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boygirlmeetsworld · 3 years ago

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Messy.

ONE-SHOT

Word count: 2793

Disclaimer: One piece and all it’s characters belong to Eiichiro Oda, I just like to write about them.

Warning: None

Rating: T (i guess?? there’s cursing)

Author’s Note: Whale, this is the first fanfic I’ve posted on the interwebs since high school so please keep that in mind, lol. I do plan to finish it sooner than later so check back in a few days if you want to read the rest, sorry I don’t have it all done right now. At long last it it FINISHED.

Feel free to tell me what u think! Unless it’s mean, then I ask that u keep those thoughts in ur noggin because I’m just writing these for fun not for grades.

Without further ado, here ya go.

Author’s Note pt 2: So i didn’t end up going the smut route like I originally planned, but I think it worked out better bc this one got nice and Emotional.

Summary: Zoro really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

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The moon was floating high in the night sky when Nami wandered onto the deck, unable to sleep even after a few hours of sketching.

She wanted company – specifically, she wanted the company of the crew’s resident alcoholic. It only took a few minutes to find him on the lawn deck with his back against a tree and his eye closed. ‘How typical.’

Nami smiled a small, excited smile as she strode over to him and squatted between his parted legs. An unconscious sigh left her nose as she swept her gaze up and down his face. She caught herself thinking, ‘He really is easy on the eyes isn’t he.’ ....again.

Who was she kidding? She’d been thinking the same thing every time she looked his way lately.

Two years ago she’d been able to keep the immature crush she had on him locked tightly away but somehow - it had gotten out and was slowly consuming her entire being.

Nami hoped he hadn’t noticed how often she invited him to drink with her because she didn’t think she could handle being rejected. So she settled for spending time alone with him whenever and however she could.

“Hey, moss-head,” the navigator said finally, leaning in to squint at him, “Are you asleep?”

He had literally just settled down for a nice cat nap when the navigator appeared suddenly to interrupt him. ‘Damn. What the hell did she want now?’

Instead of answering, Zoro chose to ignore her and pretend like he was deep asleep. ‘Why won’t she go bother someone else?’

Nami started prodding his cheek with one finger to rouse him if he really was sleeping, ”Zorooo wake up, I wanna drink,” she whined and his eyelid opened instantly.

‘Why’s she so damn pretty..’ was the first thought he had when he realized that she was a lot closer than he’d anticipated.

He mentally chastised himself after, trying to remind his id that Nami had never once indicated that she wanted to be anything other than friends and he should respect that.

But… There was no harm in looking from time to time was there? And she was pretty. She’d always been... ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, now he sounded like Sanji. He needed to get a grip.’

“Helloooooo,” Nami waved her hand in Zoro’s face until he snapped back to reality and snatched her wrist up, pulling it away. He scowled but it wasn’t deep, and now he was refusing to look her in the eye. “What was that about, huh Zoro?”

“Nothing.” The swordsman replied perhaps a little too quickly to avoid suspicion, “Thought I heard a noise, doesn’t matter – oi, didn’t you want to do something?”

He couldn’t remember what exactly it was. He’d been so distracted by the way her bangs framed her face and sometimes got caught in her eyelashes—’Damnit! He was doing it again.’

Nami smirked again but didn’t press the subject anymore. She’d do that later once they started drinking. “Weren’t you listening to me? You’re so rude, maybe I should find someone else to share my booze with.”

Was it a good idea to go drink with Nami when he kept catching himself thinking about feelings that he’d been suppressing for the last two years? Probably not…

But he couldn’t just decline an opportunity to get buzzed. ‘And... Maybe he wanted to get buzzed with Nami, specifically.’

Zoro scoffed, mostly at himself. “Quit playing games, damnit, do you want me to drink with you or not?”

“You’re so stubborn,” The navigator teased with a pleased smile that made his heart beat unevenly, “I could care less if you join me, but you’re not allowed to come unless you say you’ll be nice.”

“Nami. I am older than you, quit treating me like a fucking child or I swear-”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady who’s getting you drunk for free, Roronoa Zoro. If you can’t be nice then I’ll just add the cost of everything you drink to your debt and-”

Zoro didn’t have time to ruminate over the way hearing her say his full name made him shiver because he had to shut her up before she did charge him.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be... nice.” He hissed through gritted teeth and her answering giggle made his pulse flutter. He had to fight to keep himself from smiling. ‘What the hell was going on with him tonight? Was he sick?’

“Good boy,” she turned and started walking towards the Sunny’s aquarium bar, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he was coming.

“Don’t push your luck, woman.” Zoro snarled to mask his confusion over the sudden need to touch her that he felt scratching at the back of his head. He really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

He knew it, but he followed her up the stairs all the same.

* * *

“Why d’you always want to drink with me anyway, witch?” Skeptical of her intentions, his narrowed eye fixed itself on Nami as she approached him holding two maroon tinted bottles. She offered one to him and he accepted it – but he didn’t let his guard down yet.

Zoro lowered his gaze to check the label out, whistling long and low when he read 23% alcohol per volume. A couple puzzle pieces clicked together in his head ‘Oh, that’s why. Because if she tried to drink this with anyone else they’d pass out after two glasses.’

“Would you believe that I just like hanging out with you?” Though her tone was teasing she was actually being genuine, she had a lot of fun with him whenever they went out.

“No–“ He paused when Nami kicked him in the shin hard enough to make him swear. Reaching down with his free hand he rubbed the sore patch of skin and glared daggers at his crewmate. “What the fuck was that for?!”

“You said you’d be nice, Zoro! So be nice or I’ll charge you a hundred thousand beris for that bottle.” Nami uncorked hers but waited to hand the corkscrew over until he behaved himself. The look he was giving her would probably frighten a small child but she didn’t flinch.

‘This was his choice.’ He reminded himself. Of his own free will he chose to get drunk with Nami instead of napping, and that meant dealing with her bossiness no matter how much he loathed it. ‘Sometimes he just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and make her shut up, there were better things her mouth could be doing anyway-‘

“Why do you keep staring at me like that, do I have a zit or something?”

Zoro sat up so fast that he banged his shoulder on the underside of the countertop. ‘What the hell was that? What the hell was wrong with him?’ He hadn’t even opened the damn bottle and he was already making himself look like an idiot.

“No,” the swordsman grumbled, wracking his brain for a believable excuse, “Just thinking about how I’ll owe you money even after I’m dead if you keep charging me for bullshit.” That made her laugh and Zoro cursed himself for how much he liked hearing it. “Don’t see how it’s funny for me, witch.”

Nami let him take the corkscrew from her, eyes crinkled with amusement while he opened his bottle. “You’ll just have to stay alive until you pay me back in full, I guess!” She trilled before taking a long, heavy drink from hers.

“Yeah?” Zoro snorted before mimicking her and downing about half of the wine in the container. It tasted disgusting, which he’d expected, but that didn’t make the bitter aftertaste any less miserable. His nose wrinkled slightly as he set the bottle down. “I bet even if I did try to pay you off you’d find a way to charge me more.”

“You make me sound so heartless,” the navigator batted her eyelashes innocently, pretending to look hurt, “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Hah.” He scoffed before chugging some more wine and failing to keep track of how much he was drinking each time. “Because you want to keep me on a leash since I don’t throw myself at you like that dumbass cook.”

An impish smirk crawled it’s way onto Nami’s face that made him immediately regret what he’d just said. ‘Fuck. Damnit!’

“So…” She began slowly, savoring every second that the swordsman spent avoiding direct eye contact with her, “You admit that you are one of my lap dogs?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed and he stopped drinking for one second to grunt, “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard!” Chimed Nami as she rose from her seat, stepping over to Zoro and tracing a finger under his jaw while he drained the last few drops of liquid. “I should get you a collar, so people know who to bring you to when you get lost.”

Normally he would have snapped at her for poking fun at his sense, or lack thereof, direction but he wasn’t listening to her. She’d come close enough for him to pick up her scent and maybe it was the alcohol intensifying his feelings, but it was suffocating him in a good way.

He loved the way she smelled. Tangerines from her soaps mixed with salty seawater and traces of sunscreen. A hint of orange blossom, but only when she was close to him like this.

Zoro inhaled deeply through his nose and, without realizing it, his expression melted into something affectionate and gentle. ‘In two years she’d changed in so many different ways… but she still smelled the same. She still smelled like home.’

* * *

“What are you thinking about, Zoro?” Her voice void of it’s usual teasing tone, Nami’s curiosity was piqued by his sudden shift in demeanor. He looked soft and peaceful, like he didn’t have anything to worry about. She wanted to know why.

‘Ah, fuck.’ What was he supposed to tell her? That he was thinking about how good she smelled? ‘Yeah right.’ Zoro was quiet for a while, mulling over his words until he came up with an explanation that didn’t sound as creepy – but also wasn’t a lie.

“I guess..” he finally murmured, his gaze shifting to meet hers, “It’s just been a while and�� I was thinking about how nice it feels to be back here, with everyone…” a brief pause then he added, “I missed you guys.” ‘Look at him being all gushy and emotional, this wine really was something else.’ Zoro reached to brush his fingertips by her temple, catching a stray lock of hair and tucking it behind her ear, “I missed you.”

When had Zoro ever been this honest with her about the way he felt? Never was the answer, but now he seemed to trust her well enough to know she wouldn’t spill his secrets. Nami took his face in both of her hands, surprising him, and pulled his head down so she could kiss his forehead. “I missed you too, Zoro.”

Something about hearing her say that she’d missed him too broke a dam in his chest that he’d been trying to keep together for two years. Hormoness flooded through his bloodstream quicker than Zoro could even process them and before he knew it he was practically throwing his arms around Nami’s waist and crushing her against his chest.

“Nami—” he pressed his face into her neck to hide the tears that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Sober he might have cared about losing it like this around her but she was here and… ‘He just – needed to hold her.’ Hold her and smell her and feel how real she was because she had almost been taken from him.

‘He’d barely begun to process what he had been through on Thriller Bark when they were attacked in Sabaody. If he tried to think back on it his memories would get hazy and his bones would ache from their very cores. He knew what had happened but it’s like his brain was protecting him from understanding how close to death he’d come. Then – to be torn away from the people he loved with all of his heart? Who he had just nearly killed himself to protect?

It had ripped him apart and rubbed salt into every wound. And it fucking hurt. The same kind of pain he felt when he saw Kuina dead on the floor of their dojo. He was scared, he was furious, he was devastated – all over again but this time it was so much worse. So, so much worse.

That was why he had trained so hard over the last two years. Because he couldn’t bear the grief that came with loving them so deeply – so he got stronger. And stronger. And stronger. No matter the cost to his body, he would become powerful enough to defeat anyone who crossed them. Then… He would never have to feel the agony that he did when he first woke up on Kuraigana Island ever again.

Taking on all of Luffy’s suffering in Thriller Bark had been the most physically painful experience of his entire life – but that was nothing compared to how much it hurt to think that his friends were gone forever, that he hadn’t been able to protect them.

Training made it easy not to think about what had happened -- but now he was home, and they were safe - and he was realizing just how close he’d come to losing all of them. At once. And he could do nothing to stop it.’

Startled by him grabbing her, Nami was prepared to give the pirate a good smack if he was getting handsy but… He started trembling. ‘Was he not feeling well?’ Her mouth opened to form the question then stopped. His breathing hitched while his entire body jerked and she realized…

‘Zoro was crying.’

Roronoa Zoro, who prided himself on his strength, was sobbing wretchedly into her neck. ‘He must have been holding this in since Sabaody.’ Nami’s heart ached for him and his stupid pride that forced him to torture himself instead of letting him cry like he needed to. She’d been expecting him to crash at some point, how couldn’t he? Even someone as strong as Zoro was still a human being.

One of her arms cradled his head while the other wound round his shoulders, her fingers combing gently through his hair. “Oh you sweet, sweet boy…” she spoke in the tone that Bellemere used to use when Nami and Nojiko were frightened by a passing thunderstorm. It always calmed her, maybe it would calm Zoro, too.

‘Quit fucking crying you loser you’re supposed to be a man.’ But he couldn’t, he literally could not stop because he was trying to. “I wasn’t strong enough,” his voice quivered at the edges and he hated it. ‘He was definitely never going to drink this kind of wine again ever. Not if it turned him into a blubbering mess like this every time.’

“Shhh, no. No. Don’t you dare try to blame yourself for what happened. Hey, look at me.” Nami urged his head off her shoulder and cupped his face in both of her palms, “None of us were strong enough, okay? Not even Luffy.” Each tear that fell she tenderly swept away with the pad of her thumb. The corner of her mouth turned up as she assured him, “But we are strong enough now. We can take care of each other. Nothing is ever going to tear us apart again, Zoro.”

‘She was right. Of course, she was right. He needed to have faith in his crewmates and his captain. They could do anything as long as they had each other.’ His breathing slowly evened out as he focused on anchoring himself back to reality. He wasn’t in Sabaody or Kuraigana – he was on the Sunny. In the bar, with Nami who had grown so much since he last saw her. The look in his eye softened like it had before his breakdown.

“You’re staring at me again, Zoro.” The navigator teased, her hands falling to rest on his shoulders. He hadn’t let go of her yet but she didn’t mind, he could hold on to her for as long as he needed.

A ghost of his usual smirk passed across his face. “Sorry, Nami…” Zoro took a little risk by leaning in to press a chaste but lingering kiss to her cheek, then traced a path with the edge of his nose to her ear, murmuring, “Wine makes me a little… Messy.”

#zona #zonami #zoro x nami #zona one-shots #zoro nami fanfiction #zonalove #zoro x nami fanfic

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dragonshoard · 5 years ago

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Don’t Leave Me (With a Smile) Chapter 1

Charlastor 1920s AU AO3 Link

Summary: New Orleans, 1926. Charlie Magne was the daughter of old money. From the city to the stock market her family had their hands in every pot. In her parent’s ideal world, she was to marry into a wealthy family for connections and continue her mother’s work with the city’s richest, but Charlie never wanted that. Her father was a reasonable man, she could make him see things her way... maybe (though her time was ticking).

Alistair was a coincidence, a happy happenstance. And her way out. She shouldn’t have been surprised when she fell in love with him. Before, it had been enough to know that he had loved her.

(If you could call the dark, twisted thing in his chest love)

i’m sorry for any typos ahh

--x--x--x--x--

From the glittering skyline to the bustling streets, New Orleans was truly the place to be if you were anybody. Jazz was the city’s lifeblood and the nightlife was flooded with the clarinets and trumpets playing in tune, drawing in people from miles away.

Men and women dressed to the nines walked the streets, laughing and sometimes dancing their way to their destinations whether it be to another club or the coffee shop still open down the block.

Similarly, a small group consisting of one man and two women, just at the start of adulthood, barely squeezed their way past the door of a small cafe into the winter air, clutching onto their hats and fur coats respectively.

“I don’t know why we don’t do this more often!” The blonde with a brilliantly powdered face smiled through the cold, viciously happy to be surrounded by friends and free of the demands of her parents, however temporary it may have been.

Her clothing was, perhaps, slightly too conservative to have someone call her a “flapper”, but was well within the style. She was fitted in a gorgeous black dress with golden accents and embroidery in a geometric pattern that shimmered in the streetlight. It covered her arms with sheer golden lace and came up to cover her collar bone. The signature sequin tassels swayed at the cut off just below her knees. Covering it was a beige fur coat that screamed wealth.

Perhaps she was a bit sheltered, but it had yet to cause any issues. Well, besides the teasing from her friends that ranged from funny to rather ruthless at times.

“You want me to answer that or ya wanna keep walking, Charlie?” The laugh that followed was loud enough to turn heads.

The young man in question was visibly taller than most people, in general. He was roughly a head taller than his companions. White hairs artfully laced through his slicked back brown hair despite his obvious youth. His eyes were a warm brown, complementing the slightly tanned skin.

“I know I don’t get out a lot, but things are changin’, Angel! Daddy’s been getting more clients downtown, so he doesn’t come home as much as he used to… Mama’s been really busy too but she’s also willing to give me some leeway…” The girl directed her beaming smile at him as she hurried along down the sidewalk, nearly running into a pole when she turned back around.

“Careful! You don’t need a bump on the head to ruin your night! And, honestly, do we have to call you that Martin?”

‘Angel’ gave her a sharp smile, looking every bit the shark that many had claimed him to be. Charlie was, of course, aware but chose to redirect the two of them to other topics. Even if it meant drawing attention back to herself.

“I’m fine, Vaggie! You worry too much!” Charlie smiled down brightly at the dark haired woman who had pulled her away from what may have resulted in a very tedious evening. Vaggie had sun-kissed skin with dark eyes that looked nearly black in the low lighting. She had been her first (and at times her only) friend that her father had approved of.

“Says the one who tried to slip in past the broads that you know you couldn’t have fit a quarter in between the three they were so close together.” Angel smiled even wider, before looking over to the side and waving at a group of people across the street.

Charlie’s smile dimmed to a more mute, yet still appropriately impish, grin before she tucked into Vaggie’s side. “It’s just - I’m so excited! Can you blame me?”

The answer differed from the faces her two friends made at her. One entirely endearing while the other was more… over it, for lack of better words. Charlie frowned a bit, mostly for show.

She tried to justify herself. “Lights, crowds of dancers, and all the latest music.” She popped up, almost twirling in place. “It’s just so glamorous, and Daddy has been home for days now, and you know how he is,” she drawled, smirking almost innocently up at the tall “Angel”.

When “Lucifer” (as many of his business partners had taken to calling him) was home, he preferred older tunes that practically put Charlie to sleep. She could barely find moments where she could put in her records or turn on the radio to listen in without her Daddy hollering for her to turn that trash off.

Charlie’s father was a charming and charismatic man, when he wanted to be. He treated his daughter as if she was the most precious object in the entire universe. The amount of photos stuffed in nearly ten photo albums from ages zero to three showed the dedication he had towards his little girl.

And perhaps that was the reason it had become a problem, especially as of lately. The only good thing that came out of the attention these days was that it extended the time she spent in the house and not out finding a husband. Even now, he was hesitant about giving her away and having her no longer in his sights (perhaps that was why he was looking so meticulously, to find someone that may easily fit under his thumb).

“If you ask me, your pops has got a few screws loose up in his noggin. I mean, come on, you’re twenty-one! Practically an old maid, and he hasn’t even let you go out on a date!” He laughed, hand casually hooking her away from Vaggie and into his side, squashing her into his fashionably striped suit.

They were nearing the club, the music growing audibly louder from the sidewalk.

“I’ve been on dates before!”

“Honey, being chaperoned by Daddy dearest who makes it a point to play with the steak knife ain’t exactly what I would call a date.” He flipped his hair up, tilting his head down so Charlie could see the near mocking grin painted across his features.

“Lay off her, Angel. I don’t see anyone coming to ask to date you.” Vaggie put a protective hand on Charlie’s shoulder and practically yanked her away from him.

“Aw come on; don’t be such a tart, I didn’t mean any harm by it! I’m just saying that’s it’s not natural. She should be goin’ out! Having the time of her life! Not sitting home all day doin’ whatever her ‘daddy’ wants her doin’,” he made a derisive hand motion, rolling his eyes.

A sly grin took over and Charlie knew exactly what he was going to say.

“If you’d just let me introduce you to some of my friends - “

“You mean some of your family, Matra - “

“Shhush!” He nearly jumped over them to cover both of their mouths, regardless of the fact that Charlie wasn’t even saying anything to begin with. It drew a few lingering eyes to their party. “You want me to get ganked? You can’t say that type of shit in these parts.”

Vaggie didn’t look particularly apologetic and simply shrugged him off, opting to pull Charlie along with her. She gave him a smug look as they stepped up to doors that barely seemed to contain the music inside.

“‘K, but seriously toots. I got a cousin that goes by Arlo. He’s a bit of a sap, but he’d treat you right.”

“None of you would get Daddy’s money if he didn’t approve, and I’m not so sure he’d be happy getting involved with your family.”

New Orleans wasn’t as bad as, say, Chicago or New York when it came to gang or mafioso violence, but it wasn’t the cleanest either. A politician had been mysteriously “removed” when he’d attempted to go after one of the organized crime rings.

Angel pouted at that, “Come on, you’ve known me for ages! You think I’d set you up just for the money?”

They both looked at him with the most unimpressed face they could individually pull. Charlie was the first to let up and laughed as she waited for the entryway to clear.

A man smoking against the wall gave Charlie a second glance, confused but with a look of vague recognition crossing his features. He opened his mouth, likely to ask if they’d met before, only to be cut off by the tall mafioso whose eyes felt like daggers going into his skin.

The man quickly turned away and Angel seemed to do a one-eighty, once again smiling at his friends as they were finally able to push open the doors.

“Welcome to the Lodge! It’s been open for a few years but they added a few ah features that made it more popular over the last couple months.”

Charlie’s eyes seemed to glimmer as she took in the large space, absentmindedly taking off her coat and hanging it to the side. The Lodge was absolutely luxurious, from the wallpaper to the nearly reflective wood flooring. The band was booming, but not loud enough to drown out the laughter and chatter that was a testament to the hall’s popularity.

“Oh my - “ Charlie was practically hopping in place, excitement practically vibrating off of her.

“Hey! Careful, lets not get separated, okay?” Vaggie, being the voice of reason and caution, was quick to hook elbows with Charlie, the only thing that had kept the girl from shooting off into the crowd.

“Aw, come on, there’s a ton of people here! Not to mention the bulls in literally every corner.” Angel discreetly let his eyes wander around the room as he leaned against a pillar.

If anyone were to pay close attention, they would notice the men in unremarkable suits lingering near the bar and every little hideyhole you could think of. It made Charlie shift, unsure of how to feel about the knowledge and and slightly concerned. If any of them were in her father’s pockets she was so dead. She ducked her head at the thought, almost attempting to hide via Vaggie despite their height difference.

“Speaking of the ‘bulls’, should we be concerned,” Vaggie questioned. “I’d rather not get arrested or hauled away in a cab tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it! They’re the reason the club gets to keep their juice.” Angel was quick to get distracted by a handsome fellow on the other side of the club. “I hate to cut this gaggle short, but I got some tail to catch, if you get my drift. See ya ladies later!” And with that he was off in the other direction.

Vaggie was thoroughly unimpressed and neither of them looked surprised. Charlie couldn’t help but shake her head. It was a common trick he pulled after they’d all been to a few places; always looking for a guy to end the night with. Charlie admired his boldness; however, couldn’t imagine herself dating so many men, much less having sex with them.

And it wasn’t like she was there for any of that nonsense to begin with. She was there to dance.

“Come on, Vaggie!”

The look of sheer panic on her friends face was telling, but it didn’t stop Charlie from dragging her to the packed dance floor. Charlie knew that her dancing was a bit intense for her friend’s (most people, really) liking, which is why she usually ended up dancing solo, but it didn’t mean that she couldn’t make them try for a while before they wore out.

Charlie tapped her slight heels to the dance floor, tuning into the beat and began shimmying sideways until her hip bumped Vaggie’s. Her glittering smile almost effortlessly brought her friend out of the doom and gloom the thought of dancing with Charlie had put Vaggie in. There was some exasperation, but it was mostly fond. Charlie would take what she got.

Giggling, she did a small spin. Her feet followed the basic steps of the Charleston to warm up, surprisingly considerate of her reluctant dance partner. Charlie gave Vaggie a mischievous smile that Vaggie had come to know as the turning of the tide against her favor.

Heart pounding already as Charlie began to speed up, smiling so wide that her face was beginning to hurt: one foot to the side, back and forward. The music seemed louder like this, as if it had drowned out everything else: from the slight static of the stereo someone seemed to be playing in the background to the dancers who seemed to have begun to back away.

So engrossed in her own movements, she didn’t notice when Vaggie tapped out, unwilling to try and compete with her. And even had she been paying attention, she wouldn’t have noticed that she had caught someone’s eye in a unique way.

A man, who had taken the invitation for a night on the town by a fellow colleague and had been regretting it deeply, was watching her with the hungriest gaze anyone on that side of New Orleans had ever seen. A tall man with slicked back dark brown hair in a fairly tailored pinstripe suit with a burgundy tie to match similarly colored dress pants. His eyes looked nearly red in a certain light, pulling the look together flawlessly.

A few years ago, no one would have noticed him, but these days he was too public for at least a few people to recognize the voice of the Alistair Trahan.

He watched as she pulled up her dress every now and then to perform a kick or jump. His grin grew in glee as she practically leaped across the dance floor, feigning falling a few times only to skip and tap away unscathed. The grace in her movements was uncanny.

She teetered in between stages of nearly falling and stability so often, he wondered how she hadn’t become dizzy from the whiplash. Perhaps it was the danger that bid her to prefer the dance style (or maybe she just enjoyed it).

Her energy was something he had rarely seen before. What made it even more energizing was how she never stopped smiling no matter how her dress clung from the sweat that must have been pouring off her in waves or how those heels must have been a pain to dance in.

She caught his gaze for a split second and those eyes. Dark and piercing as they were compared to his own dreadful gaze. He imagined what it would be like to have those eyes on him and only him.

He raised a hand to his face, surprising himself when he noticed how flushed he was. He was brought back to reality when he noticed that the band had stopped playing. She was practically glowing as she panted, looking victorious in her stance (and a part of him imagined it as a form of armor, and he wondered what she would look like bound in steel).

It would be a pleasure to pull apart that cheerful manner and see what was underneath it; see if she was just as golden inside as she was out.

His mood dimmed slightly (though his smile didn’t show it) when he noticed that another woman had tucked herself into the personified sunshine’s side.

