#world's hardest working brain cell

[januaryembrs]

THERE'S NO SIGN OF LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [3]

Description: The one where you grieve Emily together (+ the one where you kiss him)

word count: 7.9k

trigger warnings: okay so this chapter is exactly how it sounds, heavy in themes of grief, depression, anger, slight ideation of the world being better without bugsy (as if), DRUG USE (once and not addictively and not by Spencer!), mention of Spencer being horny, mention on blood and drinking.

authors note: this was just supposed to be a little filler chapter for the next one where the real juicy shit happens and long story short it became nearly 8k words of pure angst until the last minute when I decided to stop hurting you all. please don't hate me, promise a big boy chapter is coming up.

previous chpt | next chpt

'Doctor, look into my eyes.

I've been breathing air, but there's no sign of life.'

The team had fallen into chaos since Emily died. Hotch thought that just five little stages of grief weren’t quite enough to summarise what they were going through.

Morgan was pissed off by the smallest things, had flipped shit just that morning because the printer had jammed. He'd gone through two mugs and a keyboard in just two weeks in his tempers that had certainly seen better days.

Penelope’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears she was trying her hardest to choke down, to wipe away so fast she could pretend to still see her computer screen, but Hotch didn’t need to be a profiler to see the way her sleeves were smudged with mascara, sodden through 24/7. 

Rossi seemed resigned, tired, his breath smelled faintly of the strong whiskey he saved for special occasions, his hair unkempt, as though he hadn’t slept until the early hours, or if he had it had been unrestful. He took more frequent breaks, came back smelling like the cigars he kept in his desk drawer for the bad days, and he sighed as if the world beat down on his back, like he’d been asked to choose between stopping world hunger or saving the environment. His chest was heavy. His face was tired of losing so many friends he loved.  

Spencer was working himself to the bone, his desk piled with books (even more so than usual), his fingers twitching by his side more often, as if his brain cells had been dialled up to a thousand percent, which was saying something when it came to Reid. In fact the only thing out of ordinary was the fact he was constantly checking his phone, the sight of which had Pen dropping her coffee on the rough carpet, which she had promptly then excused herself with watery eyes over. Yes, he actually knew how to use technology, which he had been so vehemently against for years, until the team realised it was because one very important member of the team had been using her sick days for three weeks now. 

They knew he was looking after her, that he would bring her dinner and make sure the cats were fed, but they had no idea she had all but moved in with him, Niko and Sergio included. 

Yet he found himself checking the screen every twenty minutes or so for signs of an update, even just a thumbs up or a little sign that said seen under his good morning texts. He was scared he’d wandered too far into boyfriend territory, it certainly felt that way when he would come home to see her bundled on the couch, nose deep in one of the books he would leave out for her, how her eyes would light up just the tiniest amount to see him home. She rarely cooked, he knew she didn’t even touch the food in his fridge no matter how much he reminded her she needed to eat when he wasn’t there, to which she usually just nodded at him and buried her head in his arm to escape the scoldings. 

Things were different with her here. He knew she was vulnerable, lost, he saw it every time she came crawling into his bed from where he’d set her up in the spare room, or when Sergio made himself home on her lap and she squeezed the cat to her chest in quiet tears. Usually he would have squirmed out of her grip, he had always preferred Emily, but these days he just let her sob with a docile blink at where Spencer watched her from the other end of the couch, and pretended not to notice when his fur was sodden and messed up. 

Spencer had felt something for her before, the weeks, months even leading up to Emily dying, but with her here, needing him all the time, holding him tightly when he needed to grieve himself, making herself at home in his personal space, he was sure she knew it too. There was no way she didn’t know how he felt. 

But the topic was too heavy, too complex to bring up with her mourning her sister, it would rip the carpet out from beneath her feet, and no matter how heavily, besottedly, how deeply Spencer felt he loved her, he would never do that to her. He couldn’t. 

He had always loved mind games, but loving someone so much you couldn’t not tell them, only to not tell them because you loved them so much felt like a whole paradox even he couldn’t wrap his big brain around. 

So they stayed where they were. She had good days, though they usually looked like said reading on the sofa with nothing but a strong cup of coffee in her stomach. And then she had bad ones. And the bad ones made him scared, so scared he had no choice but to get help. 

Penelope came over the Friday evening with Spencer after work, kitted out entirely with nail polishes and gems, the box set of Barbie movies, a hot chocolate mix she swore by, three tubs of ice cream, face masks, Teen vogue with a Never have I ever section ‘Begging to be answered’ and of course, her Pièce de résistance, her makeup kit and joke fluffy handcuffs for them to tie down Reid and give him a makeover. 

“Hello my handsome gentlemen,” She greeted Niko and Sergio who rushed to the door on instinct, knowing Spencer always gave them each a big handful of treats upon arriving home, “Auntie Penny is here for a super girly evening, no boys allowed,” 

“Am I not invited?” Spencer asked, faux hurt flashing on his face as he shut the door behind them, though his eyes were quick to scan around his living room for any sign of her. There wasn’t, not even a single pillow was out of place, and he knew it had been another day of skipped lunch and breakfast.

“You are, of course you are, I just didn’t want them to get jealous,” She whispered, her brown eyes taking in the too perfect apartment and the lack of the Prentiss girl, “Is she sleeping?”

“No,” He said without checking, because he knew she rarely slept nowadays unless she was in his bed with him, “I’ll go get her,” 

“Okay,” Some of the joy died out of her tone when she heard his voice soften sadly as she set her bags down on the kitchen counter, “I’ll get the hot chocolates ready!” Penelope tried to recover in that perky tone she used to cover up when something hurt her. 

He just hoped this had been the right decision, that he wasn’t pushing her too hard. 

Knocking softly on her door, he let himself in when he heard a small murmur on the other side, and as he suspected, she was curled into a small ball under one of his blankets, her hair wet, her pyjamas in the laundry basket. She had one of his shirts on and some boxers he had noticed had gone missing, but he would never hold it against her. 

She had showered while he was gone at least, and her breath was minty fresh as he crept over the woolly rug and kneeled one leg on the bedside. 

“Hey,” He started softly, sweeter than honey, his cadence somewhat hopeful as he leaned over her and stroked her hair that was still damp. “You got up! Did you eat anything?” 

She looked up at him with tired eyes, but she reached out with both her arms to embrace him gently, like she’d been waiting all day to have him near again. 

“I had a couple biscuits and some coffee,” Her voice was raspy, and it was the first he’d heard her speak in a few days. “I’ll try better tomorrow, I just was a bit tired today-”

“No, no, that’s great,” He rushed to comfort her, to stop the apology that was coming his way whenever she didn’t take care of herself the way he wanted her to, “Penny’s here to see you. She’s here for a girl’s night, if that’s okay?”

Bugsy attempted a smile, though she seemed hesitant, but he thought that was probably just the way her expression was these days, like everything hopeful had been sucked out of her. 

“I’ve missed Penny,” She said, and he knew she meant it. She nodded finally, and he leaned over her to give her a proper hug for putting on a brave face, feeling her nuzzle into his chest at the contact. She sniffed the air for a second, before whispering into his ear, “Is that chocolate?”

He chuckled, stroking down her back and pulling her up into a sit. He’d gotten used to her being pliant under his touch, and he only wished her being so receptive to his advances would be under other circumstances. 

The urge to grab her face and kiss every bit of hurt out of her was growing harder and harder to shove down with every day he saw her so soft and wounded. He wasn’t good at knowing what to say, but for her, he was trying to be. The only alternative was kissing her silly, until the pit she’d crawled into was warm, just warm all over, and she came back to him in one piece. 

“Yes, it’s chocolate. Now come on, before she starts the movie without us,” He breathed gently, helping her out of bed, pretending he didn’t hear the way her joints cracked with the first sign of movement in hours. “Wait a second, pants,” He reminded her, tossing her some sweatpants from the floor, which she shoved on blindly. He didn’t mind her walking around like that if it meant she were comfortable, but he didn’t want her to give Pen a scare. 

A ghost of a smile teased on her lips as he led her out the room with two hands on her shoulders, seeing the blonde woman light up like the fourth of July at the sound of the two of them approaching. 

“Bug!” Penelope called, mid way through distributing a hefty amount of whipped cream and marshmallows on top of three mugs. Spencer watched the second her eyes widened slightly as she took in the girl’s appearance, trying frantically to cover it with an even wider smile, rushing to hug her tightly. He saw the minute she realised she felt so different in her arms; lifeless, heavy, rooted to the spot, like any contact with someone other than the gentle Spencer-touches she was used to made her lock up. 

She looked sick, like she hadn’t known fresh air in weeks, or like she’d pulled three all nighters in a row, or like she would be able to watch a ten car pile up and not bat an eye. She looked dead. She felt dead in Penny’s arms. 

The thought of it made her squeeze her tighter, until she felt two arms cuddle her back firmly. 

“I see Spencer has been treating you well,” Pen said, because she was avoiding the subject of Emily, and the way Bugsy looked exhausted, and the way she saw how scared Spencer was when he’d come into ‘the bat cave’ that afternoon to ask for her help. 

Bugsy attempted another smile, nodding slightly as the blonde drew back from their hug, and she saw the worry she tried so desperately to hide as she took in her face. 

The girl’s skin was dull in a way they’d never seen her before, her expression tired, her bones creaky, like someone had reached down her gullet and plucked her soul right from out of her chest, snatched it there and then. Penelope saw why Spencer looked so worried. 

“He’s been great,” Bugsy replied simply, her eyes finding Spencer’s where he shadowed behind her, worried she would faint on the spot from all the movement. She’d not been eating anything other than what he encouraged down her throat, but he supposed a handful of biscuits were better than nothing. 

She felt the bottomless pit that used to be her heart rip open just that bit further, the way it had done slowly the past few days, eating away at her skin. She knew she could never ever repay Spencer for everything he was doing, knew the odd few times she’d managed to collect herself enough to be there for him when he cried could never amount to how he hovered over her every second he was home. 

But where she should have felt guilt, there was nothing, there was just nothing left of her. 

He seemed to notice the slip, the way he always did, and she never did tell him how perceptive he was as he stroked over the back of her hair, leading her with a warm hand on her upper back to the sofa where Pen had already laid out the movie selection, had already grabbed the hot chocolates that were quickly melting onto the coffee table, where Niko was waiting with an eager pink tongue to collect his share, where he settled her down and wrapped her in a blanket as if he was swaddling a baby, where he let her take the middle and him and Pen on either side as Fairytopia lit up his living room with hot pinks and rainbows and flowers and magic. 

