaufmo and I feel like an NPC wouldn't have survived that? I get the idea (from Gummigoo exploding) there's not actually any blood or gore, and everything is censored like German TF2, so when NPCs 'die' they just turn into confetti or some other kind of fun prop, and Ragatha definitely had a bunch of times she could have 'died' but survived, so she feels pretty safely in the human camp.

Kinger: My gut says it's unlikely because of the existence of the Queen human character that was seen briefly in the first episode (well, her room, at least). NPCs don't abstract as far as we know, and it would be weird to have a king and queen chess piece but one is human and one is an NPC. It also wouldn't make sense to me that a character that's been around for 'years' who is considered to be 'old' would be advanced enough AI to pretend to be human for this long. Then again Caine is (probably) an AI and is pretty advanced. I also don't think Kinger being an NPC really changes much for him, it wouldn't be a super important reveal without more backstory for him.

Jax: I've already gone over most of the evidence for why I feel like Jax could be an NPC, but my gut again mostly says he's not. This is more for narrative reasons though, I think his character 'works' better as a cruel and hateful human than as a one-note poorly motivated NPC. Wouldn't surprise me if there's a reveal but he's got enough bits and bobs pointing in that direction I could see it happening. I don't think it'd be good for the story, though.

Gangle: My number 1 NPC pick! Gangle exhibits a lot of strange behaviors that are NPCish. She has probably the weirdest body of the cast apart from maybe Zooble. Her gimmick doesn't make sense- we haven't seen anyone else be 'affected' by changes in their appearance, why does her mask control how she acts? That's how an NPC would behave! Jax TREATS her like he treats NPCs too (though Jax treats everyone like garbage so maybe not a big point there). I think it's worth keeping an eye on her! My FORBIDDEN HEADCANON that I will believe until it's definitely proven wrong is that Jax dragged Gangle out of an adventure because she's specifically so easy to bully and abuse. Like he seems like the type of person who would keep a pet just to have something to take his urges out on. That is INCREDIBLY unlikely though, I'm just throwing it out there because it's particularly cruel and interesting to me.

#tadc #the amazing digital circus

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gingercauldron · 4 years ago

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Quiet Brilliance (Spencer Reid x BAU! Reader)

A/N: Here is my offering to the Criminal Minds fandom. Also this is my first time really writing fanfic? Just really wanted to have Spencer impressed by the reader and fall in love with them. So I hope you enjoy!! This is totally not an excuse to somehow make random stuff I’ve read about relevant in BAU cases lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU! Reader

Synopsis: Spencer notices how intelligent you really are, as well as how shy you are about it. He can’t stop thinking about you, your brilliance, and how much he just wants to hold you.

Warnings: None really, just fluff, and normal Criminal Minds content

Wordcount: 1.9k

No one in the BAU seemed to give you enough credit.

Not that it was their intention, of course, but Dr. Spencer Reid could not help but notice all of the times that your quiet brilliance went by as unremarkable. He might have had an eidetic memory, carrying a labyrinthine of facts and figures in his head - but you knew things that even he had not come across. He could tell that you were a researcher, that you would explore through files for knowledge because you wanted to.

When Spencer would pull a fact or statistic out of the air, you would be listening raptly. On several occasions you would scribble something down afterwards, and it made Spencer’s heart swell. This was how he first became so attuned to you when you joined the team. After that, he made sure to observe you.

He noticed that you would duck your head into files of each case, going through detail after detail with a furrowed brow. You would write in a frantic scrawl on post-it notes as a cue to do further research.

The most endearing part of it all, was that you would do the same thing even if there wasn’t a case. You would carry a tome with you, with the tails of post-it flaps coming out the side, each one crowded with writing. You were smart, Spencer learned, and he wondered why it wasn’t seen as big of an asset as it truly was to the team.

At first he could pretend that his interest was merely for the good of the team, learning more about you and what you were capable of. Obviously you were hired for a reason, likely your careful observations and sharp psychological profiling — but there was so much more. Spencer was finding it harder to pretend that this interest was not at all motivated by the affection that was developing for you.

He had three PhDs and was the so-called “resident genius,” but he wondered if you could give him a run for his money. The thing was, because you were quiet and private, he didn’t know — and that in itself was exciting.

On one case where you were observing the body at the scene, a particularly strange case where the jaw of the victim had swelled with tumors, you quickly told everyone to back up.

“What is it?” Hotch asked.

“It looks like possible radiation poisoning because of how localized the tumors are — like the unsub had the victim consume radium.” You said. “I could be wrong, of course. We could check her teeth.”

“Teeth?” Morgan asked.

Spencer quickly replied. “Radium has properties that make it glow in the dark, it was used as a novelty for that reason well into the 1970’s before restrictions were placed on it, actually. If the victim had been ingesting radium it is possible her teeth might glow. In 1938 a case was settled where a group factory workers sued their employment because they had been encouraged to lick paintbrushes covered in radium in the course of their work, resulting in massive tumours around the neck and jaw.”

“And the factory workers had tumours like this?” Hotch asked. He was asking Spencer now, not you.

“Remarkably similar.” Spencer replied.

Spencer glanced at you, but it didn’t seem to bother you that he had jumped in. In fact, the only that seemed to be upsetting to you was the fact that the unsub was on the loose.

“I’ll call some radiologists in.” Hotch said, already lifting the phone to his ear.

It turned out, that you were right. It was in fact radium, and you made sure that the team was safe by telling them to keep their distance from the body. The radiation levels on the body were dangerous.

On the plane home from that case Spencer had sat beside you, and he couldn’t stop thinking about your astute observation. You smiled up at him when he settled next to you, looking back down at the book in your lap.

“Hey, Y/N?”

You looked back up at him. “Yeah, Spencer?”

“That was a good catch with the radium.”

“Oh, that. Thank you.” You beamed. “But you would have caught it if I hadn’t.”

Would he? With all of the gruesome things he had seen they all morphed together, he wasn’t sure that he would have jumped to radium, of all things, as quickly as you had. That he would have been as cautious in avoiding the body to investigate if you hadn’t said something.

“I mean it. It was good catch. It was pretty brilliant, actually.”

“Thanks, Spence.” You said softly.

He knew he should let you get back to your book that was covered in post-it notes, but there was a thought that kept nagging at him. “Y/N?” He said again.

“Yeah?”

“Did it — did I overstep when you were telling the team about the radiation? Because if I did—”

“No, I got to stop you there. You helped. I’d rather not have the attention.”

He furrowed his brow, but didn’t say anything more, letting you return to your book.

After that it seemed that the rest of the team was starting to pick up on your fierce intelligence, too. It was hard to ignore the books you carried with you, but Spencer thought it would have been impossible to not notice you. Not just because you were utterly beautiful, but because everything about your mind was captivating.

Morgan remarked on it when you found a pattern in the artwork of a string of victims’ homes. The artwork looked nothing alike, but you picked it up.

“This painting.” You said, pointing at it. “It’s German expressionist.”

“Okay?” Morgan said.

“It could be nothing, but the last victim had a print of German artwork in their home — it was from the dada movement — but they’re both from the same time period. The other two victims had books on the Bauhaus — an influential German design school that operated between the first and second world wars.” You explained. “I wouldn’t have said anything, but the average joe wouldn’t have German post-World War One art. All of our victims are interested in the same time period for art — seems like too much of a coincidence.”

Morgan stared at you.

“What?” You asked sheepishly.

“Did Reid just possess you for a moment there? How’d you know all that?”

You shrugged and changed the subject. “I’ll call Garcia and see if she can connect the victims through local art groups or galleries.”

Morgan stared at you as you walked off, phoning Garcia. Spencer came up beside him and squinted at the painting on the wall.

“I think I know how the victims might be connected.” Spencer said to Morgan, analyzing the painting.

“The art?”

Spencer looked at Morgan in surprise. “You know about German art?”

Morgan snorted and shook his head. He gestured to you. “Y/N is calling up Garcia right now. Can’t imagine how she knew anything about it.”

Spencer furrowed his brow. “I knew it, though.”

“Exactly.” Morgan patted Spencer’s shoulder and left to talk to Hotch.

You put the phone down and turned noticing Spencer looking at you. You smiled when you saw him. He loved the way you smiled at him, as if he was the only other person in the entire world. He felt his heart rate increase and new, scientifically speaking, that he was completely infatuated with you.

“Garcia found a connection.” You told him.

You said nothing to him of the connections you had made first, but it made him appreciate the fact that he knew all the more. You downplayed your accomplishments. He wanted nothing more than to be by your side so that he could learn about every one of them.

Rossi noticed during a case, when Spencer was reading one of the unsub’s journals. Flipping through the book quickly and absorbing the information.

“Hard to believe the kid can read that fast sometimes.” Rossi said to you. “He reads 20,000 words per minute.”

“It’s over 60 times the norm. He’s pretty amazing.” You said back.

“The norm?”

You nodded. “Yeah, average adult reads between 200 to 300 words per minute, he reads around 333 words per second.”

“You some kind of whiz kid, too?” Rossi asked.

You scoffed. “Hardly. I just read a lot.”

“So does Reid.”

“You know what I mean.” And with that you left Rossi, effectively stopping the conversation.

Spencer smiled, having overheard you two. Whether you wanted to or not, you would slip little bits of information that show just how much you were thinking. You couldn’t hide your mind completely, and Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about what conversations would ensue in just spending a day with you alone.

Your voice saying he’s pretty amazing kept playing in his head and he could feel his face flush. Did you know how that sounded? You thought he, of all people, was amazing - not his brain, or his skills, but him. Did you mean it to sound like that?

Rossi turned to Spencer. “You know your face is red.” He said.

Spencer stared at Rossi, but he couldn’t make his mouth form any words. A grin spread across Rossi’s face, reading Spencer like a book.

“It’s okay Doctor, I won’t tell anyone.” Rossi said, and got back to his own work.

The rest of the day Spencer could hardly focus on anything, constantly aware of where you were in the bullpen - or distracted when you left the bullpen to see Garcia because that meant you were gone. He tried to keep his head down and look at evidence, but you were so close and you thought that he was pretty amazing, and it was nearly impossible to think about anything else. By the time he felt satisfied enough with the work he had done that day to maybe pack up it was already dark out.

Spencer saw you reading at your desk in the bullpen. Everyone had gone home already, but you were there scribbling notes down. When Spencer neared your desk he saw the book, a book he had been reading two days ago.

You looked up and smiled at him in surprise, with those dazzling eyes of yours. You pushed your hair behind your ear and all that Spencer could think about was what it would feel like to touch.

“Hi, Spence.” You said. “What’s up?”

Spencer swallowed, and his world came to a standstill. The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I think I love you.” His eyes suddenly went wide when he realized what he had said.

He turned around on his heel and rushed towards the door. He could hear your chair scratch against the floor and you called out.

“Spencer!”

He stilled, his hand on the door. He wanted to run, to get as far away and hopefully have you forget about it and not lose your friendship. He never wanted to disappoint you or make you uncomfortable, but he couldn’t turn his back on you either. He turned his head slowly, afraid to see your face.

You didn’t look angry. You had a small shy smile on your face.

“I think I love you, too.”

He dropped his hand from the door. “You do?”

You nodded. “I do.”

He laughed, feeling giddy. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He confessed. “About your kindness and your brilliance, and just, you. I just — can I kiss you?”

“Why, Dr. Spencer Reid, I would like nothing more.”

That was all he needed before he was across the room, holding your face in his hands and kissing you. Spencer, with his eidetic memory, could not remember having ever been so happy.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #im sorry if this is bad lol its hella self indulgent

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onlymexsarah · 4 years ago

Text

Prince Friedrich | Jealousy

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: you are Daphne sister, younger than her just for one year. Both of you had debuted in society the same season. Since Prince Friedrich arrival the two of you had grown found to each other, finding him in the garden where you use to walk quite ofter. During the ball, after the Duke's and Daphne's break from their act, you see him believing at Daphne's flirt so you decide to have fun with a little revenge.

Warnings: my english, fluff.

Pairing: Prince Friedrich x Bridgerton!reader

A/N: it's not how I've imagined it in my head, but i hope you like it anyway :/ p.s. please tell me if you see any grammar mistake✨

*gif's mine*

PREQUEL - SEQUEL

You had agreed with your sister that you would enter in the room a dance after her, so both of you would have all the eyes for yourself. You were hiding behind the door at the start of the stars watching the room full of people. Cressida was speaking with Prince Friedrich, and it made you smile seeing that he was only being polite with her as his code obligated him.

However you were shocked when you saw Daphne’s flirt towards him. She made her folding fan fall in front of the Prince, and he, following her plan as a puppy, knelt to take it as the gentleman he was. Your chest hurt when you saw them two dancing together and the Queen’s smile made you realized that didn’t matter how much in common you and the Prince shared, Daphne was the diamond of the season, he could not let such an occasion escape.

When it was your turn to enter, you looked toward Benedict and Colin seriously. “I want everyone enchanted by me, so don’t let me fall brothers.”

Both smiled sharing a silent conversation with their eyes. “Everyone or just a man with German accent?” joked Colin at your left crossing his arm with yours and the same did Benedict at your right.

“And with ‘his curly hair that seem to have trapped all the sun rays and made them a golden sea’. Was it accurate sister?” Benedict smiled slyly while Colin put his free hand in front of his mouth holding a laugh.

Your cheeks turned of a deep shade of pink, but luckily it could have been mistaken with the pink colour that your maid put on your cheeks. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Now we must enter before the next dance starts.”

The Bridgerton boys smiled amused while the door of the stairs opened and you three made your entrance. Your sweet smile never left your face during all the walking down the stairs. You could sense all the eyes on you, even the Queen was looking in your direction after that the Prince had stopped talking to Daphne to look at you.

“Well done sister, there is no person in the room who is not staring at you.” Benedict whispered in your ear making your smiled grew bigger.

“It seems that even in Prussia there is not such a beauty as yourself.” Colin whispered in the other ear. You let yourself looking around the room hiding that you were searching someone specific, and when you found him you saw that Colin was right. Prince Friedrich was looking at you with his mouth a little open ignoring Daphne who was right beside him trying to talk with him, but when she looked in the same direction of him, she stopped.

She looked sorry at you, knowing your affection for the Prince, and you gave her a smile as nothing was happening hoping that Friedrich took it as a message that no one could hurt you.

Lord de Bethencourt, one of your best suitors, was the first to approach you and reclaim your first dance of that night. You danced twice together, he was a good-looking gentleman with who was easily make conversation due his kindness and charming. His French accent was the first thing that made you enchanted by him; he lived in Normandy with his family, but he came in London to find wife and you were the lucky one who had his eyes on. You were about to ask your brother to make a deal with him and let you marry, but since the Prince’s arrive everything changed.

You started talking with him due your genuine curiosity about Prussia and their cultures. Just like Colin you wanted to see the word, indeed you had been with him in few travels already; most of them in the north of England or Nord Ireland, but you had read that Prussia was a beautiful place as well. It was strange saying that you found in the Prince a friend first, with who talks about literature and travels. But with time your walks at the park become something else starting to talk about the future and with some allusions from him to take you around the world.

“You would love the sunrises in Normandy. They made the sea look like a flowered garden in the hot season.” Lord de Bethencourt said while he made you do a pirouette on yourself.

“I could stay and loose myself looking at them all days without getting tired, my Lord.” you smiled sweetly at him while you both bowed on the end of the music.

“And I will lose myself looking at your beauty, Lady Bridgerton.” he kissed your hand making you giggle shyly. You saw the Duke of Hastings, alias the man your sister was truly in love with, alone at the buffet with an annoyed look on his face.

Thanking your gentleman you walked toward Simon with an idea in mind. “If you keep that look on your face you will have wrinkles before the next season, my dear friend.”

He looked down at you trying to hide a smirk. “Good evening to you too, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Good evening, Duke Basset. I must tell you that I know about your little act with my sister, but if I didn’t know that it was your idea to stop it, I would say that you seem the most heartbroken between you two.” your smirk was huge behind the glass of wine looking at him with innocent eyes.