It seemed there were obstacles that needed to be removed.

#origin #charlastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin alastor #20sAU #its a little different from the au not much though #hazbin fic #1920sAU

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squidbatts · 5 years ago

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your funny mouth to the clouds

Or: Fabian stresses, confesses, and gets some kisses in

((The last couple of Fantasy High episodes have been Buckwild but IN THIS HOUSE we ignore current canon happenings to write about fabian wanting to kiss ragh and then getting to kiss ragh!!! because i crave ragh/fabian content even if i have to Do Everything Myself))

{ao3}

Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill Seacaster, knows he’s hot; it’s kind of his whole thing, being a charming, roguish pirate, as dangerous as he is dashing. So, obviously, it makes complete sense that he and Gorgug would be Ragh’s dream makeout partners. They’re all hot athletes and they spend a decent amount of time together, he gets it.

It shouldn’t even be a thing.

Except that Fabian can’t stop thinking about it. When Ragh lances a demon through the eye and then turns to grin at Fabian, manic, muscles straining his letterman jacket, he thinks about it; when Fabian’s trying to teach the party literally anything about the sea and Ragh slides in right next to him, body a point of warmth on Fabian’s left side as he points at completely the wrong part of the map, he thinks about it; when Ragh tears off his shirt and leaps into the water with Fabian, throws a glistening and sea-wet arm over Fabian’s bare shoulders, tugs Fabian into his sculpted chest as he laughs-

The point is, Fabian keeps thinking about it.

Which is why he thinks he should be excused for asking Kristen for advice; she is, after all, their “token gay friend"; the rest of his close friends are straight, so she’s really the only one he can ask.

“Kristen,“ Fabian starts one afternoon when it’s just the two of them on the roof, “You know about gay stuff, right?“

Kristen lights up. “I don’t know if you know this-“

“I do, you say it all the time-“

“-but I’m gay!“ Kristen finishes like she doesn’t come out over breakfast every morning. “So yeah, I do.“

“Awesome, great, listen, I have a question. Have you ever- hm.“ Fabian cuts himself off with a hum as he attempts to word it correctly. He decides to try another route. “Do you think Ragh is attracted to me?“

“Oh, for sure,“ Kristen says and, even though he already knew that, Fabian chokes on air in surprise at her surety. “He’s really into the whole ’straight boy jock’ thing and, I’m a lesbian, but even I know that you’re objectively the hottest person in our party. You and Fig are the hot ones.“

“Obviously,“ Fabian replies, kneejerk.

“Yeah, so, duh. Why do you ask?“ Kristen asks, and Fabian-

Fabian falters because, obviously, he wants to get to the bottom of why he can’t just forget about Ragh’s proposition like Gorgug has, but the idea of talking about it, of telling Kristen makes his stomach twist. Something about it makes him feel weird, the same way he feels weird whenever he thinks about Ragh wanting to kiss him.

“He just said something and I-“ Fabian waves a hand dismissively. “Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.“

Kristen’s eyebrows furrow and she places a hand on Fabian’s arm, firm but still kind. “If you’re uncomfortable with a gay man simply being attracted to you, you’re the asshole here. But listen, Jawbone has some pamphlets about it and we can totally work this out-“

“I’m not uncomfortable, I just wanted to know if he had said anything to you,“ Fabian says, the words quick and awkward in his mouth. Maybe I am uncomfortable, He considers. Maybe the twisting how of his gut and the heating of his face are merely symptoms of his discomfort. He’s always been fine with Kristen and Tracker, he was fine with Ragh when he told them about Dane, but maybe he just thought he wasn’t homophobic until it directly affected him.

Kristen stares at him silently for a second, tilting her head as her eyebrows raise. “Huh. Never would’ve guessed that.“ She says, then, “Well, actually, I maybe would’ve because you’re like, supernaturally obsessed with your appearance, but stereotyping is bad and all that.“

“What are you talking about?“ Fabian snaps, irritated with her vagueness. He realizes that he should’ve just gone to Adaine for help, she reads books and knows about a great many things, not to mention that it certainly would’ve been less of a tax on his patience than dealing with Kristen at her… Kristen-est.

“I think… I think you should talk to Ragh,“ Kristen says, and then continues on quickly before Fabian can get the horrified Absolutely not out of his mouth. “No, listen, this is really something that would go best if you just, like, talked to Ragh about it, I think. And like, I rolled a seventeen on persuasion, so you kind of have to.”

Fabian, not blessed in wisdom, fails his saving throw and has to admit that Kristen’s point is pretty compelling. Still, “I don’t even know where Ragh is right now.”

Kristen gives him a look that clearly says We all live in the same vanboat, you have to know that he’s less than three minutes away. She leans away from Fabian and, still holding eye contact, yells into the van, "Hey, Ragh, Fabian wants to talk to you!"

"Kristen, no," Fabian hisses. Kristen just grins back at him.

"Kristen, yes!" She says, "You will so thank me for this."

Fabian is still cursing Kristen's name when Ragh climbs up to join them on the roof. He's wearing his normal jeans but has elected to leave his letterman jacket in the van. Probably a good idea, Fabian thinks, eyes involuntarily drawn to the sheen of sweat over Ragh's biceps as Ragh stretches before he sits. It's been hot all day, but Fabian would bet gold that it's gotten hotter in the past five minutes. He certainly feels rather feverish, suddenly.

"What's the problem, bro?" Ragh asks when he settles down. Kristen makes a face at him from behind Ragh's back and mouths Take my advice!!!! When he pretends not to notice and instead stares pointedly at the sea, she huffs loudly.

"Well, I'm going to go back into the van, I'm real tired," She says, obnoxiously obvious. Fabian makes a face back at her when Ragh turns towards her. "I'll, uh,see you guys later. Don't even worry about everyone else, I'll keep 'em down there."

Fabian tries to infuse enough That is absolutely not what I want! and Don't leave us alone! into a single glare to make her stay, but she just winks at him, like she's a bard or something, which of course makes Ragh turns back to Fabian, puzzled.

"What was all that about?"

"It's nothing, really," Fabian says, forcing lightness into his voice as he waves a hand, as though all this awkwardness could be as easily dispelled as Fig's cigarette smoke. "Kristen is just being dramatic."

Ragh frowns, his dark eyes are stormily serious. Fabian's heart skips a beat. "We're bros. And bros don't have to lie about their feelings, right?"

"... Right."

"Dude." Ragh says as he punches Fabian's arm, clearly about to get started on the Jawbone taught me emotional vulnerability and now I think everyone should do it spiel. Fabian's already heard it at least one time apiece from Kristen and Adaine, and he still thinks he's good on the emotions front, thank you very much. Still, his stomach flips even now with nerves, and he thinks of how Kristen thought that talking with Ragh would sort him out. As truly awful as he imagines it will be, he wonders if Kristen has a point, just this once.

"Alright, alright!" He concedes, "I suppose we can talk about my feelings."

"Awesome!" Ragh grins lopsidedly, shifting to sit lotus style, his full attention on Fabian. "Now, what's up?"

A feeling rises in Fabian's chest, like his ribcage is stuck in a vice, and he feels nearly sick with guilt. Here Ragh is, so kindly and sincerely devoting his attention to Fabian, and Fabian's body can't even relax enough to appreciate it.

"I think I owe you an apology," Fabian says, and before Ragh can respond, he rushes on with, "I think I might be homophobic, but I'm going to work on it and be a better friend for you and Kristen, and I'm very sorry."

Ragh's opens and closes his mouth wordlessly a few times, tusks catching on his upper lip. "I- what?"

Fabian sighs huffily and explains, how he's felt weird and off-kilter since Ragh's proposition and Kristen's offered explanation. Ragh listens thoughtfully, brow furrowed and a hand on his chin. He's still frowning as Fabian finishes his tale and Fabian fights the urge to fidget under the scrutiny.

"I don't think you're homophobic, dude," Ragh says, eventually. He sounds like he's choosing his words carefully, like he's walking on eggshells, and Fabian aches to think that he's made Ragh think that he has to do that.

"Of course I am, what else could it be?" Fabian asks, and Ragh screws up half of his face. "See! I made you uncomfortable with my- weirdness. I'm sorry."

"No, no, I'm not uncomfortable, I'm just trying to… Reconcile some things. Sort stuff out in the old noggin." Fabian tries not to look too doubtful but Ragh must've aced his insight check because he sighs and continues, "Listen, this has got to be weird for you too, I mean, obviously it is if you think you're a homophobe, but I think there's a pretty easy way to figure out what your discomfort means."

"And what would that be?" Fabian asks snipily, turning away. He doesn't like apologizing in the first place, much less when the other person won't just accept it.

"Feel free to say no, but I figured you could just try kissing me." Ragh says, and Fabian’s head whips back to him. Ragh lifts up his hands defensively. “Full disclosure, I think you’re super hot so I'm definitely getting something out of this, but if you can't stop thinking about it… It couldn't hurt, could it?"

Ragh shrugs as he lays his offer down and Fabian-

Fabian's heart pounds like he's in the middle of a Bloodrush play as heat pools in his face and his stomach. He hadn't ever considered actually kissing Ragh, but now that it's on the table, something deep within him twists with want.

"One kiss?" Fabian asks, trying to will away his blush, "I wouldn't be… Opposed."

"Uh-uh, none of that. I need a definite yes or no, bro," Ragh says, "I don't want to pressure you into this."

Fabian feels his flush flare hotter and squeezes his eyes shut. The deep buried part of him has rapidly expanded and spread throughout his body, leaving his fingers twitching towards Ragh and his lips tingling with anticipation. He can't imagine saying no, but to say yes also seems almost insurmountable. He opens his eyes, sees how softly Ragh smiles and the patience in his eyes, and it feels like someone's reached into Fabian's chest and twisted. Fabian nods, excessively, embarrassingly, then says, "Yes, yes, I'd like to try it-" before Ragh is upon him like the tide on a beach.

It's different from kissing Aelwyn; there's no bitter taste of alcohol or sticky-sweet lipgloss, no, Ragh's lips are chapped and he tastes of salt from days at sea, but it's still so much. Ragh cups Fabian's head, gentle, but presses his mouth insistently forward, easily leading Fabian through the sweeping movements of a makeout. Fabian's heartbeat still thuds in his ears, but he can also hear Ragh's slow and steady breaths, feel how he nips Fabian's lips and smiles against Fabian's mouth. When it's over, when Ragh pulls back and Fabian embarrassingly chases after him for half a second, Fabian is breathing like he's been near-drowned.

"Still think you're homophobic?" Ragh asks, teeth flashing in the ocean sunlight, lips slick from Fabian. Fabian burns brightly.

"I have," Fabian clears his throat awkwardly. "A few other theories now."

Ragh laughs, full and perfect, throwing his head back. Fabian looks at the vast muscled expanse of his neck, realizes that the twist of his gut just means that he wants to press a kiss to the juncture of Ragh's jawline and neck, and thinks, Huh.

"Well, that was super fun," Ragh says, clapping Fabian on the back, "Always down to help a fellow Owlbear with a sexuality crisis, dude, just let me know if you wanna do that again."

Ragh heads back into the vanboat, whistling cheerfully, and Fabian waits until he's absolutely out of sight to raise a shaking hand to his lips. He feels a smile giddily crawling over his face and he buries his face in his hands rather than risk someone seeing him like that. He wonders, in a corner of his mind that's not fully busy simply rejoicing over getting his kisses in, if having a boyfriend is much different than having a girlfriend.

#fantasy high #ragh barkrock #fabian seacaster #fabragh #One shot

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championofsanghelios · 4 years ago

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Gay Writer over here (*waves*)

So I’ve been writing from basically the moment I was able to pick up a pencil and write straight on a piece of lined paper. In my Primary School (I live in the UK/ It’s the one before what everyone else called “High School”) we were given what were called “diaries”, little jotters that we could write down our day-to-day activities into and get marks from our teacher. I used to always get into trouble because instead of writing what we had been up to on that particular day, or when we came back on Mondays and were supposed to be writing about our weekends, I was writing all the fanciful ideas that came into my 5-6 year old noggin. Back in the day I was a huge fan of Halo (the game franchise) and I often found myself writing about things I had either done in the games, or coming up with my own little scenarios and scenes. Naturally they wouldn’t have been very good but I had fun doing them...and after a while, one of the teachers (I honestly can’t remember which one, though I’ve tried) got me my own separate jotter to write in. Ultimately it proved to me a major distraction for me, and eventually there had to be a set time and place during my school hours where I could write in it and others when I couldn’t. That used to vex little me so much...there were even days when I’d sneak it home, only to come in the next day and receive the stink-eye from my teacher. As I grew older and finished Primary School, moving onto Secondary School (or High School) my mind had developed to the point where I knew almost exactly what I wanted to write, though my execution and grasp of the English language wasn’t as...acute...as they appear to be now. I used to write things in Script/Screenplay format. Something that looks sort of like this (Using a modern day example.) --- Link: (-signing-) I’ve always hated those Bokoblins. They make good bacon though. Sidon: -gasp- You eat Bokoblins!? Link looks at him, his eyes widening a fraction. Link: (-signing-) Yeah...-shrug-...what about it? --- I used this style of writing for years, and I mean years. It was a really easy and simple way for me to convey the scene/situation quickly and get it out of my head before it either faded/changed too much or I forgot it completely. However as I started to really take this hobby seriously and it became something fundamentally important to not only for passing time, but for what I later came to know as my own expressive/coping mechanism, I realized that quickly that I wanted to develop it...and get better. About 2 years ago (yes it took that long for me to get there) I dropped the Script/Screenplay Format as a default and started using the more appropriate and ultimately better looking and sounding Prose format. --- (I’ve always hated those Bokoblins...) Link signs, his face contorted in disgust for a moment at the brief thought of the buggers. He then seems to smirk, even smile, and shrugs. (...they make good bacon though.) “You eat Bokoblins!?” Prince Sidon’s head snaps towards him, his eyes thrown wide and his mouth parted slightly in a gasp. (Yeah...) Link signs back. (What about it?) --- As you can see it’s allot better than the previous version. Prose allows for extensive description and much more dialogue between the characters, as well as detailed descriptions of their actions, moods, feelings and thoughts. Something that was probably possible with the previous format, but I never could unlock it. Oh Yeah! The name of this post is “Gay Writer over here” !!!! Whoops! (May have gone on a tangent there...sorry about that :3) So as I reached my adolescence, or puberty if we’re using small words, I was not only become aware of how big and bad the world could and would be, but I was becoming aware of who I was and my place in it...namely my labels in the modern society we still call “21st Century Britain”. Around about my third year in High School, I came to the realization that I may be what people called “Gay”, something that I’m more than happy to share with anybody who asks, or in this case, spread it around the internet because who honestly cares, but something at the time I was more than ashamed and confused about. We’ve all had those terms and expressions in High School that were often associated with something that wasn’t cool, or part of the normal conventions of High School social life...and one of the words for that was “Gay” or “Homo”. Knowing that I actually was both of those really did have an effect on me in some way. I suppressed my sexuality and kept to myself, when people would ask about girlfriends and the like, I’d laugh it off and say “When I’m ready.” or “I don’t have any interest in that right now”. Just occasionally someone would call me out for being “Gay.” or a “Shirt-Lifter.” which in Scotland means someone of the Homosexual persuasion. (Yeah...I don’t know either...I’ve never been in the habit of lifting my shirt to anyone...) It took a long time for me to get over the feelings of insecurity and shame that came with it. I felt like I was an outcast, I wasn’t right and I didn’t belong to the same groups of people as everyone else did. Oh! I should probably preface this by saying that I’m not only Gay, but I’m autistic. I have what Doctors called up until recently “Asperger's Syndrome.” something that I’ve known about for years. One of the ways that I got through my mental torment/struggle over this (and it really was for me, being autistic I fixated on it...it was my every waking moment, and it was in my dreams) was to write about it in my stories. I started to write stories with gay male characters, and writing scenes were they were marginalized and cast out by others just for being who they were. This did help...it gave me a place to put out all my thoughts and feelings on the topic without the need to talk to people about it, or cause a big fuss. Internalized Homophobia became a favorite thing of mine...mainly because for a time I lived it. However as my High School years wound on, and we reached out Senior Years, with age came maturity, and with maturity came acceptance. Those people who used to poke fun at me for being “Gay” and the like were now openly welcoming it, some of them even coming out to us themselves. It’s at that point that things really started to change for me. My perceptions of myself and my sexuality shifted and I learned that it wasn’t a problem. I couldn’t help how I was born...and I certainly shouldn’t be ashamed of myself because I haven to love men instead of women. Around this time I started writing pretty much how I writer now. I’d take characters from the games that I loved and would make them have relationships with others... Watch Dogs -- Aiden Pearce/Defalt Mass Effect -- Male Shepard/Steve Cortez Halo -- The Arbiter/Fal ‘Zolak (an OC of mine) I didn’t truly admit to my sexuality until shortly after I left High School and entered my College years. However I think by the end of it people knew who I was, based on what they’d observed of me over the years...or the stories they’d read. I remember one of my friends at one point asking me “Are you gay?” and instead of blanking it or laughing it off I just said “Maybe, I don’t know.” ... a partial admission of sorts. Writing has always been a huge part of my life, it’s helped me through some of the hardest times, and entertained me during the best. It’s allowed me to express myself to the world without fear of reprisal or condemnation. It’s saved me from the realms of depression and self-destructive thoughts. It’s quite simply the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t think I will ever truly stop. I don’t write to make money, or to be famous or to make a name for myself...I write because I love it, and honestly nothing will ever change that... On the note of my sexuality... June for me, is not only about being proud of who you are, but about accepting everyone, no matter their gender, their sexuality, their race, their background and origins. It’s about showing love for your fellow human beings and being proud to be a part of the world during the 21st Century. Sure there are some bad eggs, there always will be...for various reasons. But they are the minority...and hopefully one day, they’ll all join the majority, and we can all live together without the labels and prejudices of yester-years to stand in our way. ... Rambling over...-wipes sweat from forehead-...thanks for reading through that. I know it was sort of out of the blue and all over the shop. But this is what’s been on my mind today, and I thought about writing it down. Be Safe, Be Well... I love you all (^.^)/

#story time #ramblings #thoughts in my noggin #sexuality #pride 2020 #I'm gay and I want everyone to know it #creative writing

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spnsisimagines · 6 years ago

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Still the Same

Warnings: Losing an arm, depression, descriptive gore Characters: Sam & Dean Winchester, Hunter!Reader, Rowena, Crowley, Gabriel, Castiel, Lucifer, Balthazar Summary: After losing your left arm during a hunt, your friends help you regain your confidence. Reader’s Age: Under 18 Word Count: 2177

Y/N: Your Name

A/N: Not sure how I like this one tbh. There’s an easter egg in here btw so look out for that. I also really struggled to figure out a title don’t judge... Enjoy!

"I think I can handle this one," you said, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared at the two brothers. You had been with the Winchesters for a few years. You had grown up in the hunting life, and when your parents were killed, the Winchesters took you in. The brothers would usually let you hunt with them, but only if the cases were easy.

"It's a nest of vampires, Y/N, you're not ready for that," Dean replied as he shoved a machete into his duffle bag.

"I've killed vampires before, Dean, this is no different," you snapped.

"You're a kid, Y/N. If you think I'm gonna just let you walk into a nest of what? Ten vamps? You're out of your mind," Dean threw his duffle over his shoulder and walked out of his room, you trailing behind him.

"I won't be going in alone! I'll have you two!" You argued, looking over at Sam as you entered the War Room.

"Dean, maybe we should let her, she has to learn somehow," Sam took your side, seeing your pleading eyes.

"Really? You agree with her?" Dean turned away from the stairs to look at his brother.

"We'll watch her back, and we know she can watch ours," Sam replied. Dean looked at you, seeing the slight smirk on your face as you know he has lost this battle.

"Fine!" He grudgingly agreed as he walked upstairs, you and Sam following.

"You do everything we say when we say it, and exactly how we say it, got it?" Dean handed you a machete. You saluted him and nodded.

The hunt went fairly well; you slashed at every vampire that dared showed its face. You and the brothers were checking around the barn for any hiding vampires. There were bodies and heads everywhere. You watched Sam walk into a back room in the barn while Dean peeked his head outside. You looked around the room, feeling accomplished. You smirked, to think that Dean doubted you. Pfft. Look at what you did! You took out a vampire nest.

You walked towards some haybales and took a seat. You thought you felt someone behind you, but you figured it was one of the brothers. Your eyes wandered to the door, seeing Dean a few feet outside. You looked to your right and saw Sam through a window in the back room. Your eyebrows furrowed together as your breathing came to a halt.

You slowly turned around and saw a vampire holding a machete above his head. You instinctively held your left arm up to shield you from any incoming blows. The machete buried itself into your forearm. You let out a blood-curdling scream as the vampire yanked the machete out of your flesh and gave you another blow to your upper arm. Within seconds, you were down on the ground with darkness surrounding you.

You took a deep breath in, seeing bright lights through your closed eyelids. You slowly opened them, expecting to see a dingy motel room or your room at the bunker, but you weren't expecting to see a hospital room. Your eyebrows knitted together as you looked around. You saw Dean passed out sleeping in a chair next to you. You continued looking around and saw Sam outside the room drinking some water.

With your head pounding, you closed your eyes at the pain and went to put your left hand on your temple, but you felt nothing on your head. You opened your eyes and didn't see a hand at your left side. You froze for a moment; it's probably under the blanket. You went to move it, seeing your shoulder move slightly, nothing else happened. You sat up and used your right arm to throw the blanket off of you. You stared down at your left side, seeing nothing. Your voice got caught in your throat.

Sam entered the room and saw your panicked state. He quickly rushed to your side, "Hey," he sat down by your legs.

"W-where-" you continued to stare at the space where your arm used to be.

"They, uh, they had to amputate it," Sam said quietly, reaching over and giving Dean a few taps to wake him.

"I-I don't..." Your eyes filled with tears, watching your left shoulder move.

Dean jolted awake and leaned forward. "How're you feeling?" He asked.

"I don't have a left arm, Dean, how do you think I'm feeling?" You barked, not removing your eyes from your shoulder.

"Right, stupid question," Dean mumbled, looking at Sam for help.

"Why couldn't Cas heal me?" Your voice broke as you finally made eye contact with Sam.

"He wasn't responding, we had to make a decision, rather wait for him to get here and risk you dying or amputate your arm, knowing you'd live," Sam explained, he wanted to reach for your hand, but realized it wasn't there anymore.

"I would've rather died," you mumbled. The brothers' eyes widened at your comment.

"You don't mean that," Dean said, taking your right hand in his.

You looked up and stared so deep into his eyes, "I would rather be dead," you spat, yanking your hand from his grasp.

Sam and Dean gave each other a look before getting up and walking away.

You went back to looking at your left side. You swear you could still feel your arm. You were tapping your fingers right now. You took your right hand and slowly touched your shoulder where your arm would've been connected.

"Hmm, so it is true?" A voice spoke. Your head flung up to see Gabriel.

"What's true?" You replied.

Gabriel motioned to your missing arm, "You're a pirate now,"

"I lost my arm not my leg," disdain leaked throughout your words.

"Right!" He pointed towards you. "But now you can get a cool mechanical arm,"

"Yeah, okay, Gabe, let me just pull the thousands of dollars out of my bank account to turn into Bucky Barnes," you rolled your eyes.

"Geez, buzzkill... Didn't know you were so much like the Winchesters," Gabriel mumbled.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you clenched your jaw.

"It means," a new voice spoke. You turned your head to see Lucifer sitting on a chair with his legs kicked up onto your bed. "that you're now little miss grumpy pants,"

"Are you two in my head or are you really here?" You asked, not knowing if you were dreaming.

"Oh, we're here, buttercup," Gabe answered, tossing some candy into his mouth. "And you," he pointed at you, "need to cheer up. The only reason we like you is that you're the little ray of sunshine that keeps the two idiots outside together. You take that away, and we all crumble apart,"

"He's got a point, y'know," Lucifer mumbled as he stared at his intertwined fingers.

"Sure, let me just start bouncing up and down at the fact that I lost my arm!" Your voice grew with every word.

"Just think of it this way, it's one less limb you have to worry about!" Lucifer suggested. You rolled your eyes at his comment.

"Oh, would you two shush!" A woman's voice was heard. You looked towards the door and saw Rowena and Crowley. "You are obviously not making her feel any better," she sauntered over to your bed. "How are you feeling, dear?" She grabbed your right hand.

"Terrific," you muttered.

"Oh, now, now, deary. Just because you're one limb short doesn't mean your life has to disappear along with it," she fixed your hair a bit.

Rowena was about to continue talking, but someone cut her off. "So, who's ready to drink your life away?" Balthazar stood in the room with two bottles of alcohol.

"Put those away you, embesil," Crowley spoke.

"Yeah, she's a kid! Pass me some," Lucifer motioned for Balthazar to bring the bottles over.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam, Dean, and Castiel stood in the doorway, not knowing how to react to the room full of angels, demons, and a witch.

"We're here to make the honorary Winchester feel better, no thanks to you three," Gabriel was the first to speak.

Dean's eyes fell on Lucifer who was now holding the liquor bottles. Lucifer quickly pushed the bottles back into Balthazar's hand as Lucifer pointed to him. You smiled at the scene.

"What do you mean no thanks to us?" Dean shook his head slightly, turning his attention to Gabriel.

"You two left her here to mope!" Gabriel stood up straight, puffing his chest out, ready to defend you.