And even though she had yet to crack a smile, a real one at least, she seemed content, not entirely uncomfortable with the evening as Penelope commandeered one of her hands to paint her nails a shiny blush colour  ‘to match the evening’. Spencer thought for a minute she might have just needed some girl time, something no matter how many cuddles and sweet words he whispered could never give her. Maybe that was all she’d needed. 

Maybe she would get through this without entirely crumbling.

It wasn’t until the next day when even showering was too big a feat for her, when she had only two mouthfuls of the blueberry pancakes he’d made her before she apologised with watery eyes that he realised how stupid he was for believing it. 

It wasn’t until she said she wanted to move back home by herself that he really started panicking. 

JJ took her out for a picnic in the park the following weekend. The guilt was eating her up alive about hiding Emily’s secret, and from what Pen had told her, she wasn’t doing good. She wasn’t even doing bad; she was barely hanging on by a thread. Hotch had said she would be a flight risk with her sister gone, had said they would need to keep an eye on her as much as they would the rest of the team, but for Emily’s safety she couldn’t tell her the truth. JJ could only stand back and watch as the girl they all knew crawled into something dark inside herself and barricaded the door closed. 

Spencer had taken the nice approach with her, never forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to or asking too directly, as had Penelope. They’d both tried letting her open up by herself, which had only resulted in the girl taking about five steps back and even starting to shut out Reid, something which they all saw tore him up even more than seeing her wasting away in his spare room. He spent more days at hers, crying harder than she had seen him even when he was struggling with opioids. Crying for Emily some of the time, but mostly crying for the fact he was entirely helpless now she had moved out, like the one thing that had held him upright until then had left in a guilty mess of ‘sorry’s and dead eyes.

So she instead took the approach of telling Bugsy she needed help. Because if there was one thing that had always been able to bend her will, it was someone else needing her. 

JJ thought about reminding Spencer that Bug would come back if he took the same route, if he just told her how badly he needed her instead of her feeling like she was simply a burden on his life. But she knew he wouldn’t hear it, he would only blame himself more. 

So she’d told Bug she was struggling with looking after Henry alone while Will was working away, that he’d been asking for her since she’d come to his second birthday party with the biggest stuffed whale toy he’d ever seen. It was a white lie, Will was home more days than she was, but Henry had been asking for ‘the bug lady’ every time he played with his teddy. And it worked like a charm. 

So they sat in the warm April breeze, Bugsy reading on her stomach as JJ carefully nudged a punnet of fat, red grapes her way, hoping she would take the hint and swallow a few. 

It wasn’t until Henry came diving over to them from where he was collecting snails by their shells that Bug even showed any sign of pulling herself out of the book. 

“Buggy!” The little boy called, his tongue struggling with the complexity of the ‘gsy’ sound, and she looked up at him with a tired smile on her face that JJ saw right through immediately. “Buggy, look,” 

She held out her hand, and he gently placed a common land snail in the palm of her hand, no bigger than a quarter, who happily slid over her fingertip with a squishy sensation. 

“Thankyou, Henry,” She replied, her eyes trailing over the shiny slime he left behind over her palm, his tiny antenna eyes googling up at her. “What should we call him?” 

“Sid’d’snail,” Henry replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, crouching next to her to watch him crawling over her chipped pink fingernails.

“Hi Sid,” She chimed, and JJ watched her face drop into a completely emotionless expression the second Henry’s back was turned to find Sid a friend. 

She felt it clawing at her throat to come out, Emily’s alive, Emily’s alive, come back to us please, please come back to us because Emily’s still alive. JJ was watching her rot in front of her very eyes, and better yet she had the power to stop it with those very few words. 

She could put an end to all of this, she knew how badly it had hurt when Ros died, her older sister, her whole world ripped from her the way Emily’s ‘death’ was doing to Bugsy. She would have given anything for someone to have turned to her and said ‘Jennifer, your sister is still alive. Jennifer, it was all a trick, a hoax, a ploy to keep you safe. Jennifer, Ros is still here, alive and breathing and living her best life in Paris of all places.’

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t betray Emily like that, and knowing, no matter how much of a relief it would come, would put Bugsy in more danger with Ian Doyle and whatever other enemies her sister had made at interpol than she could have ever realised. 

So instead, JJ just ran a gentle hand over her hair that warmed in the sun, and started braiding parts of it absent-mindedly, like they were two girls in a playground waiting for hometime.

JJ stayed quiet, and watched Bugsy get worse. 

Aaron came over to her apartment at 8am sharp. He’d found JJ and Penny in floods of tears in the women’s bathroom when they were due to start the presentation of the latest case and they were nowhere to be seen. Spencer had become detached, quieter with every day that he checked his phone and saw no reply, but had mentioned he’d seen them go into the bathroom together as he got his morning coffee, only for their boss to see the two of them clinging to one another with wet cheeks and before he could even ask, Penelope splurged that Bugsy hadn’t messaged in four days and was refusing to open the door, and that even Spencer asking so sweetly, something that was usually her kryptonite, had failed to draw her out. 

Aaron was convinced if this didn’t work he was kicking down the door himself, even if it meant filing paperwork for a necessary home visit. 

Aaron Hotchner, surprising to no one, was soft on the youngest Prentiss girl. He’d watched her grow for four years straight, had come to her of all people in his hour of desperate need, and felt every second of her grief as if it was his own because he, like JJ, knew he had the power to stop it all but couldn’t. 

He called her name through the door first, her real name, loud yet anxious, along with a firm knock. When he heard nothing back, he rapped on the wood louder, “Bugsy, I know you’re in there. The team are worried about you, they’re worried you’re hurt,” 

Nothing. 

And it wasn’t just the team that was worried, it was him too, if his heavy fists banging even harder were anything to go off of. 

“Bugsy, if you don’t answer I’m sending for the SWAT team and asking them to ram this door down,” He said, with not a trace of a lie in his tone. Because he wasn’t lying, not by a long shot. 

He heard footsteps then, and she appeared through a small crack in the doorway, not open enough for him to see the mess in her living room, but enough to see the way her entire face looked like a cadaver. 

He fought back against the guilt choking him from the inside out.  

“Stop yelling,” She murmured, almost bitterly, “You’re scaring the cats,” 

“You’re scaring us,” He countered back, in a tone that was a little too mean, but from what he heard, soft and gentle wasn’t working, “Please, just let us help you, stop pushing everyone away,”

“That’s a little pot calling the kettle black there, Hotch,” She said in an equally harsh tone, her face scrunching into a frown, and she nearly slammed the door on him right there and then. 

“Get your work out clothes on, we’re going for a run,” He ordered, and it was only then she notices his sport shorts and trainers. She scoffed in his face. He was quick to shove a foot in the door before she actually could swing it shut on him, ignoring the way he nearly yelped as it trapped between the wood, “I’m not asking,” 

“Fuck off,” She spat, and he bristled at her choice language, but he saw the way her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was a roadkill on a sidewalk waiting to be put out of her misery; she didn’t want to be prodded and poked at and ordered around, she wanted out. 

She wanted to go quietly, without a fight. And it was for that reason, he put up more of a struggle. 

“You are coming outside with me, even if I have to drag you down the street myself because this is not how it ends for you.” Aaron barked back, forcing the door open with one of his large hands as if it was nothing.

“Of all people, I would have thought you would understand, Aaron,” It was like she had slapped him in the face, though he thinks maybe that would have hurt less, and it was only then he saw her eyes had welled up, and her bottom lip was quivering. It was a horrible sight, it twisted his guts like he’d been stabbed by Foyet all over again, but it was better than the nothingness that was there before. 

“Ofcourse, I understand,” His voice softened, his hands coming up to gently rest on her shoulder like she was breakable china beneath his palm, “You think I don’t know what it’s like to want to hide away and never face a world without Haley ever again? I can’t, even now, imagine the rest of my life with her gone,” His throat clogged with emotion he fought off, because he refused to have both of them crying in her living room when he was meant to be the one pulling her out of it, “But I do it because Jack needs me-”

“No body needs me,” She said emptily, ignoring the way Sergio wrapped his tail around her leg and meowed loudly as if to tell her otherwise. 

“Yes we do,” Hotch insisted, seriously, damn near ready to shake her on the spot to knock some sense into her, “We need you, and better yet we love you. You may have lost your sister, but you still have a family waiting for you, Bugsy,” 

And that was it, the single crack that broke the dam. Before he knew it she had launched herself into his arms in a fit of tears, clinging to him tighter than he thought she could for someone who looked so weak and perished. 

He just held her close, feeling his own stray tears drip down his nose as his shirt got wet through. In another life, maybe he and Haley would have had a daughter, and maybe she would have reminded him of Bugsy, maybe his heart would soften to putty just the same way it did with her. The same way it did for Jack. 

And eventually, when she dried her face, and quietened Sergio down, she went to put on her gym gear and one of Spencer's hoodies she’d stolen and felt too guilty to give back, and they went for a run.

If there was one thing Rossi knew better than his whiskeys, it was how to cook a good carbonara. And if there was one thing Bugsy needed more than anything at the moment it was a buttload of carbs and cheese. 

Aaron had been taking her running every morning since that day, and even she had to admit the fresh air and exercise did her good, made her feel stronger and less like the women they find in body bags at the beginning of a case, made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could get through the rest of this. 

It wasn’t going away overnight, not by any means, but she looked healthier, and her exhaustion meant she got more sleep too, but what remained was a hunger that she was filling with cereal and instant noodles that Rossi knew he had to put a stop to immediately. Instant noodles should have been outlawed with crack and underaged drinking, he would proudly tell her. 

So he invited her over for a cooking lesson, or as he would put it, she could watch him cook and eat as much as she wanted at the end, if she promised to never buy those awful microwave ramen ever again. And she’d agreed, because she felt her appetite coming back every day (and she knew where he kept the good white wine).

“Now as entertaining as this is watching you drain my stash of Sémillon, why don’t you chop up that pork and I’ll get started on the sauce.” He handed her a sharpened butcher’s knife, and the thin slices of seasoned ham, turning to use the stove for just a few moments, “You’re gonna add the cream in until it becomes thick, like cough mixture running off your spoon,” 

“Thick and creamy, you got it,” She chimed in, her fingers slicing the meat into strips, “Did you want this as diced or Julian?”

“Do you mean julienne?” 

“That’s what I just said,” He chuckled into the pot, his chest warming to hear some of that old bratty teenaged sass returning to her tone. He bet she would have run rings around him if she was his kid. 