“Shouldn’t you dance with the Prince and try to become the Princess of Prussia?” he asked annoyed rolling his eyes but composing himself immediately after.

“We both are aware that the Prince of Prussia seems to have a weak at the ‘falling folding fan’ of a young lady, especially if the lady is the diamond of the season.” the Duke could hear that you were hurt in your voice even if your face was still with the same smile of before. He looked quickly around, smirking to himself when he saw that the Prince’s eyes were on you again.

Simon raised his hand in front of you waiting to you to take it. When you looked at him with an eyebrow raised, he just smiled kindly. “Nothing is better than a dance to raise your humour. After spending time with your family I’ve learned this very well.”

“Let see if you are a good dancer as you claim to be.” you took his hand happy. The time seemed to slow as you walked toward the centre of the ball room; everyone was now looking at you two and you could already see what Lady Whistledown will write about it. You both bowed and slowly started to dance without looking away from each other.

“Why did you let my sister going between the arms of another man?” you asked curiously while you kept your hands a few inches away from each other without touching as that dance wanted to be at the beginning.

“You have surely a long tongue to be a woman, Miss Y/n.” he remarked ironically avoiding the question. He knew you were clever, and just as Lady Danbury you had understood everything even before him.

“We both know that you are my friend not for my education, but for my fantastic, good company. I am sure that if Daphne is looking at us, she is officially becoming the most heartbroken one between you two.” you said playfully.

“She must be so since the Prince has stopped to speak or dance with anyone to stay still and look at you.” you almost forgot to grab his hand when it was time to dance touching as usual due the black out of you mind for few seconds. “It curious seeing how a Prince manage his jealousy. Let see how far he can go without doing nothing.”

His smile made you feel invincible. You could made Prince Friedrich jealous and you would. With Simon at your side it was quite easy pretending that that dance meant something more than a distraction with a friend. “The Queen will never allow him to marry me, Lord Basset, and if you don’t take away my sister then I have no possibility.”

Most of the people in the room were still looking at the two of you. You were the second girl with who the Duke danced that season and knowing that the first was your sister it made the gossip bigger. Everyone was asking at themself if there was something between the two of you, and that made you smile more because if they were asking it then it was sure that the Prince was asking to himself the same.

“Even thought, you seem quite happy, my Lady.” noticed Simon raising his eyebrows suspicious.

“I’m a Bridgerton, my Lord. Nothing can make my smile fall.” you changed partner for few moments giving you time to breath and searching with your eyes Prince Friedrich. He was with the Queen, both looking at you.

Couples changed again and you found yourself with Simon like the beginning. “Why every time I talk with a Bridgerton, I found myself trapped in some complicate plan to attire the attention of other people? I shall expect that next season Miss Eloise ask me something similar.”

You laughed amused, thing that didn’t go unnoticed by the Prince who was asking himself what the Duke was whispering in your ear to make you laugh and smile. “I admit it was my plan since I saw you tonight, but you were the one asking me to dance, my Lord. I’ve never said nothing to you about it nor I made some type of suggestion.”

“You know how to manipulate a man with just some words. It a powerful gift, Lady Bridgerton, use it carefully.” he made you do a pirouette on yourself and then draw you back to him. “And I am sure that if burning people with the eyes was a gift too, I would be ashes right now.”

“A gentleman shouldn’t say such things! I am sure you are mistaken.” you know you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t hold your smile from growing bigger.

The Duke just smiled amused and bowed to kiss your hand when the dance ended. Making sure that the eyes were in you, he raised his arm. “Would you join me and walk toward the buffet?”

“It would be a pleasure, Your Grace.” taking his arm you looked Benedict whose eyes were already on you laughing. He had seen the change of look that the Duke and the Prince changed during the dance letting him understand Simon’s plan.

You and he made sure to seem really close, laughing and smiling at each other that even Daphne herself asked in her own mind if there was something. At some point of the night Lord de Bethencourt approached you and took you for another dance.

In your mind you tried to accept the fact that he was going to be your husband. Prince Friedrich would marry your sister, and after all Lord de Bethencourt was pleasant and good looking; you shouldn’t be so sad, you will learn how to love him with time.

When the only change of couples of the dance arrived, you prayed that some of your brothers would be there to dance with you, the idea of dancing with a stranger right now didn’t tempt you enough.

Lord de Bethencourt let go your hands giving you one last smile before other hands took you. “Lady Bridgerton.” When you looked up, your breath stopped for few seconds. The hand he had on your back made you shiver, his closeness gave inside you a strange feeling, you wanted more. You knew, deep inside your mind, that you could be closer in some animal way, but you didn’t know where this knowledge came from. The only thing that was clear to you was that every time you were close to Friedrich your body answered strangely, and you had almost forgotten how it was.

“Your Grace.” you gave him a polite smile focusing on the right movement of your feet.

“I wished to be your first dance like the other times, but unfortunately Lord de Bethencourt have been faster.” your eyes were fixed together, neither of you couldn’t look away, didn’t matter what was happening around you.

“No need to worry at all, Prince Friedrich. I am sure that my sister, Daphne, had loved your though, indeed I had the lucky to see your dance. You had enchanted everyone, your Highness.” your sweet voice never changed even when the bitter comment about him and your sister came out.

He was taken back; he didn’t know you had seen the first dance of your sister, the dance that the Queen had obligated him to do. If it was for him, he would dance with you all night and stay in your company all day.

“Still, I wished to dance with you since you arrived. I must say you shall be tired my Lady; you have danced all night especially with Lord de Bethencourt. Is he a good partner? Not many ladies dance with him thought.” his little jealousy made you amused. Take it, Daphne.

“He is a perfect dancer, Your Grace. We used our dances to talk, mostly. He told me about Normandy, where he lives, and the many place he thinks I will love. Did you ever see the Château Gaillard?” you asked innocently speaking as you would speak with a friend or your brothers.

“Yes, I did, I find myself saying that I expected more...I am sure that Schloss Sanssouci will take your heart as it took mine. It was my grandfather’s home during the hot season, Friedrich II. In the garden we have all the flowers you can dream about.” he said back trying to stay polite even if in his mind he had already challenge Lord de Bethencourt in duel twice.

“If you marry my sister, I’ll ask her to bring me to see the beauty of that place then.” saying that words hurt you more than you expected. Why your sister had to have everything?

“My hopes are to take you there with me personally.” you looked him surprised with the mouth a bit open. You weren’t sure how you managed to keep dancing, but it was like your body was doing all by itself.

“I don’t think it will be appropriate, Your Grace.” the dance wanted you to separate for a few moments, and then he drew you back to him again.

“It will, if you will be my wife.” he said it without thinking letting you with a shocked expression on your face. “I am sorry, Miss Y/n. This wasn’t appropriate, I don’t know why I said it, but I can’t deny that it is what my heart wish.”

“We know that Queen Charlotte wants you to marry the diamond of the season...” your eyes fell on the ground while you two kept dancing. “The two of you can come and visit Normandy if it’s Your Grace’s wish.”

The memory of Lord de Bethencourt made his jealousy coming back. “I found Paris more enjoyable, Miss Y/n. I shall take you there in the future.” he smirked at you making you giggled.

“I am sure you will, Your Grace.”

“Friedrich.” you looked him confused. “Please, call me Friedrich.”

The music ended, all the couple bowed to each other, but the Prince took you close to him without taking away his eyes from yours. “Everyone is staring at us, Friedrich.” you said noticing with the corner of your eyes that you were the only two remained on the dance floor.

“Forgive me, but I don’t want to let you go.” he had seen Lord de Bethencourt waiting for you and he just couldn’t let it happens.

“Then don’t.” you whispered back looking exclusively his eyes. In your mind the room got empty, there were only you two and you wished you could stay in his arms forever.

“Please, walk with me to your mother. There is something I can’t wait any longer to say.” he told you slowly letting you go and raising his arm waiting you to take it.

You offered a smile at the crow that had formed a circle around you. Your mother, Lady Violet, had tears in her eyes due the perfect match you and the Prince formed together. Even the Queen had noticed it, it was impossible looking somebody else if the two of you were dancing together or just talking to each other.

“Miss Bridgerton, I hope the ball is to your liking.” said the Prince once you stopped in front of her, Lady Danbury, and Benedict. “Lady Danbury, Lord Bridgerton. There is no need to bow, Miss Bridgerton. I am the one who need your permission today.”

You looked your brother confused, but with his eyes he pointed at the Prince’s arm that was still intertwined with yours making you blush.

“My permission for what, Your Grace?” she asked with excitement in her voice. She already knew.

“You have to know that I wrote to my parents in these days, telling them about your daughter and the desire I have to marry her.” your breaths became heavier looking him first then your mother who didn’t seem as shocked as you in that moment. Was it really happening? “I’m waiting their answer, but if I know them as I believe I do then they will welcome my happiness as theirs.”

“Your parents must be wonderful people as yourself, Your Grace.” she smiled sweetly at him giving a happy look at you who now were searching confirm of your thoughts in Lady Danbury’s face; she had smirked since she had seen you two approaching together.

“You flatter me, Lady Bridgerton. You will have the opportunity to meet them, they will be there for the end of the season.” if the Prince hadn’t put his hand on the one of yours that was on his arm, you would have ran away needing fresh air. “I need your permission, if you want of course, to let me court Lady Y/n as a true gentleman does and then, after I’ll have Lord Anthony Bridgerton’s permission, I will propose her to become my Princess.” your eyes got wet just as your mother’s. Your smile was huge; you felt yourself flying over the clouds while you couldn’t look away from him.

“If it is my daughter’s desire, then you have my permission.” Lady Violet said looking at you for your approval.

“It is my desire, Mama.” your eyes leave his profile just for few seconds to let you look at your mother.

“Of course, Lady Bridgerton, I assure you that I will not force Lady Y/n in any marriage. If she will find herself uncomfortable with me, then I will not insist nor I will feel grudge toward your family. I just wish to let her know that...” he turned his head to look at you with devoted eyes. “She is the owner of my heart, and I wish to have a chance to try and seduce hers.” You wanted to say that your heart was already his, but he spoke again, almost whispering to you. “Even if that means taking all the France and giving it to you.”

#bridgerton #prince friedrich #bridgerton netflix #prince friedrich x reader #queen charlotte #daphne x simon #simon basset #duke of hastings #daphne bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #lady violet bridgerton #lady danbury #lady whistledown #bridgerton x reader

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notanotherinfjblog · 3 years ago

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The types as strangers I wish I had known (version 4)

Previous versions: One, two, three

INTJ: She was the first person to show me kindness in a new place. Moving across the country all alone in the middle of a pandemic is not exactly the ideal start of your first real job. So she took it all on herself to take me by the hand, to organise all the things that I had no clue about. She gave me a little tour around the workplace, recommended me places to eat once the pandemic is over, asked me about how I was settling in, remembered little things I mentioned. She was the only person not working from home when I first arrived and so it was just the two of us. She was quiet and reserved as most people here seem to be, and she was awkward in every way when interacting with me. But she tried so hard and maybe it’s just me projecting, but she said her son was in the very same situation as me right now, and it felt like she tried to help me in the way she couldn’t help her son, like she wanted to take me under her wing, but not make it awkward, and then actually making it slightly awkward in doing so. Her heart just felt warm and so did mine when I said thank you.

ENTJ: Everyone knows the classic character of a self-righteous doctor in a hospital show. You know that one. The one that everyone thinks may be hard-working and clever, but heartless and uncaring and egocentric, but a few episodes down the line you start to see that there is more going on underneath the rude attitude. I’ve always believed this to be a stereotypical depiction that is more of a caricature until I met her. She was a doctor at a hospital I stayed in, and damn, she was just like that. She stormed into the rooms, rolled her eyes at a patient whose German was bad, even though she had a thick accent herself, couldn’t be bothered to commit to polite standards of communication like saying hello or thanks, and she didn’t care to wait for just a second when a nurse was in her way and pushed her aside instead. Especially two young nurses were exasperated with her and complained about her as soon as she stormed out of the room. They really made me feel like I had gotten myself into a hospital show as a patient, it was fantastic. And I have to say, even though this young doctor had all of these flaws, she was the only one that actually talked to the patients and explained what was going on, hell she even talked to that woman’s daughter on the phone for a few minutes because the woman didn’t understand the language. Just like on tv, she may have been rude, but at least she seemed like a good doctor.

INTP: My university department held a conference and I was responsible for making sure that all these professors and PhD students didn’t die from their coffee cravings, so I spent most of my time running around with giant coffee cans. And I have to admit, among all the scientists that were roaming the halls, I couldn’t help but stare at him. He was a PhD student from the Netherlands and there was just something about him that did not fit in. You know how professors are often a bit eccentric or strange by normal standards (which explains why we had to explain to an unspeakable amount of them how a coffee can works), so you’d imagine he’d fit right in. But he didn’t. He was his own universe. While everyone was networking, he was studying the research posters in silence. Not because he was too shy, he seemed very comfortable in his own skin. He just didn’t seem to care all that much about other people. I got to listen to a few talks and as he sat in front of me, I saw him play a video game. At an international conference. With professors and colleagues sitting behind him. And he still managed to ask intelligent questions about the talk afterwards. No idea how. Part of me wished I could have talked to him, not because he was cute though he was, but rather because I really could not tell you what kind of person he was. Was he a good person? A bad one? Probably something in-between. But I don’t think my opinion would have fazed him all that much, since to me, he seemed like the kind of person that valued his own opinion on himself the most, and I think that’s a good thing that he’s got there.

ENTP: I had just moved to a different city in a completely different part of the country, and I had just gotten back from my first walk around town. Sounds exciting, but I got back to this unfamiliar flat that I was supposed to call home now and I was panicking. So I stepped out on the balcony hoping the cold air and the stars above could calm my nerves. But it wasn‘t them that did. I stood there in the dark and saw an elderly couple in the parking lot. The woman was in a very similar mental state as me. She was running around their car and was talking about all the things they still had to take care of and things they‘d need, but had forgotten, and her voice got higher and shakier with every word. And then her husband just went and hugged her. She kissed him goodbye three times and every time she did, he let out a little laugh, calm and gentle. He pat her on the back and said that everything was going to be okay, that they would see each other again tomorrow. She kissed him goodbye one last time before she drove away, and I stood there alone in the dark and thanked the universe that I was there at the right time to hear this old man‘s words. For some reason he always seems to appear every time I‘m feeling low and strikes up a little chat with me. And every time he leaves, I have already forgotten what I was sad about.

INFJ: I think everyone pursuing an academic career has this one hero, this one scientist that lit the spark in their heart to dedicate their life to science just like them. I know I have one. So when I started an internship at his lab with one of his colleagues, I didn‘t really expect to meet him. I had seen him around once in a while, yes, but who was I to approach a stranger to tell him what his work meant to me? But then came the plenary meeting that was meant to get more people of the lab to get to know one another - and he approached me. He sat down next to me, asked me about my academic past and future, asked about my current project with his colleague. And I still can‘t believe it. Only a little girl singing in the church choir who is suddenly approached by Beyoncé can hope to imagine what it felt like. He was an internationally renowned scientist, he would have had every reason to look down on the rest of us. Many of them certainly do. But here he was, talking to a little intern from abroad. He was such a genuinely nice person, was sweet and slightly awkward, he even mirrored my weird head nodding that I always do when all the words have left me. He felt like a kindred spirit. I didn‘t tell him what these few minutes talking to him meant to me though part of me wishes that I did, yet still he invited me to the meetings of his research team even though I was not a part of it. And when I came and sat down, he turned around, smiled at me and turned away again, and I can‘t tell you how insane it feels that all of this actually happened.