"Can we just go home?" You interrupted the conversation before it got out of hand.

You arrived back at the bunker. You immediately went to your room, not wanting to be around for the pity party.

"Y'know, between you and me," you heard Lucifer speak as you shut your door. Of course, you weren't going to get some peace and quiet. "I think the no-arm situation is pretty badass. Just think of all the things you can do!" He sat on your dresser.

You raised an eyebrow at him, "If anything, I can do fewer things than I could with two arms,"

"Fair," he raised a finger that pointed to the ceiling, "but, now that you're a cripple, you get so many perks!"

"Don't call me that," you hissed, collapsing onto your bed.

"Whatever you say, Bethany," you glared at Luci. "My point being, you have an excuse to not do so many things! Carrying heavy things, driving, getting things down from the top shelf," he listed. None of those things made you feel better, but you appreciated the effort, especially since it's coming from Satan himself.

"Just think of how much of a dude-magnet that is!" Gabriel appeared.

"Are we gonna go through this again?" You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"What we're trying to say is you shouldn't let the no-arm thing get in the way of you being you. Sure, you're less of you physically, but your noggin' is still intact. It's time to show everyone you can be just as powerful as you were with two arms," Lucifer spoke. You took a deep breath and looked up, seeing the room empty.

It had been a few weeks since you lost your left arm. The brothers and your friends have slowly been helping you regain your confidence. Dean took it upon himself to give a death glare to anyone that he felt was staring too long. Sam helped teach you how to do simple things with one arm, like cooking, typing, and hopefully, driving. Castiel and Lucifer helped teach you how to fight. Gabriel would always bring you candy in hopes of cheering you up. Balthazar would often bring you to different timelines to witness different historical events. Rowena would bring you with her to have a girls day, buying you new clothes to help you feel even more confident. And then Crowley would let you play with his Hellhounds, saying there was nothing else he could offer.

You had gone with the brothers for a hunt. You decided to stay at the motel, not feeling confident enough to go with them. But something was wrong. It had been a few hours, and they weren't back. You kept checking your phone, but nothing was there — no new texts. No missed calls. No voicemails. Nothing.

You grabbed your gun and headed out the door.

You approached the abandoned hotel. You walked through the squeaky door as you looked around. Graffiti and broken glass were everywhere. It was hard to believe that this hotel used to be clean and buzzing with people.

You held your gun in your hand, checking if the safety was off. You heard grunting coming from a room behind the front desk. You hopped over the desk, the other way being blocked by a pile of chairs. You slowly opened the door, seeing Sam and Dean tied up, backs to each other.

You crept through the door, hiding behind a pillar. You glimpsed around the corner, watching someone circle them. You thought back to this being a witch hunt, one of the reasons you didn't want to go with.

You held your gun down by your legs, waiting for an opportunity to shoot. The witch said some mumbo-jumbo and Dean started grunting in pain, holding most of the pain in to not seem weak.

Sam yelled something at the witch; she said something else and Sam started coughing up blood. You flung around the corner, reaching your arm out as you pulled the trigger three times, each bullet hitting the witch. Sam and Dean took deep breaths as the pain left them. You rushed over to them and started untying them, using your teeth when needed.

"Damn, Y/N! Why didn't we have you with us in the first place?" Dean chuckled as he untied his feet while you worked on untying Sam's hands.

"Thanks, Y/N. That was pretty awesome," Sam complimented as he untied the rest of himself and you stood up.

"Guess I got my hunting skills back," you chuckled.

"You kidding me? Those skills never left!" Dean threw an arm around your shoulders as he led all of you out.

Requested by Anonymous: “ WHY HELLO THERE!! Can I have a drabble where the reader is like 13 and not related to anyone winchesters or Angels but still hunts with them and one day goes through a freak hunting accident where they couldn't get to her intime and she ends up losing her left arm and they (winchesters, GABRIEL,cas,Balthazar, crowley and lucifer) try to cheer her up and help her self esteem and eventually she becomes more self assured,starts hunting and ends up saving all of them big time! Pls and thanks”

Tags: @magicalsis11 @joanne-egberp @16wiishes @fanboyswhereare-you @athenepallas @spnkisum @jamric @oneshotsdeanshort @jensen-jarpad @capruinedmylife @bea789 @starswirlblitz @damalseer@iamflanneltrash @zeusmyster @violinmyhead @lauren-novak @evyiione@alexandriajanae4 @graceb200371 @overcastmisfitkid @lovelaughlivesmilebright @liliafangirls @ellie-andthemachine @death-unbecomes-you

If you would like to be tagged/untagged then shoot me an ask/message!

#spn #supernatural #supernatural imagine #spn imagine #sister winchester #sister winchester imagine #winchester sister #winchester sister imagine #sam winchester #sam winchester imagine #dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #castiel #rowena #crowley #gabriel #lucifer #spn sisfic

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thebibliomancer · 5 years ago

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50 More Days of Comics! 44/50: Countdown #39 (2007)

What is there left to say about Countdown that hasn’t already been said? 51 issues of eight plotlines that barely went anywhere and then were summarily ignored by the event they were supposedly counting down to? At a cover price of $2.99 that’s over $150 of nothing plus tie-ins and spinoffs needed to understand all this nothing that didn’t amount to anything. And even if it were a self-contained story it would have been a bad one full of gratuitous deaths, character derailment, and shaggy dogs galore.

Unrelated but Marvel had their own countdown recentlyish called Infinity Countdown. I’ve been enjoying it but its kind of funny how both serieses have a moment where a cosmically empowered horn saves the day.

ANYWAY.

Of the plot threads, this particular issue covers about six of them. Three of them get only two pages to tiptoe forward. And they’re all intercut with each other. I’m going to jam all the plot from thread into the same stretch for my convenience. What an untwisted skein.

First we have the Karate Kid and Triplicate Girl plot at seven page. Karate Kid has been kicked out of the future because he has a deadly disease and Triplicate Girl is with him because she loves him. Apparently Starman told them that Oracle might be able to help them and instead of setting up an appointment, they decide to break in.

Karate Kid kicks down a wall when they get to a dead end revealing a giant screen with Oracle’s web avatar on it. Also, I love Karate Kid on a conceptual level. He’s a kid who is really good at karate. The one rule of the Legion of Super-Heroes is that you need to have one non-suck power and they let this guy in who knows karate but really good. There are actual people with mostly decent powers that the Legion have told to screw off like Night Girl and they let Karate Kid in. Its pretty amazing.

Oracle: “Did all the expensive keep-you-out hardware not clue you in? I WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE!”

Also, this is in Metropolis. Not sure why a Batfamily character is in Metropolis but she does telecommute so.

Anyway, the only reasonable response to a break-in is tentacles. Maybe Oracle has spent too much time on the internet. She tells them to set up an appointment and gtfo. She’s busy.

Karate Kid karates through the tentacles and saves Triplicate Girl who hadn’t done a thing to help herself. Then he karates through the screen which apparently hid a passageway to Oracle’s real location. Not the best security setup.

But when they find her, she still refuses to help.

Oracle: “I’m keeping the secret identities and home addresses of every superhero in the world from being stolen. Think maybe that’s a little bit important?”

Oracle… Barbara… why did you even have all that information in your systems? You have a computer brain with perfect recall. D-don’t you remember what happened when Batman kept the secret weaknesses of all the Justice League in his computers? They were inevitably stolen and used for evil? COMPUTERS AREN’T SAFE!

She also later fails at keeping the Anti-Life Equation from being emailed to literally everyone so maybe she’s just not great at her job that she’s really good at.

Next, we have Pied Piper and Trickster with eight pages. They are on the run on suspicion of killing Barry Allen and have taken up refuge with the Penguin. He then immediately sells them out to the Suicide Squad. Like immediately. He only asks that they not damage his wine cellar.

Of course the Suicide Squad are professionals and yeah no. They chase them through the actual Iceberg Lounge restaurant smashing things and blowing up stuff. Captain Boomerang manages to konk Trickster out with a boomerang to the back of the noggin but Piper just slings him over shoulder and still manages to get away. Damn the Suicide Squad suck!

Trickster also sucks because upon regaining consciousness he immediately accuses Piper of feeling him up while he was out.

The two fugitives manage to shake the Loser Squad thanks to Piper pipering some music which makes them invisible. He can do that. But then the two are cornered by the Question and Batwoman. And Renee Montoya apparently loves punning on her name now.

The Question: “Before you start running, guys, you should ask yourselves the question… would I really have come after you alone?”

Then two pages of Donna Troy and Jason Todd and also Ryan Choi and Bob the Monitor’s fun multiverse questravangza to find Ray Palmer to prevent a Great Disaster. Apparently you can’t look at the space between spaces because it would drive you mad.

The group arrives in non-euclidean space with Bob feeling like they’re being watched.

And that’s it. Can’t move a plot ahead much in two pages.

Next is another two page plot increment with Jimmy Olsen. Jimmy has mysteriously gotten a bunch of his silver age powers and decided that he should become a superhero. This tracks as far as Jimmy Olsen’s thought process is likely to go. He puts together a Mr. Action outfit that wouldn’t be bad for the Silver Age and looks awfully earnest now and goes to fight crime.

He easily stops a purse snatcher and even gets a smooch from the girl who calls him adorable.

Since everything is going so well, Jimmy is thinking that obviously he’d be a huge asset to any team and starts wondering what team would be best for him, dismissing the Outsiders as too angsty and eventually settling on the Teen Titans.

Meanwhile while he ponders, the purse snatcher gets up and sneaks away.

Womp womp womp.

For two pages this one actually felt like it moved something somewhere somewhy. Probably because it was one dude and this small event is going to serve as a motivating factor for him.

There’s also two pages of Holly Robinson, Catwoman’s girlfriend. She has joined one of Athena’s woman shelters but feels something is off. She asks about the shelter turning away a mother and her child but Athena just bemoans that her resources are limited and then signs Holly up for a self-esteem workshop. Which seems a non-sequitur but its all an evil scheme anyway.

Finally there are four pages of the Monitors arguing amongst themselves about stuff I don’t understand or care about. None of these dicks are labelled and I can’t really tell them apart. They’re arguing that people shouldn’t travel between universes but I don’t really grasp the argument, just that one dude really wants to kill people that do cross realities and the other is like ‘should we do something?’ Anyway, fuck Nix Uotan. For no particular reason. I just harbor intense animosity towards his stupid hat.

#50 more days of comics!#Countdown #i'm doing my own countdown to the final crisis of realizing i ran out of comic books #a kid really good at karate #fuck Nix Uotan and his stupid hat #EVIL self esteem #Oracle is bad at her job #the Monitors are bad at their jobs #the Suicide Squad is horrible at their job #a lot of incompetent people here #and Jimmy Olsen #he's trying his hardest and not looking his best and I respect that

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megamegaturtle · 6 years ago

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gorgeous (chapter two)

Spencer Reid x Reader Fic

warning: friendships be forming with extra cuteness and realness.

(i will never post a chapter at a reasonable hour, i swear lol)

part one

(Ao3)

WC: 11.K

Summary: You’re early for your first day at work, but the universe is a funny thing where butterfly wings cause hurricanes from a wing’s single flutter. A story about how you and Spencer become friends and one day lovers.

tag list: @everyday-imfangirling @gigiree

Your story is starting, a new beginning with a new friend, when your doorbell rings on a quiet Saturday morning. A butterfly swarm wreaks havoc in your stomach, anxiety and nerves old friends you thought you forgot, but find you again with a little knock knock. You take a deep breath as you stuff your feet into house slippers. It’s too late now to cancel and fake sick.

Coming towards your door, you pause and fluff your hair in the mirror, trying to look presentable and clean one last time. You look through the peephole, the moment of truth wrapped wearing purple and a long brown coat. Doctor Spencer Reid rocks on the balls of his feet and you promise yourself not to throw up.

(You really want to throw up.)

Pressing the passcode into your alarm, the device happily beeps as you undo the chain latch and unlock both deadbolts. You pluck a bright smile to wear.

“Hey! Hi, hello—” oh dear, you’ve greeted him three times, might as well continue. “Hola, uh, ni-hao, hmmm, aloha, howdy, ohayou, bonjour—and yeah, welcome to my humble abode.”

A small smile rests on Spencer’s mouth, laughter at the edges. “Hi.”

You open the door wider and let him walk past you. Last second you snag the strap of his messenger bag unexpectedly, pulling him to a quick stop. Your nails briefly scrap the fabric of his coat before you shut the door behind you both.

You’re doing great, you tell yourself. A for effort.

A moment ticks before you point down at his feet, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Sorry. I have a no shoe policy.” Shuffling around him, you open a small cabinet and pull out a thing of slippers. “You can wear these if you’d like. They’re new! Or socks are fine, but no shoes please. Too much grime and stuff.”

Doctor Reid nods, mildly curious but nevertheless, sits down on your bench and pulls off his shoes. You notice his mismatched socks, deep purple and ruby red. You giggle and find them to be a good omen.

Spencer shoots you a brief look. “Yes, yes. They’re not matching, but I like them.”

Tension rolls out of you as you quickly redo your door and reset the alarm. “No, it’s cute. I hardly wear matching socks myself.”

“Oh?”

“Mainly because I’m very lazy to match them up together again though.”

“Well,” you hear him say, “I do mine for a bit of luck.”

You laugh again and gesture towards the kitchen.

“I guess today’s gonna be your lucky day.”

(Or maybe it’s yours since you’re so excited to have company with someone so cute.)

“You’re doing the recipe completely out of order.”

“Not completely out of order,” you say as you whisk the dry ingredients together. “Just...slightly out of order.”

You don’t bother looking up at Spencer, but you can feel his frustration roll off him like hot waves filling every inch of your kitchen. You do your best not to snicker at his expense as he reads to you the banana bread recipe once again that he’s already memorized perfectly.

“If you just set up everything before you started kind of mixing, this would have been a lot easier,” he chides, mashing ripe bananas into a bowl.

“Says the man with two perfectly good hands!” You shoot him a look, huffing incredulously.

“That I am using,” he points out.

If would have known you that a year ago that you’d have Dr. Spencer Reid in your kitchen making banana bread, you would have laughed so hard you would’ve cried. But here you are doing exactly that with you both talking. There is bickering and bantering. And your kitchen is filled with such delicious laughter that you might weep.

If only you got the courage to be his friend ages ago, just think how many more baking days the two of you could have shared. If only, if only.

“What are you anyway? Some kind of scientist or something?” you say, cracking the eggs in a small bowl.

Spencer’s face falls completely flat, but his tone only bubbles into annoyance as you flick flour his way. “Well, yes! I’m a doctor! And a bit of a scientist, I guess!” His hands fly up in the air, accidently knocking into a pot that hangs above your small center island.

You burst out laughing. “Chillax, my dude! Please don’t go breaking my kitchen,” you say between deep laughs. “I want my security deposit back.”

Spencer taps the counter with displeasure. “Then please just follow the recipe. This is like watching a bad chemistry experiment. Baking is a science,” he emphasizes.

You click your tongue. “Nerd.”

“Am not.”

“Um, are too,” you reply as you wipe a random spill. “Besides, baking is about love and love is more than some chemicals in your brain. It’s magic and all that stuff. And no facts you got tucked up in that noggin of yours is going to tell me otherwise.”

Reid takes a deep breath and chuckles quietly. “Are you always this...sassy?”

You flash him a quick grin. “Always.”

You grab the butter from the freezer and slice ¾ a cup to soften in the microwave as the kitchen quietens to the happy hum of radioactive waves. You look over up again, noticing Reid holding his chin in his hand, staring at you.

It’s a bit intense. The way he’s looking at all of you in your movements. His eyes pierce through you, catch your breath. It’s like you’re pinned under a microscope, chest ripped open with your soul exposed.

“Hey, don’t know if you know this, dear Doctor,” you try to joke, “but this is a no profiling zone.”

Spencer blinks once and denies it, his voice going an octave higher. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t profiling, I was thinking. Vast difference.”

You scoff, playfully rolling your eyes. “Oh no, believe me. I heard you thinking. I think everyone in the greater D.C. area heard you thinking, but,” you pause, grabbing both the white and brown sugar from across the island. “But I know exactly what you were doing and I don’t need you to profile me in my own home.”

Spencer remains quiet, a silly grin digging into his cheeks at your indignation. You huff once more and accidentally put the mixer on high in the dry ingredients bowl. Your surprised yelp is drown out by the sound of the beaters hitting the blow and Spencer’s laughter.

Flour, thankfully, is only slightly everywhere.

Your face runs hot as you turn it off.

“You're so stupid…” you mumble. “Shouldn't have invited you over.”

He takes a big gulp of air, but happiness still paints his face with a smidge of curiosity. “Why did you invite me over? Not that I mind helping you bake, but…” he shrugs.

You...merr. As you call it, not a grr or a groan, but your distress sound of merr that conveys all negative and embarrassing things in one small and concise phrase.

Spencer senses your discomfort and everything shifts to the unspoken words that the two of you haven't dared exchanged. He patiently waits as he leans against a counter and sips a glass of water. The only sound in the kitchen is the slight scraping of metal on metal as you whisk the dry ingredients again.

“Because I am sick of bad thought spirals,” you confess. “I'm sick of doubting myself and not being a good person and just--it’s dumb. I'm dumb. The whole time so like...fuck thought spirals where I don't think I'm good enough to be your friend.” You pause, you heart thumping in your chest and you—

— promised yourself that when you doubt yourself, that you’ll just dive head first, be impulsive because when you stop thinking, just for one moment, things go better than you’d ever assume. Your brain is your own worst enemy. So, you keep that racing heart and you clutch it tight. You feel your stomach twist and you don’t care anymore because you are taking a stand and this is your day and you

—are in control.

(Even if your brain tells you otherwise, if it tries to break you down again, make you stop talking, make you push all your fears into that little black box that sits at the bottom of your spine and let history repeat again and again.)

Butterfly wings cause hurricanes and you’re breaking down barriers with the wind at your back, wings jutting through your shoulders to carry yourself higher. No safety, just free falling into the moment, into this next commitment because you can’t turn back time.

“So, yeah. Fuck that nonsense. I’m gonna be your friend and I’m gonna friend you so hard and you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

(You remember the triangle your therapist drew for you one day, about how bad thoughts consume you and you just sat there thinking you needed to break it. That you were stronger than arbitrary shapes that attempted to define you.

That you were good enough.)

You force yourself to look Spencer in the eye, well aware his brain is going into overdrive at what you said. How could it not? There was so much to unpack. Low self-esteem, self-hatred, wobbly self-worth.

But you will not falter. He will not forget your promise and you will not let yourself break it.

But he does the doctor thing and asks. “Are there good thought spirals? Is this a good thought spiral?”

He smiles small yet sincere and joy radiates from the center of your stomach, tender blooms unfurling in your bloodstream as relief sings throughout you. Your nose burns with intense emotion, your eyes wanting to shed tears, but you don’t want to be a crybaby in front of him.

You turn and wipe at your eye, ready to cream the butter and sugar together. “No, this is a good action spiral. Kicking down doors kind of thing.”

“Sounds intense.”

“I’m kind of an intense person,” you quip.

“I figured. I kinda profiled that about you,” he teases.

You throw a dishrag at him, the worries you had disappearing as you hear his laughter mix with yours. Being impulsive has proven once again to be your aid.

He comes to stand beside you, a good distance between the two of you but there is a connection and a comfort there now. You two are no longer separated by your center island, but are now standing on the same side of the room. He waits patiently as you cream the sugar and butter.

“Hey,” he starts, “by the way, don’t think that I’m not gonna—what was it?— friend you hard too,” he softly confesses.

You beam so wide the apples of your cheeks scrunch your eyes. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You quietly finish mixing the rest of the ingredients as Spencer beings washing a few assorted utensils. Soft music plays from your phone, your hums sometimes in time with a tune. Butterfly wings brush against your heart as you both work throws this friendly new beginning.

You fill both pans halfway with batter and pop them in the oven. Setting the timer, you glance over at your cozy living room area.

If this was a different kind of social call, you’d suggest watching something on Netflix. Throw in a perfect excuse to cuddle close and test boundaries to see how much you could get away with. But you refuse your heart the luxury of daydreaming something more passionate and most likely to be a plot from a nameless romance blurring in your memories.

Instead, you focus on reality, on being a better person than you were yesterday. You promised yourself you’d be more open—make this friendship happen because deep in your bones, you have this feeling that having Spencer Reid in your life will be worth it.

You take a deep breath and catch his attention. A nervous smile paints your face as you gesture towards the other side of your apartment. “C’mon. I wanna show you something.”

Spencer tilts his head with curiosity, but his steps pad quietly on your floor as you creak the second bedroom’s door.

“Excuse the mess,” you say, flicking on the bright overhead light.

Fresh paint perfumes the room. Canvases line the wall, stacked neatly by a lone bookshelf jam packed with art books and an old, beloved chair. A plastic tarp rests in the center, an easel propped up with a wet piece.

You hear Spencer gasp, his attention fixed intensity on the portrait you’re still painting. Your heart flutters as you wait for him to speak.

(You think it funny, that for someone so filled with words, art makes him speechless.)

“Wow, —” he says, your name soft in his mouth. “I didn’t—didn’t know you could paint!” He rushes, his words starting to fumble. “It’s—she’s so beautiful. Who is that?”

Love blossoms throughout you as you take a step forward and trace the rough edges of the canvas with your fingers. Luminous dark skin and a tender smile fill your vision, the ghost of laughter ringing in your ears. Her eyes twinkle at a joke you told her, this painting a representation of a candid photo you took earlier in the year.

“My soulmate,” you explain with affection. “A girl named Rosa, who I love absolutely without conditions.”

Spencer doesn’t say anything for a few moments, as if choosing his words carefully. He stands near your, his questions wrapping around you almost like a physical thing. “...what’s that like? For you to sound so sure?”

You think of late night conversations and exchanged e-mails, the calm that follows that if you need her, she’ll be there. In the trust of free falling without a parachute that she would defy gravity for a single moment to ensure your safety—that you would do the same. It’s—

“--never to be obligated to love someone, that I love her simply because she exists and there is peace in that. She is—She is my other half: my thoughts easy for her to untangle, the two of us on a shared frequency I’ve never had with someone else. We have no expectations of each other, just the hope to be lifelong companions and beloved friends.”

“Just hope?”

His unspoken question: is that truly enough? There is doubt in pause, his avenue unexplored by him and many others. To just love a friend as an extension of yourself and not want more.

You glance up at him and smile. “Of course. Just hope. Can’t make Rosa stay in my life nor can she do the same to me. We don’t cling to each other, Doctor. We just choose to exist with each other,” you say. “Rosa is—Rosa is not someone who I love romantically—that...that has requirements.”

Spencer reaches out and touches the edge of the painting. “Like what?”

“Mmmm. Well, I have to be sexually attracted to that person, for one. And that person needs to pay attention to me and spend time with me. That person has to have similar values as me, same wants to build a life together with me. This person just won’t be my soulmate and I’m not looking to fall in love with a soulmate,” you add with a small laugh. “Rosa is my carbon copy and I’m looking for someone to compliment me, make me a better person, challenge me—well, you get the picture, I think.”

(You thought you found that person already, already had two greatest loves of your life, but that—that, of course, never happened.)

The room falls quiet and you swallow, realizing you just—emotional dumped all over the good doctor and horror washes over you. You turn to him, your eyes wide and panicked, your hand flying to your mouth.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry, that was like—extremely personal and a lot to handle and—”

Spencer blinks before grinning, his hands tucked into his pockets. “No, it was...nice. You really love her and...and I don’t know, that sounds nice, to love someone without conditions.”

His eyes gaze away, as if he’s looking for something in the distance and your heart feels heavy in your chest. There is a bittersweet softness there and you wonder if his mind drifts away to someone else.

“Can I—” you try to say. “Was it—?”

—like how I love? you want to ask, but you don’t. The question too personal on your lips, but you know he’s heard it anyway.

Hazel eyes flicker to yours, a haunting smile hanging to his lips. “Maybe a bit of both, by your definition.”

“That’s still beautiful.”

“Is it?”

“I think so,” you say, guiding him back to the kitchen. “Love is like beauty; in the heart of the beholder.”

“You know it doesn't go that way,” Spencer’s voice says behind you.

You grin. “True, but do you want your heart to be constricted by other people or do you want to decide for yourself?”

It is quiet for a moment, the sounds of the oven the only thing making noise.

“What if I never move on? What if I never want to move on?”

You take a deep breath, choosing your words with care. “I think...I think if you feel that your love with Maeve is able to sustain you for the rest of your life, that's awesome. Breathtaking even. To be that devoted to someone even through…” you swallow, bracing yourself to mention the elephant in the room, “death. But,” you pause, “life continues, Spencer. It just depends on how you want to interact with it. I know for me, I need that kind of love in my life and I have a big enough heart to fall in love again. Yours seems to be a bit different.”

Spencer’s face pulls into a tight smile. “I always seen to be a bit different.”

“Different is good though. It’s human to be unique, or rather, it’s American to be an individual. You are only a byproduct of your nation,” you say, cheeriness in your voice. “And as for love, whatever makes you happy, Spence—-er,” you quickly add, feeling your eyes going wide at almost calling him his nickname. “Only you get to decided that, Spencer,” you emphasize the er .

The corners of his mouth relax and his smile becomes more genuine. “Thank you, ——,” he says, your name only adding to the moment of friendship. “I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Doctor. I’m always here.”

And if there is one moment you can keep from today, it will be this one. Where sunshine streams through the window and outlines Spencer in a glorious halo. He smiles once more, wonderful and bright, like starlight and good things and trust for new beginnings.