“Diced, if you would,” David said, using a wooden spoon to stir in the thick cream little by little until the container ran empty. 

“Yes, Chef,” She hummed in response, flipping the chopping board around to begin slicing them the other side, “So, I’m guessing if I asked to try some of that Sauvignon I saw in the fridge, your response would be- oh motherfucker-”

David frowned, “Maybe not so harsh on the tongue but-” He turned around when he heard a hiss, and he quickly understood why she’d thrown the expletive out there. 

Her hand ran red with thick blood, dripping quickly down her arm, ruining her shirt. He didnt even care that his hand carved indian wood chopping board was permanently stained, or that the meat was contaminated, or that the blood trickled a little too quick over his floor, only that her eyes seemed suddenly far away as she did nothing to stop the cut gaping. It had caught her in a trance, one she was not even aware she had been sucked into until he grabbed a towel and headed for her. 

“Emily, no! Emily please, I need medical in here, we have an agent down! Emily, please, please don’t, please- Someone get medical, she’s bleeding-”

David’s hands grabbed a hold of her bloodied palm, wrapping it tightly in the cloth, so harshly it knocked her out of the daze she was in, dragged her out from the last time there was blood all over her hand, when it had been Emily’s blood, when she could do nothing but freeze like she had now. 

“I’m fine,” She said on a reflex, even though he hadn’t asked, he had just acted, pulling her towards the cupboard where he kept the first aid kit, “David, I’m totally fine, it’s just a little scratch,”

“You have to let me go,” Emily had gasped. "Let me go, Bug,"

“David, I’m fine, stop worrying,” She said again when she saw him fussing, hoping he couldn't see the way she’d started shaking, and if he had, she wondered if she could play it off as the adrenaline rushing to fix the wound. 

She knew she was on thin ice with the lot of them after her talk with Aaron. Like he said, they were her family, and family’s took care of one another. She couldn’t live with herself if she kept burdening them so much, kept them from grieving their partner just as much as she was; she loved them too. 

Bugsy was trying to get better, she really was. Sometimes it was just a little difficult, like now when she could still see Emily’s butchered body infront of her as if she were little more than that joint of pork she’d been julienning. 

“It’s okay to get hurt sometimes, kid. You don’t have to lie and pretend it doesn’t hurt if it does,” David said, sitting her back on the breakfast table, holding the bloodied cloth up where he was unravelling a spool of bandage and some rubbing alcohol. 

She shut up then, and she wondered if she was really that see through or if David was just that good at his job. They stayed silent, except for the moan of pain she let out when he doused her hand in the solution, pulling the skin closed tightly and wrapping it taut enough for her to feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. 

“It’s okay if you need a little help once in a while,” He continued, his movements gentle and careful, worried he’d spook her with the first real conversation they’d had in a long time. Rossi had always been closer to Emily than he had her, and maybe it was the fact he lost the few chances he had to be a father, or just the fact she reminded him so much of her older sister, but being with her felt like part of the wound in his chest was the one being treated. “Rather than being afraid to ask for help, remember this: When you ask someone to help you, you are actually doing them a tremendous favour by giving them an opportunity to feel needed.” 

“Is that a David Rossi original, or did you get that from one of your self help books?” She sniffed, hoping he didn’t see the way her expression had fallen, or her throat caught with an apology, or how she hid it with a small smile. 

“Richard Carlson.” He replied, pinning the end of the bandage in tight enough it wouldn’t snag. He sighed, looking at the girl who started guiltily at her fingers, reaching behind her for the corkscrew, “I’ll go get the Sauvignon, you order us a pizza. Just please god, no pineapple, that’s just as bad as instant noodles in my books. That’s like asking Da Vinci about bitcoin, it’s madness,” 

And that was the first time she properly laughed in weeks. 

While Derek was more than equipped to schmoozing the ladies when he wanted a date with them, he had not been ready for this when he’d asked Bugsy to go to the club with him.

She had been doing better, Rossi had said. She had seemed stronger, that was what Hotch had told him. Spencer said they’d even gone for coffee together. He left out the part where it felt awkward and almost like they were seeing an ex, though that of course would be impossible, because they were never dating. At least as far as he knew anyway. 

It had been going fine, they’d gotten two rounds of drinks, had been chatting and she’d even been giggling the more the alcohol hit her. She was looking more like she used to, and it almost all felt like a horrible dream hearing from the rest of the team the state she was in. 

He’d turned his back for a second, for two damn seconds, and she’d been whisked away by some frat boy, and come back to him with a crazy happy look in her eye that he didn’t notice until an hour later. 

“Where did you go, kid?” He’d asked, and she’d shrugged like it was nothing. 

“Needed the bathroom,” She said, and he hadn’t even noticed it was a lie until the light struck her eye for more than a couple seconds and he saw just how dilated her pupils were, like the blackness swallowed her iris whole, and the way she buzzed on the spot with more energy than she’d had in months. 

She was supposed to be getting better, and she was trying, really she was. 

But she couldn’t stop seeing the blood on her hand, couldn’t stop seeing Emily’s face now she could actually sleep again. 

Spencer was half way through his fourth re-read of War and Peace, in its original Russian translation, when he got the knock on the door. 

It was 10pm, he muttered to himself, who was bothering him at this time. 

But of course, as luck would have it, it was the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about, the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about for the past three years. 

“Spencerrrrrrr!” She chirped, and immediately alarm bells were ringing in his head, her fingers linked with Morgan’s as if he’d all but pulled her to his apartment from the cab. 

She wasn’t stumbling, and she smelled a little like alcohol, but not so much that her inhibitions would be completely destroyed, so he knew it wasn’t that. And Derek looked guilty, a serious kind of guilty like he’d suggested they take a drive on a motorbike with no helmet, or go chasing unsubs unarmed. 

It wasn’t until she flung her arms over his shoulders, and he’d pulled her inside, Morgan following behind with a nervous clear of his throat that he realised what it was. 

“Spencerrrr, I missed you! I missed you so much, Spencer!” And usually he’d love the way she said his name, but this time it was tainted, too false, too electrified. It barely even sounded like her, he hated the way his heart still pounded out of his chest at the fact she pressed herself so close in that little clubbing top of hers, those tight jeans. 

“What did she take?” He ignored her little hums of a song he couldn’t hear, the way she pushed herself even further into his body in a way he knew too well felt like a warm hug throughout her entire being. “Morgan!” 

Spencer had never snapped at him, not since his own days on whatever it was he was doing, and Morgan ran a hand over his face as she nuzzled her nose into his neck. 

“I don’t know, I swear. I turned my back for two seconds to get us another drink, and next thing I know this senior is hitting on her and she’s shoving gum in her mouth and coming back towards the bar- I don’t know what it was, I swear I thought it was gum, man,” Derek rushed, hating the look of desperation in Spencer’s eyes as he yanked her away from him with a small mewl of protest from her mouth. 

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, look at me,” He murmured, and she did, and he saw almost immediately the way her pupils were the size of saucers when she stared at him, crazed and intoxicated, “Do you remember what you took? I need to know so I can keep you safe,”

“You always keep me safe, so safe with Spencer,” She giggled to herself, trying to pull him back to her, but he wouldn’t budge, not until he got a real answer, “Come on, I’m going to be fine, it was just a little Molly, nothing to worry about. Kid even gave me a half for like ten dollars because he said I was reeeeeal pretty. Do you think I’m pretty Spence? I think you’re pretty, I think you’re super pretty,”

They felt themselves sigh in relief, because while still a drug, half of one pill shouldn’t really do much, especially if it was the cheap stuff going around frat houses that the DEA was having a field day with. 

Morgan looked at Spencer, where he let her shove her face against him once more, wrapping his arms around her back and feeling her sigh in relief that she was back there under his warm touch, and they shared the same thought. 

This never happened. 

Because if it did, it meant opening a can of worms Spencer had tried for years to shut tight. It meant acknowledging that the reason Morgan came to him and no one else was because he knew Spencer would know how to handle her when she was coming down in an hour or so. It meant acknowledging why Spencer would know that, and why they hadn’t acknowledged it the first time around. It meant their jobs would be on the line, and so was hers, and as much as she was struggling at the moment, they knew she just slipped up, and that this wasn’t who she was. They knew she could be better, that Spencer would force her to get better, because if the only other option was having her turn into who he used to be, then he was handing in his notice first thing Monday morning. 

That wasn’t an option in Spencer’s books, nor was it in Morgan’s. 

So Morgan left with a little pat on the back of her head, claiming she was a little troublemaker, though he hadn’t quite sounded as teasing as he’d intended and more bitter, and leaving Spencer with her to minimise the damage. 

Bugsy let him lead her to the spare room that once was hers, but she didn’t quite care enough to say anything other than, “I missed you so much,” As she pushed her face into his neck more. 

He sighed, sitting her down on the bed, knowing where she’d left some of her makeup wipes in his bathroom. 

“Stay right here, I’ll be right back,” But she whined again, making a grab for his hand, which he quickly avoided, feeling mean for it the moment he saw her face scrunch in hurt. He stroked her hair behind her ear, watching her melt under his touch, and it almost felt like nothing had changed, like she had never moved out, and like she hadn’t just burst back into his life after popping a bit of molly and turning his evening upside down, “I missed you so much, too, Bug,”

And he wasn’t lying. Not even a little bit. 

She looked up at him with those dazed pupils, as big as dimes as they batted up at him dreamily, and some awful part of him always wanted her to be looking at him like that, like everything he ever did in his life was perfect and he was a god among men. Like she was seeing her favourite movie for the first time on the big screen, when in reality he was just wiping her makeup off her face and handing her spare clothes to change into so she could sleep off the come down. 

It wasn’t until he tried to leave again to go get her some water that she put up a real fight, one that couldn’t be fought off with a gentle touch (he tried), and she was quick to grab his wrist, tug him closer to her. 

“Bug, I’m getting you-”

“Come lay down with me, let’s talk. I love talking to you, why haven’t we talked in so long?” She said like every barrier she ever put up had come tumbling down and her mouth was a free for all for her every thought. 

Spencer smiled despite himself, his honeycomb eyes soft as he shuffled to lay beside her, and they stared at one another, heads against the same pillow, and she looked soft than an angel laying on his bed waiting for a response. She looked happy for the first time in a long time, and he hated how much it suited her. 

“You moved out, remember, bug? You said you wanted to go home and I didn’t want to stop you,” He said gently, like he didn’t want to upset her. But she just giggled and shook her head like he’d told her a joke. 