ENFJ: I’ve written about him before and I will write about him forever. I remember the day our eyes first met in that crowded school corridor almost half of my life ago. I don’t know why neither of us could look away that day, why neither of us could ever look away again from this day on. Somehow our eyes always found each other. I remember the snowy day at the train station so many years later, how he stood there alone in the cold and how he slowly walked towards me, his eyes glued to his feet that abruptly stopped right next to mine. And yet he stayed silent. As did I. So we stood there for an hour waiting for our train, quickly averting our eyes every time they came close to meeting. I remember him looking back at me over his shoulder once we got off the train. He seemed quite flustered that I was about to find out that he had parked his car right next to mine and so he fled. Both of us kept parking our cars next to each other, even when we didn’t see each other for months. But I could never follow him out. He was my own personal mystery. I spent countless nights staring at the ceiling wondering what it was, this strange thing that was going on between us, this little secret that we shared, and I wondered who he really was inside, not who he pretended to be in front of his friends. He was like an island in their midst, always a bit detached, always tucked away behind a smile. Soon twelve years will have passed and still we’ve never spoken a word, but somehow these dark brown eyes still feel more familiar than my own, these eyes that always seemed to look right into my soul. I could have stared at them my whole life. I honestly have no idea what it is that is tying me to him, what it is that I felt back then and what I’m feeling right now. Maybe I’ll never know. I haven’t seen him in three years, but I know our paths will cross again some day. I can feel it in my bones. This story is not over yet. Maybe then we’ll finally be ready to meet properly. Maybe then we’ll finally be able to speak.

INFP: I happened to stand at the window when I saw the new postman approach our letterbox, and so I watched him throw letters and magazines inside - and stop. He moved his head closer to the box and a frown appeared on his face. He backed off, wanted to leave, came back again and didn’t seem to know what he was supposed to do. So he rang the doorbell. As I opened the door, there he was, shy and with slight panic in his eyes. “I’m so sorry”, he said. “There is a sign on your letterbox that you don’t want advertisements, but I saw that too late and I had already thrown it in. I’m terribly sorry. I can’t get it out of the box and so I thought, I should ask if that’s alright.” And my heart just went awwww, that’s adorable. I smiled at him and told him that it was absolutely fine. He seemed so relieved. So he went away and I closed the door.

ENFP: This is for the man with the kind, but heartbreakingly sad eyes who sometimes sits in front of the train station silently begging for money. This is for the grandparents who spent their train ride trying to teach their little grandchildren the numbers from one to five. This is for the old woman who always kneels down in the middle of the train station with her forehead pressed to the ground, keeping still for hours, enduring the devastation of thousands of people passing by without stopping. This is for the woman who knelt down next to a homeless man, who took his hand and asked how she could help him. This is for the man who made faces at the little boy sitting next to him on the train to make him laugh. This is for the anger I felt when I saw the distraught face of a 10-year-old boy coming out of the movie „1917“ at the cinema with his father. This is for the happy little puppy who lives next to the bakery where I usually grab my lunch. This is for the twenty people who decided to all speak a foreign language during a meeting with each other just because I was there too, a total stranger they had never even seen before who is bad at their native language. This is for the creep that asked me in the middle of the street at night to accompany him. This is for the two teenagers who went to buy sandwiches and coffee for a homeless woman. This is for the families I often see sitting at the train stations, sometimes with a baby in their arms, holding a sign saying „Syrian family. We are hungry, help us please.“ This is for the man who yelled at his girlfriend because she gave them some money. This is for the people who play music during everyone‘s morning commute on the train. This is for all the people who approached me speaking in French and started to laugh when I apologised for not being very good at it. This is for Paris, in all its beauty and all its ugliness. This is for humanity, in all its beauty and ugliness.

ISTJ: He was sitting alone on the train, looking out of the window while listening to something with headphones. He was a tall guy in his mid-20s, one with a full beard, long brown hair in a neat ponytail, and a t-shirt of some rock band that I had never heard of. So, I was sitting there, three meters away, minding my own business, when I suddenly heard a giggle. The entire car of the train had been quiet all this time as it usually is, so I looked up and saw this guy trying to contain his laughter. He pressed the lips together, scratched his nose in order to inconspicuously cover his mouth. I don’t know where this sudden burst of laughter came from. Maybe he was listening to an audio book and reached a funny part. Maybe he was listening to a voice message of a funny friend. Maybe he just had a very amusing thought, I don’t know. But I’ve always had a soft spot for people who randomly start laughing in public and get embarrassed about it cause it’s always, always adorable.

ESTJ: She was a PhD student at my university and she was the one who mainly organised the conference that the above mentioned INTP was attending, too. And even though she didn‘t get tired of complaining about how much work this all was, how typical it was of her boss to volunteer to hold the conference at our university and then not lifting a single finger, she was like a fish in the water, not out of it. She observed everything and everyone, immediately recognised little problems or things that could become a problem, she was constantly running around checking everything, and she kept so many things in mind, it was impressive. One of the attendees sat in a wheelchair and as soon as she noticed, she made us rebuild the entire cafeteria immediately so that everything was reachable for her. And in all the running around, all the obligatory smalltalk, all the stress, she still found the time to stand with us student helpers and joke around.

ISFJ: It was 6pm on a Friday afternoon when all of Paris was trying to get home in the middle of a train strike, so the trains that did run were even more crowded than usual. I did not enjoy sharing 5 square metres with almost 40 other people. But then he entered the train and stood right next to me, leaning against the doors without moving, looking like an intellectual in gangster clothes. We were surrounded by noise of people talking and of rails screaming, by strangers breathing onto our skin, and he just stood there unfazed by it all. He radiated calmness like I‘ve never seen anyone do before. Soon it reached me too, filled me up and left no place for any distress or anxiety. He was like an island in the storm that grew and grew and grew until all of the 40 people around him were safe. I felt safe. I don‘t think he has even the faintest clue about how special he is, but I feel like it has been a privilege to have crossed paths with him.

ESFJ: Did you ever meet someone who, on first glance, looks like the perfect example of a jock, just a short guy with bigger arms than he’s tall? But then you look again, take a closer look at him and you realise that his face has goodness written all over it. He may be horribly bad at grammar for a linguistics student and he may be a bit too sensitive for his own good, but he never made it a secret of how much of a sweetheart he really is. And in situations like these, when he talks about how emotional he got as a tutor when his student told him about a dying grandfather because he felt responsible for the student’s wellbeing, in situations like these, when he approaches my friend after a class to apologise for his harsh criticism of her presentation and to tell her that he didn’t mean it that way, to which she gets all confused because she didn’t take the slightest offence to anything he has ever said in his entire life and he mumbles that he may have to stop beating himself up about stuff like this, I just want to give him a hug and never let go.

ISTP: I saw her on the metro during rush hour in Paris, and I immediately noticed her to be different. Everyone else always only stares at their phones or into space, everyone else always look like a tired zombie. She was not a zombie. She was leaning against the doors, shaking her leg in the rhythm of the music she was listening to. She was short and skinny, and not even her punk boots could hide that, but there was such a confidence shining out of her, a confidence in who she was that made her look like a giant. She looked like she‘s probably had it rather rough in life, but it didn‘t break her. She rose to the adversity, rose in spite of it all. She seemed to be capable of so many things. Intelligent enough to go into science if she ever wanted to, vicious enough to end someone who ever dared to cross her, warm enough to love deeply and with all her heart if she let it.

ESTP: It was a hot day and far hotter than a September afternoon ever should be. I was stuck in a traffic jam in the city, melting in my car as were so many others, waiting for that red light to finally turn green. And then he came, a young guy in an ugly shirt and with a hat on his head. He started to cross the street, but then stopped right there in the middle. And he started to juggle. In the middle of a traffic jam on a Friday afternoon, he juggled. Just before his green light turned to red, he bowed down to the cars a few times, and then jumped to the sidewalk and left. Thanks, mate, you enigmatic juggling traffic hero.

ISFP: I met him at a wedding. He was a bald man in his 70s with thick horn glasses and probably the most intimidating person I’ve ever met. Not because he was mean, but because he was so confident in himself and so observant. His gaze constantly changed direction. He took everything in that happened around him, he didn’t miss a single thing that was going on, and still he was calm and sure of himself that everyone at our table felt like they had to impress him in some way. Just by looking at him you knew he must have lived an extraordinary life and he really did. He liked talking about himself. He talked about living in the American desert, on a mediterranean island, in a Buddhist monastery, and on a cruise ship. He talked about the smell of the desert at night, about the taste of oranges picked from a tree. He talked about the people he met, about professors and musicians, about cooks and monks. He talked about how much his village loved him. But he also liked listening to others talk about their own lives. It was obvious that he treated life as an experience, as a journey that cannot be planned or imagined, only lived. When we said goodbye, he looked me right in the eye and told me that he thinks it’s great what I’m doing with my life and that he’s looking forward to meeting me again some day. It felt a bit like receiving praise from a deity.

ESFP: He was a nurse in the accident and emergency department at the hospital and the first person to talk to me while I was waiting in front of an examination room. He was only passing by with a colleague, but he stopped the conversation when he saw me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Aw, sugarmouse, what happened to you?”, was the first thing he said to me. You know, if an unknown man in his 50s is coming towards you and calls you “sugarmouse”, you’re usually not exactly happy, but he was just an overwhelmingly non-threatening guy that called all of the nurses and doctors by kitschy nicknames and radiated warmth wherever he went. He had noticed that I was nervous, and so he came to me and tried to gently put my mind at ease and I was really grateful for it.

#writing this took 3 years #nothing happens during a pandemic but all the more important this kind of testimony to these people feels to me #esfj has actually become a friend of mine by now #isfp is part of my family now since it was his brother's and my mother's wedding #and the enfj guy is the same as in the first version of this post that i wrote 5 years ago #i don't know where he is now or what he's doing but i really hope that his life is filled with love and happiness #i just think it's strange that after graduating i never saw 98% of the people i went to school with again #but the two people i did meet again dozens of times? were enfj and his little brother #sometimes it felt like a conspiracy of the universe and we were just too stupid #every time i think about how we had eye contact while driving past each other twice i think i‘m going insane #mbti #myers-briggs #types as #strangers i wish i had known #intj #entj #intp #entp #infj #enfj #infp #enfp #istj #estj #isfj #esfj #istp #estp #isfp #esfp

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gernades · 3 years ago

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Ace is gone. He’s been gone for five weeks.

Nancy has had a lot of time to think.

She sees the places where he used to be- the kitchen, his house, the spot in his driveway where Florence is always parked- and can’t stop looking at them.

“Nancy?”

Nancy blinks and looks up. Ace’s mother is watching her, hands resting on the dough, eyes concerned. “Are you okay?”

Today they’re making babka-chocolate bread, braided in sections and glazed with egg wash. Nancy looks down. She’s not very good at braiding, but it mostly looks like Rebecca’s dough.

“I’m fine,” she says, a half-smile working its way across her face. “It’s just been a long week.” Another week without Ace. She doesn’t know why she’s here, in his house- in his kitchen- but Rebecca doesn’t seem to mind. She never has.

Nancy’s here every other day, now. They’ve made bread and biscuits and a dozen Jewish desserts that Nancy is now addicted to.

Sometimes, Thom joins them.

( “He’s taken quite the shine to you,” Rebecca whispers on one such day, eyes sparkling. “He’s not like this with everyone.”

Nancy doesn’t bring up the ASL textbooks sitting new and shiny on her desk at home.

Talking about me again, Thom signs over his shoulder, and Rebecca laughs, flicks him on the shoulder. )

Now, Rebecca gently sets down her dough and wipes her fingers off on her apron. “Do you want to talk about it?”

No, thank you, is Nancy’s knee jerk reaction. She pauses before letting the words come out. She’s been doing that more often, as of late. Sana-her therapist- would be proud.

Nancy purses her lips and drags a finger through the loose flour on the counter. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just… going through a lot with my dad’s business, and... I can’t help but feel like I’m never going to be happy again.”

The last part she doesn’t mean to say out loud. “I’m sorry,” Nancy says immediately, and lifts her head up. “That was…”

“Oh, honey,” Rebecca whispers. Her eyes are shiny. “I don’t know exactly what’s been going on, but I can tell that it’s been hard on you. You’ve always been so strong. Just like your mother.”

“Hm,” Nancy manages, throat tight and vision blurry. When Rebecca bustles around the table and wraps her arms around her, she doesn’t pull away.

Rebecca smells like soap and rosemary: she is warm and accepting and she makes Nancy’s heart hurt less. This will have to end eventually, but she can’t help but lean into it anyway.

***

“You’ve been spending a lot of time out of the house,” Carson remarks later that night.

They’re sitting at the dinner table, doing their best to eat what is supposed to be spaghetti, courtesy of Ryan. He’s still learning how to use basic appliances: his cooking is dangerous.

Nancy wrinkles her nose and stabs at a coagulated lump of pasta.

“Yeah. Nothing bad. I’ve just been… baking.”

Ryan hums and shoves a forkful of food into his mouth. Nancy and Carson watch in amazement as he gets it down without gagging. “You’re really good at it, too. That, uh, chocolate croissant thingy you brought home yesterday was amazing.”

Nancy raises an eyebrow, amused. “The rugelach?”

Ryan jabs his fork into the air. “Yes. So good.”

“Spending time with Rebecca, I gather?” Carson’s voice is light and free of judgement. Before the whole Wraith thing, Nancy would have pulled up her walls, deflected the conversation.

It’s a little different now, though, so Nancy just nods. “It’s just... nice to have someone to talk to who’s normal.”

Carson sighs and rubs her shoulder. “I understand that completely.”

“Hey,” Ryan states, expression pinched, “is pasta supposed to make my stomach bubbly?”

Nancy and Carson exchange a long, tired look.

They take Ryan to the ER for food poisoning.

***

George slams a palm down onto the table. Her engagement ring sparkles in the afternoon light. Nancy jumps. “It’s been quiet, Drew. Too quiet. I don’t trust it.”

Nancy takes a long look around the Claw. It’s nearly packed to the brim with customers- their Yelp ratings have skyrocketed since the staff have actually started working again. “This is your idea of quiet?”

George groans and slides into the opposite booth. “You know what I mean. We’ve had nothing supernatural happen for almost a month. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Good,” Nancy replies mildly, and takes another bite of her crab roll. “I’m taking a sabbatical from sleuthing.”

Sana was the one to suggest a break from anything stressful- like sports or large events! Avoiding murder and possession via the paranormal probably isn’t what her therapist means, but Nancy can read between the lines.

George screeches. Half the restaurant turns to look at them. They turn back when they see who it is.

“What?” She narrows her eyes and leans in. “Okay. I never thought I’d live to see the Hero of Horseshoe Bay gives herself a break.” She crosses her arms. “I’m proud of you, Nancy.”

Nancy’s heart hums. She sends George a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

George smiles back. “Your lunch break was over ten minutes ago, by the way. I need you to clean out the grease traps.”

Nancy’s smile drops.

The grease traps are gross, hard work. They’re also the last normal thing Nancy did with Ace, which is equal parts sad and amusing.

She grits her teeth and scrubs her cloth against the dirty metal. At least it’s cool here, in the kitchen, and away from the always-prying eyes of customers.

The bell above the restaurant door tinkles faintly. Nancy sighs and dips her rag into the bucket of degreaser.

Bess screams, high-pitched and excited. “Ace!”

Nancy stands up so quickly that she knocks the bucket onto its side. No way.

He can’t be back- it’s too soon, too late. Nancy needs to think more. If he’s back, she can’t go to his house again, can she?

Heart pounding, she creeps over to the window and peers into the restaurant. He’s surrounded by Bess and George- and, after a moment, Nick jogs in from the parking lot, smile blinding.

Nancy wants to go see him. She does. Her feet seem to have other ideas, though. She can’t seem to move at all.

Ace looks good. His hair is longer, and sun-bleached; his skin is tanned. Even from this distance Nancy can see the new freckles on his face.

There’s a leather jacket, black and tight around his shoulders- and two new silver studs in his ears. He’s smiling. He looks happy.

Nancy’s chest aches.

“Hey,” she hears him say to George, “Where’s Nancy?”

Nancy takes a half step backwards.

“Cleaning the grease traps in the kitchen,” George replies, spreading her arms in a grand gesture. “The best job in the world.”

Ace laughs.

Nancy runs.

She doesn’t really run- she simply makes a strategic, tactical retreat into the staff room and out the back door.

There’s no time to overthink it- not yet, her brain and heart agree. Not yet.