“I know.”

You get lost in D.C. on weekends when work isn’t busy. There are sights to see, history under cobblestoned streets and your breath finds reason to stop ceasing. It’s beautiful, to be in your nation’s capital, but sad to discover all on your own.

When not exploring, you call Rosa, missing her company more than anyone from back home.

Sometimes you leave her long and detailed voicemails retelling your day. You might leave two or three because you have so much to say. Yet sometimes, there are no voicemails to leave, not when she picks up on the very first ring.

Her voice is soft and sweet, mousey and kind. “Hello, bestie?”

She always answers like it’s a question, like she can’t believe that you’re actually calling.

(You call on a schedule. You’re predictable this way and yet, after all these years, she still finds magic in your friendship, like you’re not quite all there.)

You squeal at her voice. “Rosa! I misses you!”

Her laugh bells gloriously. “I misses you too. How are you? Did you eat?”

“Yes, mom. I ate. I’m good. Just chilling at home. It’s—lonely, truth be told.”

“Mmmm,” she hums. “You’re always a bit lonely it seems. But you’re making friends! Like with Dr. Reid and Penelope! And Derek!”

“Yeah, I am... I guess, just,” you say, your voice quieter as your trace your feelings on your thigh. “Lonely. I think I’m always a little lonely.”

“That’s because your heart is too big for your chest.”

“Are you saying I’m the opposite of the Grinch?” you joke.

“Of course! That’s why I love you.”

She says it so effortlessly, like listing a fact. Which it is. Rosa wouldn’t be your soulmate if she didn’t love you You can’t help but smile fondly at the way she boldly declares it.

“I love you too. When will you become a real doctor and become my sugar mama?”

“Maybe after I pay off my student loans,” she chuckles. She pauses and you can sense her question. “Have you...have you thought about dating again?”

You suck in a breath. “Dating is hard...I wouldn’t even know where to start...”

“Oh, where’s my lion girl?” she chides. “You’re always so brave and yet you’re gonna run away again. Last time you ran away, you weren’t able to make a friend for two years, right?”

Rosa might wax lyrical poetry to you often, but apparently tonight’s not the night for her endless praises.

(She tells you what you need to hear despite that it’s not always wanted.)

“....okay, rude. And I don’t know! Dating means being vulnerable and how am I supposed to open myself up to a complete stranger again. Every boy I’ve ever dated has been a friend.”

She clicks her tongue, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why don’t you date a boy at work then? Aren’t you friends with them?”

“Rosa, you’re like the smartest person I know, but that is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. Date a boy at work, she says. Like there are boys for me to date at work.”

“Well, I think there is one man you could date—-”

Your heart speeds up and you know exactly where this is going to go. It’s filed under “do not think about” for a reason.

“Oh, what’s that, Rosa?” you say. “Your patient is calling you? I’m going through a tunnel? Oh no! I can’t hear you--bleh!”

You hang up and toss your phone across the couch. Your heart is still racing as her text message comes through.

Think about it, dear. You know you want to .

“Ha, how wrong you are, my dear,” you say as you type back your reply.

(But not really. Rosa is hardly ever wrong about you.)

“Thanks for coming with me tonight, Penelope.”

The moon hangs fat in the sky as you pull out of the parking lot. Your cheeks are still cold, but your belly is full from delicious hot pot. You think of home and your friends who would go out late to eat shabu shabu. You’re glad you gotta do it again here.

Penelope giggles and rubs her hands together to create some heat, waiting for the car’s heater to kick in. A part of you wishes that you opted for the model with heated seats, but Penelope doesn’t seem to mind, her mittens jiggling with little bells.

“No, thank you , Miss Speed Racer! Tonight has been mind blowing. From an all-woman car meet to hot pot? I don’t think I’ve had hot pot? It's so delicious! Cooking all the meat, or my case tofu, and veggies. Like soup fondue!”

You grin and pull out of the parking lot, enjoying the way streetlights filter through the windshield. Like a little meteor shower as you go by each one just for you. Make a wish and see if it comes true , you loftily think.

“Haha. It is a lot like soup fondue! But it's just a fun thing to do and the girls were so lovely. I'm glad there is a woman car community in D.C.!”

“And what was that thing you were talking about the girl with pink in her hair? Something like tashi? ” Penelope asks.

“Itasha,” you state. “It means ‘painful car’ as in painful to look at or to your wallet. It's wrapping your car with vinyl mostly these days with anime or video game characters. Dudes are more into it than ladies, but it’s really cool driving around in a customizable car, I think! I would want more like Japanese pop-culture art on my car such as acid bears or something more than a hot anime girl, ya know?”

It’s part of the reason you bought a Japanese sports car. Itasha . Despite that it can look silly, a part of you would love to have a Kingdom Hearts dedicated wrap or something bright like Fruits Basket.

Penelope laughs and the sound warms your soul. It’s sweet, her ability to be completely expressive. “You really are a weeb, aren’t you?”

“Oh yeah. I am, but it’s just for fun. I like the pretty colors and cool fantastical stories and stuff. The way they just—blindly do the impossible and create worlds that are based on the impossible alone. That’s amazing and so, so hopeful…is that wrong?”

“No, no. It’s just—I didn’t realize you really liked Japanese pop culture so much or that you were so knowledgeable about it.”

“One of my capstone projects in college was about the American otaku community,” you say with a laugh. If only that version of you could see where you are now. Then you had wanted to be a diplomat and now you work for the FBI. Go figure. “It was for a class about fandom. Which, I must add, was a heckin’ blast.. So yeah, I might know a thing or two when it comes to trends and stuff,” you conclude with a satisfied smirk.

“That is so, so, so fascinating.”

You snort. “Don’t get me started. Please.”

“Oh, I think I want to get you a little revved up!”

You shake your head, giggling slightly as you gun it on the highway.

“Okay. Here’s a little fun fact for you: there is this growing trend called itabagu which means ‘painful bag’. Like the same thing with the painful car, right? It's more popular with the lady people so they can show off pins and keychains of their favorite characters. When I went to an anime convention last year, there were all these backpacks for sell that had a clear cut out, so you could decorate it however you wanted. It just so neat to see how everyone stylized their fandom love. So much boy love. Everywhere.”

“Why do you have this wealth of knowledge and have not been using it for evil ?” she stresses, glee drenched in her voice as you her see her googling away. Her mouth pops open as she sees cute bags and happy faces.

You laugh. “Like you said, I’m a weeb. Just a wonderfully dressed one! I keep my super geeky side a secret until the waters are safe. So much indie makeup is like… fan related too, you know. Shiro Cosmetics is dope for that. I really want a Backstreet Boys lip gloss.”

Penelope wheezes, clutching at her heart. “There is Backstreet Boys lip gloss and this is the first I’ve heard of it? And I call myself a goddess of the internet….”

“I think! I think that they still make it. I do know for a fact that at one time the creator made Nicholas Cage theme lipgloss and you could get one of Nic Cage dressed as a flapper.”

Your friend is thoughtful for a moment as she relaxes against the door. You can feel her gaze focused on you as you drive her home. “I’m really glad we became friends.”

You snort again, surprised. “Thanks?”

“No, seriously! I mean it, you silly goose. Ever since you walked into my office two years ago, you have just been such a delightful person and I’m glad we really are good friends.”

You smile softly to yourself, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Well, um, thank you,” you mutter. You click your tongue. “You know I’m terrible with praise…”

“Now that I know!” Penelope chuckles, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way. So, now I really want to go to a nerd convention with you! We can dress up together! Wouldn't that be fun?”

You smirk to yourself and cackle. “...woman, have you not found my cosplay Instagram?”

You almost swerve into oncoming traffic as Penelope grabs onto your arm while driving.

“YOU HAVE A COSPLAY INSTAGRAM?”

(And yes, you do. Though it might not always be safe for work. Wink. )

Friendship slowly sinks into your skin as words become easier with Spencer. Gone are the days you couldn’t talk to him. No, you can talk to him just fine now. Just about anything that floats through your mind.

“And, yeah. It’s just crazy to think that bananas have caused so much strife in Central America at the turn of the 1900s that companies like Chiquita—the one with the lady on the label, right?—known apparently as the United Fruit Company—oh my god, Spencer,” you pause, halting your steps and staring at him with wide eyes. “What if there was a UN of Fruits?” you whisper. “Little fruit diplomats .discussing international fruit policy!”

Without missing a beat, Spencer nods thoughtfully. “Well, the International Fund for Agricultural Development (IFAD) is an international financial institution and UN specialised agency dedicated to eradicating poverty in rural areas of developing countries. Or there is The Committee on Agriculture (COAG) is one of FAO’s—Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations—Governing Bodies providing overall policy and regulatory guidance on issues relating to agriculture, livestock, food safety, nutrition, rural development and natural resource management.”

You blink and tilt your head to the side. “I meant more like...fruits dressed up as politicians talking in funny accents,” you explain. He frowns slightly, almost as if he was the one who said something wrong. “But thank you for that new fun fact for my mental folder of other fun facts!” you add, bumping into his shoulder playfully.

It’s a reflex. The touchyness. You know deep in all your rationality that you should not pat-pat, or playfully bump, or touch your co-worker. But then you have your brain stem doing complete overrides that make you do it anyway. Be friendly, that animal brain says—show people affections because you’re good at that. Do onto others what you’d like them to do to you. Isn’t that golden rule?

So, far—no one has mentioned any discomfort at your friendly displays. They accept your endless high fives, waves, thumbs ups, and quick hugs. Even Hotch doesn’t scowl if you wave at him when you see him or smile big or get too close. And there has definitely been a friendly clasp of your shoulder when you’ve done something right.

(It took everything inside of you not to squeal with delight, but Hotch laughed anyway. Actually laughed, his stoic mask cracking. A part of you was afraid you brought upon an apocalypse.)

But Reid is different. He doesn’t shake hands with strangers and only hugs people when he’s extremely close to them. Despite the ease in conversation between the two of you, you don’t think for a moment that you’re in his most inner circles.

It’s like how in Japanese where everything is dependent of the relationship between the speaker and the other. How close they are physically, how intertwined their lives are together. Will you say kore if they’re right here, use their first name, and drop all formalities with them? Or do you are say they are , over there in distance, so far from you in friendship where last name-san is all you get with awkward smiles and stereotypical politeness.

You feel like you’re in the middle, you feel like you’re stuck in sore —just only close enough to the person speaking to be listening, but not quite close enough to breathe correctly and relish in the proximity where language falls away. That there are no distance markers forced between the two of you and you happily be right here instead of over there .

(Oh, if Penelope thought you were a weeb before hoo boy, if only she knew your thinking process.)

But troublesome doubts about relationship language evaporate when Reid shakes his head and opens the door for you as you walk into the office. “That’s me. Your fun fact guy.”

(He’s getting better at making little jokes, you notice. Or maybe he’s getting more comfortable making little jokes. Or maybe you’re rubbing off on him because that is something that you would most definitely say or—)

“Yes! And—and—oh yeah, I almost forgot,” you say as you gain your bearings again. “It’s crazy that unlike other cash crops like cotton, coffee, sugar, tobacco, or even cocoa, bananas aren’t processed at all really! They don’t spur for the development of other industries like textiles or more processed procedures. You just buy bananas from the store exactly how they were picked. The simple banana in all its yellow peeled goodness has caused so much trouble over being exactly how it is!”

Derek picks his head up from his desk and stares at you, shamelessly eavesdropping “Wait, what?”

You turn to him, eyes bright and laughter in your voice. “It’s bananas there are Banana Wars, Morgan. Bananas!”

Derek takes in a deep breath and laughs, going back to his paperwork. “I don’t even want to know.”

His posture says otherwise, but you both know that if you get started on a random topic again then you’ll just continue down that road and get completely distracted.

Spencer chuckles quietly before walking over to his desk. You do the same, your mind drifting back to political fruits and you can’t stop smiling.

Reid clears his throat, getting your attention. “Have you ever heard about the Cake War in Mexico?”

Your eyes go wide as you let out a bubbly laugh. “No! Tell me!”

His relief is palpable, as if he thought you would say “no” about Cake Wars in Mexico, which couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Okay, so it’s actually called the Pastry War and it began in 1832 when a French pastry chef known as Monsieur Remontel claimed that Mexican officers looted his shop outside Mexico City. Remontel and others continued complaining until Prime Minister Louis-Mathieu Molè demanded that Mexico pay 600,000 pesos or about 3 million Francs. Which, considered at the time, was an outrageous amount since the daily Mexican person only made approximately one peso a day. When president Anastasio Bustamante did not make the payment, the King of France ordered his Rear Admiral Charles Baudin to declare a blockade on all Mexican ports. And that is only a tiny bit on cakes caused incredible strife in Mexico.”

“Oh, you can’t end there, Spencer!”

“Okay, okay. After the City of Veracruz was captured by France and Mexico declared an all-out war, people started smuggling goods into Mexico—”

“ Baked goods, I hope.” You’re not a very good punner, but you try your best.

Spencer’s eyes narrow at your jest. “Ha ha, well, more like flour and one smuggling party had to leave about a hundred barrels of flour on the beach— which later will be known as Flour Bluff. And despite the fact that Mexico and France eventually came to a peace agreement where Mexico had to pay the 600,000 pesos, they never do and since France falls in 1870 and yeah. The Pastry War ended up affecting so many lives and really nothing came of it. Now, how is that for bananas?”

You open your mouth to reply, but Derek beats you to the punch. “The only thing bananas around here is about why the both of you—Pretty Boy I can understand, but you Sunny Girl, I’m disappointed—happen to know about meaningless wars.”

You stick your tongue out at Derek. “You’re just jealous that we’d beat you in game of Trivia Pursuit.”

Derek smiles and gets up from his desk. “Okay, you got me there. I’m gonna get more coffee and you both can continue.”

You roll your eyes and start to settle into your desk. Spencer’s silence alarms you and risk taking a glance at him.

“You okay?”

He hums. “I was just thinking...you don’t really get annoyed when I start rambling about things.”

“Well, duh. I love to learn, Doctor. And you teach me new things all the time. Why would I be annoyed by that?”

“I don’t know, just a lot of people are and you’re…not. That’s, as you would say, rad.”

You huff with a small laugh. “I’m glad I’m rubbing off on you a little bit then! But yeah, I mean, sure you can ramble but so do I. I think it’s rad you don’t stop me when I start talking about a subject that you already know about. It's nice for me to have the chance to explain despite that you already know said thing. You acknowledge that I’m dying to tell someone, anyone who’ll listen.”

“I know that feeling,” he adds with mirth. “And I don’t mind, you have a fun way of telling me about things. I like that about you. Your enthusiasm is refreshing.”

You swallow, your heart racing up without your permission. “Thanks!” you squeak, your smile weird and squirmy.

Your gaze drops down to files on your desk and you trace one with your finger, unsure what to say next, but you can’t deny how feeling blossoms in your chest. How something so offhanded and minor could make you feel—

( You’re so intelligent. You’re so fashionable. You’re adorable. You’re— )

Nope. This road is not worth travelling.

You set up a Tinder and swipe right a few times.

You delete the app before you can go on a single date.

(Sometimes guys just give you that serial killer vibe and honestly, no thanks.)

You’re finding your place in the BAU. Making a name for yourself with management that supports you. Penelope watches over you and guides you, but Hotch is the one who calls the shots. You find yourself at his desk one morning with a coffee in your hand.

He looks up from his paperwork briefly and welcomes you to sit.

“Is everything okay?”

Hotch’s voice is always quiet. You strain to listen and root yourself in the conversation. His speaking voice is different than his business voice when he’s barking orders at people. In the four walls of his office, he’s at peace and it carries in his cadence.

You nod and place the coffee on his desk, an offering for so much more than you’re about to say. “I just wanted to say thank you for hiring me. Today’s my five-month anniversary with the BAU and well, just thank you.”

He puts down his pen and looks at you. Sometimes you feel like he can see into you, see all the things you’re hiding, that you’ve covered up deep in your soul. His lips then curl in small yet meaningful smile as he grabs the cup and pulls it towards him. A small blessing seemingly washes over you.

“You’ve been a great asset to the department, I think. Garcia was right about you.”

You suppress a giggle, wanting to remain professional, but gently smile. “Don’t tell her that. She’d be so over the moon.”

He huffs good naturedly into his cup. “Now, that I know,” he says. “But I truly mean it. I’m glad you’re part of the team. Our line of work isn’t easy and you’re bright, caring, cheery, and efficient. We couldn’t have asked for a better addition.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And now that you’ve gotten over whatever complex you have towards Reid, the team functions well. The storming session is over so to speak.”

You don’t comment on that, but you grin bashfully. “Um, well. It was immature and silly of me.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I think it was human. Everyone reacts to him differently, but yours came from a place of admiration and that to me seems more positive than negative.”

“The world is too tiring to always be negative, but either way, I’m glad I’m part of this amazing team.”

Hotch nods and takes another sip of coffee again. “Congrats on five months. Hopefully, we can make it to at least five years.”

Determination ignites through you. “Most definitely, sir.”

You are lost in a world of beauty. White flowers cover hillsides and pleasing music echoes for all to hear. There is a handsome man with dark hair and blue eyes wearing an adoring smile to a lovely woman. The relief is palatable between, the months apart straining their very souls.

Someone taps on your shoulder and you jump, an earbud falling out of your ear. Your phone clatters to the desk as you whip your head around to glare at intruder.

Spencer stands sheepishly behind you, rubbing the back of his neck. His hair is getting long again, touching the top of his collar. “Ah, sorry. Just wanted to know what you’re reading. You’ve been kinda quiet these days.”

You’ve been on a book binge and everyone knows it. You’ve been staying up late, eyes glued to your phone as you suck down another book at any moment’s notice. Or fanfic. Just something written that makes your heart squeeze so tight you feel like you’ll die from happiness.

(You might have a problem.

But you’re not going to call it that.)

Spencer is curious, staring at you with pretty hazel eyes, wanting to know what you’re reading on your devil device. He’s so tall in this moment, towering over you easily. It reminds you of the first day you met him, with excitement and glee at your edges.

“It’s not a classic,” you say. “Or even anything scientific.”

He shrugs. “It has to be good if you’re so into it. You’re reading a trilogy, right?”

Profilers. Always so perceptive. You take a deep breath and swallow. “Do you promise not to judge me?”

“Why would I judge you?”

“I don’t know. I like weird things?”

“I already know that. You have two full bookshelves devoted to manga in your bedroom.”

You cross your arms and roll your eyes, trying not to grin. “That’s not weird.”

You remember his outrage last time he was over. He was helping editing your dissertation, so you could submit it to academic journals. While you were working on the latest draft, curiosity got the best of him and he asked if he could check out the bookcases in your bedroom. His outspoken horror at your intense graphic novel collection was comical that you found yourself being distracted for the rest of the afternoon by sharing your favorites with him.

(He’s far more fond of your shoujo than anything else—much like his soap operas.)

“Maybe disappointing is the right word then,” he teases, smug as he leans slightly closer towards you.

There is a pull in this moment, calling you to stand up and brush the hair out of his eyes. You wonder if his hair is soft, what his skin under your fingertips would feel like. You allow yourself this brief guilty pleasure.

“You’re only upset that I don’t have classics for you. Besides, classics are weird. They’re what the youth call boring.”

Spencer doesn’t take the bait at your taunt. He rises up his on his tiptoes and decides to be cocky instead. “Your current favorite musical is about a Russian classic.”

“So? War and Peace is a lot more digestible when there’s singing. You should give it a listen like I suggested. The Great Comet of 1812 is amazing. Trust.”

“My mother would skin me alive,” he says with a laugh. “And look, I’m willing to ignore the finer pieces of literature to know what you’re reading. So, please tell me? I want something new to read.” The slight begging in his voice makes you smile to yourself.

“Okay. Um. I’ve been reading retellings of Hades and Persephone. I really like them. They’re cute, but there’s not many of them. Most of them are indie books or from small presses.”

“Oh, really? And you mean the Rape of Persephone, right?”

“Spencer, you and I both know that you know that it means ‘to abduct’ and not to actually rape. Don’t start.”

You puts his hands up in surrender. “You got me.”

(His eyes twinkle and there is a fondness in this exchange, if only you knew so long ago that this person would mean so much to you.)

“Anyway, just be glad I’m slowly getting over my alien hero romance stories. Because, hoo boy. Those would be...” you giggle mischievously. “Yeah, anyway. Hades and Persephone. This one I’m re-reading is the Receiver of Many . Super solid, really pretty. Maybe one too many sex scenes that kinda distract you from the main story, but it’s good. The second book, Destroyer of Light , now we’re talkin’. We definitely see Persephone come into her own and yeah. The makings of the Iron Queen are happening! It’s a good series, but it’s definitely borderline erocita.”

“Uh.” He makes a face, clearly uncomfortable.

You try your best not to laugh. “But this doesn’t sound like your cup of tea.”

“I don’t think it is. Sorry.”

You pause for a moment, tapping your finger against your chin. An idea strikes you then, bright and fresh, like the story still seared in your mind from the other night. “I do have something I think you’d like.”

“What is it?”

You reach for your phone and exit the current book you’re reading, deciding to dive into your Kindle Library. It’s still there at 100% completion, the book that stole your heart and made you start reading like a madwoman again. You swipe all the way left, finding an image of the book’s cover. You flip your phone around and show him.

“Deathless ?”

You girn. “Yes, Deathless . It’s about Koschei—the Tsar of Life.”

Spencer studies the cover, his fingertips brushing against yours as he takes the phone. “...who hid his soul inside a needle, hidden in an egg, within a duck, within a hare, which is in a chest, buried under an oak tree on the island of Buyan.”

“Yes. The very same. But it follows his young bride Marya Morevna and it is...” you say wistfully, your heart feeling full as you remember each stunning line. “It is like dreaming a glorious dream, Spencer, drenched in tradition and unapologetic with its descriptions. It’s grotesque as it is beautiful, with gnarled hands and fiery blazes.”

He glances at you, a goofy smile on his face. “You love it that much?”

“More than I’ve loved anything else lately,” you dreamily sigh. “Finding a good book is much like falling in love again.” He hands back your phone. “You should read it. And take your time. Read slow, soak up every word”

“You want me, of all people, to read slower?”

“I want you, of all people, to feel like you’re in a good dream. To sit there in a world someone created and absorb every moment. Anyone can read fast, Spence, but it takes discipline to read carefully. Don’t tell me that big brain of yours can’t create an intricate world?

Spencer hums. “My imagination is...not as detailed as my memory,” he confesses. “It’s more like impressions compared to the visceral things I recall.”

You lean back in your chair, your fingers tapping on your phone. “That’s okay, as long as you enjoy it. Make them good impressions. See something beautiful, however you define it.”

“Okay, I love to read, but even that sounds too romantic.”

“Be romantic, Spencer,” you say, tapping his shoe with yours. “Life is more fun this way. Gooey and cute.”

He wrinkles his nose, humor etched in his expression. “I’ll think about it.”

Later that night as you’re brewing a cup of tea, your phone buzzes with a new text message.

You are right. Being romantic is a little fun.

Did you like it?

I’m going to send a copy to my mother.

So, you loved it :D

Yes. The rhythmic repetition, how food is revered as if gold, the way the idea that physical act of living is so painful while death more muted. The mixing of magic and not. It really was beautiful. Thank you for the recommendation.

I’m known to have a few good ones now and then.

Now, if only you’d actual give War and Peace a try you’d see that you would like it just as much.

Never! TOO MUCH COMMITMENT.

(But of course, he doesn’t know it yet, but you are reading War and Peace , just very slowly.)

No matter the time of year, California heat greets you with a searing, passionate kiss as you make yourself outside of Bob Hope Airport. You’re home for a three-day weekend, going to wine and dine your mother in celebration of her healthy life.

You spot her before she sees you and run towards her like you’ve done thousands of times before. This time, you’re the the bigger and strong one; you scoop her up in your arms. Her embrace is warm and she smells exactly the same, like childhood and comfort all in her small frame.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she says.

“I’ve missed you too, Mom. So, so much.”

California traffic is like an old-toxic high school friend—somehow all you can ever talk about, but never changing for the better. But you don’t care as you drive home to the middle of nowhere. Your mom and your aunt bought some land in farm country. The new house isn’t the same one that you knew as you were a child, but it feels good to look up stars in the sky that aren’t airplanes or streetlights.

“I’m so glad that you’re home,” Mom says as you pull into the driveway.

You smile at her, watching as your cousins peek from the front door.

“Me too.”

“Next time you should bring a boy,” she winks.

“Mother!”

(Home is where the heart is and you’re just happy you carry yours with you.)

You take a sledgehammer and pound it into the wall. Tugging it out, you see there is a sizeable dent in the plaster and you grin, sweat cooling your face as you lift it and swing it again. You’re like a metronome, constantly hitting with even timing, the sound of the wall breaking music to your ears.

You’ve been here for a few hours, helping Derek demo a house he plans on fixing up. You wanted to learn some hands on handyman things and he offered immediately. Plus, destroying stuff is a lot of fun. Not that you actively destroy stuff, but it’s hard not to pretend to be some robust viking alien creature hell bent on decementing the Earth.

You hear a low whistle after your last smash and there is Derek standing in the doorway with a bottle of cold water. You breathe a small word of thanks before happily taking a soothing swig.

“Look at you go, Sunny Girl. You don’t look like much, but even I gotta admit you pack a real punch.”

You stick out tongue out at him. “I’m my mother’s only child so I have to be her daughter and son.”