“Oh, yeah. But I didn’t really want to go home. I wanted to be with you. I want to be with you forever,” Bugsy giggled to herself, wiggling her toes inside her socks and running a finger up his arm gently as she lay on her side, “I missed you so much,”

His brow furrowed, “What do you mean you didn’t want to go home?” But she wasn’t listening, she was tracing over his face with her fingertip, running over his nose gently, past his full lips that quivered under her touch, “Bug,” 

“Hm?” 

“What do you mean you didn’t want to go home? Why did you leave?” He asked again, and she looked back up at him with a shrug, shuffling closer to him, so close he could feel her breath fan over his cheeks. 

“I thought here with you was my home. I wanted it to be.” She said, her fingers finding their way into his nightshirt, “But I felt too guilty being so sad all the time, like I was getting my sad all over you and you couldn’t do anything about it because I was the loser girl with the dead sister you had to look after,” 

His eyes burned with emotion, and he willed himself not to cry, because suddenly it made sense why she had pulled away so fast. She looked at him like he’d hung the damn cosmos in the sky; had he not even paid attention to the letter she’d written Emily. She felt like she was dragging him down, the way she felt about everyone in her life, and decided to cut herself free before she took him with her. And look where that had landed her. 

He felt like a fool. 

“No, no,” Spencer whispered, pulling her into his arms, because he was scared that come morning she would take a million steps back and up and leave him all over again, “That’s not true, that could never happen, you hear me? I liked taking care of you, I wanted to take care of you.” 

“Really?” She asked hopefully, her face soft and dream-like, “I liked taking care of you too, when you would let me,” 

It was true he had tried to push his own feelings on the back burner, besides the few times the dam had cracked and he wound up with his head in her lap receiving the brunt of the affection that evening. He didn’t know why he ever doubted she would have wanted to do that; when he had his migraines she had done nothing but love on him until he felt full to the brim of her warmth. 

He felt himself chuckle, and she shuffled entirely into his arms then squashing out any last molecule of space left between them, and his hand slid over the back of her head, fingers rubbing softly into the nape of her neck which only made her moan loudly, entirely unaware of how sensitive her skin was from the molly. 

“That feels nice, Spencer,” She hummed, her thighs straddling his own as she squished herself against him more, “You feel so nice, I love you so much.” 

He would be lying if he  said the sounds she was making didn’t shoot straight to his dick, and hoped more than anything that she couldn’t feel how it pressed against his stomach angrily. His heart beat rattled loudly, and he swore she had to be able to hear it.

“I love you too,” Spencer sighed, wishing he could have said this to her sober. Wishing she wouldn’t shut him out so easily, wishing he’d pushed her walls a little harder. 

Then she did something he wasn’t expecting. It took all of two seconds for him to close his eyes and hum in content, where her hands were playing with the soft of his waist, and his fingertips stroked her jaw gently, but in a quick movement she planted her lips on his in a soft, sweet peck that he barely had time to register was happening before he pulled away in shock. 

She kissed him. She had kissed him. 

And he wanted her so badly, wanted her in every way it was possible to have someone, wanted to kiss her so hard his face went blue and his lips went numb and his throat burned with lack of oxygen. But he would never dare do anything when she was like this; vulnerable, intoxicated, unaware that the pill she’d taken had acted like a truth serum.

“We’re so silly,” Bugsy giggled, and for a moment she looked twenty two again, like the girl that had answered the door to him in college in nothing but her boxers and a shirt, with her metal music playing so loud he could hear it ringing in his ears minutes after she’d switched it off. She looked like his Bugsy again. 

Spencer chuckled with her incredulously, feeling his face on fire from her action, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest that had been immovable for months, because as hard as her come down would hit her, things seemed different now, like they actually had a kicking chance of getting through the grief together. 

But before he could say anything else, her eyes had fluttered shut under the warmth of his palm, and she had drifted off to sleep. 

He guessed he’d have to tell her tomorrow. 

–

taglist:

@release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions@the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal @mrsbellastyles @nilopillo @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @sadbae-33

[ohtobeleah]

Day Seven [The Hills Have Eyes]

Summary: Jakes mind plagues him with haunting memories at your funeral. Bradley is forced to come to terms with the fact he'll be Jake Seresins metaphorical punching bag for the rest of his life.

Warnings: Mentions of main character death. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Grief. Loss. Mental health issues. Jake hurting Bradleys feelings RELENTLESSLY.

Word Count: 1.5k

Whumptober Prompt Day Seven: Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

Author Note: Please make sure you read the warnings provided. Disclaimer: I do not condone nor endorse the actions that are written about during the month of October. These works of fiction are just that, fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for this year's prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Bruises Masterlist

“Here, this is gonna sting, but we need to clean this up a little,” Some of the world’s top trauma specialists have proven that our brains may forget the traumas we’ve survived. But our bodies, especially our nervous systems, always keep score. 

“Y-you have shitty craftsmanship Seresin,” You tried to lighten the incredibly hostile mood as Jake pressed a small bit of his peroxide-soaked Normex suit to your eyebrow. “But at least my eyebrow will match my botched-up thigh,” 

“I didn’t inherit any sort of surgical skills from Pops, that’s for sure,” Jake had ripped a small amount of the dirty material from his leg after you’d sustained a rather large gash through your eyebrow from one of the guards. They’d pistol-whipped you just for the fun of it. Through the bars of your cells, Jake offered to do what he could to try and ward off infection with the very limited amount of medical supplies that the two of you had been given in your time in hell. “Hold on, we’re gonna have to improvise here, Hotshot,” Jake sighed as he pressed the soaked material to your eyebrow. 

“Ah–!” You hissed as the liquid soaked into the deep wound that sliced through layers of skin and muscle right to the bone. “Fuck, you’d think I’d have a better pain threshold after everything huh?” 

“You’re fine,” Jake chuckled back as he looked around to see if he had any sort of suture supplies left over from when he’d been tasked with stitching up your thigh. “When we get outta here I’ll have to make sure I brush up on my first aid and CPR,”

“Jake?” Memories are stored in our shoulders, spines, stomach, and hands, without us ever knowing. We assume a painful backache or shaky hand is harmless and random. 

“Yeah?” Jake replied as he pulled the soaked bit of normex away from your eyebrow. He wished more than anything that he was on the same side of the bars as you were. 

“I think your CPR skills are just fine,” 

“Are you flirting with me right now Hollywood?” Jake smiled as he let the pad of his thumb trail across your cheek, taking shock of just how sunken your eyes had started to become. How tired and drained you really looked. 

“Nothing else better to do, is there?” You smiled back, praying that you’d get to know a version of Jake Seresin that wasn’t a prisoner of war. 

The pain we feel could always be more than random. It might be our bodies reminding us of what we’ve endured. 

And warming us not to let it happen again. 

“Y/n always had a way with words,” Jake’s hand shook as he held the piece of paper that held the key to his heart on it. The memories of you plagued his mind like a Rolodex suck in flip mode. No matter the time of day or night, you were on his mind. Jake swore he could feel you. He swore black and blue he could hear your laugh in the wind and see your smile on others. But in the night, in the depths of darkness when Jake’s mind would wander, he could only ever see you in that cell. Broken and bruised. 

“Whether they were being yelled or softly spoken, she always had something to say about everything,” It was possibly the hardest address he’d ever had to give. Your Eulogy. “But I know I speak on behalf of everyone here today when I say, no matter what she had to say, everyone here would take the time to listen,” 

Trauma doesn't tell time. It can't tell if we're eight or forty-one. If a kid has chicken pox or if you have the biggest, most challenging recovery ahead of you. And when it sneaks up on us, it's easy to think that we're right back at square one. 

“Y/n once took the time to coax me back from a platform I never even knew I was ready to jump from,” Jake’s words echoed into the valley below as a crowd of mourners paid their respects to your now-dead self. You could feel their sorrow as you watched from a distance, ready to move on to the next life. But someone was keeping you tethered to the real word. Someone wasn’t ready to let you go. 

That someone being Jake Seresin. 

“She said to me, one night when the memories of our shared trauma were all too consuming, that on the days when you miss someone the most, as though your memories are sharp enough to slice through skin and bone.” Jake took a moment to pause as a breeze rolled through the valley and carried fall leaves along in its path. He could feel you in every breath he breathed and every tear he cried. “Remember how they loved you. Remember how they loved you and do that for yourself.” 

Jake wanted nothing more than to trade places with you right now. He knew that someday soon he’d reunite with you. The time he’d been given with you was a cruel, sick joke that whatever God at the wheel that day decided to play. He couldn’t blame himself, you’d told him time and time again that none of it had ever been his fault. But there was blame, and someone would take the full front of it. That someone was sitting right in the front row, alongside your father. Bradley Bradshaw. 

“In their name, in their honour. Love yourself as they loved you. They would like that.” Jake paused as the sun peaked out from behind a collective of clouds that had somewhat shaded the hilltop on which you’d been buried. A non-traditional naval burial as Jake knew your wishes. You wanted to be at rest, at peace with your short time on earth. You had brought him here one afternoon to help him find solace. Jake thought to himself that it would be the perfect spot to spend all of eternity, in this life and the next. 

“I never really understood, but standing here today, I realise now that ‘they’ was ‘her’ all along.” Jake again took a moment to collect himself as he took another deep inhale, reminding himself to breathe. “I will always live out the rest of my days in honour of you, my dear,” Jake meant every word he spoke. “Till my dying days,” 

The truth is, even when our brain convinces us we're lost, if we try hard enough, our bodies will always remind us that there's a way back. And prepares us for whatever fight lies ahead. 

“Jake, buddy, it’s time,” Rooster had known that Jake never left your eternal resting place during the wake. Everyone had paid their respects, everyone had said their final goodbyes. Jake though, he couldn’t bring himself to leave you on that hill all by yourself. What if you got cold? What if it started to rain? What if a storm rolled through, you hated thunder. What if you got lonely? He knew you were afraid of the dark. 

So, Jake stayed. He stayed with you for hours, just sitting beside the newly laid dirt that was your grave. 

“You can't stay here forever,” Bradley spoke softly as he crouched beside the broken shell of a man who was once Hangman. A confident, promising, highly skilled aviator. Now? Jake was just a broken man who had lost everything, his career, the love of his life, his passion for life. 

All because he cared too much. 

“You should be under that dirt, Bradshaw,” Jake shot back when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “It should have been you,” 

It hadn’t been the first time, and it wasn’t about to be the last time that Jake took his grief out of Rooster. Bradley knew deep down that it couldn’t have been true. But as he sat beside the man who had been through so much pain, turmoil and torture, he thought perhaps there was an element of truth in those words. 