Nancy thanks her former self for parking her car at the very edge of the lot. Nobody notices as she pulls out onto the road, a full two hours before her shift is supposed to end.

Ooh, she’s a little runaway! Bon Jovi croons on the radio. Daddy’s girl learned fast-

Nancy grits her teeth and pushes her foot against the accelerator.

All those things he couldn’t say! Ooh, she’s a little runawa-

Nancy spins the radio dial with fumbling fingers, and spends the rest of her drive listening to germanic opera.

“Shit.”

***

“Jesus,” Ryan says when he opens the front door. “You look worse than I do, and I spent three hours getting my stomach pumped last night.”

Nancy pushes past him without a word.

Ryan’s voice lowers, softens. “Nancy. Hey.” He reaches out, gently wraps a hand around her wrist. She stops walking. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Nancy says, but her words come out wobbly, uneven.

Ryan scoots a little closer. “Okay, well… that’s a lie.”

Nancy snorts. “Ace is back.”

Ryan smiles, relieved. “That’s great!” He pauses. “Isn’t it?” When she says nothing, he squints his eyes, searches her face. “Oh,” he says finally. “I see.”

Nancy stiffens, alarmed. “How did you-,”

Ryan sighs and taps his cheek. “We make the same kind of face, you know. Genetics and all that.”

“Shit,” Nancy says again, and tries very hard not to sink through the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Ryan promises. “I wont say anything.”

“What’s going on?”

Ryan and Nancy turn to face Carson, who is wrapped in a purple robe, fresh out of the shower. He takes one look at the expression on Nancy’s face and rushes over. “Is there another entity-,”

“No,” Nancy says vehemently. She drops her head onto his shoulder, breathes in the smell of his aftershave. “I’m just not feeling well.”

Neither of her dads press her for more- they simply stand like that, the three of them, for a very long time.

***

George: where the hell are u??

George: hello? nancy?

George: are u ok

Bess: ACE IS BACK!!!! :D

Bess: wait where r u

Nick: Did something happen?

Ace: hey. i just got back. where are you?

“No,” Nancy says softly, and turns off her phone. “I am not good.”

She needs a plan. Something to protect herself, and to spare everyone from the complications that one-sided feelings often bring. It’s been a good five weeks, if she doesn’t include the whole Ace thing. It’s been peaceful. Happy.

She doesn’t want to ruin that.

Nancy draws her knees up to her chest and stares out the window. I think I’ll just have to pretend. It’s either that, or avoiding Ace altogether- which would be impossible.

No more baking with Rebecca and Thom, either. That hurts more than Nancy wants to admit- but she’s already made up her mind. She’ll keep her feelings on the back burner, and do her best to keep things normal.

With a sigh, she stands, and goes upstairs to take a much-needed nap.

She dreams again. It’s the same one she’s been having every night for the past five weeks.

Nancy dreams of silk and cigarette smoke- because Ace always has to light one up after he has a joint- and of the ocean. The waves lap at the shore, rhythmic and quiet. It’s peaceful, here. Safe.

She dreams about a cliff, soft grass: warm, roving hands and a familiar mouth against her own. If she calls out his name in her sleep, that’s her problem.

If she wakes up sweaty and teary-eyed, that’s her problem, too.

#VERY quick thing before work #just thinkin. yanno.#nace #ficlet #t

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darlingbudsofrae · 3 years ago

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Nicky Hemmick Appreciation Post

Foxes Appreciation Series : 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 ||

It’s time for Nicky Hemmick appreciation hours!

I think out of the foxes, I really don’t like the way Nora developed, or lack thereof, Nicky’s character.

He was one of the few POC/LGBTQIAP+ characters in the books and the way he was written just wasn’t it, y’know?

I think out of all the changes we could have, I wish Nora developed him better because his character could’ve gone to so many potentials.

But let’s get with what we have-

First off, I just want to say I appreciate Nicky’s relationship with Erik so much.

They’re adorable.

Now, let’s get to the sad and dark stuff-

Nicky’s past is one of the most messed-up backstories I’ve ever read in my entire life. And I read a LOT of sad books.

Dude literally went to a gay conversion camp (the fact that this shit exists is proof that hell is just a place on earth) for a year and had to repress his sexuality his entire life because his parents were homophobic shitholes.

Repressing his sexuality also led to depression. He had freaking suicidal thoughts and he took the first way out of his problems and saved himself by taking the first chance to leave, aka Germany.

I’m not sure if anyone remembers but to get to that- he had to pretend he was something he was not. He had to play the “perfect son” role because he couldn’t afford to be himself in a place where his existence was deemed wrong.

Also, the fact that he had the capacity to do this- to maintain that role until that Germany ticket landed in his hands while combatting suicidal and other morbid thoughts-

Kid, that sucks. Nicky Hemmick needs a hug.

Also, taking note of this fact makes me appreciate his reactions towards his teammates’ tragedies more.

Like at first I was constantly surprised because I thought it’s such an overreaction to feel sad and almost cry as a reflex to other’s misfortunes (lowkey exposing myself here)

But to realize he went through such a traumatic experience and can still empathize + sympathize deeply with his teammates-

it just makes me really appreciate that aspect of him- to be able to still be that person and have that sense of humanity despite of the horrific things he went though, that’s amazing.

Let’s talk about the fact that Nicky could’ve just live his entire life in Germany with the love of his life and cut off entirely his connections with his family because he had every right to detoxify his life and live happily for himself.

Nicky was about 19-20ish when he learned that Tilda had died and how he reacted to this by going back because he doesn’t want the twins to be raised by the same people who gave him hell- because he knows the twins deserves better- that’s incredible.

He had absolutely no obligation to, he wasn’t even that old to have that responsibility but he took it.

He came back and fought for the rights to become a guardian for the twins (against his own parents), like that takes so much time and effort and the fact that he did it at like a considerably young age is just so mind-blowing.

I’m not going to act like he’s the best guardian. But let’s not discredit where credit is due.

Despite everything- he gave Aaron and Andrew a home. Provided a roof over their heads, helped them at school (he taught them to speak German), worked jobs to provide for their basic necessities, and assuming Andrew spent all that insurance money on the car, someone has to be working to pay the tuition and bills, right?

And that someone was Nicky.

(He also got Andrew and Aaron gigs at where he worked at).

Like no one talks about this enough but Nicky lowkey raised the twins. Like, he actually raised the twins.

There is not enough words in this world to describe how overwhelming and amazing that is.

He had no obligation whatsoever to these two who probably gave him a hard time because as much as I love the Twinyards- they were assholes (I mean they were kind of mean to him for crying out loud, and that’s just on the books- imagine how much more he got back when the twins were probably so distrustful of him) and really, they weren’t Nicky’s obligation because most people forget that Nicky wasn’t that old.

He was pretty young too.

And by going back, he’s associating himself with the things that lowkey broke him but he still went and stayed anyway even when he could’ve easily just be happy and cut it all off because despite of everything, he wanted to provide the twins with an at least better option than his horrible parents.

He wanted the twins to have a good life- literally wished for them to heal and be okay and succeed and that amount of love- it’s just amazing. Like, I said that a lot by now but it’s just really amazing.

Nicky Hemmick is amazing.

He was also supposedly only going to stay until the twins finished high school but then Coach Wymack happened and with Erik’s support and his hopes of the twins being happy, he stayed.

I’m not sure about Nicky’s exy abilities, I think he got scolded a lot by Kevin but I like to think that he wasn’t that bad. I really wish we got more exy contents, that one time I got invested in a sport and there wasn’t even a lot of it.

I also like to believe that he’s more mature than he lets on. Like, he actually knows all that adulting shit.

Also, when Neil noticed that Nicky is just playing his energy levels up to compensate for the Twinyards’ walls because despite everything, he wants to be friends with everyone but can’t because he’s with the monsters and that honestly sucks.

But it’s also commendable that he really tries.

Ignoring the Eden incident aside, he was actually really great to Neil.

Like, he’s one of the few in the foxes that was friendly to him at the start.

He also taught him a lot of things (like social cues and all) and did whatever he can to help him.

He’s actually a pretty good friend.

Also, I lowkey feel for him that despite everything, he still wanted his parents’ validation and approval.

I saw a decent amount of people hate Nicky for this because it was what led to the thanksgiving incident, but I just find it sad.

Because at the end of the day, Nicky was just a son who loved his parents even if they couldn’t love everything he was and the things he stands for, and it’s just sad because even if it was kind of obvious, he just wanted to believe that everything could still mend.

He still wanted to be accepted by them.

Some people don’t deserve to have kids.

But when he realized that it wasn’t going to happen and this brought harm to the twins, he was very apologetic over it and guilty even if it wasn’t his fault, and he chose the twins.

He will always choose the twins.

"It's about family. Not necessarily the one we were born with, but the one we choose. This one. The people we trust to be part of our lives. The people we care about."

Overall, it’s just really amazing that despite everything, he can look for the positive and enjoy life even if it’s really shitty.

Just ✨Nicholas Esteban Hemmick✨ dude.

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scarletwitching · 4 years ago

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Hello! Do you have any "real world" timeline of Wanda's backstories (particularly her origins). I know she was created in the 60s, and her first origin seems to have her as the biological daughter of two golden age American heroes. However most wiki pages only describe her latest "in-universe" history. Im curious to know how many actual real-world years she spent as a White American, German Jew, Serbian Romani, Mutant, Witch, Avenger, etc. Thanks!

I’m choosing to do this as a chronicling of backstory retcons (plus a couple of important firsts) because it would be too much to do the whole thing, and I’m going to include the various changes to Magneto’s backstory because they’re kind of necessary. The dates listed are release date, not cover date.

March 1964 (X-Men vol. 1 #4) -- It’s Wanda, no last name. She’s a mutant, part of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. She’s from Central Europe. She has an older brother named Pietro, and he promised their parents that he would take care of her.

March 1965 (Avengers vol. 1 #16) -- Wanda’s an Avenger now.

November 1966 (Thor vol. 1 #134) -- We learn that Wanda and Pietro, who are now twins, are connected to Wundagore Mountain and that there was a massive “blinding light” on the night they were born. This was maybe an aborted attempt to retcon them into not being mutants (their powers are referred to as “mutant-type” for some reason), but it goes nowhere.

May 1974 (Giant Size Avengers #1) -- Wanda and Pietro finally have a backstory. They are the children of US-American superheroes Madeline and Robert Frank (aka Miss America and The Whizzer). They were born on Wundagore Mountain, but their mother died and their father abandoned them. They were subsequently raised in the High Evolutionary’s citadel, but they ran away because it was weird being around all those talking animals.

June 1974 - February 1975 (Avengers vol. 1 #127-134; Giant Size Avengers #2 & 4) -- Agatha’s here, and she’s teaching Wanda magic. Wanda is now a mutant AND a witch.

December 1977 - September 1979 (Avengers vol. 1 #166 & 181-187; X-Men vol. 1 #125) -- Origin Story: The Good One. Wanda and Pietro are not the Franks’ kids and were not raised in the High Evolutionary’s citadel. They were raised by Django and Marya Maximoff, a Roma couple from Bulgaria (Transia, the town they’re from, will later become a country of its own), and it is implied that they don’t remember this because they suppressed their own memories. However, Django and Marya are not their birth parents. Their birth mother came to Wundagore Mountain, heavily pregnant, fleeing their father. She gave birth in the citadel, then left because she did not want to be alive anymore.

Meanwhile, Chris Claremont comes up with the idea for Magda, Magneto’s mysterious dead wife, but before the issue introducing her can even come out, John Byrne and some other guys go behind Claremont’s back and make Magda Wanda and Pietro’s mother. Which makes Magneto the husband their mother was running from and thus... None of the living characters know they are related, and it is editorial’s intention that they will never find out, though the connection is acknowledged openly in the letters column.

August 1981 (Uncanny X-Men vol. 1 #150) -- Claremont begins the long process of turning Magneto into a hero, and with that, we learn Magneto’s backstory as a Holocaust survivor. Claremont continues to add to this for the rest of his initial X-Men tenure (through 1991), but crucially, he never has him say that he’s Jewish. You’re supposed to understand that he is, and most of the audience does understand. It is very, very obvious (we even get a trip to Israel), BUT he does not say the exact words, “I am Jewish.”

November 1982 (Vision & the Scarlet Witch vol. 1 #4) -- The characters aren’t supposed to find out they’re related? Forget that. They all know now. I would argue that this issue also makes it obvious that Magneto is Jewish, but whatever, he doesn’t say, “I am Jewish.”

October 1985 (Vision & the Scarlet Witch vol. 2 #5) -- This is the earliest reference I can find to Magda being Romani. It feels like that can’t be the first time that was confirmed, but this post needs to get done some time.

October 1987 (New Mutants vol. 1 #61) -- Another “earliest reference I can find” scenario. I think this is the first time Magneto mentions being from Poland. At any rate, it is a time he mentions being from Poland, and it gets retconned anyway.

July 1993 (X-Men Unlimited vol. 1 #2) -- Due to editorial meddling, Magneto became a villain again in 1991, and according to comic book legend, editor-in-chief Bob Harras thought that Magneto being Jewish and a supervillain was proooooooblemaaaaaaatic. And if he can’t be both at the same time, one’s gotta go. Enter Gabrielle Haller, who is here to give a Ted Talk explaining Magneto’s new backstory. He’s Sinti Romani. That’s the change.

December 1997 (X-Men vol. 2 #72) -- It is revealed that the Erik Lensherr identity was an alias created by document forger Georg Odekirk in order to help Magneto hide from the authorities and find Magda... by pretending to be Sinti. Which, to me, implies that Magda herself was Sinti specifically, not Roma. Either way, Magneto says he’s not Romani, but once again does not say he’s Jewish.

September 2008 - January 2009 (X-Men: Magneto Testament #1-5) -- Magneto is officially, definitely Jewish. For real this time. No more ambiguity. He’s also German now, instead of Polish, and his name is Max Eisenhardt.

December 2014 (Avengers & X-Men: AXIS #7) -- Rick Remender, who is clearly invested in Wanda and Magneto’s relationship, is forced, possibly at gunpoint, to make them not related. This is revealed via a spell going wrong and not affecting Magneto when it’s supposed to affect Wanda’s family, which is the dictionary definition of “plausible deniability.”

January 2015 - June 2015 (Uncanny Avengers vol. 2 #1-5) -- Wanda and Pietro go to the High Evolutionary to figure out what their brand new backstory is. Turns out that, according to the High Evolutionary, they are not mutants and got their powers from being experimented on by him as babies. Their birth parents were their adoptive parents Django and Marya all along, which would make them Roma (not Sinti)... but something is weird about this reveal because Vision finds out there is more to the story and refuses to tell Wanda what it is or that he discovered any information at all.

March 2016 - January 2017 (Scarlet Witch vol. 2 #4-14) -- Nevermind, Django and Marya weren’t Wanda’s biological parents. Django is her uncle. His sister Natalya is her birth mother and a witch, and “the Scarlet Witch” is now a legacy title. Wanda was born in Serbia, but how that intersects with the Chthon thing is not explained. And Wanda’s dad is... the guy who murdered her mother. Who? Doesn’t say.

December 2017 - July 2019 -- A bonus! Marvel gives up on pretending Wanda and Magneto are not related... but mostly outside of comics. The official Marvel website runs articles just... saying they’re related. Official merchandise says they’re related. The mainline comics don’t touch it, but things are very suspicious.

#scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #magneto #continuity #origin #meta #written by me #anonymous #answered

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derailedfiction · 4 years ago

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The Most Wanted | Baron Zemo | The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Part 2 Pairings: Helmut Zemo x Fem!Reader | Sam Wilson & Fem!Reader | James Barnes & Fem!Reader Word count: 6017 (sorry) Warnigns: swearing, a bit of kissing, shooting Summary: As Reader’s presence is exsposed the only way to get to Zemo is to cooperate with Sam and Bucky.

A/N: Reader is German-speaking which means that ¾ of what she says is in that language. If she speaks with Zemo, one to one, I switched to English (pls pretend it’s still German xD). Also next time I’ll put translations next to German version. It will be easier to read probably.