“How’s she doing anyway?”

You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. “She’s good. Her treatments went really well and her doctor says it looks like she’s in a state of remission. We’re just lucky we caught it so early or things could have been a lot worse.”

“That’s great to hear!” he smiles. “I hope she can finally come out to visit soon.”

Derek Morgan’s smile is such a sight behold. It’s warm and kind and you feel safer knowing he’s in your corner. His well-wishes and good attitude brighten your days beyond compare and you know exactly why he’s so important to Penelope. He’s just so—effervescent and wonderful to be around.

“Thanks, dude. And thank you for teaching me how to demo today too. I mean, it’s always the best parts of the HGTV shows and it’s kinda fun that I got to do it with such a rad person.”

He laughs, deep and rich from his belly. “Consider yourself lucky,” he jokingly warns. “Not everyone is allowed to come to the properties, but you’re a quick learner. And dang girl, I never want piss you off if here is a sledgehammer hanging around!” he exclaims as he points at the now mostly damaged wall. “Look at this! You’re just going to town in here.”

You giggle. “Teehee. What can I say? You just gotta grab the bull by the balls.”

The room falls silent as you both realize what you both said. You sputter and start to shout.

“By the horns, I meant by the horns!”

It’s useless over Derek’s loud laughter, vowing to never let you forget this.

Despite blushing madly and feeling extremely embarrassed, this day has already been perfect. You’re slowly spreading your limbs, creating friendships with the team on your own. It’s wonderful. To spend time with people one-on-one. You’ve been lonely for so long.

“So, I gotta know: are you seeing anyone?”

You snap your attention back to him and scoff. “Did Penelope put you up to this?”

“My Baby Girl might have mentioned that you’re not seeing anyone and well, I think that’s crazy. You’re young. Enjoy life. Have fun!”

Your lips twist and you shake your head. “I don’t know...I don’t think I’m ready right now. I was with Matthew for a long time and now...I’m not.”

“But you haven’t been for how long? Like almost over a year, right?”

“About a year or so, yeah. I thought he and I were going to start a life together. Get married, have two point five kids together while saving the world. But he’s in California and I’m here so. That didn’t happen.”

Bitterness sits in your ribcage, reminding you of broken promises. Of the life you’ll never get to have with the man who no longer exists.

“Would you want to get back together with him?”

“I mean, a part of me will always love him. He was this bright innocent kid when we started college. And so, so smart. He really is intelligent.”

Derek smirks. “Reid is intelligent.”

You roll your eyes. “Reid is emotionally unavailable and I don’t need to be a profiler to guess what you’re gonna say next.”

(You hope he doesn’t say it next. This is the one thing you don’t allow yourself to think about except in special situations.)

Derek puts his hands up. “Hey, wasn’t it you who said he was intimidating and awe-inspiring. And oh yes, my favorite bit, when you first met our resident genius, you called him gorgeous? Wasn’t that you or some other little adorable short stack?”

“Well, yes,” you say, a seething smile on your face. “That was me, but just because Spencer is objectively attractive, doesn’t mean that I’m actually attracted to him. He’s a co-worker and a friend.” Derek scoffs in disbelief. “What? I can find people attractive! Ben Stiller’s cute!

“What? No. That’s terrible,” he chides. “Ben Stiller? Really. Ben Stiller? C’mon, if you’re going down the celebrity route, pick a better one.”

“What! He has cute ears. Okay, George Clooney.”

“Everyone thinks Clooney is hot. I think Clooney is hot.”

“Alright fine. Garrett Borns.”

“Who?”

“Google him.”

Derek does and his face breaks out in a shit-eating grin. “Oh my god. He looks almost like Reid. This is great. Is this your type? Tall and skinny?”

“No, my type is quirky, intelligent, and…tall,” you mumble.

“So, Reid.”

“And Mattie! Looks nothing like Reid by the way. He’s tall, but he’s Indian, really buff, and might actually have a British accent,” you blush.

“I promise if you admit you’re attracted to Reid, I will stop bothering you about it.”

You stomp your foot. “You’re annoying, you know that? Fine, yes. Spencer Reid is very attractive in my books. There. Happy?”

Derek comes over and pats the top of your head. “Very.”

Winter leaves you less cold this year, your heart warm from extra cheer. Your mom comes to visit in excellent health. You exchange presents with your co-workers and everything seems like it’s going according to plan.

Your heart is a little empty, wanting to sip something sweet, but you can’t fault that there is progress in friendships that nestle in the soil under your feet. You have a family away from your family, a place to call home when you feel weary.

Midnight strikes and you leave kisses on everyone’s cheek, promising another sweet year with them.

There are days when cases happen right in the heart of D.C. and your heart sinks when come across somber faces in the bullpen. Never has you worked such massive overtime, assisting Garcia with analyst duties as her back-up. You don't bother wearing makeup when your skin feels so dehydrated and the purple under your eyes a new permanent feature of your face.

It is also the rare moment the team takes a small break to eat breakfast when Rossi grins at you.

“So, a little birdie told me that you said Reid is attractive.”

Spencer, bless him, chokes on his food. You, on the other hand, almost spit out your coffee.

Quickly, you turn towards the culprit and kick Derrek under the table. “You’re a snitch.”

Penelope plops down beside you and steals a piece of fruit off your plate. “Technically I was the snitch.”

“Wow. Et tu, Brute? Betrayed. Be-trayed.” You pout and stab a piece of bacon.

Penelope leans her head on your shoulder. “I love you.”

You playfully push her. Across the table, Spencer is beet red and you feel your face pain with a blush of your own. You clear your throat. “Well, to be fair, I think everyone on the team is super attractive. I mean, have you all looked in the mirror lately?”

Derek teases. “Nice save, princess, but I know what my ears heard.”

You glare at him. “Yeah, well, I thought what’s said at demo house stays in demo house, but look where we are now. But yeah, I do think Spencer is attractive…I guess.”

J.J. laughs, clearly enjoying this situation far more than you realized. “You guess? My memory might not be as good at Spence’s, but I will not forget the day Spencer came super dazed to the office because this pretty girl dressed in purple called him gorgeous. I did not see or hear any brain activity for hours.”

You laugh, partly due to embarrassment, partly due to surprise. “Oh my god, you thought I was pretty? That’s precious!” You place your hand under your chin, posing cutely. “You’re not wrong though!”

(You ignore the way your heart is speeding up. If you keep making jokes, hopefully things will go back to normal.)

Spencer carefully takes a sip of coffee, avoiding making eye contact with you. “I mean, yeah. You were pretty. All dressed up for your first day of work…” he hums. “It was cute.”

“Okay, but our Little Miss Sunshine here is also leaving out she finds Ben Stiller attractive,” Derek taunts. “Ben Stiller. And a Reid doppelganger.”

You kick him again under the table before glaring at your other co-worker. “Rossi, look what you’ve done. I thought we have an unsub to catch and yet here we are talking about who I find attractive. This is how we’re spending the American tax dollars?”

“What can I say, kiddo?” he says with a soft chuckle. “Though, Garcia did say your ex was a good-looking guy.” His eyes twinkling with curiosity.

You sigh in defeat and grab your phone. “Such nosey profilers, I swear,” you mutter.

“That’s why we’re so good at our job.”

You look up Matt’s instagram and you still when you see the first picture. It’s your ex-boyfriend with a very beautiful woman, long blonde hair and perfect white teeth. You bite the inside of your cheek and swipe to the next one, thankful there’s no company in this one.

You show the team your phone, a picture of Matthew shirtless on the beach with a surfboard at his side. He’s toned and bronzed, his black hair tousled perfectly atop his head. He’s definitely been hitting the gym, his arms and six pack looking good.

(You definitely hope he still feels miserable and cries himself to sleep at night.)

J.J. lets out a low whistle. “I thought he was supposed to be quirky, not a Calvin Klein model.”

You laugh. “He has his moments.”

Derek looks down at his arms for a moment, his little moment of insecurity a wonderful taste of revenge. “I take back making fun of you for Ben Stiller. Geez, do all your ex-boyfriends look that good?”

“One looks like a mountain man now, I think; however, I’ll be sure to parade whatever new guy I end up dating next to get your seal of approval,” you say with a huff.

Spencer wears an unreadable expression. “Well, we’d only think about your safety.”

J.J. giggles at his side, but before you can question anything, Hotch enters the room and before you know it, you’re all back to the grind.

Thankfully, the case ends two days later on a happy note. You’re free to have a few days off much to your relief. Freedom will only be yours if you can get to your car fast enough. Most the the team has already gone home for the day, so you find yourself alone at the elevator, waiting to go down.

Or, rather you think you’re alone. Spencer appears are your side, a little winded, but softly grins.

“I’m so glad we can go home,” he says, engaging in small talk.

Spencer doesn’t do regular small talk. His form of small talk is spewing fun facts and hoping to make the other person laugh. What in the world?

You cast him a sidelong glance, unsure where this is leading. “I just want waffles and cup of coffee.”

He takes a deep breath. “...do you mind if I join you and—”

“And give you a ride home?” you continue, wanting to follow this rabbit hole.

“Please?”

You end up in a diner not far from the office. It’s quaint with old booths and even older waitresses. You love how shabby it looks. You order coffee and waffles while Spencer does the same.

The car ride over was quiet, but now that you’re seated at a booth, you break the silence. “While I don’t mind the extra company, what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing is on my mind,” he says quickly, ignoring your curious stare, he plays with the sugar. “I just want to spend time with my friend.”

“Spencer.”

He peeks at you, his face wincing. “Was I that obvious?”

“A bit. Mainly because we both live in opposite directions from work and while I usually am a helpful person, I’m like literally the last person you’d ask to drive you home since it’s so out of my way and you are a polite person.”

“...okay, that is all true, but—”

“No buts, just what’s on your mind, bud? I feel like we’re about to get extra deep up in here.”

Spencer taps his fingers against the wooden table. You watch as he forces himself to commit to this. “I don’t know about extra deep, but yeah, my reason is personal, if that’s okay.”

“Just ask and we shall see. I’m sure it’s fine.”

He takes his time, thinking carefully before speaking. “I just. I know you were with Matt for a long time and just…how do you know that you’re ready to move on? I thought you were planning to have a life with him and everything.”

Oh. Well.

This was not what you were expecting.

“Okay, um. Well, this isn’t the first time my heart has been broken,” you start to explain, “so I have that going for me. And yes, I originally wanted to be lifelong partners with Matt, but I understood why we didn’t work out,” you say, your words rushed and weird. “First of all, a nation was between us. Second, our goals didn’t match. And third, we changed in ways that no longer parallel each other.”

You mark each point with a new finger. You list them as facts, the pain of saying them out loud barely there now.

He’s quiet again, your reasons hanging between you two. “And do you think you’re ready to move on?”

“Are you asking for my well being or for your own?”

Spencer sucks in a breath of air and you wait as he thinks of an answer. You try to eat, but your waffle isn’t as good as you remembered it being. Everything feels kinda cold.

“Despite losing Maeve,” he says, and you know this will not be an easy conversation. “We were only together for one hundred days give or take...and I never even held her hand, but the idea of moving on from her hurts.”

You press your lips together and lean into the booth, trying to string something positive and encouraging to say to him, but you only have one though.

“Then don’t move on.”

“C’mon,” he scoffs, “even I know that’s not completely healthy.”

“I don’t know, Spencer. I have a great-aunt whose husband died while saving his daughter and it’s been over thirty years and she hasn’t dated anyone since. That was the love of her life, as she was the love of your life. It’s just like that sometimes.”

“Yeah, she was—but I don’t know. This is the one thing I don’t know no matter how many times I try to reason it out. Just because she’s not here doesn’t mean I need to stop living...”

“Emotions aren’t rational, Spencer. If you don’t feel ready, you don’t feel ready. Our situations are totally different anyway. See, for me, the things I miss the most aren’t Matt. Matt can go fuck himself, but the things we did together? The way I felt? That’s what I want.”

“What do you mean?”

You play with a ring on your finger, needing to fidget as you open up your heart. “I miss...the security of knowing someone would always be there. I miss the dates we would go on. I miss holding hands and falling asleep to one person. I miss hugs and kisses and—just everything that makes up a relationship. Unlike you, I don’t miss a person. I miss a sequence of actions. Totally different.”

“Missing a sequence of actions does sound a lot better, I guess, if you have any to remember,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s confessing something he doesn’t say often.

Your heart aches for him. “You really never even met her once?”

“No.”

“Not even for a date?”

He shakes his head.

And the rest of the world goes on as normal, as if you didn’t just hear the most heart shattering thing. The diner is still somewhat noisy in the mid-morning. A kid is laughing, a waitress is calling out orders to the kitchen, and a fork clatters to the ground, but you’re stuck processing this confirmation, your heart twisting with every moment.

“I apologize for the lack of filter, but holy fuck, Spencer. That shit is tragic. Like I can’t even comprehend.” You bring your hand to your mouth, wanting to cover up all the pity that’s resting on your tongue. So, you choose not to say it. “I’m sorry that that happened. And that sucks and I don’t know anything else to say, but you’re totally allowed to be hung up on this. I would be so, so, so hung up on this! Actually, I think I am getting hung up on this for you right now!”

He lets out a weak laugh. “Thank you. I think you’re the first person who told me it’s okay to not move on. I... I don’t really talk about her to...anyone, but it’s kinda easier with you. You don’t make me feel like I’m obligated to feel a certain way about it. I feel less stupid about it, I guess. It was a just a mess, from start to finish.”

“Yeah, but who cares, it was your mess and no one can take that away from you. And it might be the romantic in me, but your relationship with her, the bits I do know, like the letters and your meet cute is rather...cute. It sounds like there is more good than bad.”

“I like to think there was,” he says, pushing his food on his plate.

You set your fork down and lean back into your seat. You don’t need to be a profiler to see exactly what Spencer is feeling or thinking. But most importantly, you know your friend needs you and you refuse him to continue now this road alone.

And then an idea strikes you like lightning. Brilliant and bright, coursing delight through you as see everything coming together in your mind.

“You know what,” you start, confidence in your voice. “We’re gonna do something fun. How good are you with spontaneity?”

“Uh, pretty good considering my job.”

You grin and link your fingers together. “Perfect. Okay, so tomorrow you and I are going to go an amusement park for funsies.”

Spencer’s mouth twists. “...funsies?”

“Yes, funsies. You desperately need it. So, dress down,” you order. “Comfy shoes and jeans please.”

“Um.”

“And you can’t say no because I’m doing you a huge favor by going super out of my way to drive you home as you told me a sad story over breakfast. And I’ve been dying to go anyway, so there’s that,” you finish saying in a rush.

You might have presented your case more childlike than intended, but Spencer seems to take be taking it into consideration. That is a victory in itself.

After a few moments, Spencer nods his head. “Okay. But there’s one problem.”

“What?”

“I don’t own any jeans.”

(You do your best not to face palm.)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #cm #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader

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hekate1308 · 6 years ago

Text

Shared Joy, Double Joy

Drowley AU - Crowley is a demon who happens to possess a mechanic called Dean Winchester. Enjoy!

Dear God, pathetic doesn’t even begin to cover it –

Dean blinked. Or rather, he tried to blink, found that he had no control over his body, and stayed rather remarkably calm once he realized.

He’d never felt like anything like this before. He was most definitely moving, but he hadn’t decided to do so; furthermore, the street he was walking down was nowhere near his home –

What the hell, is this Vegas? he exclaimed without actually saying the words. He’d have to figure out later how this was possible.

Or not.

Because a strange kind of silence followed the sentence in his mind, almost as if he were talking to someone and they were studying him...

You should definitely not be awake, the same voice he had heard a moment ago declared. For some reason, even though “hearing” was an exaggeration, considering it was more like they were... thinking in Dean’s head without permission, he knew they had a British accent. And didn’t that make everything even more confusing.

What do you mean? I am awake!

Yes, and you shouldn’t be. Don’t make me repeat myself, it’s particularly annoying.

It’s particularly annoying, he mocked them before demanding, What is going on?

What then followed would probably have best been described as a struggle, if he had been able to move his limbs and he had actually been fighting anyone. At the end of his, he was panting... in his mind. And the silence that ensued felt more... intrigued than anything else.

I have to admit I am surprised, the voice then told him.

He snorted. Great. Now, what’s going on?

They sighed. Since I can’t seem to put you under – and really, that is quite interesting, I have to say – I’m a demon and am currently possessing you.

What!?

Demon. Me. Possessing. You.

If he could have rolled his eyes, he would have. Demons don’t –

He didn’t finish the thought because, if he hadn’t spontaneously gone insane (and this certainly didn’t sound like any kind of crazy he’d ever heard of) he was possessed.

Knew you weren’t half as mentally deficient as you believe yourself to be.

Fine, okay, so you’re a demon. But why would a demon possess me? Dean always thought demons were supposed to tempt people, and he certainly didn’t need any help in the immorality or vice department.

Had to lie low for a while.

Oh? What gives?

He figured he might as well get the whole story since there wasn’t much he could do. He was still pretty calm about this whole thing. Maybe he was hooked up on some kind of demon juice?

Demon juice? Now they sounded indignant. What do you take me for?

How about you tell me?

They sighed. Fine. If you have to know –

It’s my body, figure I’ve got the right –

Do you want to hear this or not?

Dean was silent.

I’m a crossroads demon. The best in the business.

Wow, aren’t we humble.

Just telling the truth, darling.

Fine. But if you’re that good at your job, why are you here... in me, then? Shouldn’t you be haunting some crossroads forcing some poor smug to make a deal?

I never force anyone to make a deal with me. And I had to leave Hell for a while. There were... complications.

Like union-strike complications or slept-with-your-bosses-wife complications?

I... angered Lucifer.

Wait, you upset the literal devil?

I didn’t set out to do so. But the fact is, we disagree on a lot of things. And so I decided to lay low for a few weeks at least. And just my luck, I happen to possess the down-on-his-luck mechanic with as many mummy and daddy issues to sort through as the day is long.

Hey –

If it makes you feel better, my mother was a witch.

Why would you want to make me feel better?

Excellent question. They sounded almost... puzzled.

Any chance I can get you to get out of my noggin?

None. Like I said, I have to lie low.

Then what are we doing in Vegas?

Excellent spot for making deals.

That’s not exactly lying low though, is it? He pointed out smugly.

I just wanted a bit of money to live as I am used to –

Again, lying low? This ain’t it, buddy.

A pause. Then – Name’s Crowley.

Dean Winchester. But I figure you already know that.

Indeed I do.

Any chance you haven’t been all over my brain finding out every last thing you can about me? Another pause. That’s a no then.

You should be honoured. Humans normally don’t interest me.

And what makes me special?

Crowley didn’t answer. He – for some reason, Dean was convinced that he was talking to a guy – instead suddenly declared rather dramatically, I suppose we will have to return to your rat-infested apartment then.

That was two years ago, and I handled it.

You could afford better, but you don’t. Why?

Dean mind-shrugged. What’s the point? I mostly use it for sleeping, anyway.

Because you’ve been doing so much of that lately. I can tell you’re exhausted, and this isn’t even my body.

Exactly! How about you don’t go “Look at your life, look at your choices” while you are out here possessing people? Wait, what time is it? I gotta go to work.

If you think I am actually going to that dingy little shop to placate your whining idiot of a boss by working on the cars of douche bags who don’t even recognize what talent is being thrown away at –

Sorry to tell you, but I am still here, still awake, and I can and will annoy you. I need that job to pay for my rent.

He let that thought fester until Crowley asked, What are you suggesting?

I thought the best crossroads demon out there would recognize an offer when he heard one, Dean answered, wondering where he got that idea from. Then again, he was already possessed, what else was he supposed to do?

Eventually Crowley said, You have my attention.

The deal they struck went as follows: Dean wouldn’t try to throw Crowley out – he wasn’t quite sure how he would have gone about that, but it seemed like the safest option to agree – and he’d allow the demon to stay in his place and act as Dean Winchester half of the time, while he’d be able to control his body for the other half. After some more bickering, Crowley had reluctantly agreed that half the time meant half the time that Dean was awake, for he soon found that he could still sleep when he wanted. Of course he could have gone under while Crowley was in control, but he didn’t trust the demon that far.

He turned out to be a surprisingly easy house guest. Hell, he even did the dishes.

You like my burgers, don’t you, Dean told him one day.

They do taste better than those greased-loaded heart attacks waiting to happen you like to devour at least once a day, Crowley shot back. After a pause he added, You would make a good chef.

Ha bloody ha. Dean usually tried to imitate his accent when he annoyed him.

I mean it. Although don’t think I haven’t noticed what really interests you.

If he had actually been holding the plate Crowley was cleaning, he would have dropped it. We agreed. No snooping around in my subconscious.

I got all of that before you were ever aware I was here, darling.

Of course he had.

It was just a silly little day dream, is all.

I wouldn’t call a nursing degree silly.

It was nothing. Drop it.

Miraculously, Crowley did.

After a while, Dean didn’t consider it absolutely necessary to watch over every little thing Crowley said or did when he was in control, and he now and then dived back into his mind to listen to the music, read the books or watch the movies he’d memorized.

He realized that had been a mistake when he resurfaced one day just to check up on how things were going. Really, part of him had been relieved that their family lunch fell into Crowley’s time slot. Once upon a time, he had been glad to see Mom; but since he had realized that that she hardly listened to what he had to say, as opposed to Sam’s monologues about his job, he’d grown rather disenchanted with it all.

Plus, this time they were being introduced to Sam’s new girlfriend, and they usually only heard “mechanic”, assumed the worst and barely talked to him, so there was that.

And then he got back from watching The Untouchables and the first thing he heard coming out of his own mouth was –

“Slaughter-House Five is superior to Cat’s Cradle, but I still think the later is very fascinating –“

“Oh yes” the new girl, Sarah he remembered, replied enthusiastically, “The depiction of bokononism –“

Crowley!

I was fed up with being lectured or ignored. Also, your brother’s and mother’s expressions have been utterly hilarious. Plus, don’t pretend that’s not your opinion.

It is but –

“I didn’t know you liked to read” Mom said, looking puzzled.

“I’m a man of mystery.”

Sarah giggled. “I really have to congratulate you, Sammy.”

Only I get to call him that, Dean told him, even though he was trying his best not to laugh.

Crowley had been right about their expressions.

He supposed one little slip up couldn’t hurt.

And then Crowley got bored.

It had only been a matter of time, Dean supposed. Lucifer could apparently hold a grudge – no surprise there – and demons were not made to live quietly.

He was still somewhat surprised at how Crowley decided to occupy himself.

I wanted a burger and a beer.

Too bad, it’s my turn, and a salad and mineral water it is.

Not only was he making him eat rabbit food, he had also chosen a somewhat nicer diner than Dean would have for his lunch break.

But –

No buts, don’t you humans know how to take care of yourselves?

Dean decided it wasn’t worth the fight.

Crowley, when I said I needed to go clothes shopping –

Have you ever even looked in a mirror? And you waste those good looks on denim and flannel.

Dean stared at the shirts Crowley was going through. Are you flirting with me?

Told you you were not mentally deficient.

Yes, he decided, it was definitely better to concentrate on the shirts.

Why are we watching a few dozen idiots giving each other brain damage again?

Because, as you would say, it’s my turn and the Chiefs are playing. Be a good boy and you get to watch cricket when it’s yours.

You should know by now that I am far better at being naughty than nice.

Their conversations had taken on a decidedly flirty tone ever since that shopping trip, but Dean did his best not to notice.

He failed most of the time.

“There’s something different about you, lately” Benny suddenly announced.

Dean looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that shirt, for one. Looks good on you.”

“And I thought you were happily married –“

“Ha ha. But seriously, brother – you look good. Healthier, even.”

He shrugged. “Changed my diet up a bit.” Crowley would have nagged him forever if he hadn’t now and then eaten a salad voluntarily, now.

Benny frowned. “That’s not all though. But hey, whatever’s working for you – I’m just glad it does.”

Dean could hardly tell him that he had a demonic life coach.

I resent that description.

Sorry, your Highness, would you prefer live-in partner?

For once, Crowley shut up.

After a particularly gruelling day at the shop, Dean sank down in front of his laptop, biting his lip.

Go on. You know you want to.

I am just thinking about it.

Yes. You have been for weeks. Now for God’s sake do something about that!!!

He could have sworn Crowley actually sounded sincere.

And so he tiped Nursing School into the search bar.

“You are going to do what?” Sam asked, blinking.

“I am going to get a nursing certificate. The University of Miami offered me a scholarship. Doesn’t cover everything, but I should get by.”

Sarah was smiling brightly. “That’s wonderful, Dean!”

“I wanted it for a while” he admitted.

“Dean...” Sam hesitated. “If that’s truly what you want, then I’m glad too.”

Ugh. Heartfelt family conversations. How do you humans deal with that?

Mostly by not grunting when they happen.

How mind-numbingly dull.

Crowley –

Fine, fine, I’ll let you have your moment.

Dean was one year into the program, by this time having all but forgotten that sharing his mind with someone wasn’t exactly normal. He now and then had to catch himself, lest he answer to Crowley loudly and freak out someone, but other than that, he was pretty content.

So of course things had to go south.

Crowley had been strangely silent while he did his course work. Not that he didn’t let him do it; but he normally had more to say.

Then –

I have been checking out Hell while you were asleep.

Oh? The devil still on the war path?

No. I think I can return now.

Dean looked up from his papers, not for the first time wishing that he and Crowley could see eye-to-eye. What?