“Let’s get you home, Hangman,” Bradley sighed as he heard the clap of thunder rolling in from a distance. Jake heard it too, he didn’t move. “Y/n wouldn’t want you to stay here like this. They win if you can’t bring yourself to stand up,” 

Jake didn’t move, he wasn’t going anywhere. He simply stayed kneeling beside your grave with his head hung low in defeat. 

“They won the minute we hit the fucking ground, Bradshaw,” Jake sobbed prolifically as he crumbled. Bradley caught the shattered mess of a man who was Jake Seresin, his wingman. 

“I got you man,” Rooster sighed as he held Jake’s crying self in his arms. Right beside your grave as the storm rolled in. “I got you,” 

“I’d give anything for it to be you!” Jake screamed as he felt Bradley tighten his grip around him, tethering him to the last remaining slither of his own sanity. “It should be you, not her!” 

All Rooster did was hold his friend for dear life, silently crying with him. He knew how much grief coursed through his best friend’s veins. He’d felt it all his life. But this? This was something new entirely. 

“I’d switch–” Was all Rooster said as Jake cried in his brother’s arms. “I’d switch–” He repeated as the tears Jake cried soaked into the Bradley suit pants. “Without any hesitation man, I’d switch,”

********************************

[ultimate-chickennougat]

| Your Salaryman Husband | (Vol 6)

Vol 1 Vol 2 Vol 3 Vol 4 Vol 5 (Not Required) Vol 7 Vol 8 Vol 9

Salaryman!Kento x Housewife!Reader

Having lunch with Satoru Gojo...

Word Count: 1.6k

CW: SFW, domestic fluff, fem!Reader, Nanami's a bit rude, Gojo...

A/n: I hope I didn't fail Gojo's dialogue too bad, this volume has a bit more plot in it than usual. I'll keep it light next one.

Nanami, your perfect husband, never ceased to surprise you. You couldn’t imagine that a man like him, so perfect and loving, could not have friends. There was Ijichi, a former coworker that he checked in with on occasion, and Ieiri, another coworker that he insisted on be your doctor, but in general he was never one to stay out late to drink with his friends after work, or watch a sports game like other married men his age. He always reasoned, that there was no one he would rather spend time with than you, which was true of course. But still, it didn’t make sense. 

Now a salaryman, a senior manager at an investment company, you had met him when he was a Jujutsu Sorcerer, though he didn’t stay that way for long. Once the two of you started courting, he quickly decided to go back to his former position, something he was already considering before meeting you. For the longest time, you hadn’t met anyone from his past, though he never shied away from telling you anything you asked about.

Now what you didn’t know, was that there were other reasons for his reclusiveness. A great scar on his heart, you could say. Something that could never be healed, for it was formed by a monster.

That monster, was none other than Satoru Gojo, Nanami’s former upperclassman and fellow Jujutsu sorcerer. 

The sheer amount of pain inflicted upon Nanami every time he had to go within a kilometer radius of that man was something most people couldn’t imagine, who was so incredibly annoying that his own brain cells suffered substantially at the sound of his voice. The living being that just might have been his main reason for leaving Jujutsu High way back then. 

And that was the man you two were set to have lunch with, that afternoon. You hadn’t seen him since your wedding, where he was sitting in the front row, making sure to give Nanami a pat on the back before saying “I do.” He was happy to introduce himself, of course curious about the new Mrs. Nanami who had been kept far, far away from him, but the way Nanami was, he quickly hurried the bother away and swept you off your feet as soon as he could to enjoy the rest of the night. 

Your husband, Nanami, tried his hardest to be respectful to just about everyone, preferring to get work done and pay attention to more important things than those who bothered him. However when it came to Gojo, only the bitter honesty remained. He had no problem insulting that pest that called himself “the strongest”, which sadly he couldn’t deny. This was true when you tried to bring him up, asking about the man at the wedding while writing thank you notes to the guests. 

“Don’t mind him,” he said sternly, trying to avoid the topic - as the great perk of getting out of the Jujutsu world might just have been being done with Satoru Gojo, after all. A lifetime long break from that man. “In fact, I don’t think he even needs a card,” He smiled, holding up the envelope, about to rip it into shreds. 

“Of course he does, he gave us such a nice gift,” you muttered, snatching the envelope  back from his hands. That was about as far as you got when trying to bring him up. Nanami would always tell you everything you wanted to know, about his work and past life, and the same was true with Gojo. But something about the way that he scowled just at the thought of him had you wishing you hadn’t mentioned it at all. 

You were running around at home waiting for Nanami to get back, as per usual, though this time your struggle was quickly sweeping and vacuuming up a dropped glass. Reaching into the high cabinets in the kitchen, your apron had gotten snagged on a handle as you stepped down from the stepping stool. If only it had been a small spill, but the large glass jar flew out of your hands as you tried to not fall yourself, and landed, smashing into a million pieces directly in the middle of the kitchen floor. Glass pieces tucked into every nook and cranny of the kitchen and surrounding rooms. Then you heard the phone ring. Rushing to grab it, the unknown number didn’t phase you. Nanami’s work often sent calls to the home phone, after all. 

“Hello? This is the Nanami residence,” you spoke, holding the phone to your ear. “Good, I got the right number,” the voice sighed. “This is Satoru Gojo, Nanami’s coworker?” The voice who you now knew as Gojo waited for your reply. “Ah Mr. Gojo…” you took a few breaths, “Kento isn’t here right now, but he’ll be back in a few minutes.” “Oh he isn’t? That’s great… I mean fine, that’s fine. I don’t need him here.” Gojo let out a few laughs under his breath. “Actually, I was wondering if you two would like to meet up for lunch tomorrow. Theres this great new restaurant that opened up, and I haven’t seen either of you in a while. How does that sound?” He asked. “I’ll have to ask Nanami, though I doubt he’d be busy. I’m sure he would enjoy seeing you…” You let out a few giggles yourself, thinking about your stoic husband. Of course you didn’t want to upset him, but maybe he would enjoy meeting up with a coworker - and of course, you were awfully curious. 

“If you two have any conflicts, just let me know. I’ll make us a reservation anyways.” Gojo leafed through the menu, the sound audible through the phone. “Oh and they have mochi, that’ll be great,” he laughed, “It was good to talk to you, Y/n, I’ll see you later.” “Goodbye, Mr. Gojo,” you responded back, and the call was ended. 

In perfect timing, of course, the moment you got back to work, bending down to sweep up the glass mess on the floor, your husband walked up the front steps. You ran over to greet him, fixing your hair and removing your apron. “Welcome home darling,” you smiled as he opened the door. You took his briefcase and set it to the side of the door for him. “I… I broke some glass in the kitchen, I’ll go clean it up in a minute,” you started, as he looked you in the eyes. “And…” he stared, curious as to what you were so nervous about. “I received a phone call, from a coworker of yours, or should I say former coworker?” part of you wanted to change the subject. “I see… and does this coworker have a name?” he asked, taking a seat on the couch. 

“Mr. Gojo gave a call, actually.” Nanami’s hands clenched, the veins showing down from his knuckles. “He invited us to lunch tomorrow, isn’t that nice?” 

And that is how you ended up in the car, with a very bothered husband on a nice Saturday afternoon. The restaurant was in a nice quiet part of the city, just a few miles away. Threading your fingers together as you sat in the passengers seat, the annoyance was clear on Nanami’s face. “I’m sorry, Kento, but he already made the reservation… I would feel bad to cancel,” he let out a small grunt, gripping the steering wheel. “I’m not mad at you, Y/n, it’s that stupid-” he moved his hand to hold onto yours as he breathed. “Please don’t take anything he says seriously, my love,” you smiled, glad to know he wasn’t mad at you, his humor still coming through. 

After checking in with the waiter, the two of you were led to an outdoor table. “I’m surprised you didn’t show up in a t-shirt,” the two of you sat down as Nanami glared at the man before him. “Of course not, I am meeting with my favorite couple, you know.” Gojo sneered back. “I don’t see why you always ignore me nowadays, Nanami, are we not friends?” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Y/n, look at the menu, it has some great sandwich options,” Nanami pointed to the paper in front of him, as Gojo whined, being ignored. 

“To be honest I’ve moved on from all of that,” the food was getting served as Nanami and Gojo continued their conversation. “That kind of work isn’t for everyone,” Nanami explained, eying the ham and cheese sandwich before him. “And Y/n, is he treating you well?” Gojo asked, giving a look to Nanami. “Yes, of course, he’s wonderful,” you responded shyly, the question catching you off guard. “I don’t know how you got that number anyway, but I know Y/n was quite interested in meeting you,” he smirked at you, his nerves having calmed down quite a bit. “Has he met your expectations?” you thought about it for a moment. “Yes, any friend of yours is a friend of mine. By the way, thank you so much for the gift Mr. Gojo,” he smiled back at you. “That toaster is top of the line, it’s got a ton of extra settings so you can use it on more than sliced bread,” you laughed, taking a sip of water from your glass. 

“Anyways, I hope we can do this again, hmm?” Gojo asked, having paid the bill. Nanami looked at you, rolling his eyes. “If we must, then sure,” he responded, grabbing your hand to walk out of the building. “By the way, how is it that my upperclassman is so far behind? I’d think you’d at least have some prospects…” Nanami pretended to ponder, watching Gojo’s face turn into a frown. Thus concluded your first real meeting with one of Nanami’s friends, an interesting experience forever ingrained into your mind.

[elicathebunny]

How to stay positive despite the situation.

Life is hard, nobody said life was easy. People who claim life as easy have benefited from those who have endured hardships or surpassed their own.

But then questions arise: how does one achieve an "easy" life? How can people live their lives as if they have selected what difficulty level to play, yet mine seems to be automatically set to the hardest one?

Positivity is a learned habit for those who are not used to being in that mindset.

HABITS: The more often you repeat the new action, the stronger and more efficient these neural networks become. This reorganising and strengthening of connections between neurons is called neuroplasticity, and in the case of building habits – long-term potentiation. Each time you perform a new action while trying to form a habit, you need smaller cues or triggers to activate the same network of brain cells.

Being positive isn't easy when your situation is the complete opposite. But I believe that is the only way to survive a negative situation. When you are negative, you become a victim of your circumstance and nothing changes. How you think is how you perceive the world, whether true or not.

POSITIVITY THROUGHOUT.