You grunted as you were seated on a chair, and quickly restrained with a rope around your arms and hands. You scanned the room looking for Zemo but he was nowhere to be found. As your search did not bring you any satisfactory answers, you set your eyes on the other man, expectantly.

“Was kann ich für sie tun?” you asked calmly with a nonchalant smile.

“What?” Sam looked puzzled at James, and back at you. “What does it mean?”

“She asked what she can do for you, Sam,” Zemo answered leaving the bathroom with a bottle of cologne and a towel in his hands.

“Well first of all she can tell what the hell is she doing here,” you observed the dark-skinned man with much amusement. He seemed to be quite annoyed with the situation.

“Warum ist er so verärgert?” you asked Zemo, still carefully observing Sam.

“What?” he asked again, clearly agitated that he did not understand what you were saying.

“She wants to know why you are so annoyed,” Zemo replied, spreading some cologne on his hands and then on his neck with a gentle pat.

“Can’t she speak like normal language?” Sam sat down on the couch with a helpless expression.

“Wha–at?” you mocked Sam with a silent laugh. You saw a corner of the Baron’s lip went up for a moment.

“I don’t really understand why the whole world should speak English, Sam. Oh, mein Gott, Y/N, sprichst du noch kein Englisch?” Zemo looked at you with a question in his eyes. A similar question was in Sam’s eyes as he desperately wanted to know what was happening.

“Nein, aber ich verstehe was er hat gesagt,” you shifted on the chair you were restrained to.

“She will not speak English, even though she understands you,” Baron translated.

“What do you want?” you felt observant gaze received from James.

“Ihn,” you pointed at Zemo with wide grin. “Ich wollte euch beide zuerst erschießen und ihn dann nehmen.

“She wants me and wanted to kill off the two of you before,” Baron replied emotionlessly.

“That would add up, she had a sniper rife literally next doors,” James said, “Who beat you up like this?” he asked after a moment, pointing at your bruised lip and a black eye.

“Die Wakandanerin. Sie dachte, ich würde sie zu Zemo fuhren. Aber dann hat sie mit dir gesprochen,” you smiled lightly towards James as you thought, it was kind of him to ask about it.

“The Wakandian did it to her as she thought she would lead her to me. Then, the Wakandian has spoken to you, James. It’s quite surprising how fast they sent somebody to fetch me.”

“Is it really?” James looked at him with disbelief. “I bargained us more time to deal with things, so no need to thank me.”

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least,” Zemo turned from the window and lightly nodded towards James, much to his dismay.

“You killed T’Chaka and now Nagel” Sam echoed, and yet Baron shrugged that information as he would an irritating fly. “How long do you follow us?”

“Seit Madripoor. Übrigens war dein Tanzen komisch, Zemo,” you winked at the Sokovian with silent laugh. You were way too much enjoying this questioning.

“She was following us since our visit in Madripoor. Ich dachte, ich habe dich dort gesehen, Y/N,“ he put his hand on your shoulder and squeezed it lightly.

“Du war recht,” you turned your head to catch glimpse of his figure behind you. The smell of cologne he used was rather intoxicating.

“Is it me, or you two like know each other?”

“Yes, we have worked together before and as I said, I had a feeling that I saw Y/N during the party,” he answered and went to examine kitchen shelves. “She’s one of the best bounty hunters I have known, and it’s a delight that she’s hunting for me now.”

“Man, you have some strange definition of a delight…” Sam stated, crossing his arms. “Why you hunt him now?”

You fell silent for a longer moment not really wanting to tell why.

“Meine Schwester –” you started talking.

“Her sister was kidnapped and is held by someone. She will be released only in exchange for my person,” Zemo translated simultaneously, playing with a cookie on his finger. “She doesn’t know who that is. Y/N only received a video with her sister and information about what she’s supposed to do. If she cannot fulfil the expectations, her sister is going to be killed. Es tut mir sehr leid, Y/N.”

“Hör jetzt auf, Zemo. Du kümmerst dich nur um dich selbst und zerstören Super-Soldaten. Das ist es,” you felt closely examined by him and then he did something most surprising for you.

“I don’t believe she will pose any threat to our cause. I do think that she actually can be quite an asset.”

The three of you looked surprised at Zemo. Sam and James because they both thought dealing with another shady character would be too much. And you because it would make your job so much easier, just to use distraction and snatch Zemo right from their noses.

“Wunderbar! – No!” the three of you exclaimed at the same moment.

“Why not? I would get three watchmen, making sure I would not escape,” he continued undisturbed by your sudden vocalization. “Moreover, Y/N is excellent in hand-to-hand combat and is trained in any kind of weaponry.”

“I don’t even…” Sam started and put his hands in the air as if he surrendered to this whole situation. “I mean, it’s not bad to have additional pair of eyes on Zemo but is it worth it? She’s a criminal too.”

“Right now, we have bigger problems. Karli bombed a GRC supply depot,” James started reading the latest news on his phone.

At that point, you stopped listening to them, as they were deliberating on the subject you were not that much familiar with. Even though Zemo offered a solution for your presence in the team, no one was willing to untie you from the chair. You sat there observing the place carefully, trying to find a perfect way to run away at some point with your prize.

You kept your gaze on Baron for a long moment. He bustled around the kitchen as if he did it every day, without a break of several years in a German prison. Of course, it was impossible for him to forget how the Avengers were responsible for the deaths of his family and yet, it was bizarre for you that he decided to cooperate with them. As you knew him from the past, Zemo would cherish the very thought of destroying this particular group of superheroes, showing them how very human they indeed were. Still, you just witnessed how Baron threw a Turkish delight towards Sam as if he were giving him a treat for a great lead to follow.

“Du starrst, Y/N,” he stated indifferently, handing you some tea.

“Danke,” you thanked him, even though you had no opportunity to drink it. “Ich kenne dich und bin dennoch überrascht, wie du diese Männer behandelst. Sind sie nicht deine Feinde, Zemo?”

“Im Moment sind sie nützlich. Das ist alle,” he answered you and from the look on his face you knew that Baron Zemo had already a plan.

“What are you talking about?” Sam came closer to the two of you.

“Y/N is surprised that I cooperate with someone that I swore to destroy,”

“Well, you can count me in, Y/N,” he replied as he undid the bonds. “One wrong move and you two will be handcuffed to me and James.”

“Das hört sich nicht so schlecht an,” you rubbed your wrists sightly worn from the rough rope and drank tea from Zemo.

“I’m afraid my dear friend that she rather liked that idea,” you winked at Sam coquettishly as he rubbed his face in disbelief.

“Was machen wir jetzt?”

“We are going to ask some questions about Donya’s funeral,” James answered your question, “We gotta move.”

Within fifteen minutes you were ready to leave the apartment, and since James and Sam did not want to take any chances leaving you alone, you were walking in pair with Zemo.

“Ich bin überrascht, dass du nicht versucht hast, sie zwischen Städten zu verlieren,” you said to your companion as you walked.

“Nun, wie ich schon sagte, sie sind ein Mittel zum Zweck, das ist alles,” he replied. “Was hast du in den letzten Jahren gemacht?”

“Nichts Besonderes, aber ich war für 5 Jahre wegen dieser Snap weg. Jetzt bin ich hier…”

“Man, don’t you worry about what are they talking about? They could be like planning escape or something, to roll us over,” Sam said to Bucky, cautiously observing the two of you in front of him. “It’s just wrong…”

“It’s not, they’re talking about the past. She was gone after Thanos snapped,” Bucky replied quietly, trying not to give up he’s able to understand German. “She’s still quite lost after she got back.”

“Can you blame her? Or anyone in such a situation? It’s pretty fucked up…”

Bucky cracked for a moment listening to your conversation, “She just told him, she would have killed him back in Madripoor and she didn’t just because of their shared past.”

“Damn man, they have some unresolved issues under those smirks and sass.”

You turned around feeling the gazes of the two of them on your back as you were speaking with Zemo. They were walking behind you, keeping a reasonable distance, and talking about something rather lively.

“It is shame of what became of this place,” you rose your eyebrow lightly looking around the small courtyard, which wasn’t in its best condition.

“I’ll go check upstairs. You keep eye on him,” Sam went up for the next floor and you were left alone with James, as Zemo softly humming a lullaby came closer to children.

For a moment two of you stood in silence watching how Baron was approaching children, and then you asked, “Du verstehst mich, oder?”

“A little, yes,” James answered you. If he was surprised how quickly you found out about it, he didn’t show it at all.

“Was machst du mit ihm? Wenn du er nicht mehr brauchst?” you crossed your arms following James’ stare.

“He’s going back to the prison.”

“Und die Wakanderin?” you heard long sigh from him, he did not really know what to do in this situation.

“I’m not sure. Zemo is too dangerous to let him be unsupervised, or to be intercepted by a shady character, no offence.”

“Nicht genommen,” you smiled lightly.

“Now, what the hell is he doing?” Sam came closer to the two of you, seeing the idyllic conversation between Zemo and children.

“Wish you didn’t hear him sing – What?”

“Cute kids,” Zemo said as he passed the three of you heading to the exit.

As you left the CPR facility, you had a feeling that someone was observing you as four of you walked down the street back to the apartment. You observed each passing by person, sensing something was going on.

“Was ist los?”

“Jetzt nichts als ich denke jemand folgt uns. Der Power Broker hat Leute nach drei von Ihnen geschickt,” you replied quickly turning around your head.

“Achtung!” just as you saw the mercenary take out the gun, you pushed Zemo away and took the bullet. A sharp pain tore your arm as you landed on the ground next to Baron looking at you surprised. “Was?”

“Warte,” he took out the knife and tear for pieces your sleeve to create a tourniquet above the wound. “Versuche es zu drücken, Y/N.”

You nodded holding your arm firmly, trying to prevent any further bleeding. On the other side of the road, James was just knocking out the assassin.

“We should move. I don’t want to take any more chances with other killers,” Sam helped you stood up.

“Und der Söldner?” you asked.

“He won’t be conscious for longer time and we will probably be somewhere else. Come.”

Four of you hastily returned to the quarters, making sure no one was following you. Sam and James armed themselves with additional weapons as they wanted to be sure you were safe in there.

“We’ll go and check whether this place is safe. You two stay here, understood?” Sam told you as he went out with James.

You stood in the middle of the room trying to gather yourself to do something with the wound you have been pressing. You took few steps towards the bar and made yourself two drinks, one of which you immediately drank.

“Now, take these, it will help with the pain.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you took the pills from Zemo and swallowed them with few sips of whiskey. “Now, if you allow, I’d like to take care of this,” you pointed at your arm wound, as you slowly went to the bathroom and closed the door behind you.

As you were finally alone without any sympathetic or wanting-to-help gazes, you sighed loudly and quite shakily. It was not your first time being shot, and honestly, you knew that having Zemo around and babysitting him for not to get killed, would mean more bullets to take.

You sat down on with tiles of the floor, observing how blood was slowly dropping on it creating a small plash. You moved your fingers carefully, trying to determine whether some muscles or tendons were damaged. It hurt badly. Burning pain ran through your whole hand up to the arm wound.

“Fuck,” you whined quietly, and you rested your head over the edge of the bath.

That was not the plan at all. At last, the pills you got were starting to work as your pulsating pain did not bother you anymore. Slowly with the biggest caution, you could have at that moment, you removed the makeshift bandage and examined the wound. It was still bleeding, rather profusely, despite the pressure band over the injury. The longer you stared at it, the more light-headed you felt.

You heard somebody opened the door and Zemo entered the bathroom. You had not had enough power to say something sarcastic about his way of respecting somebody’s privacy.

“What are you doing? I don’t need any help,” you observed Zemo as he sat next to you with a first aid kit.

“I’m not going to do anything. But you might need this if you really want to take care of the wound,” you snorted and took the kit. “Why did you do that? Why did you take a bullet for me?”

“Does it really matter?” as you heard nothing from the man, you looked up and saw Baron watching you expectantly. “I must deliver you alive if I want my sister to stay alive,” you answered hesitantly, cleaning the wound.

“It is admirable how dedicated you are to your sister, Y/N.”

“Is it though? If not her I would be free as wind getting other shady figures for actual money. Not to mention that it was not, the plan,” you scoffed and gritted your teeth as the wound began to burn hellishly.

“I would do anything to save my family.”

“I know Zemo, I know it,” you agreed looking at him softly, and then you sighed heavily. “I will need your help with it. I thought the bullet went clean through, but I can’t see any exit wound.”

“How could you not know it?” he asked in growing amusement.

“I don’t know man. I am high as kite, Zemo. I don’t really feel that much,” you looked blankly at the hole in your arm for a moment before you gave him a pair of forceps. “I will cut the wound from both sides and you have to take the bullet out, got it?” He nodded in agreement.

You proceeded with careful cuts along the edge of the wound, as precise as you could. You took a deeper breath and nodded for Zemo to try and retrieve the bullet. Even though you were on strong painkillers, it was almost impossible to not move or whine.

“Don’t move, Y/N. I almost have it,” you grabbed the bath edge firmly trying not to shift any more.

“Easy to say… Fuc–” a cry of pain escaped your mouth in the same moment as the bullet was taken out. “Oh, God that was awful. I will never get used to it. Thank you,” shakily you reached for a needle and thread to close the wound.

“Let me,” he took over the instruments and without further ado, he quickly stitched the wound and put a fresh bandage over it.

“Hey! You alive in there? We heard some screaming,” you heard Sam from the other side of the bathroom door and lightly smiled.

“Yes, it’s alright,” Zemo answered as he helped you to stand up from the floor.

“He cares, doesn’t he? Even if you did him wrong, he cares.”

“Yes, he does,” Sokovian agreed. Still supporting you, he led you to the sofa, on which you fell with relief as you were feeling more and more dizzy. “Du solltest dich ein bisschen ausruhen, Y/N. Du hast ziemlich viel Blut verloren.”

“Yeah, yeah, was auch immer,” you weaved him off impatiently and laid down with your feet up.

You felt absolutely awkward that you got yourself shot because you pushed Zemo to the side. It was probably one of the dumbest things you have ever done. Well, if you counted being caught by Winter Soldier, that is the other dumbest thing you did. It was not your best day at all. You heard somebody was clamouring in the kitchen pouring water into a kettle and then into small cups.

“How are you?” You looked at James, who asked you the question.

“Gut,” you replied shortly, taking the cup of tea from Zemo. You felt in fact a bit better as the medications you were given truly kicked in.

You pressed yourself deeper into the sofa with your eyes closed, trying to rest for a while. You disconnected completely from external stimuli, focusing on your breathing, and calming the heartbeat. Even though you lost some blood, you didn’t feel that bad.

Suddenly you heard the sound of breaking glass and louder exchanges. You opened your eyes and looked at Zemo surprised as the Americans went dealing with their things.

“You can’t play with others, can you?” you asked with a soft chuckle making him some space on the sofa to sit. “I know you probably have some plan but still, being followed by the Wakandians, and bounty hunters, and probably some other killers it’s not an easy thing to cope with.”

“You think I need protection?” you showed off your arm. “I don’t need any, I am perfectly able to use my mind to gain in every situation.”

“I’m just saying that playing on different fronts at the same time always ends rather badly,” you finished off your tea and put the glass on the table.

“What can I say, I am a wanted man,” you snorted lightly at his words. He was truly the most wanted man at the moment.

“What was that tea again?”

“Cherry blossom, why?”

“I feel – dizzy,” you said unsure. You looked at the glass and at him, and then back at the glass. And then it clicked. “You little –”

“Shh, mein Schätzchen,” he immediately caught your falling head and swiftly stood up, making a place for you to lay down. “You will sleep for some time.”

You felt so heavy and dizzy, you had no power to fight with him. The last thing you saw was Zemo unfolding a blanket and putting it over you.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing Sam, she just fell asleep after the pills I gave her to ease the pain,” Zemo lied without a blink of an eye and made sure you were comfortably sleeping. “We should probably move.”

***

You woke up sometime later, just as Zemo said. What he didn’t mention was an extreme headache you got as soon as you opened your eyes.