Face it, darling, I’ve done more than my due here, and don’t forget I am the king of the –

Crossroads, yeah, got it, Dean replied, a sinking feeling in his stomach making itself know. Crowley was leaving. Thanks for everything, I guess.

Yes, I – well, I guess that’s it. Bye.

And Crowley was gone.

Dean’s new apartment suddenly felt way too empty.

Five years later

“Ah, Dean.”

“Doctor Mills” he greeted her.

“How’s my favourite nurse?”

“Feeling like I can’t get out of this penguin suit quickly enough” he told her. Give him scrubs any day.

She laughed. “Sorry, you first have to smooch up to the donors. Come on.”

Benefit dinners were not exactly Dean’s idea of a good time, but he could gladly spent a few hours with some rich dude if it meant they got enough money out of it. He loved his job; he was certainly not going to look for a new one if he could help it.

The man Jody had told him was their biggest donor yet was talking to one of their neurosurgeons, but turned around as they approached.

Dean was taken aback. He had never seen the man before in his life, and yet there was something familiar about him, something he couldn’t quite place.

“May I introduce you to our best nurse, Mr. Crowley?” Doctor Mills asked and Dean swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

It couldn’t be.

He had missed the demon, more than he was ready to admit; for a time, his head had felt so empty and silent, until he had slowly remembered that this was how it was supposed to be; and yet now and then he had wished – he wouldn’t even been able to say what for.

Crowley – stop that, it can’t be him – reached out to shake his hand. “Mr. Winchester.”

That voice. He would have recognized it anywhere. He cleared his throat and reciprocated. “Mr. Crowley.”

“I am very glad to meet you. Doctor Mills has been waxing poetry about you.”

“I am sure she over exaggerated my talents.”

“On the contrary” he said, his eyes sparkling.

When Doctor Mills left them, shooting Dean a glance that clearly indicated she’d picked up on the... tension between them, Crowley said, “Told you. Not mentally deficient at all.”

Good God. “Crowley, what are you doing here?”

“Donating to a hospital. Thought I would try to even things out a bit, you know, karma and all that.”

Dean snorted. “Right. And who’s that poor smug you’re possessing?”

“It’s a John Doe, and he was long gone; only the machines were keeping him alive. It’s just me in here.”

Dean felt strangely relieved, almost as if he had been jealous at the thought of Crowley possessing and constantly talking to someone else. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but why are you here?”

Crowley grinned, somewhat unsettlingly – although Dean couldn’t deny that it looked attractive, too – “I just wanted to check up on an old investment of mine.”

“An investment, mh?”

“Oh yes. Spent quite a bit of time on that project a few years back, right after my priorities shifted.”

“Oh they did?”

“Yes. And so I decided to leave Hell and build up a worldly fortune for a bit.”

“And what do you think of your old... project?”

“I think it has been doing quite well in my absence.”

“So what now? Another check-in in five years?”

“I was actually thinking about staying here for a while.”

Dean grinned. “You’ll need someone to show you all the places worth seeing around here.”

“You think so?”

There was only one answer to give.

Half an hour later, Dean turned them around so it was Crowley being pressed against the wall of an empty hospital corridor for a change. “By the way” he asked in-between kisses, “How did you find such an attractive meat suit?”

“I’ve been inside of you darling, remember? I knew what to look for.”

Dean threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing down the hallway.

#spn #my writings #dean winchester #crowley #drowley #mechanic!dean #nurse!dean

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fallen029 · 6 years ago

Text

Remember Me: Birthdays and Jealousy

"It's not every day, you know, boy, that your son turns such an age," Gajeel bellowed to his son as they walked down the road together, a grinning Pantherlily fluttering along beside. "Eleven. Eleven! I was a man by that age, you know."

"I know, Dad," Locke agreed because it was easier than arguing.

"But you, you still got some way to go, but you sure are getting closer, you know? To being a man?"

Making a face, the boy said simply, "You sound like Elf."

Which, of course, got him a hard crack to the top of the head. One strong enough that, griping, Locke reached up to rub at the tangled mass of course black hair he had, staring at his father in shock.

"Don't ever say somethin' like that," Gajeel grumbled simply as Lily tasked from above. "And you sound way too familiar with that stupid family either. It's why I don't like you hanging around that Dreyar girl."

"Haven's my friend."

"Friend? Friend? Who needs friends? You think that I had friends? When I was your age? Huh?"

Locke was silent for a moment before replying, "No, I don't think you have friends. Not if you hit them in the head all the time."

"Why you little..." And Gajeel trailed off as the glare that was going towards his son slowly turned softer and then they were both grinning at one another and snickering and that time, when his father popped him one good on the noggin, it felt great.

Lily, still flying above, grinned as well as he asked, "What is it that you wish for your birthday then, Locke? A new bike, perhaps? Some sort of toy? There must be something."

"Well, uh, I dunno," he said slowly as he shrugged a bit. "I guess I haven't thought about it much."

"That's unheard of," the Exceed insisted. "When it is close to any of their birthdays, your friends at the hall cannot keep quiet about what it is they wish for their families to purchase them. Just last year, it was all you could talk about, those nice shoes you wanted. What-"

"Don't question it, cat," Gajeel complained with a glare. And that time, instead of patting the boy on the head, his hand found it's way onto Locke's back with such force he nearly knocked him over. "He's just becoming a man, is all."

"Being a man means you must be impossible to buy a gift for?"

"Being a man means that you have no need for such childish things." Gajeel even snickered a bit. "Ain't that right, Locke?"

"I...I guess not."

"That's right you guess not." With a nod of his head, the slayer told his son then, "A year older though, a year learning and suffering, should be met with some sort of gift worthy of such an accomplishment."

"You think so?"

"Of course. Maybe I'll take you on a super hard job, huh? Something your stupid Dreyar friend will never be able to go on. Would you like that?"

"I'd like it a lot."

"Great!" That time, the slap on the back was way too hard and did cause Locke to fall. When Lily paused to look on with concern though and Gajeel stood there, waiting, Locke only lifted his head to grin at the pair and get right back to his feet.

It wasn't even his birthday yet and it was already shaping up pretty well.

Across town, however, a similar problem was arising as said Dreyar girl who would no doubt be super jealous over the job he was going to get to go on, was actually very busy trying to pick out a gift for the boy as well.

"That's a dumb idea, Marin."

Err, well, she was being mean to her sister, but with the intention of eventually weeding through all of her terrible suggestions and eventually arriving at the right one.

"Haven, don't be rude," Evergreen sighed as she led the two sisters through the market place. "Marin's trying to help you."

She'd made the horrible mistake, Ever had, of mentioning around the two girls that she was going shopping that day and, well, Haven seized the chance. Marin came along too because she liked her aunt so much, but mostly because her only real friend at the guildhall, Kai, hadn't shown up that day and she'd been pretty bored without him.

Plus, she needed to get Locke a gift too! Her mother had given her a few jewels for helping sweep up the guildhall that morning, so she was going to put it to good use. Locke deserved a nice birthday present for being such a nice guy.

Haven maybe sorta felt the same, but probably was only getting him a gift because it then gave her something to lord over him. Or at least that would be her own excuse, if called out on it. Same reason she gave anyone anything, honestly.

"I'm just telling the truth," Haven muttered to the only aunt she truly feared. Evergreen was pretty scary. Even Elf thought so. It didn't help that Haven could tell the woman didn't like her. She might love her, but she certainly didn't like her.

Marin, who she did like, only sniffled a bit from the allergies the changing weather gave her, as she asked, "What would you get Locke? Aunt Ever?"

"Well, he is a dirty, gross little boy," the woman told them both with a bit of a shrug. "And when I was your ages, I had to buy gifts for gross, dirty little boys as well. Well, one. Freed wasn't gross. Or dirty. Bickslow though-"

"What did you buy him though?" Marin insisted as Haven, though she wouldn't admit to it, felt her ears perk up as well.

"Paint, typically," the woman told them with a bit of a shrug. "It's not cheap, you know, when you're also trying to use your income to support yourselves. And he needed it for his little doll bodies. He used to go through so many of them back then because they would constantly bash into things and break. So he'd have to paint new ones."

"That doesn't help much," Marin observed. "I don't think Locke even knows how to paint."

"Neither did your uncle." Then, with a shake of her head, the woman told them as they walked down the road, "Think of the things that Locke likes. That's how you'll find the right gift for him. Personally, I would go with a comb, but I suppose that would be a bit too on the nose."

"A comb goes in your hair."

"I know, Marin, I-"

"Locke doesn't like anything except being a loser," Haven said then with her head held high. Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, "And pretending like he's so smart because he actually reads books. Who reads books? He's so stupid."

"Maybe you should get him a book," Marin offered then with a bit of a bounce. "Haven."

"No. I shouldn't. Because that's dumb and you're dumb."

"Hey-"

"Haven, I'm serious about behaving," Evergreen said with a glare down at the little girl then. "I can send you back to the hall without getting anything at all. You do realize this, yes?"

And she took a big kick at the air before she said it, but still, a grumbled, "Yes," did leave Haven's mouth.

For a few moments, they were all quiet once more. Evergreen even went into a shop, taking Marin with her, and leaving the pouting Haven behind. But that was fine. Haven didn't wanna go look at stupid girlie clothes anyways! She didn't even like Evergreen either! Or her stupid rules!

Ugh.

Off on her own for a bit, Haven decided she needed to double down on this gift giving thing. She was in a foul mood now though and felt liable to just buy stupid Locke a lint roller if she saw one. That's how pissy she was over being reprimanded.

She didn't take correction well.

She learned this from the best after all; her father.

Laxus was actually the one that insisted, the day before, that she and Locke would be all made up by the time that his birthday rolled around (they had, once more, had a pretty big falling out), and that she'd be mad at herself if she didn't at least get him something. While she doubted this very much, what he said was true to a certain extent.

They would be made up by then.

They always were, after all.

It was while she was stomping about the busy bazaar, however, that she found it. Just the best gift ever. She couldn't wait to give it to him, even. Haven rarely felt true excitement over things, not unless they had to do with herself (and even then, her emotional range was rather stinted), but the second she saw it, she knew that it was the best gift for him that anyone could ever buy.

So that's exactly what she spent her hard earned job jewels doing.

Marin, in turn, found a little machine that gave out tiny, keychain sized water guns. She used her few jewels to buy one for her, one for Kai, and one for Locke.

Though the day hadn't gone exactly how either planned, if you were to ask them how their journey to buy Locke gifts went, they would have claimed perfectly.

They weren't his only guild friends though, of course. Navi, though she might not always feel like it, was one of his closest friends as well and felt the need to buy him something nice. He'd done the same for her, her previous birthday, and though her family was struggling a bit financially, this felt rather lost on Navi for the most part. She knew her father was gone a lot more on jobs and her mother as well, when he wasn't, but for the most part, that just gave her a chance to be gone on them too, as they didn't mind bring her on lower level stuff.

And they always let her keep a small portion of things to spend on whatever she wanted.

That morning, as she awoke to Happy drooling on her pillow, she only shoved the feline away before bounding out of bed to get on with some present finding.

She was a bit shocked to find her parents already up, before the sunrise even, in the kitchen. They were sat the table together, going over bills and things. Well, Lucy was going over them while Natsu mostly looked bored, but he did sit up as his daughter came into the room.

"What are you doing up so early?" Lucy asked with a bit of a frown as the girl came over to hug her father. "Navi? Is something wrong? Did Happy-"

"No," she was quick to say as she was turning then to go find something for breakfast. "I have to go out and find Locke a gift."

"So early?"

"After that, I have to go with Haven to-"

"You should come with me," Natsu challenged with a thumb jerked in his direction. "Hap and I are gonna go train. Some heavy stuff. Way better than anything Haven can offer you, I bet."

"Well-"

"You just want her to go to provide you with fire, don't you?" Lucy remarked with a suspicious eye.

"Never denied it. Gives her practice as well. What's wrong with that?"

Sighing, she spoke to her daughter then as she asked, "Well, whatever you decide to do, do you think if I gave you some jewels you could get something for dinner tonight? While you're out getting something for your friend?"

Of course. Which is what she was very busy doing when she ran into none other than Erza Scarlet who was out with her two little charges. Upon seeing and questioning Navi of what she was doing out so early on her own, she immediately began to brag the girl up to the two little boys who didn't seem to be listening.

Not that they ever seemed to be listening.

Kai, the youngest, was very busy trying to get the zipper on his jacket unstuck while Ravan, the elder, only glared so heavily at Navi the whole time that she was more than a bit creeped out by the whole thing. The former was harmless, as he was showing at the moment, but the latter always seemed to have a deep distaste for, well, most everyone, but Navi felt this extended heavily on her when Erza was involved.

Without her? Forget it. Ravan hardly even seemed to realize who she was. His main focus up at the hall seemed to be to torment Haven and, by proxy, Locke, but he didn't really seem to think that Navi was a part of that, so she got left alone a lot.

Erza changed things a bit though.

Before Ravan and his brother came strolling into town, looking to take her life, Erza honestly had no interest in ever being in charge of a child. It wasn't a desire she had. She saw herself more as a fearsome warrior than any sort of motherly type. She did, however, find herself frequently looking after Navi when the girl was young and found it somewhat enjoyable. Because of this, she considered herself and the young girl bonded and, considering the typically well-behaved nature of the girl, even attributed herself to part of her raising. This meant that she saw no problem with bragging up the girl's behavior. She always had. She thought that Navi was the epitome of how great a child could turn out (even when lackluster parenting at home).

Of course she would think that Ravan and Kai should take notice.

And oh, take notice they did.

It was that childish misunderstanding of true feelings that got Ravan all crossed up when it came to the other child. To him, Navi was kind of useless. She didn't like fighting. She didn't offer up much help on jobs. Honestly, she seemed like a pushover who let Haven boss her around. Then there was the fact that a good amount of the time, she didn't even want to hang out with the rest of them (she actually had much better friends in her neighborhood that she far preferred in some regards than the ones she had from Fairy Tail) and that made her even less interesting to him.

He might, in a way, like her more than Haven and Locke. Just because he didn't hate her. But to say that they were in any way friends was too far off the mark to be accurate.

Ravan, for the most part, just didn't think of Navi at all. And she rather liked it that way.

When she found herself around Erza though, the woman that the boy refused to admit, even to himself, that he admired so much and wished deeply would feel the same way about him, things got a bit sticky. The swordswoman view of the girl as the perfect child whereas Ravan was inadequate and useless and needlessly bothersome kind of…

It didn't hurt his feelings.

He refused to let it do so.

But at the same time, at the end of the day, he was still a little boy with feelings and emotions that, fine, he was adept at burying deep, but still had to deal with when that failed through. He'd been with Erza for over a year at that point and a lot of time, it felt like he, his brother, and her had all found a relative peace with one another, but there were others when he felt like an intruder or just didn't belong.

She liked Kai so much.

And she seemed to adore Navi.

But he just felt like an annoyance or bother to her. Which, considering he didn't properly know how to process this, caused him to act out even more. Slam doors, refuse to help clean up around the house, yell at his brother. Anything to get her to yell at him.

Anything to get attention from her.

She wasn't his mother and he knew that and it wasn't right for him to feel like she owed him anything more than all she'd already given him, but sometimes…

Sometimes it was just really hard.

But Erza didn't understand these sorts of things. How could she? She was so literal and serious that, short of Ravan outright telling her what he was feeling, it would only go over her head. She thought that he was disruptive and disagreeable simply because he chose to be out of defiance. Not that he felt the need to be out of some sort of emotional neglect.

To have to hear her then scold him on how he should be more like Navi did little more than make him dislike the other child.

It could hurt Kai's feelings at times as well, but he was rather open about those sorts of things and great about expressing it. So when he was upset with Erza, it typically got resolved. Not Ravan though. He was left to his own devices for self comfort.

And, at the moment, he was thinking about twenty different ways he could bloody Navi's nose as she stood there, rocking on her feet a bit, as she stared up at her parents' friend, listening diligently to the words she said.

"I'm sure Navi is also able to find her way home once more, all on her own, when she is finished shopping, Kai. Something that you too could learn from."

"I'm just tryin' to figure this zipper out! It's so hard."

"Yes, well, Ra- Ravan, where are you going?" Erza turned as she saw the boy tugging his hood over his head and rushing off into the sea of people that always flooded the market place on weekdays. "Ravan!"

Kai glanced after the boy as well, but just as quickly he was looking to Navi and speaking.

"So what are you getting Locke for his birthday?" he asked as, giving up on the zipper, he smiled brightly at the other girl. "I'm thinking about getting him whatever Ravan decides."

"Uh, I don't think Ravan's going to get him anything, Kai."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well-"

"Your brother is impossible," Erza huffed as she turned to look once more down at the other two children. "He is always so moody. I honestly do not know what is wrong with him."

"I dunno," Kai was quick to say before continuing on with what he wanted to get at. "Navi, do you think that Locke would like a nice, fresh fish?'

"Uh...Kai, I have to go."

That, at least, got Erza to nod some at the girl and agree, "You should be on your way. I plan to take leave for a job soon, Navi, so in case we do not see one another again, I look forward to when we do once more."

Navi made a bit of a face, but still bowed her head and whispered, "You too, Erza."

"Bye, Navi!" Kai waved at the girl who disappeared in about the same speed as his brother. Then, tilting his head up to stare at his technical guardian, the boy asked, "You'll leave before Locke's birthday party?"

It was Erza's turn to make a face as, turning, she patted him on the head and led him in the opposite direction. "What difference would it make to me, Kai?"

"Well, I for one sure am happy 'bout it." He went back to toying with his zipper. "There'll probably be cake and ice cream and-"

"What did we say about being less piggish?"

"I'd only eat a little, Erza."

"Hn."

"'sides, I'm gettin' in great fightin' shape, don't you think?" And, giving up on the zipper again, Kai took some shadow punches at the air. "I'll be able to go out on a job in no time."

"Yes, well, for the time being," the woman said with a heavy frown, "you are to stay with Marin while I am away."

"Alright!" That time, the punch he threw was out of pure joy. It was only after thoughts of staying up late (till nine, at least) giggling and talking, had fled his mind that Kai thought about something else. "What about Ravan? Is he gonna go with you? Or-"

"I know little of Ravan, currently," the woman told him simply. "He was fine today, until-"

"Until we saw Navi." Then Kai stopped for a moment and gasped. When Erza didn't play along with his dramatics, he was quick to fall into step with her once more. Still, he said, "Think he was mad about that?"

"About what?"

"That we stopped and talked to Navi."

"Why would that upset him?"

"I dunno."

"He and Navi are friends."

"I guess so."

"Unless..."

"Unless what?"

But Erza was already thinking things in her mind that she didn't want to say aloud, for fear fo ruining them. She was around their ages, after all, when she first developed a crush on another child. It was rather typical, she figured. She knew too that such feeling could often scare children into being rather brazen with one another and could even lead to, perhaps, one running away in fear of said feelings.

Because what a perfect world would it be for Erza if her little protege did have a crush on the child she helped rear so well?

Probably not even close to one, actually, considering Ravan was still an orphan, she was still stuck with the expenses of the two children, and the loves of childhood rarely had any bearing on real life.

But in those fleeting moments? It felt rather perfect. If not reassuring. Ravan was a bit of an, well for lack of a better word, ass. And it bothered Erza a lot the way he seemed unable to connect truly with the other children. Or with anyone. She wanted him to have friends. She wanted him to have normal, childlike emotions. He was so hardened, it seemed, at times. Brutish.

Though she played it so well that at times the boy was unable to see through her, the swordswoman cared rather heavily for the little boy. His brother as well. Time had passed so quickly and yet so slowly. She'd learned much of both boys and, though Ravan wasn't nearly as open as his brother, she felt as if she knew his motives and mannerisms well.

She just wished for them to be happy.

And proficient in their magic.

But the two weren't necessarily exclusive.

"Perhaps," Erza told younger boy then, "I will stick around. For another day."

"Really?" Though Kai loved the idea of getting to spend the night with Marin, he wasn't too upset at the notion of getting to spend some extra time with Erza. "You think you'll go to Locke's birthday party as well?"

"I- What?"

"And do you think you could loan me some jewels? To get him a gift?"

That brought all the joy right out of the woman as, with a glare down at the boy, she shook her head a bit before saying, "I think I have some armor at home you can polish, if you wish for jewels."

Still, Kai beamed up at the woman as he declared, "I sure like you a lot, Erza, you know."

That too caused her to pull a bit of a face, but still, she settled on a soft grin before nodding. "And I you."

But the feeling wasn't mutual for Ravan who headed far away from the market and continued down the maze of roads far away from stupid Erza and stupid Navi and stupid Kai and stupid everyone.

Stupid everyone.

He hated them all. Even his brother. They were all jerks and they were constantly on his back about things and Ravan just wanted to run away. Far away. From them all. And he'd go join another guild. One that wasn't filled with the stupid children of stupid slayers and annoying swordswomen that couldn't even save his parents and he just wouldn't come back!

He'd never come back!

He could do so much better on his own. Without Kai. He'd be a really great mage without someone like Erza breathing down his neck. Without Haven constantly trying to throw him off. Without stupid perfect Navi and stupid idiot Locke that was so great and amazing and nice and...and…

He didn't even know that he was running until, out of breath, he leaned forwards to rest his hands on his knees as he panted heavily. When he lifted his head, of course, where else could he be, but outside of the Fairy Tail gates.

So he sucked in his teeth and ignored the screaming in his lungs as he began to run again. This time to the outskirts of town where he then disappeared into the forest, vowing never to return.

He did, of course.

But only once the hour was late and he was tired, but not too tired to convince himself he actually wanted to spend the night all alone in the forest.

She was waiting up for him though, when he stumbled through the backdoor. Of course. Sitting there with her smug attitude and oh! He just hated her. He hated Erza so much.

He wished he'd killed her when he had the chance.

He wished he'd truly at least once had the chance.

"Ravan," she said simply as she nodded at the chair across the table from her. His chair. He hated having his own chair. "Come take a seat. I will make you hot chocolate."

He glared at her, heavily, and she could tell that he was caked and mud and sweat. He must have been training. As if her perfect day could get even more perfect.

Still sour over...over everything, actually, and not at all having found an ounce of calm inside of him the entire day, he grit his teeth as he told her simply, "It's too hot for hot chocolate."

"Nonsense. You're a child. You love such a thing."

"No, Erza, I don't."

"Well, your brother-"

"I'm not my brother."

This was true. Very true. And, conceding that fact, Erza still was all smiles as she said, "I will treat you to a soda then. There's one in the fridge, I'm sure, that you can have."

"Why are you being nice to me?"

"Am I not always?"

He didn't want to answer that. Not when he was so upset with her.

"Anyways, I wish to speak with you," the woman kept up as, glancing off, she coughed a bit into her hand. Now he was suspicious, Ravan was, and knew that something was up. Still, Erza only nodded at his chair. "Take a seat."

He was too tired to argue.

As soon as he sat down, Erza took to clasping her hands together and giving him a look that he couldn't quite read. Still, he only popped the tab on his soda and waited, knowing something was coming.

Something was always coming.

"So," the woman said slowly as she looked him over. "I gather that something upset you today, when we were in the market. That is the reason that you ran away, yes?"

"No," he grumbled back much faster. "It didn't. Nothing bothers me. At all."

"You know better than to think that I believe this veneer you put up," she critiqued with a shake of her head. "Everything bothers someone at some point."

"What difference does it make to you?" If Ravan was good at anything, it was moving a goalpost. "Why I ran off?"

"Because, Ravan, I am, at heart, your mentor."

"My what?"

"And I wish for you to understand that you can instill trust in me," Erza went on. "I would not break your confidence. Why, when I was your age, after I arrived in Fairy Tail, I would have loved to have someone so accomplished, so talented, so-

"Humble?" he grumbled softly though she was talking too highly of herself to hear him.

"-wise, to take me under their wing. To care for me as I wish to care for you and your needs." Then, giving him a look, Erza said, "So feel free, Ravan, to tell me. Whatever it is. I won't be upset. There's a good chance I'll even be beneficial to you."

"Beneficial?"

Nodding her head, the woman told him, "I know many things, after all. And though I am a woman, of course, my guidance could be very helpful in most aspects of life. Even those that you may not traditionally think to ask me about. So-"

"What are you talking about?"

She didn't want to come right out and say it. For a lot of reasons. But mostly not to embarrass the boy.

The crushes of childhood were a delicate thing, after all. And Erza was excellent at navigating delicate things. Mainly because she refused to acknowledge any shortcomings on the subject.

"Ravan." And she looked him dead in the eyes then. "Surely you can be honest with me. If not me, then who?"

Narrowing his eyes, he was almost completely certain that not only was his 'mentor' completely off base with whatever it was she thought, but also that she was off her rocker in general.

Now annoyed once more (though he wasn't too sure why; maybe because Erza was just being annoying, but also maybe her inability to understand what had made him so upset), he shoved away from the table then, leaving his hardly drank soda behind.

"You will come around," Erza called after him. "And eventually will find that when it comes to confidants, I am the best you will find."

This was not to say that Erza's feelings were not a bit crushed by his refusal to, in her mind, open up to her about his incoming feelings that he'd yet to experience, she was sure, before. But no matter. She knew that Ravan was a difficult child. She would get him to eventually tell her.

It was as she sat there though, lamenting her failure and considering other alternatives to getting him to divulge to her all his secrets, that she was, once more, joined at the table.

"Kai?" she complained with a bit of a frown. "What are you doing up?"

He only sat there in his pajamas though, looking tired, as he said, "I got up to get some water, but you and Ravan were talkin', so I waited. 'cause I have manners and all."