First, Nix the Negative: Before you put positive thinking into practice, look for any negative thoughts that may be running through your mind. These include: A bad filter. Do you overlook the good things about a situation and get wrapped up in the negatives? For example, you enjoy a fun dinner out with friends, but the restaurant gets your bill wrong at the end of the night. You leave feeling annoyed and frustrated, forgetting about the good time you had. Taking the blame. Do you tend to take on the blame for something bad or disappointing that happens? For example, a friend declines an invitation from you, so you assume it’s because they don’t want to spend time with you. Predicting disaster. This means you have one setback and then expect the worst to happen. For example, your car won’t start in the morning, so you think the rest of your day is destined to be doomed. Black-and-white thinking. Do you see things as either good or bad, with no middle ground? In this mindset, if things aren’t perfect, they’re automatically bad.

Thinking positive is difficult when you are surrounded by everything the opposite. But if your mind is the same, how will you overcome it? It starts by making one change in your mind that can completely change your perspective on your circumstance. Remember that change doesn't have to be significantly big; it could be changing something simple, yet it could make a difference in your life.

CONSUME POSITIVITY.

Everything around you that you can change should be positive. Don't focus on anything you can't control just the things you can. Change the type of music you listen to, are the lyrics what you want to resonate with? Words are affirmations, or in other people's words are spells. What you say or what is said to you enough times will be embedded in you if said with enough emotion attached to it. Change

Change the words you use to talk to yourself or to talk to others. Do you participate in gossip? Do you talk down on yourself? What words do you use negatively when talking about yourself and can you catch yourself saying/thinking them in order to change them? Swap out negative thoughts with positive ones. I know it will sound phony when trying but keep trying until it replaces the old habit of self-negativity.

Cut off people who drain the positivity out of you, and if you can't physically remove them, don't engage in conversation with them unless you actually need to (work or school environments). Sometimes people don't get the memo even after distancing, this is when I'd just start ignoring them tbh (don't be rude about it, this is only when you've made it clear that you don't want to associate with them).

Love yourself from the inside. Don't just focus on the outside but really focus on your inner health. Are you drinking enough water? Are you eating well? Do you socialise enough or are you isolating yourself? Are you spending enough time alone or are you over-socialising? Are you lacking anything in your body that you can replenish through supplements or changing your diet? Are you moving enough? Are you resting enough and getting the needed amount of sleep for your age range? Are you overworking yourself? Are you being too kind to yourself and not pushing yourself enough? Do you know your body? Do you go outside enough? Do you have a self-care routine or time throughout the day or week to dedicate to yourself? Do you take care of your hygiene?

Feeling good inside is how you can attempt to change what's happening outside. You can't attempt to better your situation if you don't feel like you can. If you feel like crap obviously you're not going to achieve what you aspire to do.

Being positive all the time is not going to happen. Your not going to be happy all the time because that's not human. But learning how you can make your self happier and how not to be stuck in a rut is good to know.

[writerscafehub]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀: 𝐋𝐢𝐳

@avengers-resident-idiot

From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

About a 3 I think, I hav𖤓 liz 𖤓en’t written anything in a while because I’ve been busy with work and school. I struggle with actually finishing anything, I swear my drafts is a graveyard of WIPs. Once I get done with my finals I plan to actually try and sit down and actually write a fic or at the very least headcanons

2. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

I feel like my writing is very self indulgent, I fantasize for literal days or weeks about what I personally would want to happen and imagine myself as the reader in the fic and just run with it. I have tried a few times to write an idea that a friend gives me and I just struggle cause I get stuck in my own head wondering if I’m writing it how they personally would want it.

3. Are there any writers that inspire you?

Literally everybody in the server, the fact that y'all are so imaginative and are so motivated to write fics on a consistent basis never fails to amaze me, I am on my knees begging for a crumb of the kind of motivation y’all got. 

4. What’s the fic you’re most proud of? 

Honestly probably the very first fic I ever wrote, which was a Zayn Malik fanfiction (I was a HUGE One Direction fan…honestly I still am). It was terrible, and so ridiculously cringey but to middle school me, I was the next Shakespeare  and was just proud that I actually wrote something and put it on the internet for the world to see and I regret nothing. 

5. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write and which do you find most difficult to write? 

The easiest is probably Peter Parker cause he’s such a sassy little shit and I love him. The hardest is probably Dr. Spencer Reid, I’ve tried before and I just can’t get his mannerisms right. 

6. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

I feel like my most of my wips are friends to lovers with misunderstandings galore 

7. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about!

I’ve been planning this fic out in my head for the past month, idk for sure what I’m gonna call it, but it’s gonna be an Evan “Buck” Buckley x reader fic, I’m considering adding Eddie Diaz into the mix cause honestly it’s what we deserve. Basically the reader is going to open up a bakery across from the fire station and our lovely firefighters can’t resist the smell of warm bread and coffee in the morning so they go and meet Reader (considering giving her a nickname) who is dancing to 80’s music and may or may not be covered in flour, and from there hijinks, first dates, and love confessions ensue. 

8. First fandom you ever wrote for?

One Direction and I regret nothing

9. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

Ooo  misunderstandings that can be easily resolved if they JUST TALK, found family tropes almost always make me cry, fake dating never fails to make me laugh because the characters never think it through and I love that for them with that being said idiots to lovers is another big one, especially if they share exactly one brain cell. 

10. A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

Probably anything dark, nothing wrong with dark fics, I just don’t think I’d ever be able to write a dark fic well enough where it was actually understandable or good for that matter.

11. Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

Another One Direction fanfiction, but this time Liam Payne, it's since been deleted but basically gang leader!Liam and the reader were highschool sweethearts and broke up cause Liam betrayed her, if i remember right he gets her brother arrested? Years later she comes back to town and is part of an all girls gang and Liam's gang (One Direction) start fighting over territory, there were drunken confessions, a secret child, and attempted kidnappings and literally every other chapter one of them almost died. Middle school me was very proud of it.

12. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

Steve Rogers x innocent!reader, knight!Bucky x princess!Reader, Evan “Buck” Buckley x reader

13. Do you listen to anything while you write?

Yes, I have so many playlists, everytime I get an idea for a fic I run to Spotify and immediately create a new one and add songs that fit the vibe I’m going for, doesn’t matter what genre or language so long as I think it fits it gets added to the playlist.

14. One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

Definitely both, I am not picky whatsoever. 

15. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

Omg yes, I honestly think this is part of the reason it’s so hard for me to finish writing anything. The second I get a new idea for a fic I start imagining all sorts of different scenarios I could put them in like trips to the zoo, grocery shopping or like the same scenes from the fic, but from another character's point of view. Even if it’s not going to be part of the fic I imagine what the proposal would be like, what their vows would be, or how they'd react to their first child being born. My mind goes a hundred miles a minute when I get a new idea, but the second I sit down to write it out poof all the ideas are gone.

16. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

Honestly smut. There are so many talented writers out there who do a great job at writing smut, but whenever I try it just comes out to stiff and doesn’t sound write, so I always end up deleting it 

17. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

I was once told I was very good at descriptions, they said they could picture the night sky in their mind and it was like they were there. 

18. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

Eh not really, I usually stick to fluff, humor and slight angst, I want to try step out of my comfort zone by writing smut, but it’ll be a while before I post anything 

19. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

Oh my gosh how could I possibly choose, most of the time it just depends what kind of mood I’m in but lately it’s been tooth-rotting fluffy with a tiny bit of angst mixed in

20. Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

At this point in time I do not have any oc’s, but I’m considering creating one for my Evan “Buck” Buckley fic. 

21. If you could enter the universe of any one of your fics, which would it be and why?

Probably my WIP Knight!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader because who wouldn’t want to be protected by an extremely handsome Bucky who acts like you're a nuisance, but would do anything to protect you no questions asked if ever necessary?? And also I just love the idea of running down a castle hallway at night wearing a floor length ball gown.

22. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

Just that my process involves creating the perfect playlist for that specific fic and tons of daydreaming, and while it may take me a long time to finally finish writing, I’m always excited to share it and get feedback!

23. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of. 

This is from my knight!Bucky Barnes x Princess!reader wip                            

“Do you think I am inadequate because I am a female, my Lord? Is that what you’re saying? You think that I am unfit to rule because I'm a little emotional right now?  Well you’re right, I am a little emotional right now. From the moment I was born, it was known that I, and I alone, would be next in line to assume the throne. My entire life was spent preparing for the moment that my reign would begin and I intend to use all the knowledge my father, may God rest his soul, taught me.  Just two weeks ago I watched as they lowered my father’s cold, dead body into the ground and not a week later a crown was placed atop my head…. a crown I thought my father would be giving me.  I am emotional because right now at this very moment there are rebels out there, only God knows where, hatching plans to storm this castle! This castle has stood here for 300 hundred years and I intend for it to stand for many more. I refuse to let the rebels take my country and everything that my family has worked for.  Now, we have much more pressing matters to deal with than your fragile egos, don’t you think my Lords?”

24. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

Have fun with writing! Don’t worry about whether or not the idea you want to write has been written before because it most definitely has been, but it’s never been written by you! 

I’m excited to finally be done with my classes and I hope to to write more and post my fics throughout the summer! 

[thelaisydazy]

The Banshee Calls - Chapter 1

John "Soap" MacTavish x Aoife "Banshee" Finny

Next Chapter

One year ago, Johnny woke up in a hospital room, his mind foggy and his head throbbing with pain. He’d been confused, lost.

His lieutenant had been waiting with him that day, shocked but relieved. No one thought he would ever wake up, ever recover. Johnny couldn’t remember Ghost ever sounding so worried in the years they’d known each other. That’s how he knew just how fucked he was.

The last thing he remembered was storming an underground metro to intercept a bomb set by Vladimir Makarov, a Russian ultranationalist hellbent on starting another world war. Him and the rest of the 141 had been hot on his trail. Soap had been working on disarming the bomb with Captain Price when they were face-to-face with Makarov and his men. It had been a short firefight but when Soap pulled Makarov off Price, everything went black.

Now he was sitting in hospital, hooked up to a series of machines that beeped every so often. Ghost had told Soap he'd been shot in the head, somehow not only surviving but avoiding major brain damage. Nothing short of a miracle.

Johnny had wanted Ghost to joke about him not missing many brain cells, but the seriousness in Ghost's voice betrayed how difficult the situation was.

Soap spent months recovering in hospital, being run through test after test. He'd feared that he'd be forced to retire after all, but by some stroke of luck, he'd been told he could, eventually, return to service.

Or so they said…

---

His mind swam as he sat in the tiny, dark kitchen of the shitty apartment he’d been given by Laswell, somewhere in a city in Ireland. Johnny’s hand gripped a half full bottle of scotch, bringing it to his lips and gulping more down. He was disheveled to say the least, brown mohawk grown out and unbrushed, blue eyes sunken in.