“What a fucker…” you murmured as you got up from the sofa, throwing the blanket on the side. How thoughtful, you thought ironically looking at the material.

There was no one in the apartment and as you figured out, they have probably been gone for the funeral ceremony to talk with Karli. You moaned softly, rubbing your temples in hope that the pain will go away. It didn’t do anything and bright light coming through the stained windows wasn’t especially helpful either.

You wandered around the room and kitchen to find some painkillers. You suspiciously sniffled tea in a small metal box, still remembering what Zemo did. As you thought about it, if he didn’t get into a quarrel with James all of them would be asleep and Zemo would have been far away. A perfect getaway.

“Rather shameful not to carry it to the end,” you said to yourself washing down the painkiller with a drink. But then again, it was Zemo considered so he probably saw another opportunity for him to run away.

As slowly the painkillers once again started to work, you decided to go back to your rented room and take your belongings. It was hard to guess when your company would be back and you didn’t want to risk them, at least James and Sam, discovering you were gone, and the hideout was left unsupervised. But then again, you shrugged your arms carelessly it was not your responsibility to look after it.

You poured water into a kettle and put it on the burner of the stove. I’ll be back before the water boils, you thought and took one Turkish delight on your way out.

In fact, you got back just in time to take the kettle off the heat and make some tea for yourself and you started to explore the residence in search of some clothes to change. You did not really think it would take that much time to extract Zemo. It was supposed to be a day, give, or take. The whole situation of you being captured and somehow kept hostage was not included in the plan.

You took off your torn blouse and dropped it on the floor, in search of something new to wear. You looked through one of the few wardrobes that had any clothes in it. Mostly male, but you also found a few dresses and children's clothes. As tempting as it was to wear one of the dresses, you felt it would be somehow a sacrilege to wear Zemo’s wife clothes. Instead, you chose one of his purple shirts and tried it on. It would suit you nicely if not the zip across the chest which was a bit tight, so you had to keep it slightly unzipped.

You returned to the kitchen, finding yourself extremely hungry if not ravenous. Eating more Turkish delight would do no good either, as they were extremely sweet. Rummaging through kitchen cabinets you found ingredients to make a stew and you thought everyone could eat something warm. You quickly chopped some vegetables and put them in a ceramic casserole along with meat and seasoning. Now all you had to do was to wait and control if it’s not burning.

“Du siehst gut aus in meinem Kleidern,” you heard suddenly as you were checking up the food in the stove.

“Danke,” you kept your smile for yourself and you turned around to see three men coming in. Zemo went straight for a piece of cloth and wet it in ice-cold water, which he put over his eyes as soon as he lied on the sofa.

“I thought you would be gone, the second you wake up,” Sam was rather surprised to see you casually cooking.

“Warum? Ich muss ihn abfangen. Er ist mein Ziel,” you took out the stew out of the oven and put it on the counter.

“And you made us food?” you took four plates out of the cupboard and put them on the table along with silverware.

“Ja, warum nicht?” you were quite content of yourself as the food smelled wonderful and you took pleasure in cooking it. You missed your domestic life dearly especially knowing it was impossible to get it back.

“Das ist sehr nett von dir, Y/N,” you muttered under your nose to his words and poured him some bourbon. Zemo looked as you could use some.

„Und mich zu betäuben war nicht sehr nachdenklich von dir, Zemo,” you replied angrily, handing him the drink as he lied on the sofa with cold patch over his head. „Was ist mir dir passiert? Bitte essen.”

With the move of your hand, you showed Sam and James to sit at the table and eat what you have prepared.

“She invites you to eat,” he translated, slowly drinking his bourbon. “Der neue Captain America warf seinen Schild auf mich ,” he then replied to your question and removed the compress.

“Was?” you chuckled at the mere thought of him being knocked out like this. “Komm, du muss auch essen.” You encouraged Zemo to join the Americans at the table and eat together.

The four of you sat awkwardly at the table as you were putting food on the plates and handing them over to each of them.

“So, Sam would you consider taking the serum if you were offered it? Hypothetically speaking, of course,” you said nothing just rolling your eyes internally. What a perfect question to ask at the table.

“No,” he cut it shortly between the bites.

“No hesitation? That’s admirable.”

You looked at James sitting quietly as you and eating. You sensed he was still tormented by his past and listening to them hypothetically speaking about taking or not the super-solider serum was uneasy. You felt sorry for him being used as a pawn in other’s men fight. Living without the ability to decide what to do must be haunting, let alone the knowledge of your forced actions.

“Danke,” you heard from him as he finished eating.

“Gern geschehen,” you couldn’t help but to give him a warm smile and watched him go to another room to get some rest. He was still bothered by his past and even though he tried his best to make it go away, it did not work as he wished it to work.

Zemo as he finished, also stood up but helped you with cleaning the table and putting dishes into a dishwasher. Then once more he retrieved to his favourite, horizontal position on the sofa with another drink and cold compress. Unfortunately, his rest didn’t last long as two men stormed into the apartment.

“All right. That’s it. Let’s go. I’m now ordering you to turn him over,” Walker said authoritarian pointing at Zemo.

“Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth,” Sam confronted him as everyone tensed up for inevitable conflict. “He’s actually proven himself useful today.”

“Who is she?” Walker pointed at you rudely as soon as he was denied getting Zemo.

“Temporal associate,” you heard Sam answering in your favour.

“Another criminal? You two are just falling down as you collaborate with such people,” he summed that up in his pretentious, all-knowing manner. He looked at you for a moment. “John Walker, Captain America.”

“Ich weiß das,” you muttered to him.

“Can’t she speak like normal language?” you heard Walker scoffing.

“You know, people can use different languages too, Walker. Maybe learn another?”

“That’s how it’s going to be, Sam? Should I put my shield down, to make it fair?” Sam smiled lightly with disbelief. That man was insufferable.

The atmosphere was tense, and it was seconds away for Sam and Walker to start the fight. It was postponed for a while only due to a sudden appearance of a spear that stuck into the column right next to Walker’s head. The Dora Milaje arrived, and they had no fucks to give.

The leader of them start talking with James in Wakandian, and you knew it was the time they wanted to get Zemo to pay for what he has done.

“Hi, John Walker. Captain America.”

Is he dense or something?, you thought looking at how thoughtlessly his actions were. Even you knew not to disregard Dora Milaje nor to interfere in their businesses, and he was going straight into it. You saw his partner being a bit agitated by the sudden entrance of warriors.

“Sagt er das jedes Mal, wenn er sich vorstellt?” you snorted watching how Walker was trying to talk reason to the Wakandian, and even you knew it was one of the stupidest things he could do.

“Yep,” James said pouring himself a drink.

As you have foreseen second after John’s hand was on Dora Milaje’s arm he was doomed as three of them attacked him and Lemar.

“Are we going to do something about it?” Sam asked James, who took quite a pleasure observing the fight.

“Looking strong, John,” he shouted back at the fighting men.

You could not help it as a short laugh escape your mouth. It did not take long for Sam to join the quarrel and shortly after James followed him.

As Falcon and Winter Soldier came into the fight, you approached Zemo and asked, “Should I also fight them as your champion? To get the right to, have you?” you smiled cheekily over your whisky.

“You can have me any moment, you want Y/N,” you choked on your drink. “Now, if you excuse me.”

You watched him taking a bottle of alcohol and aggressively zeroed his glass. Then undisturbed by anyone he went to the bathroom and just before closing the door, your eyes meet. You perfectly knew Zemo was escaping and all you did was to raise your glass towards him and finish your drink.

That’s going to be fun, you thought pouring another glass of whiskey, watching how everyone is getting their asses whooped.

***

“How could you let him go?” you held up your arms in a gesture of ineffable incomprehension of your act.

“C’mon man, it’s not that we need him that much now. We must focus on our mission, Bucky. I know it’s hard for you, I know it, but we can’t blow it away,” Sam put his hand on James’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly, trying to reassure and comfort him.

“I helped him escape from Berlin that was enough for Dora Milaje,” James said sternly and stopped in front of the building they had set up a meeting in. “You can’t go in, Y/N, two of us is already too many.”

“Klar,” you agreed and watched them go inside the beast’s belly.

You walked down the street, heading to a small square located in this part of Riga. You surprisingly found yourself enjoying this short stroll without anyone to interrupt you or anyone to chase after. Quite a lovely vacation you could have had. You liked this city as it had interesting history and architecture that survived Second World War.

The fountain in the middle of the square was captivating and a lot of tourists were taking pictures of it. You were surprised that despite incidents caused by your company, there were organised groups and sightseeing tours. You admired the monument for a longer while until you noticed something on the opposite side of it.

“I thought you would be far away from here,” you approached slowly Zemo, standing in the shadow.

“I thought about it but then again I feel somewhat responsible for how everybody jumped to each other’s throats just to be able to get me.”

“Isn’t that what you are famous for? And don’t tell me you feel bad about it,” he looked at you and smirked.

“Bad, no but it’s rather tiresome for me. I don’t really take any joy from it,” Zemo hesitated for a second and you could tell he dropped some part of his act. You could have seen the very broken man who was the reason for the Avengers split. “Why not a dress?”

“What?” you were taken by surprise with his question.

“There were few dresses in the closet, and you decided to take my shirt,” you looked at Zemo frowning.

“I won’t do anything to it, if that’s what you mean,” you tried to laugh it off, but it wasn’t successful. “I thought it would have been strange to wear your wife’s.”

“I wouldn’t mind if someone could do a good use of them,” he smiled sadly. “Anyway, I enjoyed your company today. It reminded me of your visits when I was imprisoned.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, staring blankly at the pavement. That was quite charming of him and you smirked at this thought.

“Yes, me – ” you stopped talking at the sudden sound of breaking glass and crushing metal.

In front of you two men were fighting, of which one was much more superior. You watched Walker throwing his shield again and again at the man, treating him like a training bag.

What the actual fuck, you thought as you heard other man pleading for his life, but Walker was out. He didn’t hear him nor listen to him, there was something more going on. He put the shield up, above his head and allowed his rage to take control over him. Walker repeatedly smashed the head of the poor man several times with his shield and then he stood with it.

Unmoved. Triumphant in his imagination. Covered in blood splashes. And the shield bathed in bloody strains shimmered ominously. The new era of superheroes has arrived in its brutal glory. Unstoppable. Utterly frightening.

“Jesus and that is how Captain America deal with things now?” you couldn’t believe your own eyes, as Walker murdered a man in daylight. “Now, I can see more vivid than ever why super-soldiers pose a threat to the order.”

“The whole world is watching, and they know what he did. He will be never forgiven for such a barbaric act. Previous Captain America stood for what the US wanted to be, righteous and good. This one, he’s … he’s what America is like. Brutal and not afraid to kill anyone who wronged it,” you listened to Zemo seeing how every single one of passing by people were with a phone, recording or even streaming live this whole situation.

“Where are you going now?” you looked at him for a moment, still cautiously monitoring the surroundings, trying to digest the terrifying view.

“Sokovia, or rather to what is left of it…” Zemo answered looking plainly before himself. “Will you give me a week?”

“I will give you two days tops before I go after you again, Zemo.”

“Good enough,” he smiled lightly and looked at you. “Don’t you want to come with me?”

“Nah, I’m good. I want to be around here and see how this will develop.”

All of sudden he caught your chin and moved it up, and then kissed you gently. You stood in awe, trying to figure out what on earth was going on, as you were not completely over that you have witnessed Captain America going apeshit. But after a moment of suspension, you kissed him back.

“Care to explain?” you asked as you separated from the kiss.

“People tend to feel uncomfortable when they see a kissing couple and I didn’t want to be filmed,” he said with a charming smile. “I don’t want Sam nor James to find me before I want to be found.”

“People or you wanted me to feel uncomfortable?” it felt strange but in a good way. You only hoped that he wasn’t trying to play with you as well as he did with others.

“And are you?” you rolled your eyes with a groan. He was acting impossible. As he managed to temporarily escape his guards, Zemo was probably going to be even more of himself than he already was.

“I will see you in two days, Zemo.”

“That’s the plan,” he smirked and disappeared into the crowd.

________________________________________________________ German vocab.: Oh, mein Gott, Y/N, sprichst du noch kein Englisch? – Oh my God, Y/N, can’t you really speak English? Übrigens war dein Tanzen komisch. – By the way, your dancing was ridiculous. Ich dachte, ich habe dich dort gesehen. – I thought, I have seen you there. Du war recht – You were right.Es tut mir sehr leid. – I’m very sorry.Hör jetzt auf, Zemo. Du kümmerst dich nur um dich selbst und zerstören Super-Soldaten. Das ist es. – Stop it now, Zemo. You only take care of yourself and to destroy super soldiers. That's it.Wunderbar! – Wonderful. Du starrst. – You are staring. Ich kenne dich und bin dennoch überrascht, wie du diese Männer behandelst. Sind sie nicht deine Feinde, Zemo? – I know you and am still surprised how you treat these men. Aren't they your enemies, Zemo? Im Moment sind sie nützlich. Das ist alle. – Right now, they are useful. That's all. Das hört sich nicht so schlecht an. – That doesn't sound too bad. Was machen wir jetzt? – What are we going to do? Ich bin überrascht, dass du nicht versucht hast, sie zwischen Städten zu verlieren – I'm surprised you didn't try to lose them between cities. Nun, wie ich schon sagte, sie sind ein Mittel zum Zweck, das ist alles – Well, like I said, they're a means to an end, that's all. Was hast du in den letzten Jahren gemacht? – What have you been doing in the last few years? Nichts Besonderes, aber ich war für 5 Jahre wegen dieser Snap weg. Jetzt bin ich hier… - Nothing special, but I was gone for 5 years because of the Snap. Now I'm here… Du verstehst mich? – You understand me, yes? Was machst du mit ihm? Wenn du er nicht mehr brauchst? – What are you going to do with him? When you no longer need him? Und die Wakanderin? – And the Wakandian? Nicht genommen – Non taken. Was ist los? – What’s going on? Jetzt nichts als ich denke jemand folgt uns. – Nothing now but I think someone is following us. Der Power Broker hat Leute nach drei von Ihnen geschickt – The power broker sent man after the three of you. Achtung! – Watch out! Warte. Versuche es zu drücken – Hold on. Try to push it. Und der Söldner? – And the mercenary? Du solltest dich ein bisschen ausruhen, Y/N. Du hast ziemlich viel Blut verloren – You should take a rest. You lost a lot of blood. Yeah, yeah, was auch immer. – Yeah, whatever. Gut – good Mein Schätzchen – darling Du siehst gut aus in meinem Kleidern – You look good in my clothes Danke – Thanks Warum? Ich muss ihn abfangen. Er ist mein Ziel – Why? I have to intercept him. He is my target. Ja, warum nicht? – Yes, why not? Das ist sehr nett von dir – That’s nice of you Und mich zu betäuben war nicht sehr nachdenklich von dir – And knocking me out wasn’t very thoughtful of you Was ist mir dir passiert? – What have happened to you? Bitte essen – please eat Der neue Captain America warf seinen Schild auf mich – The new Captain America threw his shield at me. Was? – What? Komm, du muss auch essen – Come, you too should eat. Gern geschehen – You’re welcome Klar - Clear

#zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #tfatws #sam wilson #james bucky barnes #john walker #zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo

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helpinghanikan · 4 years ago

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Hot Date

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Sum: It shouldn't have to be said that SHIELD researchers aren't allowed to date their wards. But that doesn't stop the romantic tension from forming between you. The real question is, whose feelings will be most affected when the tension finally boils over?

Anomalous weapons supervisor was typed out on your paychecks, but babysitter would be a better description. Diplomas, experience and more resulted in your butt on bleachers. Watching the important people play around with powers few in this world understood.

Whoever designed this area probably didn’t know who exactly would be using it. It had the basics; a track for running, mats for sparring and weights for lifting. With more off the wall items thrown in that might be useful to the superpowered individuals using it. Like the massive metal balls being lifted and lowered by the red magic of your charge. Or one of your charges at least.

‘Wanda seems to have complete control of her powers. Whether these powers are coming from her mind or some sort of muscle in her hands has yet to be known.’ You type out just intime to get a guest sitting to your right.