"Yes," the woman replied slowly as she eyed him. "And all."

"But I did listen, 'cause how could I not?"

"How could you not?" And Erza did this at times, repeat the boy. It was in futile attempts to get him to hear his own words back and, hopefully, recognize their idiocy, but so far, this had failed to land with the little boy.

"And I wanted to know if you were kind like my mentor too?"

"Did you want to know that?"

"Yes. I did."

"I suppose it depends on what you define a mentor as," she said slowly, eyeing him. "And also why it is that you wish to know this."

Grinning widely, he said, "Simple. I wanna know if you can talk me through somethin'."

This did peak Erza's interest a bit and, though skeptical, she did ask, "What is that, Kai?"

"Well, you know how I have a really neat jacket that someone who really likes me loads bought for me and I said I'd take care of it if they did and I was real grateful and everything, but then when I got home today, the zipper was stickin' still and I panicked a bit and ripped it clean off and I don't know how to tell that person that not only am I sorry, but it's gonna rain again, probably, soon, and I'd like a new jacket, please, Erza. Mentor. Whichever."

When she looked deeply into Kai's eyes, it was with a different form of hardness and exhaustion.

"Go," she told him simply, "to bed. Now."

"But-"

"Get your water and go. Before I take you by hand there." Before he could say otherwise, she was sure to add, "And you will not like it if I do."

A long sigh accompanied his shoving up from the table, but after getting a drink, he did diligently head off to bed and, for the next few hours, she heard little of the boys. It was around the time that she got up to train, however, that she heard the heavier footsteps of Ravan as he left the house and, with a sigh, she decided not to follow him.

Perhaps, she should change her mode of attack.

Unfortunately for Navi, however, this new mode had less to do with the child under Erza's dominion and more to do with her.

The day of Locke's birthday was upon them and Navi arrived early to help Ms. Mirajane with setting up the downstairs game room for it. The woman told her that she'd give her a few jewels, for the help, and Navi had been set back a bit by the birthday gift buying, so she couldn't pass up the opportunity.

Her mother had gone with her down to the job, leaving her brothers, father, and Happy at home where they hopefully all would be when Lucy returned from her job. She was yawning some, over at the request board, while Navi only rushed right over to Mirajane to question what it was she wanted done first.

It was while she was seated at one of the table, mixing the big bowl of ingredients for his cake, that Navi was joined by Erza. The second the woman walked into the hall, she'd immediately zeroed in on the poor little girl.

"Navi. It is good to see you up and so active this early in the morning," the swordswoman greeted as she sat across from the child. "An admirable trait for sure."

"Hi, Erza," Navi sighed as she struggled a bit as the ingredients got rather difficult to stir, sticking together rather well and forcing her to use her full strength with that wooden spoon. "I'm helping for Locke's birthday."

"Ah, Locke, yes. He is a very well-mannered child as well. For the most part, of course." Erza continued to stare right at Navi as she questioned the girl. "You two are quite close, are you not?"

"Well, kind of. I guess. He and Haven are closer, probably."

"So is the way of life. We naturally find ourselves drawn more to one person than all others. Happy prefers Natsu above all others, your mother is very close to the Master's wife, you yourself are drawn to… Who is your best friend? Navi? I do not believe I am aware of one."

It was a weird question, coming from Erza, but Navi was far too focused on the stirring of that cake mix to honestly consider just why the swordswoman would be interested in such information.

"I dunno," she answered truthfully then. "I guess Haven."

"You said that Haven and Locke are already very close to one another. Yes?"

"I guess."

"Then the only other one of your little friend group would be-"

"Marin's alright, I guess, but-"

"Ravan," Erza finished because clearly the pink haired little girl was just not going to follow her so easily into delusion. "You and Ravan would both be the odd ones out. But not too odd, I suppose, considering an even number still exists."

Navi felt like the woman was talking in circles and was a bit lost by the whole thing, so she stopped stirring then to stare over at the woman. With a frown, she asked, "You think that Ravan and I are best friends?"

"It would only be natural, after all. Locke and Haven are so close, Kai and Marin, and you and-"

"I don't… Erza..."

"Ravan is a bit rough around the edges, of course, but I am certain if he just had one person he felt comfortable around, then certainly he would open up more. In general. Not to mention, he is becoming quite adept at his sword training-"

"Erza, I don't like Ravan."

"It's a silly word, yes, that scares children, sometimes, but-"

"No, I mean, I don't like him at all." The sort of like that Erza apparently had been implying would have made Navi barf to even consider. "He's kind of mean."

"He is only strong willed."

"And he's a bully. He picks on everybody."

"As does Haven."

"But we all like Haven."

Yes. Erza had long pondered the implications of that as well. Haven and her behaviors were a conundrum for certain. A problem for another day, however.

"Well, if you would only learn to like Ravan-"

"But I don't want to though. Why would I?"

As Navi frowned up at the woman though, Mirajane happened to pass by and come to collect the bowl. That was the little girl's cue to rush off, as to earn every cent of those jewels. Still, she did bow her head to the swordswoman before rushing off.

It was all Erza's fault, of course (though she struggled with admitting this). Her own oversight that had caused the whole thing. Never once did it occur to her that Navi might not like Ravan. Perhaps needed her mind opened to the idea of it, fine, but that she did not even consider him a friend…

Erza was certain the young boy would be crushed. Absolutely crushed. His first childhood love was ill-fated and would no doubt set his already downcast view of the world even lower. It wasn't Navi's fault, of course, for not returning whatever sort of affection he had for her, but Erza really wished things had turned out different.

Ah. Well, it was part of childhood, yes? The realization that your hopes and desires were not the same as others. It was best to learn it young rather than be deluded into believing that what you wanted was either exactly what others did or, worse yet, not caring how they felt.

Mostly though, Erza felt poorly for herself. In the single day she'd considering the possibility of the two even just being friendly, she'd grown extremely excited by the concept. Young love was silly and stupid, but the idea that Ravan could even just have a friend, a real friend, was exciting. He was so alone so often.

Navi though put the weird situation right out of her mind. Erza was always kind of off and, considering she was the one that took care of Ravan, it made sense to her that she'd be asking equally as off stuff about the boy. The day was about Locke's birthday and that's all she wanted to focus on.

Haven and Marin showed up at the hall eventually, of course, with their father. He was all grouchy about the celebratory mood his wife had and, upon arrival, only growled that he would be in his office for the day and didn't want to be bothered.

"Who wants you at a party anyways, Laxus?" Haven griped at him and, well, was she wrong?

Never, if you asked her.

At least not in this case, if you asked anyone else.

The party was around noon and all the kids were more than pumped up for it. Mirajane, knowing how annoyed Laxus was by the whole thing, made them all go down to the game room where she'd set up a table with all his presents sat atop. Gajeel didn't go down there with him, but snort a bit and shove at the boy some.

"A man has duties, I guess," he remarked. "You probably feel too old for this, huh, Locke? Like you don't need it? It's stupid. But you gotta do your duty. All your stupid little girlfriends are waiting for you, I guess."

"You could let him enjoy things sometimes, Gaj," Levy retorted with a frown. "Without making us all thing about your friendless childhood."

"I didn't need friends!"

"Don't worry, Locke," Lily assured him with a grin. "Having parties like this mean you won't turn out like Gajeel when you grow up."

Downstairs, the girls (plus Kai) were very excited. Well, Marin and Navi were, Kai was waiting for cake, and Haven just didn't seem as put off by the whole thing as she usually did.

Ms. Mirajane though was by far the most excited. She always was. Birthdays really made her happy. They reminded her of that little shack she lived in with her brother and sister, where their parents couldn't afford much less than what they needed, but always made each of their birthdays (for the short time they lived for them) so special. Just by being around.

"Open mine first," Marin requested, if not a bit softly, and Locke was feeling good that day so he did so, pulling the tiny package from the pile. "I hope you like it."

Well, the concept was cool. Like though was a strong word. Still, Locke told her he'd put it on his housekey, maybe.

"Marin and me both got one too," Kai told him. "So if you do that, it'll be like we're all matching!"

"Yeah!" Marin too was pumped up by the thought. "It will be."

Which meant that Locke definitely wasn't doing that.

"Get mine next," Kai requested. "I picked it out this mornin'! Just for you, Locke."

"It is his birthday, after all," Navi muttered to Haven who only rolled her eyes.

"Oh, wow, Kai," Locke remarked with very little enthusiasm actually in his voice. "You bought me a bookmark."

"You read," the boy insisted. "A lot. You need a bookmark. And look, it glows in the dark! Cup your hand around it!"

"That's actually really thoughtful," Levy remarked as she stood behind Locke, overseeing the interactions with Mirajane. "Kai."

It was true. More thought than anyone actually believed he'd ever put into something. Though the gift was lackluster, even Locke was kind of impressed with that.

"I'm a deep thinker," Kai said simply, but even Marin seemed to not really believe that.

He opened a gift from his mother before he got around to Haven's gift. When he saw it, he blinked some, as if surpised by it before frowing and looking up at her.

"Don't you know what it is?" she griped at him as he only shook his head slightly.

"Well, yeah, but why'd ya-"

"You like puzzles, don't you?" Haven kept up as the pair sat across from one another at the table, her already glaring. "It's like a puzzle. It's a model of the capital's castle. You put it together, idiot."

"I'm not an idiot!"

"You sure seem like one!"

"Okay, okay." Mirajane was moving then to hand Locke the last gift. "Let's move on, huh?"

"And Locke, you say thank you when you get something," Levy reminded gently as she took the box that Haven's gift came in and went to set it down with the others. "Don't be ungrateful."

Both were angry with one another again (they rarely went an extended period without it) and Locke only made a face at the girl while she crossed her arms and glared off.

But he had Navi's gift then to be concerned with and it, by far, went over the best out of all the gifts.

"Wow!" Locke had the sweetest grin, his mother always told him, when he showed his teeth and he had that going then as he peeled off the wrapping paper to reveal a thick, old looking spell book. Which, on it's own, wasn't anything particularly interesting, but the specific kind it was really impressed him. "It's only about medicine?"

"Yeah!" Navi perked up as well, seeing her friend so excited. "I don't even think we have it here, in our library at the guild. I saw it and thought you needed it."

"It's probably filled with stuff," Locke gushed as he sat it down on the table then to begin flicking through it. "I can't wait to..." Then he stopped and looked up at his mother with a stricken face and said, "You won't tell Dad, will you?"

Gajeel hated his son's love for that sort of magic. He saw 'medic work' as nothing more than girly shit you let the your ten year old daughter do so that she could be a mage too! Bleh. Fucking hell, he'd die before his son became a damn medic.

Of course, considering everyone was slated to die eventually, this wasn't too far off from how it'd all end up…

"Don't even worry about that right now, huh?" Levy remarked simply as he only nodded. "Maybe it's time for-"

"Cake?" Kai was quick to jump up. "I'll help you get it, Mrs. Master."

As he went off with the barmaid, who only giggled, to go get it, Locke looked over his book and spoke with Navi on it as Haven only glared off. Marin though, in her fear of her sister, knew better than to say exactly what she was thinking.

She'd told Haven to get him a book.

And did she listen?

Marin would definitely be telling Aunt Ever all about this next time they saw one another.

Haven refused to sing Locke Happy Birthday with the others and, when over cake he was invited by Kai to go fishing for his big day (the younger boy would use any excuse to grab a pole and sit by the river) and Locke declined because he was going out on this cool, exciting, fun adventure with his father all alone, Haven tossed her plate down and got up and stomped off. The other kids were a bit shocked by it, but Locke was mostly just annoyed.

She always had to make everything about her.

"Boy," Kai remarked with a frown after the older girl. "If I'dda known she wanted to be invited, I'dda definitely asked. Course, I don't think we'dda liked fishin' together too much."

Navi stared hard at Kai for that remark and, as she typically found herself doing with the boy, had to truly question whether he was as big an idiot as he made himself sound or if he was pulling the biggest prank on them all.

Mirajane let Haven go as the girl had already more than added her own dramatics to the day and knew better than to reward her for that. Plus, Mira knew Laxus would more than placate Haven later in the day, with teasing jabs and ribs.

It was how the two connected.

Haven stormed out of the hall entirely though, but didn't leave the guild grounds (you had to establish just enough space to show your anger, but leave enough so that someone coming after you could find you; but no one was coming after her). That was how she ran into him, anyways. Ravan. He was being his typical moody self behind the building.

"What are you doing back here?" she asked with a frown at the sight of him back there, one of his weapons drawn, seemingly practicing some sword drills.

Ravan, who found that he liked it back there, behind the guildhall, where he was kind of connected to the others, but still definitely not because yuck, he hated all of the, especially then, only frowned at the other child.

"What are you doing?" he retorted, lowering his sword slightly. "Shouldn't you be with Locke? Or did he already kick you out of his party?"

"He can't kick me out of anything," Haven barked right back. "I chose to leave."

"Well, leave here too then." Ravan raised his weapon again. "I don't need your ugly mug bothering me while I'm training."

"I can stand wherever I want!" Haven was not one to be pushed around. Figuratively or literally. She was the one to always do the pushing. "You can't tell me what to do."

For a long, tense few seconds there, the two children had a glaring match going on, but at about the same moment, they both looked off. They were too upset about other things, it seemed, to be able to pretend to have any for one another right then.

"Why aren't you at the party then?" Haven finally asked after a few moments of them just not looking at one another. "Ravan?"

"Why would I go? To Locke's birthday party? No one threw me a party when it was my birthday."

Haven might not have much anger left over, but the glare was commonplace, it seemed, as she only told him, "No one knows when your birthday even is, stupid."

"So? You know that I've been here for a long time. Over a year. Do you think that I just don't have a birthday?"

Honestly, Haven had never considered it. Even once. She really didn't think that deeply about anyone other than herself. The idea that Ravan did or didn't get a birthday party since she'd known him, perhaps even deserving of two by that point, didn't mean much to her. At all.

It was only just occurring to her that she didn't even know exactly how old he was…

"And why would I be there anyways?" he asked. "When you're not even there? You're his girlfriend."

"Shuddup."

"You shuddup."

"It's stupid Navi anyways!" Haven huffed some then, looking off again. "I could have gotten him that cool book too. It's not even that cool. And he likes puzzles!"

Ravan's desire to rub whatever pain Haven was feeling in was drowned out by that name.

"I hate Navi."

It just slipped out. He didn't even really mean it, probably. But he said it.

And, across from him, Haven didn't mean it either as it slipped from her mouth as well.

"I hate her too."

They'd never reached that before, the two of them. An agreement.

It was more than a bit horrifying to consider.

The thing that always separated them was their anger and sharp tongues. They lashed out at those around them for very different reasons, but still the same methods. The idea of them both lashing out at the same subject was a powerful one and probably the sole reason why they were able to complete jobs together.

If there was ever a chance of the two of them seeing eye to eye more often, well, that might actually spell some amount of trouble for the guild. The one thing saving that, however, was the fact that, for one, neither truly hated Navi anyways. Rather, they were both experiencing some form of jealousy that was redirecting their anger at different people towards poor, innocent Navi who'd done little more in either situation than just be a casual bystander.

Of course, when you were as far gone in your feelings as Haven and Ravan were by that point, little mattered other than what you personally believed. And in that moment, they personally believed they each hated stupid Navi.

Which they didn't and wouldn't in less than an hour for both, but in that moment, the emotion felt very real.

It was while the unlikely pair shared this singular moment though that they were joined. Haven, apparently, did have someone who was coming after her. Locke found them, back behind the building, holding Haven's hardly touched plate of cake in one hand. He glared at the sight of Ravan, but only went to stand by his friend.

"Why do you always have to be such a brat, Haven?" was Locke's form of a greeting it seemed as he only shoved the plate off on the blonde haired child. "I don't make problems on your birthday. Can't you ever just be normal?"

She snatched the plate too, with a glare (because, hey, it was still cake), before replying, "I didn't ask you to come find me."

"I don't care what you ask me to do."

"Then-"

"I'm going with my dad now," he told her simply. "On my birthday job."

"So? Why should I care?"

"You don't have to, I guess, but I don't get why you're mad at me."

He rarely did. Haven was very confusing to Locke. She seemed to have an equal disdain for things that weren't any good for her as she did for things that were. Anything could set her off at any moment. Even things that hadn't previously. Haven was a walk endorsement to happiness being fleeting.

Haven, however, didn't understand how he could say that. That he didn't know why she was so angry with him. It felt so obvious to her, all of her different feelings and reactions, that the idea that others might not be able to understand them was crazy to her. It was plain as day that he was rubbing it in her face that he had a father who could still go on cool jobs and would take him on one, when she did not. Not to mention the original slight, which was seemingly not immediately loving and understanding what her gift was while praising stupid Navi for just buying him a dumb book.

That he could have somehow missed realizing that these were problems and lead to her being upset was unacceptable. It made her even angrier, honestly.

"I'm mad because you're a stupid idiot, Locke, who thinks he's so great because his dad's a mage. Your dad's not even S-Class! And neither is your mom! Your parents suck!"

Locke glared then and about shoved her for that. Face dark, he said, "At least my parents like me."

"I don't like mine, so I don't care what they like!"

"Great then, Haven! Because they don't like you."

Ravan, who'd only stood there for a few moments, listening to the two argue, had had enough. He came to his spot back behind the guild hall to be alone. Not to be bothered by Haven and Locke. He'd accepted the former, since they were sharing a sentiment, but the pair of them was something he never wanted to be around.

"Could you two do this somewhere else?" he asked before, with a dark glint in his eye, he raised his sword once more, this time towards Locke. "Why are you over here anyways? Don't make me cut you up before your dumb trip."

Locke ignored him though as he continued to glare at Haven. To her, he said, "I didn't do anything to you, Haven. I never do. And you always get upset. You always-"

"I bought you that real nice model thing and you acted like a jerk about it."

"How, Haven? Huh? Because I didn't know what it was? I'm going to build it."

"After you read your stupid book," she said with a huff and, finally, he had some idea what he'd done wrong. "That's a dumb magic anyways."

"I can like two things, Haven." Locke didn't sound so annoyed then as he only frowned at her. "I never said I didn't like your model. I just didn't know what it was at first. That's all."

She only looked off though, still angry, apparently, while Locke sighed and kicked some at the ground. If happiness was fleeting for her, anger was for him.

"If you really wanna go with me and my dad," Locke sighed finally. "Then I guess-"

"I don't want to go with you or your stupid dad, Locke."

His glare returned, for a moment, before he glanced at Ravan, who still looked ready to skewer him. With a shake of his head, he turned off to go then. Gajeel would be calling for him soon enough.

After he left, Haven looked down at her cake before at Ravan. Frowning at him, she only moved to start picking at the dessert with her typical scowl.

"I hate Locke too," she added softly and, with a nod of his own head, Ravan found it rather easy to agree.

When Ravan went home that night, it was to find Erza sitting up, waiting on him again in the kitchen. He wasn't really wanting to deal with her, but she insisted he take a seat.

"I," she began as he mostly glared at a spot on the wall behind her, "have taken notice of your attitude since the market incident."

He didn't glance at her as he asked, "You have?"

"I have." Erza even nodded. "It has to do with Navi, does it not?"

That got his attention and, staring right at her, he felt his stomach flip a bit because he'd never seen them getting to that point. He wasn't even sure what that point was. His feelings over the matter still confused him and though he knew the taste of jealousy, the concept of why he'd want Erza's attention anyways was beyond him. He didn't get why he cared so much what the swordswoman though of him, much less Navi. He just knew that, for some reason, he did care. And what she thought, honestly, hurt his feelings.

"In my infinite wisdom," the woman was going on, "I decided the best course of action would be to confront the problem head on. Go to the source. Navi herself."

He paled some. "You what?"

"Do not fear," she tried to console him. "I did this with the delicacy that should be involved in such a matter. Navi didn't even know what I was speaking of, it seemed. However, I did get to the bottom of the problem and it pains me to say, Ravan, that perhaps you should set your sights on another."

Now she'd completely thrown him.

"Another what, Erza?"

"Well, that's a question only you yourself can answer, isn't it, Ravan?"

He blinked some, glare failing as he tried very hard to understand what she was saying before, in confusion, he asked, "What did you talk to Navi about?"

"About your little crush on her, Ravan."

"You what?"

"Do not fret. She is none the wiser. However, you are wiser, now, thanks to my interference and it has saved you from-"

"I don't...like Navi, Erza."

"Do not play coy with me. It is as I told you last night," she insisted. "I am your mentor. Your-"

"You're an idiot."

Her face dropped as she frowned at him, "Ravan-"

"I don't like Navi! At all! We're not even friends! I don't like anyone! That's stupid. Why would you even think that?"

"W-Well, you ran away, at the market, because you got flustered from seeing her, yes?'

"No!"

"Then I do not understand, Ravan," Erza told him with a shake of her head. "If it is not young love that caused you to flee, why-"

"It's because you suck! You do! You sit there and talk about how great Navi is and act like me and Kai don't do anything! We do do things! We try real hard at things. But you don't care because you think Navi's so perfect, but she's not! I wouldn't wanna be like her anyways, even if she was. I don't want to be her. I'm me. And if you don't like that, fine! I'll just go somewhere else. To another guild. Where they do want me."

It was the culmination of a lot of things that forced that out of him and Ravan hated every second of it. It tasted awful. Much worse than jealousy. He felt like he'd just retched his entire insides up.

"Oh, Ravan."

And the look Erza gave him made it that much worse.

Crossing his arms tightly over his chest, he looked away, but could still feel her heavy eyes.

"I didn't… Perhaps sometimes I...I do not think when I talk," Erza admitted slowly. "I struggle at times to realize just how...childlike you are. And of course I appreciate the things that you do."

"No, you don't."

"Ravan-"

"All you ever do is talk about how horrible I am."

"I do not."

"You do so."

"Ravan, to pretend as if you were the perfect house mate would be a lie," Erza said to which he only huffed some more. "But I like having you here. There are ways in which you could improve, but there are ways in which I could improve. In which Navi could as well. No one is perfect. If I have made you feel poorly for not being so, then I apologize. There is a reason I've invited you to stay in my home and allowed you to live here. Not Navi. You."

Ravan wouldn't look at her. Only grumbled out, "Can I go now?"

Sighing, Erza allowed this and, hopping up, he rushed off to bed. Kai was snoozing already and Ravan just left him be as he clambered up to the top bunk of their beds and tugged the blankets over his head.

He felt different now, than he had the past two days, but he wasn't sure why exactly. All the anger and self-consciousness that had plagued him had fled for the time being and he just felt normal again.

Then, just as he was drifting off, he remembered that Erza had apparently taken it upon herself to try and talk to a girl for him and his face heated up and oh, wow, embarrassment was a new one for him,.

He'd have to get Erza back for this slight.

It was still there in the morning and Ravan decided he couldn't face the hall for a few days. Just the thought of possibly seeing Navi, knowing what Erza had done, made him feel queasy. So he decided to mope around the house and not do much at all in retaliation.

And plus he was just feeling a bit lazy.

When he arrived back the next week, Locke had returned from his birthday job with his father and all the kids seemed to have gathered at the hall. Kai and Marin were spending the day at the pool, playing with some real water guns that her Uncle Bickslow had got for them after seeing their puny key chain ones while the older kids sat at a table just the three of them, putting together that model that Haven had bought Locke for his brithday.

It was...going about as well as expected.

"Haven, you can't just jam pieces in."

"That's not what I'm doing, Locke."

"It is what you're doing and you're going to break the pieces and then-"

"Why don't you just shut up? Huh? The instructions say-"

"You didn't read the instructions, Haven! Whenever Navi or I try to read them to you-"

"Instructions are for people who don't know what they're doing, Locke."

"Yeah. You, Haven."

"Can't we do something else?" Navi finally asked. "Anything else?"

"No," both Locke and Haven shut her down in unison and, well, at least they agreed about something.

Ravan started to walk over to them, but he was hardly even over there when Haven's eyes found them. Only, whatever agreement they'd had on Locke's birthday was gone and she only glared.

"Go away, Ravan," she ordered as Locke glared at him as well. Navi mostly just laid there with her head down, wishing she'd stuck around her house instead of being drawn into model building. It was bad enough on it's own, the concept even sounded boring, but add in Haven and Locke's bickering and, well, Navi would rather watch paint dry. "We don't need you over here screwing things up."

Ravan felt his face heat up then, but it was more because Navi looked right at him and gross, what if now she thought that...that…

Why did Erza have to always screw up his life?

"I don't want to play with you idiots anyways," he growled at them before taking a sharp turn. "I'm going on a job."

"A job?" Suddenly, Navi's head picked right up. "Hey, do you think that you would wanna go together? Ravan? Or-"

"No!" And he had to rush then, to get away from her. Before she thought, like, he liked her or something. Gross. If anything, Erza now made it to where Ravan did have to consider Navi. Consider that she might have been duped into thinking something that definitely wasn't at all in any way true. Ugh. He rushed over to the board even faster. "You can't!"

"Why would you wanna go on a job with him anyways?" Haven tsked as Navi only laid her head back down with a sigh. "When you can stay here and- Oops."

"Haven, you broke part of it!"

"It was already broken, Locke. That's how come the parts wouldn't fit together."

"They broke because they weren't supposed to fit together!"

"I bought it, Locke. I should know."

"Do you usually break things that you buy for other people?"

Well...she didn't usually buy things for other people…

It was becoming increasingly clear to Haven, however, that she had been wrong and it had been her that had caused the toy to break and she needed something else to distract the others with then, rather than harp on the fact that she'd possibly ruined the whole model.