Six months.. He’d been waiting to hear from his team for six months.. Instead he’d been left to rot in this damned apartment. He’d tried everything to reach out, to get any information. Laswell rarely checked in and when she did it was basically only to make sure he was still alive and that the apartment was still in one piece. For a while Ghost answered his texts, even a phone call or two when Johnny really needed someone to talk to, but even he’d grown silent.

A hand came up and pushed his unkempt hair from his forehead then it wiped down his tear stained face, over the stubble that had overgrown in the past few weeks.

Johnny wasn’t certain of much anymore, but he knew one thing must be true. He’d been abandoned by his team.

One bullet to the skull and he was thrown out.

Useless.. Fucking useless..

His chest ached at the idea. Sure, being a soldier was never easy work. Hell. It was the hardest work he could've found, but he'd grown to love it. In the military, Johnny could focus that abundance of buzzing energy into something worthwhile. Something meaningful. Now. Here. That same energy had nowhere to go. It just sat inside him, like a wild animal lashing out against the bars of its cage.

He gulped down more Scotch. Alcohol made the energy in his chest quieter, but it didn't muffle it completely. He could still feel it, but it was more bearable. Even if he felt like his chest might implode with every heaving sob that forced its way out.

---

“You look like shit, Soap,” Kate Laswell’s voice stirred him from where he’d passed out on the couch. She dropped a plastic bag on his coffee table with a deafening crash that made him groan through his hangover.

Johnny glared at her through narrowed blue eyes. “Some nerve ye git..” he slurred. He hauled himself into a sitting position that made his stomach lurch, still watching Kate. “Ain't heard fae na yin in weeks 'n' ye juist let yersel' in? Gang bile yer heid, Laswell.”

“Johnny.” Kate’s voice was firm and her gaze dangerous. She pointed to the bag she’d brought in with her. “Eat something and sober up. I have news and a job for you.”

He snatched up the bag and opened it to see some greasy fries that buried an equally greasy burger. He all too quickly shoved a handful of fries into his mouth. “Leid wi' that then..” he mumbled between mouthfuls of food.

Kate Laswell was quiet, standing across the littered living room as Johnny ate. He was in poor shape, he hardly looked like himself. “We have a lead on Makarov,” she said, making the man nearly choke on his food, a flash of anger in his eyes. “We're sending you after him.”

“How come me?” Johnny asked, straightening up and looking at her from his spot on the couch. “I been out for six months..”

“Everyone thinks you're dead,” she said. Kate had always been straight forward in the way she spoke. “We're setting you up with a reconnaissance specialist. You two are going undercover.”

Johnny thought for several moments as he chewed. Gaz and Roach were far from recon specialists and Captain Price was too well known to go undercover. That only left Ghost, but Johnny doubted Laswell and Price would send Ghost on an undercover operation. He had to wonder who he was being set up with.

“You're leaving in a few days,” Kate said, reaching into a bag she was carrying with her. She placed a manila folder on the table in front of Johnny. “Everything you need to know about your new identity and your mission is here. Familiarize yourself with it.”

Johnny wiped his hands on his sweats, picking up the folder. He rifles through its contents. Makarov was hiding out in America, some trashy little suburb outside of Hollywood. Ties to human trafficking. The idea made Johnny's blood boil.

“Where'd ye git a' this from?” Johnny asked, turning another page. There was plenty of information on what was being done to the poor girls being brought into Makarov's sick business venture in America, but not much on how they got there or where Makarov himself was. “Sick bastard…”

His eyes then landed on a piece of paper containing his new identity. His new name and life story. Neil MacBride.. At least they didn’t expect him to hide his accent.

“Corporal Banshee's been hard at work,” Kate answered.

Johnny looked up at that. “Banshee?” The word brought back memories, sitting with his grandmother listening to all the stories she liked to tell. The legends and myths of the isles. Banshees were probably one of the scariest things she told him about, the way they wailed and screeched.

“She's been undercover for the last few months gathering intel,” Kate continued, stepping closer. “She's expecting Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish on this, she's worked too hard to have the operation go under now. So clean up your act and get it together.”

Johnny nodded. Laswell was right, he needed to get back on his feet for this job. “What else can ye tell me ‘bout the Banshee?”

“Irish Special Forces, ARW, Corporal Banshee's young but she's a force to be reckoned with,” Laswell said. “Works mostly in reconnaissance these days. She's currently posing as security in one of the clubs Makarov's hiding out in.”

Johnny frowned. “No name?”

“You've worked with Ghost, Sergeant.”

He couldn't argue with that, though he knew Ghost's name, it took time, but he knew his lieutenant’s name and face. Certainly the old MacTavish charm would work on an Irish lass working in America.

“I'll just have tae git her to open tae me lik’ Ghost,” he beamed. This was the first time in months he'd felt like himself. Even if it was work, Johnny was ready to get back into action.

---

“Fuck’s sake, m’ apartment is still in one piece, yeah?”

Kate Laswell sat in her office, eyes fixed on the screen of her laptop. The tiny monitor showed a young woman. She had a slim face and black hair that cascaded over her shoulders, a pair of white streaks framing her face.

“Soap’s apologized,” Kate lied. “Thank you again for loaning us the space to hide him.”

Laswell knew the young woman was on edge with a soldier she didn't know staying in her personal apartment. It was the easiest way to make sure Soap would stay, mostly, out of trouble. Drinking problem notwithstanding.

The young woman on the other end, shifted on her couch, tilting her head like she was looking around. Kate could barely see the tattoos that peeked out from the high collar of her shirt. She turned a pair of stormy blue eyes back to her screen.

“Only fur you, Watcher. Thankfully I didnae have anything there anyway.”

Kate smiled gently at the soft Irish accent coming from her speakers. “He’ll be out of there soon enough,” she said. “Three days and he's on site with you.” Laswell adjusted in her own seat briefly. “Just remember, you may have put in the legwork on this, but he does outrank you.”

“Copy that Watcher,” the young woman said. “I'll keep it tight. Professional. Just make sure he's sober, I have a hard enough time here wi’ Americans thinking all I do is drink, aye?”

“Soap's good,” Laswell said, though she had her own doubts. Johnny had looked a mess when she arrived. “I made sure he dumped the last of that Scotch before I left.”

The young woman nodded. “I been putting in word ‘bout a cousin comin’ tae visit me soon,” she said. “Gonnae see ‘bout getting him a job in th’ club wi’ me. Far as those bastards know, he’s recently divorced ‘n’ lookin’ fur a fresh start in th’ states.”

“Good, we don’t need any trouble getting him inside,” Kate said. She looked at the time on her laptop. “Almost time for you to get back to work. Stay safe and report back in the morning.”

“Roger Watcher.”

“Goodnight Banshee.”

[tumbleweed-palmer]

jimmy x reader (timeline around when abby was still in the show) reader finds out she's pregnant after her and jimmy struggling for almost a year, she waits until shes 12 weeks and certain they are safe and she reveals it to jimmy and then they tell the team!

Some content warning: mentions of past miscarriage and pregnancy related things.

I got a tiny bit angsty, so this may be more emotional hurt/comfort I hope it's everything you wanted anon.

-----

Stronger Together

If anyone asked Y/N what she considered the most important element in a relationship to be, she would most likely answer trust. If you didn’t have trust you didn’t have anything. Once trust was broken you could try your hardest to put it back together, but you would always see the cracks.

When trust was broken in a relationship, the relationship itself was broken. 

She hadn’t always been fortunate enough to have trust in past relationships. More often than not she’d had her trust in her romantic partners shattered. Needless to say these experiences had taught her to appreciate the importance of trust.

If anyone were to ask her who she trusted the most in this world, she would easily answer without hesitation that the person she trusted above all was James “Jimmy” Palmer.

Jimmy Palmer was her soulmate. She had a deep sense of trust in him and he had a deep sense of trust in her.

She could say without any hesitation that there were no secrets between them. They had a tendency to tell one another everything.  

Jimmy liked to joke that it was a part of their wedding vows, the promise to tell one another everything. He wasn’t being serious of course.

Being so open with one another was just an understanding they’d always had.

Trust was just as meaningful to Jimmy as it was to Y/N. He’d had his trust broken before and it hurt. Jimmy had gone through a fair bit of having his trust broken in a previous relationship prior to meeting Y/N. He had openly admitted to Y/N that he couldn’t tolerate secrets and dishonesty especially in a relationship. 

That was why these past seven weeks had been so difficult.

She’d carried around a constant immense sense of guilt these past seven weeks. She’d been keeping such a huge secret and telling the occasional white lie to hide her secret.

She had wanted to admit the truth and say the words a million times now, but fear and anxiety kept a tight grip on her tongue. A voice in the back of her brain insisted that it was just too risky to tell him just yet.

She could distinctly remember the day she’d come to the realization that she had no choice but to keep a secret from her husband.

Y/N felt her stomach churn as she stared down at her watch before staring up at the analog clock on the wall in the lab and then down at the timer she’d set on her cell phone.

This was the longest ten minutes of her life. Though if she wanted to be technical about it, this was technically going to take longer than ten minutes. It was just ten minutes at the most for each test. There was more than one test which meant that not every test was set to show results at exactly ten minutes on the dot. 

She couldn’t keep it to just one single test. She needed to have a wide range of results from multiple tests. She was a scientist through and through and had purchased multiple tests for the best comparison in her results. 

Taking the tests had been more complicated than she’d assumed it would be. She knew that she must have looked absolutely out of her mind squatting over the toilet in the women’s room across from the lab holding multiple pregnancy tests in her hands attempting to shuffle them as she did all she could to to pee on one test after the other all in one go. 

Any reasonable person would have waited to tackle this venture in the security of their own home.

She knew she didn’t have much of a choice though, but to take care of this at work.

She was quite certain her husband would take notice if she disappeared in the bathroom for quite a while with a jug of water and a plastic shopping bag from the local pharmacy.

So, she’d taken a more secretive option. She’d waited until Abby took her lunch break before she’d slipped into the bathroom with a bag full of pregnancy tests discreetly hidden in her purse after she’d chugged the biggest bottle of juice she could find in the vending machine.

She’d taken care of business in the bathroom before slipping back into the lab heading to the area where Abby and she kept their desks knowing that it would offer a little privacy in case anyone happened to wander into the lab.

She had a feeling that no one would interrupt her in the lab. It was a remarkably slow day. So there was little chance of anyone wandering into the lab.

She just hoped that it wasn’t as slow in Autopsy as it was in the lab. 