“Can I get an autograph when your book is finished?” Pietro has been working on his accent, so had Wanda. As much pride as the two had they were still looking to adapt. But there were still hints of it on certain words. Especially when he’s this close not really trying.

“Only if I get to sign those tits.” Obviously, a joke, but you still had to take a quick glance to the camera. Just in case you get dragged into a meeting and this comes back up about your unprofessional comments. Not that it would stop your work.

“I can live without the signature,” Wanda’s voice, although distant, echoed in the wide space. “You’ve spelt many things wrong anyhow.”

Few people could say they were as close to the Maximoff twins as yourself. Even after the discovery of an alien/god, of the defrosting of a super-solider and the destruction from a billionaire people were wary of the twins.

It was through simple respect that Wanda had warmed up to you. You hadn’t talked to her with artificial kindness, didn’t look to the guards when her voiced raised even the slightest. No, you had asked how she was (the room was too hot for her), if she needed anything (just wanted to know how much longer she was going to be questioned), if she liked coffee or tea (tea is preferred), and how she was doing, really doing (she was tired, you all were).

It was another story for Pietro. Only trusting you after Wanda obviously saw you as a friend. Taking his own time to warm up after getting the same genuine experience you offered rather the blunt questions and stupid statements. It was the dinner you invited them to that sealed the deal. Nothing brings people together more than a lot of meat, the warm feeling of alcohol and a quiet afternoon with a food coma.

“What have you written?” Pietro asks, your laptop now in his hands.

There’s no point in trying to stop him when he snatches things. A child who had to move fast for food and safety makes petty theft a hard habit to beat. Not to mention Wanda already knew everything that went into your daily reports with a blink of her eye, it was seemingly only fair that Pietro got to know to.

“Same stuff I was doing yesterday, and the day before and the day before that and the-.”

“Yes, yes, thank you!” Pietro says, used to the child like taunts and knowing to stop you early.

With nothing of interest on said laptop he turned it back over to you. Taking his place leaning against your shoulder as you begin to work once more. Only speaking up to ensure you add in the correct description of his improvement.

These reports were supposed to be done without the twins knowledge. You were supposed to be a spy on the side of the government. Although it was blamed on Wanda’s mindreading in reality you had never tried to hide them. These friendships were genuine, resulting with the man practically putting himself in your lap to try and keep your attention.

"How much longer do we have to do this ‘training’?” Although a grown man Pietro could act like a little boy sometimes. When he’s done, he’s done. Taking whatever actions needed to get through his current situation and move on.

“For as long as the door is closed, Pietro.” Wanda has set the metal down. Taking slow steps to reach her brother and friend. “She would likely go faster without you hanging on her.”

There is no smooth way to say this; Pietro is a big spoon. Any chance he gets a hug or to hold someone results in being overwhelmed in lean muscle. Pietro was the only warmth during those impossible cold nights as newly orphaned children. His legs and arms creating a shelter that protected his chosen from any harm from ever happening. You were one of chosen now, which explained the face made at having to get up.

“Alright kids, let’s head home.” You say, slapping the laptop closed for effect.

You were one of several who kept an eye on the twins throughout the day. Wanda and Pietro pretended not to notice how certain employees just happened to always be in the hallway when walking through. Or the little cameras that were hidden in plain sight among the decorations in their quarters. And that’s not including all the mom aged agents “just checking in” at random times, complete with the sing song voice and overuse of the word “sweetie”.

On any other day you would have followed them into their quarters. Give them a recommendation for the TV and even stay awhile to watch it with them. A chime from your phone changing the day’s proceedings. It’s only a second-long hesitation that announces this change to the twins.

Pietro says your name in a tone different than the one earlier. It’s a tone of concern that snaps your head up at him. Wanda hanging around the quarter’s entryway, staying close enough to be apart of the conversation.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, now with your attention.

“What? Yeah, yes, I just got a…you know, a hot date.” You turn your phone to face him. Not long enough for him to read the entire message but enough to know that you weren’t completely hiding anything “I’ll see you guys later. Brush your teeth before going to bed, I’ll know if you don’t.”

Before Pietro or Wanda could give a retort the door slid shut.

“Who were they talking to?” Pietro asked the only other person in the room.

Wanda didn’t answer. Rather tilting her head towards her brother. Rolling her eyes when he asked “what? Wanda, what?”

Although officially a desk agent there were times the field required someone of your talents. When this happened, all other duties had to be dropped in exchange for an outfit change and a fancy car shared with your accompanying field agent. Natasha has been your designated agent since the first field mission and could now be considered a friend.

It would seem the babysitter had become the baby. Including having your clothes laid and being helped into them before reaching the car.

“You’re an heiress looking for some expensive decorations and I am your lovely assistant and translator for the evening.” Natasha says, holding the under-suit’s legs open for you to slip into. “We’ll show up fashionably late. You are incredibly rich and important and better than all of them. So, don’t make eye contact with anyone, and try not to say anything, they’re below you.”

Unlike fulltime field agents you weren’t trained enough to go without serious protection. Not just in the form of an accompanying agent but also in a (jokingly called) bullet proof onesie. So, fitting it was essentially a bullet-proof wetsuit that stopped at the knees and elbows. Making the clothes to wear over it something with long sleeves, past the ankles and covers the neck. Sunday school appropriate for this event.

“Can I fake an accent? Like, German?” It was a dumb question for you to ask, but the ride to the gallery was already taking longer than it should.

“Hmm, Let’s hear it.” Natasha doesn’t look up from her phone but still sounded interested.

“Vell-,”

“Stop.”

Very special pieces were being auctioned off tonight. Invite only without any advertisements to say what’s up for grabs to outsiders. Although the windows were blacked out and authorities were paid off (but obviously not enough) supposedly nothing for sale was illegal. But if that were true you wouldn’t have found a seat in the front row.

The language of the night was deeply European. One or two words you could maybe guess what they meant but there was no way you could name it. Nat knew it though; it kept her ears perked to the room and her mouth right next to your ear for most of the night.

First items up were the typical rich people arty stuff; vases and paintings that probably represented something to someone if you squinted. Those went for a year’s paycheck in minutes. It was after the third portrait of some lady now long dead that Nat placed a hand on your back, just below the neck.

“Next up is ours,” she whispered. “you’re doing good and you’re doing great.”

The entire night was spent with better manners than an office setting could ever be. Back straight, eyes forward, and no one is allowed to make eye-contact. It’s only when the target was wheeled in that your mask was starting to slide.

Genuine HYDRA blueprints for a titanium prosthetic. White ink on blue paper with decades old coffee stains and tiny tears, spread up and out under protective glass like a butterfly. Although Mr. Barnes had a serious upgrade with the Vibranium he now used. But these blueprints showed just how advance the original was for the time.

Sitting forward as it’s wheeled by wasn’t enough to authenticate the prints. Something you easily communicated to Agent Romanoff with just a look.

It was a bad idea, it called why too much attention, but Agent Romanoff whipped her head towards one of the several employees of the auction. Curling her finger at them to get them over and in her speaking line.

She speaks quickly, and with an edge to her voice, to the employee. With only a few words back that same employee returned to his post and spoke to the next man in charge.

“They going to invite a few of us up to inspect the piece,” Agent Romanoff whispers, “You’re going to have to be fast, we’re going on stage.”

Others in the audience made their way onto the stage when invited. Agent Romanoff ensures that you are somewhere in the middle of it. Heels and heavy shoes making creating white noise for your work to be done.

In all HYDRA’s documents, blue-prints and almost everything else their symbol was hidden throughout it. A little game of where’s the octopus in two places. A large, but translucent, icon covering the center. And a smaller one in the bottom right-hand corner, hidden behind the creator’s signature. Reproductions never had the smaller symbol, but the stains and fingerprints ensured you were right.

Later, during the debrief, you would be lectured about the importance of subtlety and espionage. But how was the look you gave Agent Romanoff any different than how others were looking at their people?

After that (completely natural and not at all suspicious) nod Natasha’s arm was around your back. This was part you were suddenly feeling ill. This was the part your assistant/translator/arm-candy would escort you out with just enough urgency and demands for the bathroom that you’d be gone before everyone was in their seats. Apparently this was also the part a sudden security guard fires twice into your chest.

“Watch your head.” Although not yelling Agent Romanoff’s voice was firm.

It's hard to say which was scarier; the bullets aiming firing for your death or how calm and professional Agent Romanoff was about it all. Although, few rounds were actually fired inside the auction hall.

Agent Romanoff shot an arm out to the first security. Pushing his gun up and inward quick enough to catch his jaw and take him out of the game. Agent Romanoff keeping the downed man’s sidearm for herself.

That was really the only bit of action you clearly saw that night. When things go wrong in the field it’s the agents job to remove their ward from the situation with minimal injuries. As the researcher your job was much simpler; don’t die. “Keep your head down, use your arms to protect yourself and trust your agent.” Was hammered in during field training. With this mantra running over and over you weren’t in the position to watch the mess happening all around.

“Someone, call the police!” It takes a second to realize it’s Agent Romanoff yelling this. In a panicked, almost shrill, voice that practically screamed ‘we’re being victimized!’

With all the guests now properly riled up it was easier to exit the building. Allowing the oncoming mod to carry the two of you out of the building without much more fuss from security. Trying to kill an agent was one thing but killing a rich connected person (or worse their spouses) would be on an entirely new issue.

Someone stepped on your foot. Another put an elbow in your rib harder than the bullets. And a third open hand pushed you, and your agent, right out the door and onto the street. It was only through the strength of Agent Romanoff, and your handling of flats, that this mission could be considered successful.

The blueprints were already being tracked and followed by the time you’re stripped down to underwear. The pretty clothes had to be taken removed, the makeup wiped off, hair undone, and the bullet proof onesie had to be taken away. Simple tank-tops, shorts and a coat were worn on the journey home. By the time it’s all off, and you’re finally walking into the apartment, it shouldn’t be surprising how you looked to others.

“Have a good time?” It takes a second to realize it’s just the roommate asking the question.

It’s expected that any roommate a SHIELD employee takes on would also be with SHIELD. The two of you weren’t in the same division or even security level part of why living together worked out so well. She was in the know enough to hear you complain but enough in the dark to keep any secrets from getting out.

“Yep, had a real banger of a night.” Although a friend and technical coworker you couldn’t disclose too much about the missions. At least not until the green light is given by the higher ups. Instead, you can only give the people something to speculate about. “Can’t wait to see what the bruises are going to look like tomorrow.”

Spoiler alert: the bruises looked like hickeys. Something noticed by Roommate but keeping quiet about it in exchange to heading out early. Ready with the latest thing to share with the office mates.

Just like any working environment gossip is always somewhere underfoot. After being dragged in by someone who couldn’t leave it at home it’s then latching onto everyone who came close enough to hear it. Most ignore it, others listen then forget and others drag carry it further into the workplace. Until researchers leaning against the wall talk too loudly and Pietro catches a few too many words.

“Who were they talking to?” Pietro asks once the housing area’s door shut. Quickly clearing things up with the use of your name.

“I’ve haven’t seen them yet.” Wanda doesn’t care enough to close her book but does enough to look up.

“No, yesterday. Before they left, someone messaged them. Who was it?”

Wanda shrugs and returns to her book, but there’s a smile there.

“You know who it is,” He says, now on beside her. “Tell me.”

“I can’t say for sure,” She’s smiling again. Only a slight glance at Pietro. “but I think he may be very handsome.”

The siblings argued as siblings do. With Wanda teasing as sisters do. All of this could be heard before you even made it to the door. Standing at its threshold to listen as the two go at it.

“Natasha will tell you the same, Pietro.” Wanda says, probably aware that you were in hearing distance. “And she says he can do more than simply be handsome.”

Although you say nothing Wanda grins at you.

The gossip overheard is just words without evidence. Just enough to get Pietro thinking but not enough to create any serious emotions. But the “evidence” to create those emotions was now standing in the room. Small marks darker than your natural skin was peaking out from the lower neckline.

To you, they were simple bruises, nothing worth trying to hide, even something to brag about to the other desk workers. To Pietro it was marks of another person, something that pursed his lips and marched away from. Doing so slowly, to be sure that both you and Wanda were aware of how upset he was.

“I missed something.” You say, setting everything down on the counter.

Wanda has a habit of sneaking into other people’s minds. The mission, the shots and the everything was slowly being filed through in the back of your head. A pressure at the base of your neck screaming that there was an intruder.

“Stop it.” You snapped, but Wanda only smiles back.

“How was your ‘hot date’?” She finally asks.

“Is that what he’s…sonofabitch. Pietro!” There are only three rooms in this section of the compound. One being Wanda’s, another Vision’s and the third Pietro. Making it easy enough to find the pouting grown man.

“What?” He asks upon your entering.

There isn’t a response on your part for moment or two. Spending that time going to the room’s corner. Standing on tiptoes to find that switch that definitely doesn’t exist on the camera. Shutting it down for the time being before turning to start your explanation.

“You can turn that back on.” He says from his place on the bed. “There’s nothing bad we need to talk about.”

“So, you don’t wanna hear about how I was shot in the tit?”

Manners were out the window at this point. Pietro openly looking towards your chest. Back up to your face, and back down to your chest. “You were shot? They look more like…”

“They’re not hickeys, I was shot a few time through a suit.” Frustration was starting to build up. It was overflowing when you finished with “You really should know about being shot.”

The hurt on his face screamed. He didn’t look away but stayed staring forward right at you. “Pietro, I’m so…I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“It hurts,” He says. “Being shot, it really hurts.”

“I’m sorry.” Even as you walk around to sit beside him Pietro stares at where you were. Listening to your apology but not saying much else. Until he dares to lean against you. Something more than cuddling with a friend this time around. “I get it, I get you’re scared and all that. And I really like you, Pietro, I like you more than I am allowed to.”

It’s hard to say who started the kiss, but it doesn’t really matter. It was happening, and it was so much more than a something between friends.

“When that camera comes back on this didn’t happen.” You say in a moment of separation for air.

“What happens when the camera goes off again?” He asks, thumb rubbing over the bruise.

#reader insert #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #quicksilver x reader #Pietros' alive au #One shot #Fluff kinda #Angst kinda #This is based on that window between 2012-2016 when everything was happy for the Avengers #Requested on my AOW #Not used to writing these kind of stories

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spotofimagines · 3 years ago

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Rivals Last ~ Jadon Sancho

A/N: So I had this in my drafts before he signed with man united but that's fine, we move, we adapt. A third piece for the @footballffbarbiex summer challenge. Hope you enjoy it :)

Warnings: none - reader is female

Summary: You love both your brothers dearly, but being in the football world with them can make some things a little complicated.

gif by @archivesbvb - gif by @ermuellert - gif by @italynt

Being a footballer meant living in a special world. Being in a footballing family meant living in a special world too. Being the younger sister of Lucas and Theo Hernandez meant living in a really special world. But nobody told you just how crazy it would be for all three of those things to apply to you.

You truly love watching your older brothers play football. They teach you something new during every match you see; even though you play as a striker, their movements and handling of the ball always inspire you to play better. After all, it was their defensive skills that helped you become a good goal scorer growing up since they never let a tackle go unchallenged in the park and you had to find out how to manoeuvre around them. A lot easier said than done.

Currently Lucas is signed with Bayern Munich. In his time there so far, he has learnt the heritage, history, and importance of wearing the badge and defending its honour in every match they play, especially derbies. Having supported Lucas, it quickly became easy for you to support Bayern Munich too and celebrate their victories like it was your own team. You'd always managed to do it with the clubs both your brothers played for, letting the atmosphere of the fanbase carry you away.

You have just finished your second season in England with Manchester City women's team. You'd settled in nicely now, having learnt a lot of the English language and culture already. The experience was made so much easier because of the help given by your welcoming teammates and the staff that translated things into French and Spanish during your first months there.