Glancing around the hall, her eyes fell to where Ravan was considering jobs before jumping up and rushing off.

"Come on!" she told Locke, who was pretty upset with her then (he really did wanna build his model), and Navi, who just wanted to do something other than what they were doing. "Let's go on a job with Ravan."

"What? No!" At the sound of her approach, Ravan only glared. "I don't want you to-"

"Consider it your birthday present," Haven told him simply. "Isn't that what you wanted? The other day? Here. Happy birthday."

"It's not my birthday!"

"At least she can't break this," Locke grumbled as he came over to them.

"When is you birthday, Ravan?" Navi asked though more out of courtesy. She, like most others, had never considered him as having one of those and was a bit surprised. "It's not really soon, is it? If you tell Ms. Mira, then-"

"Stop talking to me, Navi," he growled at her which surprised them all. He was rare to speak to her, honestly, but to be flat out rude to her was definitely odd. "If you idiots are coming, then just all shut up!"

"You shut up!" Haven ordered. "We can do whatever we-"

"It's my birthday present, right? Then just shut up!"

That was fine with Locke who was mostly just upset about his poor model and really wasn't in the mood to hear Haven's whining. Navi was confused by the hostility, but was used to that sort of abuse from the likes of Haven and knew better to question it.

The girl in question though just glared heavily at Ravan for a long time before reaching up and snatching a job down.

"Fine," she hissed softly at him. "But I pick the job."

That was alright with the other kids. Anything to stop the fighting.

For the moment, of course. They'd fight on the way to the job, during the job, and on the way back from the job, but for a moment, all four of them were content in their shaky pact.

Full Series on Archive

#Fairy Tail #Fanfiction #Erza Scarlet #Mirajane Strauss #Gajeel Redfox

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mamaneedsadrank · 4 years ago

Text

Eat Well. Stay Fit. Die Anyway.

I hope you are tuned in, and clutching your device and your eyes are fixated on your screen for this!

AND NOW- let me tell you what is in store for today!

*Turns to invisible co-host and asks in my best game-show host voice* “Tell them Bill what they are playing for today? “

Motivation.

Am I the only one that scrolls through social media asking how the fuck everyone is so motivated? ESPECIALLY DURING A PANDEMIC!?!?!?!?! Let me explain what I mean here. I tend to try diets, work outs and such but then BAM-O. I stop. I fall into this category and am without a doubt: Procrasterbator. This is someone who puts off starting/finishing tasks by substituting a more attractive or satisfying activity in its place. Examples being: whacking off instead of working out, finding a delish snack, playing a game of scrabble, playing with my pet 7 year old, drinking a delightful beer or literally anything else to not exercise or work out with my decrepit 30 year old bonebag.

Now now, before the harsh judgement is passed, I am anything but lazy. I am working full time, I am a wife and mother, homeowner, friend, sister, maid, playmate, and whatever else I need to be.

Thinking about getting up early exhausts me. Not saying that I won’t do it, but it’s just another “thing” on the good ole life task list to check off. Living with depression and anxiety makes it challenging since I am always riding the struggle bus.

SURPRISE!

Trying to explain this to people that I am a proud owner of these disorders is a difficult tasks. Especially when you hear, “ You are so happy and nice all the time though!” As a server and bartender in my past life, there was the, “Fake it til you make it,” slogan. I don’t want anyone to get a sympathy card for me and say. “ I’m sorry you’re a basket case!.” (Although that maybe true!) I have a considerably great handle on myself.... At least I would like to think so ;-)!

The media has come up with with awesomely stupid stigma’s for these conditions.

Depression Stigma: Crying all the time, listens to MCR on repeat, black everything, feeling sorry for themselves, attention seekers, lovers of death and all things dead, death metal, and darkness.

Reality: It’s a mental disorder characterized by a persistently depressed mood and long-term loss of pleasure or interest in life, often with other symptoms such as disturbed sleep, feelings of guilt or inadequacy, and/or suicidal thoughts. It’s an imbalance people. Its not something to just “snap” out of. It takes medication, therapy and patience to feel some sort of normal. People often confuse depression and having sad days vs the actual condition. It’s not just something that you will fucking be okay with tomorrow. It’s there, constantly. It doesn’t evaporate into thin air making you just sunshine Sally. If I didn’t take medication, as I do now, I would have ultra highs of jubilation and bliss for an hour or so. Then, the next hour, I would experience a low of fuck this shit and lose joy in every damn thing. Keeping me in-between is a good thing. I can still feel (unfortunately!) and I am not a numb zombie. It helps me stay even keeled instead of riding the crazy train with my main man Ozzy.

I am going to throw out there that I hate hate hate x 23184413132 when people throw out the “You shouldn’t have to take medication to be okay! ” When people say this, it instantaneously makes me want to fishslap them and shake the ever living shit out of them. Know the fucking facts.

Does your body need food to make energy? Yes.

Do you need water to stay hydrated? Yup.

Chemicals in bodies are strange. Some people lack certain chemicals/vitamins/things. In my case its serotonin. So if you are lacking vitamins in your body, do you eat/drink/take something to get the nutrients? Many people do. It is the same fucking concept. Get over it.

Whew. Sorry about the soapbox tangent about mental health. It’s something I feel very passionately about. It takes so much for anyone to come forward and face their issues because of the stigma that’s been implanted in our puny noggins.

*Cracks bottle of delightful Sandcreek Pomegranate Lemonade*

AND Now, back to your regularly scheduled Samness.

Motivation. I think I have motivation to not be motivated.

Help.

What are things that get you motivated and actually stay motivated? If I get the typical “You will look and feel better”, “Your body needs it”, yadda yadda Doctor bullshit answer, I am going to look at you and tell you, “ Yes, I am fucking aware.” I know all the positives, benefits and great things all of it can bring. But what is the motivation behind it? Is it the cute old clothes hidden in the closet behind Eminem’s mama? Is it that you want to be able to buy cute bras instead of the snoozeville black,nude or white ones? Or, are you doing it because you feel obligated to look a certain way? Do you want to feel how you felt when you were younger?

Gulps.

Man- I apologize. This post is heavy. Clearly i need more meds! That there, is a depression joke. Laugh. It’s okay to make fun of yourself. It makes it lighter and easier to deal with the demons that way.

I am fighting it so much because I feel I don’t need another thing to add to my long list of things to do. As stupid as it sounds, it is just something else for me to worry about. So- tell me what is your motivation?

Give mama dat inspiration!

Send me a message, shoot me a text, email, telegram, postcard- I want to hear all the things that motivates you and maybe, just maybe this old stubborn ass will find something deep inside to get me to commit and stick to something to be a better version of myself. (Honestly, part of that is this here bloggity blog :-D ! )

LETTUCE end on this:

I have a lot of jokes about unemployed people....

But none of them work.

Ba da ba da cha !

Until Next week- I am the Sam. Cheers!

#mentalheathawareness #laugh now cry later #get motivated #save me #beerlover #afternoon naps

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ficdirectory · 7 years ago

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The Fosters: Our Thoughts on Episode 5x03 “Contact”

Time for another twin recap of The Fosters. As always, check out @tarajean621‘s thoughts on Jesus and brain injury representation in italics below:

You Could Have Told Me You Were Out on a Date/It’s Not a Date. Sorry/This Isn’t a Date?! Hahaha! How awkward. Mariana, just along with Callie and Aaron to watch Ximena roller derbying...

Maybe We Could Go Out Sometime Without Your Sister? What Do You Wanna Do?/Anything/Okay. I’ll Make the Plan: Callie, maybe you want to be a bit more specific with Aaron here.

It’s Not Like I’m Asking You to Get Someone Out of Prison or Prostitution. Or Maybe You Just Don’t Care ‘Cause You’re Graduating Soon: Mariana! Settle down. Callie can’t help you distribute the underground school paper. She can’t get in more trouble. Find someone who can.

Thanks for Helping Out/Unlike Some People... Mariana. Just because Moms are thanking Aaron for helping doesn’t mean you need to get all unnecessary with Jesus. Seems like there’s a lot going on in the kitchen, and sometimes, when that’s happening it’s easier (and safer) for us to just stay put.

I’m Sure They Miss You/I’m Sure They Don’t/I’m Sorry. What Was That? Oh, I love how Mariana’s comment to Jesus went unchallenged but his jab at her was immediately called out... <-- Sarcasm

Jude. Jude. Jude!/What? Hahaha! One of my favorite parts. Also I love how Jesus is waving to get Jude’s attention.

I Have to Do a Self-Portrait/How About We Take Candid Photos of You and You Can Decide Which Looks the Most Like You/That’s Actually a Great Idea/Thank You. I’m Full of Great Ideas: Of course you are, Mariana.

I Have an Idea, Too. What If Everyone Writes My History Paper, and Then I Pick Which One Will Get Me the Best Grade: Hahaha! I miss your hilarity, Jude.

Five Hours Chained to a Deep Fryer/At Least You Weren’t Chained to the House All Day/I’m Sorry. Were You Actually Talking to Me Just Now? That’s Amazing: Oh my God, Brandon, LOL. Also Moms, please tune into this portion of the conversation...Jesus is really over being at home all day every day.

Moms? Can I Go Back to School? ...Seriously. When Can I Go Back? I’m Bored and I’m Missing Out on Everything/We Understand, Honey, But.../Honey, Let Us Talk to Your Doctor, Okay? Okay but Moms seriously need to stop dodging this conversation. Jesus is entitled to an education. (Seriously. It’s the law.) A brain injury does not preclude him from that. And to have Lena in particular, who is an educator, not already on the ball about this just seems out of character and irresponsible. I would think she would be all over this, and his biggest advocate, having experience within the school system for so many years. Can we stop with the educational neglect, please?

Stef and Lena have been back at work for weeks now, leaving Jesus essentially unsupervised all day at home. (Unless you count Gabe, but I do not think Moms do.) The fact that they deem Jesus stable enough to not warrant constant supervision from a health standpoint along with the strides he has made in all areas of his recovery should at least mean that school should be seriously considered and discussed.

We Invited the New Neighbors Over for Dinner/You Invited: Ooh, Stef and Lena. A little tension?

You Bought the Tickets? You Didn’t Ask Me What I Wanted to See/’Cause You Told Me to Plan Everything/So, What Are We Seeing?/You’ll Find Out Tomorrow: To me, it’s just common courtesy to run things by your date, even if you’re the one planning it. It’s not just a date for one. I’m totally with Callie here. If she’s asking, point blank, what the movie is, the polite thing would be to tell her.

Why Are We Inviting the New Neighbors Over? We Never Did That With the Old Ones/Well...Mom Went to High School with Tess. [She] Was Mom’s First Girlfriend: Wow, Lena, TMI for the children...

Maybe We Could Talk to His Doctor But After What He Did to Brandon’s Room?/We’re Going to Keep Him HOME Until We’re Sure He Can Handle School: Mothers. What even is this conversation? An education is not a privilege. It’s a right. (Not just for the rich and white and nondisabled!) Jesus shouldn’t be denied the opportunity to go to school because he destroyed Brandon’s room.

I would understand, “Jesus doesn’t get to do [something he enjoys] until he helps pick up the mess in Brandon’s room.” But to withhold school? Literally makes zero sense. Give him consequences that make sense, Moms!

For the record? Cutting off a person’s social interactions, activities and education as an attempt to control their behavior? That’s abusive. Also, this is not 1974. Being disabled in public is no longer a crime, and disabled students are afforded a free and appropriate public education as of 1975.

He’s Still Not Talking to Brandon. What Are We Gonna Do About That? Um, Lena, were you not present at family dinner where Jesus did speak to Brandon?

Gabe Is Entertaining. How Do We Feel About That?/I Borrowed the Garage for 30 Minutes: Well, let’s consider this. Gabe lives in the garage. You let him live there. Was this with the understanding that he would never have people over? (Also, how are you gonna feel when you realize it’s Mariana and Jude in their secret newspaper meeting, and not Gabe at all?)

Wide-Wise or Long-Wise/Do You Mean Vertical or Horizontal? Are You Stoned? Noah. Seriously. But I am glad to see that Jude seems to be over his desire to get high.

Don’t Have Much to Compare It To, But I Liked It: Brandon, your love life so does not interest me. But it was interesting to see a girl (who’s a bit older) on TV without a ton of sexual experience.

Jesus is Having Trouble with His TBI. He Gets Angry and Kind Of Explodes/Are You Still Playing For Him? Okay, what universe am I even in right now? First of all. Jesus is having trouble with you, Brandon. You guys need to stop blaming every legitimate reaction that you don’t like on his TBI. And secondly, I don’t even know what to say about Grace asking if Brandon’s still playing for him. Music can do a lot of things for people, but it cannot magically heal brain injuries.

Sounds to me, Brandon, like you do not want to own up to the actions you took that led to Jesus “exploding.”

You’re Installing Security Cameras in the School?/Some of the Students Don’t Feel Safe. This Will Reassure Them: Drew, forgive me if I don’t take your word for it on how ‘reassuring’ security cameras are.

Mr. Turner, Your Vote Was Not Valid/If Ms. Porter Won’t Resign, She’s Fired: Wow. Glad it’s not a sure thing yet.

Why Are You So Dressed Up?/I’m Not/Why Are You So Dressed Up? Twins! Also, Jesus and Callie spoke for like the second time ever!

It Wasn’t My Idea. Aaron Told Me to Wear a Dress: Sounds like Aaron’s making a lot of decisions for you, Callie...

Miss You. Can U Video Chat?/Sorry. Working on Bot: Ouch. And Emma’s not even keeping Jesus in the loop about World’s at all...

The truth is, people can and do pull away after you become injured. This is realistic. And it sucks - especially as Emma seems to be the only person outside of his family that Jesus has been able to see, given Moms’ nonsense school ban.

That’s Right, Your Ex-Girlfriend’s Coming to Dinner/Dressing for Tess, Are We? Okay Brandon and Lena, back off of Stef a little bit.

Can You Put That in the Dishwasher? Because Brandon was right there, and it’s his plate, but Mama needs to put it in the dishwasher.

Didn’t You Guys Steal a Car?/And I Get Grounded for Stealing a Garden Gnome/You Stole a Garden Gnome? That’s Hilarious! Oh, we’re learning all kinds of things at this dinner party, aren’t we? Stef and Tess stealing cars. Logan stealing garden gnomes. (That sure was a knee-slapper, wasn’t it, Mariana? LOL. I love her.)

You Like Seafood? We’ll Start With the Shrimp Fritters and Patatas Bravas: Wow, Aaron. You ordered for Callie, too.

I’m Sorry. I Didn’t Mean to Scare You: Though I definitely did appreciate him apologizing to Callie for taking her picture without her knowing.

I’m a QB/It’s Good You’re Tall. You Can See Over Your Lineman: Hahaha! OMG, Mariana, so awkward, but so funny!

You’re a Big Guy. You Ever Play?/I Used to Wrestle, But--/We Didn’t Encourage Football: Seriously, Lena. Can Jesus get a word in?

It is so frustrating that Moms will not allow Jesus to complete a thought. And the way it is playing, it seems as if it is because they are constantly worried that Jesus will flip the table over and rip his shirt off in a rage at any moment.

I wish they would attempt to respectfully hear him out, however Moms seem prone to dismiss his concerns or shut him down.

As a Doctor, You’re Not Concerned About Concussions?/Absolutely: Valid concern. One of our brothers got three in a row playing high school football. Doctors still cleared him to go back and play. He made the decision on his own to quit for his own safety. But perhaps not dinner conversation, Lena? (Also, I’m mildly annoyed that that Tess keeps being addressed as if she’s a neruosurgeon instead of an orthopedic surgeon. She works with bones, Moms, she’s not an expert on the noggin.)

Why Are Girls Always Left Out of the Contact Sports?/Because Girls Channel Their Aggression Through Tweeting/Jesus: Oh I love how even this back and forth comment to Mariana earns another warning from Moms. <-- Sarcasm

Moms are seriously monitoring every single word that comes out of his mouth. Let him speak.

Oh. My. God. Does Your Girlfriend - Who’s on the Wrestling Team - Know How Sexist You Are?/I Was Joking/You Better Be. She’ll Dump Your Ass: But Mariana threatening Jesus that Emma will dump him just skates by unacknowledged.

Mariana knows Jesus has been feeling vulnerable about his relationship with Emma, so this comment was extra crappy. Made more crappy by the fact that no one called her out for it.

We Like Football/We Just Don’t Want Our Kids to Get Hurt/You Don’t Have to Play Football to Get Hit in the Head and Screw Up Your Life, Right? Watching this now, it’s obvious that Mariana’s comment about Emma touched a really raw nerve and has Jesus feeling insecure all over again about the state of his relationship with Emma. He can already tell she’s pulling away, and she likely wouldn’t be if not for his brain injury.

This is a legitimate statement. Why must it be treated as an outburst?

Can I Be Excused?/Yes, You May: Tell me again how Jesus is so irrational and angry.

Well, I’m Sure Your Neurologist Told You That Damage to the Frontal Lobe Can Cause Sudden Aggression. Sometimes Unprovoked: Okay but you’re not a neurosurgeon, Tess. So you really don’t need to keep feeding into this idea that Jesus’s logical reactions have no basis. And also, Moms, what is up with outing all of Jesus’s private medical info to the brand new neighbors? Whatever Jesus wants them to know, he’ll tell them himself.

I’m so over this Aggression Is A Symptom storyline. Make it stop.

He Seems Like a Sweet Kid/He Is. He’s Such a Sweet Soul. He Just Can’t Control These Outbursts of Anger: Thank you, Dean! But seriously Lena, what outburst of anger? You weren’t dismissing Mariana’s reaction to Jesus talking about her tweeting as an outburst. Or Stef’s reaction to being teased about dressing up for Tess. Just because Jesus has a brain injury does not negate the validity of his feelings. (And I wish Jesus could hear Lena say he is such a sweet soul, instead of what he overhears later on...)

Why does Jesus need to stuff his feelings in? To spare yours?

From What You Guys Have Told Us, His Physical and Cognitive Functions Have Improved and That’s Huge: Holy God, Moms. Just how much have you overshared with Tess and Dean???

I’m assuming that Stef also shared every excruciating detail about her double mastectomy as well - Tess is a doctor, after all... <--- Sarcasm

He Really, Really Wants to Go to School. Just, We’re Not Sure/I Think He Should: Except feel free to give advice here, Tess. Seriously. Jesus deserves an education.

THANK YOU, TESS!

[School] Can Create Added Stress as Well/Have You Thought About Getting Jesus an IEP?/Yes, Of Course, We’ve Thought About It. We Will Have Him Evaluated When We Feel He’s Ready: Lena, you can’t keep Jesus in a bubble the rest of his life. He needs to go to school. Yes, there’s going to be stress there. But the point of an IEP is so that he’ll have the accommodations he needs in that environment. No, it’s not a cure-all, but that is literally what it exists for.

And when exactly will Jesus be “ready” for school, Lena? When his brain injury magically goes away? When he acts the way you want him to act? You can’t use school as a bargaining chip. It’s just gross.

If, at the beginning of the series, we heard that Jim Pearson was not allowing Jude to attend school? The viewing public would overwhelmingly see that as abusive. This is abusive as well.

One on One Classroom Aide/Definitely Something We Can Look Into/Yes, I Know: If you know, Lena, then what the heck is up with all of your defensiveness? Sorry these words aren’t coming from someone you’d prefer them to come from, but you and Stef need to hear it.

(And while I know aides serve a purpose in school settings, they also do a heck of a job alienating a kid socially. I speak from experience. I hope if Jesus does get one, that they’re respectful.)

Lena, you do not get to use Jesus’s right to an education as an excuse to be petty.

I’ll Make You a Deal. One Week. You Don’t Play Video Games. I Don’t Get High: I did like this scene between Jude and Noah, though. They have some good chemistry together. (Though I wonder if they still will when Noah’s not stoned? Has he ever not been high when he and Jude are together?)

Look at Jesus’s Photoburst. He Didn’t Even Bother to Narrow It Down to One or Two/That Sounds Like Jesus: Maybe he wanted you to have a lot of options, Callie. But my gut says it’s probably easier to hit a button and send them all at once than it is to look at each one and try to narrow it down...

Wish I Was This Girl/You Are/Wow. Harsh/You’re That Girl, Too. You Have a Lot of Layers. That Other Picture is Just You With Some of Them Peeled Back: Brandon, so nice of you.

So Resting Bitchface Callie is Just One of My Many Layers?/It’s Not a Bitchface: Hahaha! I loved the commentary on resting bitchface Callie.

Is That Why I Haven’t Heard You Playing Music?/Well, For One, Jesus Smashed My Keyboard, So.../We Have a Real Piano: Tell him, Callie.

OMG Brandon! I’m glad Callie finally stated the obvious!

We Find No Grounds on Which to Fire Ms. Porter. She’s Still the Principal of Anchor Beach: Thank goodness...

You’ll Never Get Another Job in Education. And You? One False Move? And You’re Next: Wow, that’s bold, random school board lady. Threatening Lena...

What the Hell is This?/Vive La Résistance: Yes, Lena! (And yes, Mariana! Fly your drone and drop those papers! So cool!)

Property of ABCC STEAM Club: Oh no. So sad your drone crashed, guys!

I’m Sorry I Didn’t Want to Jam/So I Got All Weird: OMG Brandon and Grace, look at you two dorks, hahaha! Clearly you’re made for each other the way you sing to each other about your feelings.

We Can’t Do The Paper Anymore/Why?/Because Drew Will Cancel Prom and Everyone Hates Me Enough as It Is: I’m loving getting to see more of Mariana and Jude’s sibling dynamic.

I Don’t Like Surprises. I’ve Had Too Many Bad Ones. So I Need to Know the Plan, Even If You Make It: I loved this conversation between Callie and Aaron. I love how respectful it is. And I love that Callie did mention that Aaron took a bit too much of the control, telling Callie how to dress, what to eat and picking the movie.

Hey. Thought You Were Gonna Call Me Today? Totally been there. Where you want to send the text, but you’re not ready for the response you’ll get...

I Was Wondering if I Could Try Out For the Team?/Is It Cool With Your Parents? Yes, if cool means I’m Mariana and I foraged my mom’s signature, then totally. (Also, I love Mariana’s green nail polish, and I really am hoping for a strong friendship / mentorship between Ximena and the Adams Foster girls.)

Have You Given Anymore Thought to What Tess Suggested? Getting Jesus an In-Class Aide?/Suddenly You’re Ready for Jesus to Go Back to School Now That Dr. Tess Medicine Woman Thinks It’s a Good Idea? Every time this scene starts with Lena on the phone, I always think, “Oh, good! She’s talking to ABCC about what needs to happen to get Jesus evaluated for an IEP!” But nope! I get that the timing of Stef changing her mind about Jesus going to school is suspicious. (It is. She’s shown zero indication that Jesus going back to school was even something she would consider prior to this conversation.) But the bottom line is? If Jesus were in any other minority group, holding off on sending him to school would be ludicrous. Why is it okay here?

It is not okay. There is no reason he should not be enrolled. Lena (apparently Jesus’s official caregiver) has been back at work since roughly 4x15. About a month has gone by since then by my calculations. A month of Jesus sitting at home alone all day - apparently so stable medically that he does not need constant supervision.

Jesus’s visual disturbances subside enough that he is able to read in 4x18. It has been close to two weeks since then from what I can gather. I can see putting off school up until this point, but after that? I can see no reason that school is not part of an ongoing conversation. Accommodations and IEPs take time to be drawn up and put in place, but they cannot be utilized until the appropriate meetings and appointments happen.

I Honestly Don’t Know What to Do About Jesus. We Can’t Be in Denial About The Fact That He Is Unpredictable. He’s Potentially Dangerous. And We Don’t Know If He’s Gonna Get Any Better. I Mean, He May Be Like This For the Rest of His Life. Stef, Sometimes, I’m Actually Afraid of Him: Wow, Lena. Seriously? I can’t tell you how many ways this devastates me. First of all, because Jesus overheard the whole thing. Secondly, because your ableism knows no bounds! Jesus literally was not out of bounds in any way this episode. So I really wish the harmful brain injury representation would stop already.

Because you know what that leads to? Fans commenting with remarks like, “I’m scared of him, too.” Comments like, “He’s violent and scary.” “He’s a monster.” “IDK why they ever messed up his character. This isn’t the real Jesus. He’s like a whole new person now.” “Thank God Emma loves him,” and “Jesus is going to think he is better off dead.”

How does a portrayal that constantly dismisses the legitimacy of a person with a brain injury’s feelings help that part of the population? It’s only alienating them more and putting them in more actual danger, because if people are going to watch this show with zero experience with a brain injury themselves or as a family member or friend, they’re going to see a stereotype (that people with brain injuries are violent and need to be put in their place or handled violently before they can become violent) and a damaging disability narrative (which is that when you become disabled, you become a burden to your family. And the only validity your experience has is how it effects them, because all of your own feelings are “just a symptom.”)

Please let Moms and the family become aware of the harm they are doing. This is beyond damaging and has real consequences for real people.

Your son has a brain injury. His brain is altered. He will make improvements, but yes, he will be “like this” for the rest of his life. So start seeing him as a human being, not just a list of symptoms. Start talking with him, and more importantly, start listening to him. Network with other TBI survivors as well. Send him to school. And please, check your ableism. Because your harmful disability attitudes will hurt him far more than the injury has.

For more: Fosters Recaps

#the fosters #jesus adams foster #ableism #aphasia #tbi #traumatic brain injury #representation matters #5x03 #contact

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