Fans were a little disappointed during the 2019 summer transfer window when it was confirmed all three Hernandez siblings would be leaving Spain to play separately in England, Germany and Italy, joking that no one could know what might happen with you all so far away. However, to you, it made things easier, as Lucas and Theo would stop making so many awful jokes about each other's clubs, only to join forces to diss your club even more afterward. Now the only connection you have to the clubs you all play for is the want for your sibling to win with them. And it is a great feeling. A welcome change of pace.

But no new change to your life felt as good as your blossoming "relationship", situationship, whatevership, you have with Jadon Sancho.

It all started with you flirting back and forth on social media, which turned itself into countless hours of DMs no one else could see. You congratulated his goals and he congratulated your wins. All the light-hearted teasing and the warm-hearted compliments stayed in your own little bubble. The only thing peeking out was your silly inside rule that if you were going to comment on a post, it had to be emojis only, stretching to a few words if you really couldn't help yourself - but it would earn you taunts from the other for the rest of the night.

Some eagle-eyed fans noticed how you'd been liking each other's posts every time they appeared for a while now, but it just added to the fun and thrill you got from flirting with him so much.

You weren't meant to be forming a bond with Jadon. He played for your brother’s rival. He was supposed to be the enemy. Someone you should dislike with a snap of your fingers. Certainly not a boy to fall for like you have.

You couldn't help yourself. Lucas and Theo had helped you since you moved to England by being the steady rocks they always were, cheering you on from afar. Your new teammates had helped you since you moved to England by introducing fun things for you all to do together and taking you under their wings. But Jadon had helped you in a different kind of way. He gave you a new kind of comfort and reassurance when you talked. He became someone to turn to with all your interesting news and your curious problems. He told you the good places to visit around the city that he remembered from his time there and taught you English slang to make your teammates laugh. You spoke three languages to varying degrees now, and you'd managed to pick up more German vicariously through Lucas in two years faster than Jadon had done living in Germany in four years, so you'd clue him into rude German phrases you had asked Lucas about, alongside the French and Spanish swear words he used more often than English ones now when you text.

Even though a language barrier comes up once in a while, you have both learnt behaviours from each other and crave the contact you share. Jadon was starting to drop everything to send replies to you, a change his teammates have noticed and jokingly mock him for. Little did they know the unknown girl they joke he is smitten over is the sister of their rival.

Theo is the one in your family you usually tell about the boys you go out with; boyfriends and dates have been shared with him since you were 13 and doting on your first crush. He does the same with his girlfriends; asking advice and telling you more than you need to know at times. So, when you all went home for a bit of family time around Christmas, nothing could stop him from noticing the tell-tale signs that you had something going on. He already figured out through persistence that it was another player you were getting involved with, and his insistent questioning hasn't stopped in his search for who the player is.

But you keep it hidden from Lucas, and you don't know when you'll tell him. He has been your protector since you were kids, comforting you on sad nights when no one else was there, teaching you little secrets about how to navigate through the world, he even punched a boy who teased you once at school. The idea of telling him you were chatting romantically to another player would be trouble enough, but telling him it was a Dortmund player might just end up in another schoolground incident. You hadn't wanted Theo to know for fear he'd go dishing your dirt to Lucas, but he discovered it on his own and there was nothing you could do.

Who knows what might become of this thing you have with Jadon, and lord knows your eldest brother owns a hard as nails death stare that just might do Jadon in, but for now you actually quite like having the secret. A little mystery tucked away up your sleeve.

The rush you always get when Lucas calls your phone as you're typing a text to the Englishman, feeling as though the first words from the other end will be shouts of how he knows everything and he'll never speak to you again for keeping it a secret, fills you with dread at times. But it never is the reason he calls, and it turns out he is just making plans or has something funny to tell you. But the way your heart thumps as you go back to texting Jadon, that is part of the chase you have to admit you enjoy.

Hardcore fans online have noticed the past few months that when you do interviews in English, the odd slang term comes up during jokes - terms you hadn't used before and stem more from London boroughs than northen towns - so speculation of how you'd learnt these things easily coincided with dating rumors.

Lucas had seen the speculation online; seen fans trying to put your interactions with the Dortmund player together through both your instagram stories and comments and the tweets you both had liked about the other. Lucas had even grown suspicious of the little questions you asked him about Germany, German phrases and his lifestyle there, not knowing why you would need nor want to know those things. But Lucas doesn't believe it. He knows that you know better to mix with a Dortmund boy.

Sometimes an older brother just doesn't get it quite right…

Soon, the chance will come to really see if your connection is something you can build on. Jadon's new signing with Manchester United has been confirmed and he will be moving back to England. It is a great opportunity to get to see him more often, rather than the odd rendezvous point or clandestine trip during small breaks in the season. You'll spend more time face to face instead of over the phone. You'll get to wake up in his bed and him in yours, without needing to sneak away from hotel rooms afterwards. You'll maybe even get to go on a proper date, just the two of you, where you can flirt across the table your joined hands rest upon. Hanging out with Jadon won't be the first time you've spent time together in person. However, getting a full day with only the two of you where you won't have to pretend you hardly know who he is, and you won't have to pretend your eyes aren't meeting across the group of people you're in - it fills your stomach with knots and butterflies.

A certain pressure has fallen off you now Jadon has no growing rivalry with Lucas, but not completely. You won't be able to take back the way their teams made the other feel in the past, but the fact there won't be more of it next season comforts you a little. The biggest thing that will hold you back from going public before the new season starts will be the media, but that is an issue you can't even begin to worry about yet. You are too caught up in the excitement of being in the same town as Jadon to care. Rumours are spinning crazier than ever about you two as some of your liked tweets about his move got reposted by sports pages and fan blogs - now joking about him being your rival instead of your brother's - and yet it didn't stop you, no longer all that bothered about keeping a low profile now you both will be living away from Lucas. If he gets mad, all he will be able to do is shout down the phone, and whilst you never want that to happen, you know the time to flourish with Jadon and capitalise on the foundation you have already built is better than ever, brothers be damned.

There are big changes coming for the both of you, yet one thing will remain the same no matter the outcome of your relationship. You can't quite stop being football rivals.

#jadon sancho #lucas hernandez #theo hernandez #jadon sancho imagine #jadon sancho x reader #football #football imagine #oneshot #my fic #my og post

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years ago

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 18

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“Autopsy bay, this is Trudy...yep, one second.”

Trudy shoves her rolling chair across the tiled floor, delivering the cordless phone to Scully with a flourish.

“It’s your man candy,” she says with a smirk, and Scully suppresses an eye-roll as she takes the phone.

“Hi, what’s up?” she greets. Now that he has his own office and more privacy (save for Monica, who’s a friend) he’s taken to calling her more often at work.

“Hey honey, you studied German, right?”

“Yes,” she answers, an expectant lilt to her voice.

“What does ‘unruhe’ mean? U-n-r-u-h-e.”

“Mulder...is this a work call or a personal call?” she questions in a lecturing voice.

“Work, it’s for a case we’re looking at,” he answers plainly.

She sighs, moving the phone to her other ear and turning away so Trudy can’t hear her.

“Mulder, we’ve discussed this. I don’t mind you calling me for help on cases, I don’t even mind looking over medical files for you. But if you’re calling me as a colleague, then I need you to address me as one.”

“Shit, sorry, let’s start over,” he says, and she hears the squeak of him shifting in his chair. She imagines him sitting up straighter, putting forth a professional image, and it makes her smile.

“Hi, what’s up?” she repeats.

“Hello, Dr. Scully, I was wondering if I could ask you to translate some German phrases that appear in a case Agent Reyes and I are investigating, if you have time to spare,” he says in his most distinguished, Special Agent voice.

“Of course, Agent Mulder, I’d be happy to help.”

———

The elevator dings, the doors opening to a quiet and nondescript hallway with a few lonely shelves lining one wall. She steps out, suddenly regretting her insistence that she could find her way to Mulder’s basement office without escort. She makes her way down the hall past a set of bathrooms, and finally arrives outside a closed door.

Fox Mulder

Monica Reyes

Only the names of the occupants, not their division, department nor area of expertise are included, presumably because anyone who ends up down here is already aware of what they are walking in to. She knocks three times and waits, smiling in relief when Monica appears on the other side.

“Hi, Dana, you found us!” she muses, then steps aside so Scully can enter.

It’s an odd office, in so many ways. Oddly shaped, with daylight basement windows and a glass-encased annex, the space is long and narrow which makes it feel big and crowded at the same time. The decor is odd; newspaper clippings and kitschy knick knacks on the walls and every available surface. She smiles at the sight of the house-warming gift she’d purchased for Mulder; a full sized poster of a UFO hovering over evergreen trees with “I Want To Believe” emblazoned across the bottom. Mulder had told her about one just like it he’d had in “the good old days,” and she spent the better part of a week tracking one down after they’d gotten word that the files would be reopened. Though they’ve only inhabited this space for a few weeks, it already looks very lived-in.

Mulder is sitting on the corner of his desk, remote in hand and a slide projector cart situated in front of him. On the wall across from it is a blown up image of a severed head, the eyes partially closed and the lips hanging open. Scully smiles at Mulder and then glances at the screen, frowning at the image but otherwise unaffected.

“Well look at you,” she says with pride in her voice, crossing the room to stand before him where he touches her waist and places a kiss on her cheek. “And who’s this?” she asks, turning again to the screen.

“This,” Mulder says, standing and moving closer to the image, “is Leonard Betts. Or it was, anyway.”

“What’s so special about Mr. Betts that he’s found himself in an X file?” Scully asks.

“Would you believe me if I told you that after Mr. Betts was decapitated, his headless body got up and walked right out of the morgue?” Mulder asks with a cheeky grin, and she glances at Monica, who just shrugs.

“No, I wouldn’t, I’m afraid,” she answers.

“Well, since seeing is believing, Reyes and I will be heading up to Pittsburgh for a few days to have a look for ourselves,” Mulder says as he turns off the projector and wheels the cart into a corner.

Scully’s heart sinks just a little. Mulder had set the expectation that there was quite a bit of travel involved with being assigned to the X files, but this is the first time he’s actually needed to be away overnight for work. Wanting to be supportive, she keeps her expression neutral, betraying nothing.

He approaches her, standing close so that their conversation feels private, even with Monica seated a few feet away.

“Tell Missy and Byers I’m sorry to cancel our dinner plans tomorrow,” he says with a sympathetic frown.

“Will you be home by the weekend?” she asks quietly, “I was hoping to celebrate your birthday on Sunday.”

He smiles sadly at her. The topic of his approaching birthday has been one they’ve both grappled with for slightly different reasons. He proclaims to have never cared much about his birthday, but knowing that it will mark one year since she walked down the aisle with Ethan makes her want to do something special, to reset the date, in a way. She wants it to be Mulder’s birthday, not the anniversary of the worst decision she ever made.

“Probably, but I can’t make any promises. I’ll do my best, okay?”

She nods, and he leans down to kiss her softly in the middle of her forehead.

“I’ll need to swing by the apartment to pack before we leave this evening, so I’ll see you in a bit,” he continues.

She bids Monica farewell and good luck, then rides the elevator back up to a world where headless bodies don’t roam the streets.

———

Mulder flies home Saturday afternoon, giving her just enough time to throw together a small birthday celebration at the Gunmen’s the following night. Sunday evening she’s sifting through her closet, deciding whether to dress up a little for his benefit. Mulder is lying behind her on the bed fully dressed, pretending he’s on standby to offer fashion advice but in reality he’s just staring at her as she walks from the closet to her dresser in her bra and panties. He has confirmed no fewer than six times that birthday sex is a tradition that she believes in, then suggested that it might be applicable on both the day of his birthday party as well as his actual birthday, which is tomorrow. He seems to be looking forward to that more than getting together with his friends.

“What do you want me to wear, Mulder? It’s your birthday, you pick,” she says in a defeated tone, feeling uninspired by everything she owns.

“What you’re wearing is great, just go with that,” he retorts matter-of-factly, and she looks down at her underwear before giving him a sarcastic sneer.

“I’m sure Frohike would love that,” she says, and he makes a face.

“Maybe just jeans and a T-shirt then. I honestly don’t care, honey, wear whatever you want. I’m just going to take it off later anyway.”

As he finishes speaking, there’s a knock at the door and he stands to answer it, stopping to give her a quick kiss on the crown of her head as he leaves the room.

She pulls out a pair of dark wash jeans and tugs them on, listening as Mulder opens the door and has a muted conversation with someone. It’s a little bit late in the day for solicitors, but they don’t seem to have any boundaries these days. She’s slipping her arms through the sleeves of a blue sweater when Mulder reappears in the doorway.

“Hey Scully?,” he says, his tone strange and unreadable.

“Hm?” she responds, slipping pearl studs into her ears.

“Someone’s here to see you.”

She gives him a quizzical look. “Who?” she asks, and he purses his lips in response.

With a mix of curiosity and trepidation she walks out to the front door, which is slightly ajar. She pulls it open and finds Ethan standing on the other side. Her stomach drops, a flush of adrenaline running from head to toe as ringing sounds off in her ears. She gapes at him, unable to take any kind of action.

“Hi, Dana,” he finally says, somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry to drop by like this, I just, um...I found a spare key to the apartment,” he says, holding up a single key between his thumb and forefinger. “I figured I should return it.”

“Oh,” she replies, then holds out her hand.

He places the key in the center of her palm and she closes her fist around it, then drops her arm to her side. They stand there awkwardly, an expectant feeling hanging between them. Though she’d momentarily forgotten Mulder was there, he suddenly appears by her side.

“I need to go run to the store for something, I’ll be right back, okay?” he says, locking eyes with her on the ‘okay.’ She understands it to be him asking if they need privacy, and if she’s comfortable being left alone with Ethan. She nods with a grateful smile.

After Mulder has retreated down the hallway, she stands to the side and gestures for Ethan to come in. He enters the apartment cautiously, looking around. She closes the door but stays near it.

“Looks different in here,” he remarks, standing behind one of the dining room chairs and resting his palms on it.

She nods and shrugs.

“Was that, uh...is that your boyfriend?” he asks, hitching his thumb towards the door.

Her shoulders drop, a pained expression falling over her face. “Ethan...” she begins, ready to ask him if he came here just to guilt trip her.

“Sorry, forget I asked,” he interjects, shaking his head. “I didn’t come here to give you a hard time, Dana, I promise. I just…” he looks around again, pulling in a deep breath. “You know it will be a year tomorrow, since...and I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. For what happened, and also how things ended.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “What do you have to be sorry for?” she asks.

“I might have said the same thing earlier this year,” he says with a self-deprecating laugh, “but I’ve done a lot of reflecting since we split and I realized that I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to the signals you were sending me. In retrospect, it was pretty obvious that you were having doubts, and I just kind of crossed my fingers and soldiered on. And then after the wedding, you were so unhappy. I just chose not to see it, I guess. And that was wrong of me.”

She feels tears welling in her eyes and her throat becomes tight. She doesn’t trust herself to speak so she just nods.

“I recently started seeing someone,” Ethan continues, “and it’s pretty new, but it’s really made it clear to me that you and I just weren’t a good match. Not because anything was wrong, but...it wasn’t right either, you know?”

She nods again, crossing her arms over her chest as a tear spills over and runs down to her chin.

“So, anyway, I won’t take up any more of your time. I just think a lot about how things ended the last time we saw each other, and how angry I was, and I wanted you to know that I get it now. I understand why you did what you did. And I’m glad that you didn’t spend twenty years suffering through it just to prove a point. We both deserve better than what we had.”

Her face is now contorted into a grimace as she tries to keep from falling apart entirely, overwhelmed with relief and gratitude, and this opportunity to atone. Ethan moves to the door, pulling it open. As he steps into the hall, she clears her throat and forces out the only words she can muster.

“Thank you,” she squeaks, and he turns to look back at her.

With all the anger and resentment faded away, the grief and the guilt washed clean, she sees again the man she once loved very much, who was a good partner to her, even if he wasn’t “the one.”

She moves towards him and he opens his arms, enveloping her in a tight hug. When he loosens his grip, she steps back so she’s just inside the apartment, sniffing and wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

“Goodbye, Dana,” he says with a sad smile.

“Bye,” she says, and closes the door.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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