The last thing she needed was her husband walking in on this.

She couldn’t help but to feel guilty for being so secretive about this. It was just that she couldn’t take putting the man she loved through the disappointment of what would most likely turn out to be yet another negative pregnancy test.  

She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t being secretive. If anything she was doing this out of love. She was trying to protect her husband from yet another crushing letdown.

There had been so many pregnancy tests over the past year. There had been so many disappointments and crushed senses of hope as they’d endured negative test after negative test.

They’d falsely believed that this would be so easy. Each negative pregnancy test proved though that this was much more difficult than they’d ever considered.

It had been one year now, one long year of trying and failing to start their family.

With as much time as they’d devoted to trying to get pregnant, Y/N was almost surprised that sex hadn’t begun to feel like a chore. After all, when one spent so much time having sex for the explicit purpose of conceiving a child, it seemed as though it would be quite easy for intimacy to feel less like an act of love and more like a job.

Jimmy had always done all he could to consistently remind her that focusing too hard on the end result they were hoping for would most likely place too much pressure on themselves and lessen their chances of conceiving. After all, if they were both stressed and so hyper focused on getting pregnant it would most likely make intimacy less of an enjoyable act and more of a means to an end. 

He’d tried so hard to keep things light and playful during their intimate moments. He’d tried hard to keep her in the moment and not so focused on what they were trying to achieve.

She would be lying though if she tried to pretend that their sex lives hadn’t become a little over technical at times. They’d tried a few unconventional things that they’d read just might increase their odds of conceiving. Though they’d doubted the validity of some of these things, they’d begun to get desperate in these past few months.

They’d tried propping her hips up on a pillow and holding her legs up after sex hoping that gravity would do its job.

They’d tried a few positions that they had read might help them conceive as it might help them achieve deeper penetration. Though they’d definitely read that there was little evidence to support that certain positions increased the odds of conceiving.  

They’d taken so many ovulation tests, She was almost sure they should purchase stock in the companies that manufactured the things. 

They’d scheduled sex around her ovulation cycle though that hadn’t always been easy with their schedules. They’d tried so hard to make sure that they didn’t miss out on taking advantage of her most fertile days even if they were only able to manage sleepy half paced sex after a long day at work. 

They’d reduced their caffeine intake and tried to eat as healthily as possible.

They’d tried so hard to keep their stress levels down, though it wasn’t easy in either of their careers.

Jimmy had even maybe awkwardly tried to casually ask Dr. Mallard if during any of his extensive medical training he’d possibly read any studies on increasing odds of conception…it was a conversation that Jimmy was sure he’d add to his top ten most awkward social interactions of all time. After all there wasn’t a way one could approach the question without it being clear that the question wasn’t purely for advancement of Jimmy’s medical knowledge. Especially considering their careers focused on the end of life and not the creation of life.

Needless to say despite their best efforts to conceive Jimmy and Y/N had fallen into a cycle of trying so hard to conceive, getting their hopes up, and having their hopes crushed.

Y/N was beginning to feel despondent over the entire process.

She was frustrated by her body’s lack of cooperation. 

She wanted to have a baby with Jimmy Palmer so badly she couldn’t stand it, but her body just wouldn’t seem to get with the program.

She had no doubt that Jimmy at times was equally as frustrated with his body’s lack of cooperation. However, he was so focused on trying to be the eternal optimist that he tried to hide his frustration.

It was something she both adored and hated about him. He was optimistic and so positive, but at times that positivity didn’t feel as comforting as he seemed to intend. It felt like he was burying his head in the sand and ignoring the cold hard truth that they were no closer to getting pregnant than they’d been when they’d started this venture 12 months before.

Y/N of course felt guilty for being so frustrated with his optimism. 

She loved him so much. It had been love at first sight.

She’d been hired by Abby to work as her assistant, a job she’d been told she should feel blessed to have given Abby’s past resistance to any assistance in the lab.

Y/N had been introduced to Jimmy within her first week at NCIS and she’d been unable to deny that he was incredibly cute and sweet too. He had sort of a bashful nerdy charm to him. She’d liked him more than she wanted to admit, and of course she’d felt foolish for developing a schoolgirl crush on him.

She’d hoped that the crush would fade, but it had only grown as the months had gone by. She’d tried so hard to focus on keeping any romantic feelings at bay, but it wasn’t easy. She had discovered so many things to like about Jimmy Palmer. Jimmy was funny, sweet, intelligent, empathetic, braver than anyone gave him credit for, and passionate about his job. 

It was hard to deny that her feelings for him went far beyond just coworkers who were developing a budding friendship. Of course neither had wanted to admit that their friendship often at times bordered on being quite flirty.

Abby had pointed out that Jimmy seemed sweet on Y/N numerous times, but Y/N had always laughed the claims off, unable to believe that a catch like Jimmy Palmer was even interested. She never had luck with guys. She never attracted guys who were equally attractive, kind, and intelligent. She’d joked she only ever got two out of the three but never the total package.

A night out with the rest of the NCIS crew had changed everything. A guy had gotten too handsy with Y/N obviously making her uncomfortable. Though she’d humored the guy at first and even allowed him to buy her a drink and attempt to show her how to play darts. She’d quickly grown tired of his attentions as they’d begun to become less flirty and more aggressive.

Jimmy had taken her by surprise as he’d come to her rescue. She’d been unaware that he’d maybe been keeping an eye on her the entire night trying to pretend that he wasn’t jealous that some guy was showing her attention. When it had become obvious that she wasn’t comfortable he couldn’t stand by and watch any longer. 

Though most people would believe that Jimmy wasn't the most intimidating guy on the planet, he’d managed to hold his own and use his height to his advantage.

Jimmy had taken Y/N outside to get some fresh air after the entire ordeal and it had brought up an awkward conversation where a few confessions had been made between the two.

She could still remember what Jimmy had said when he’d spilled the beans about his apparent romantic feelings towards her.

“I know you can defend yourself, but I couldn’t stand by and watch someone disrespect you like that.”

He’d paused the words coming out before he could stop them. “To be honest even if the guy had been respectful, I don’t really think I could stand by all night and watch him hit on you without it feeling awful…I guess what I’m trying to say is maybe I want to be the guy who buys you drinks and plays darts with you…I wouldn’t be opposed to taking you to dinner too.”

He’d spoken again of course after the words had left him repeatedly apologizing claiming he felt like he was taking advantage of a moment when she might be feeling vulnerable and insisting he didn’t intend to make a move on her at a totally inappropriate time. He just tended to speak before thinking sometimes.

She had shut him up with a kiss to the lips and a reassurance that he was being far from inappropriate given she wasn’t quite sure she could stand by and watch some girl hit on him.

That night had led to a first date the following night and a relationship. The relationship had led to a proposal from Jimmy, a small intimate wedding ceremony, and a happy marriage.

They were ready to start a family, but it seemed that it was easier said than done.

Y/N sighed as her cell phone timer finally went off for the final time signaling that the final pregnancy test was ready to view.

She stared down at the tests anticipating another let down.

She felt the breath leave her body as she found herself not staring down at the usual selection of negative test results.

She reached down with shaking hands reading the instructions over and over again comparing them to the tests the realization of what she was looking at soaking in.

Positive, the tests were positive. She was pregnant.

She felt the tears meet her eyes at the realization that they’d done it. They’d finally done it.

As soon as the joy hit the fear had begun to creep in.

A big part of the frustration Jimmy and Y/N felt from their lack of success conceiving had been fueled by an event that they’d endured not long after they’d returned from their honeymoon.

This wasn’t their first positive pregnancy test. Not long after they’d come home from their honeymoon Y/N had a late period and they’d taken a pregnancy test not expecting much. It had been positive.

They’d been ecstatic. They’d called everyone immediately after they’d gotten the confirmation that the test wasn’t a false positive. They’d told their families, their friends, and their coworkers. Abby had even teamed up with Ducky to throw them a congratulations party at work. 

As soon as the joy had set in, tragedy had followed.

Nothing could have prepared Y/N from waking up in the middle of the night with painful cramps and discovering that she was lying in a pool of her own blood.

The word had sounded so ugly when it had left the doctor’s mouth; miscarriage. 

It had felt like the world was closing in on her as she sat in the emergency room taking in the bad news. She could barely concentrate on the doctor’s reassurance that she was perfectly healthy and had done nothing wrong. She couldn’t find comfort in reassurance that this loss wouldn’t impact her ability to become pregnant again. She couldn’t focus on the explanation that the fetus was most likely nonviable and her body had spontaneously miscarried. Reassurances that this often happened to many women didn’t mean a thing to Y/N. 

All she could focus on was the horrifying realization that her baby was gone. 

She’d felt even worse as she’d turned her head to look at her husband. Jimmy looked as though someone had just told him the world was ending. He looked like he’d been punched in the gut. 

His eyes had met hers and the tears had come. 

She could still remember the words he’d murmured to her as he’d taken her in his arms and rocked her against him. He’d tried so hard to be strong for her even though he was hurting too “Oh my love, I know. I have you, I’m here. I know, just let it all out. I know. I’m so sorry.”

She’d only been able to cry against him the words so desperate. “Our baby is gone. It’s not fair. I wanted it.”

He’d stroked her back the words leaving him his voice cracking, he allowing himself to fall apart as well. “I wanted it too.”

Y/N felt an icy chill run down her spine at the memory. She stared down at the positive pregnancy tests, a realization hitting her.

It had taken them so long to feel ready to try for a baby again. They’d tried so hard to make this happen. What if she miscarried again? What if she got Jimmy’s hopes up that he was going to be a father only to take it away again? 

She couldn’t get Jimmy’s hopes up again. She couldn’t get everyone’s hopes up again. She wasn’t even sure she could manage to get her hopes up again. She couldn’t let everyone celebrate a new life when there was any chance that the life might be lost before they even got to bring it into the world.

She had to keep this to herself for now. She had to keep a secret from her husband.

It hadn’t been easy, keeping it to herself. She’d not told a soul no matter how badly she wanted to.

It was finally time to come clean though. These past seven weeks had passed. She was 12 weeks into her pregnancy and offically out of the danger zone.

She had to come clean and hope that everyone understood why she’d held it all in.

She tried to keep a brave face as she approached Autopsy, a gift bag clutched in her hand.

Jimmy’s lunch break was about to start and she knew she couldn’t wait until tonight to tell him. She’d waited long enough.

She tried to hide her anxiety hoping that Jimmy didn’t find anything amiss by her sudden visit to Autopsy.

She’d purposely avoided it lately due to nausea. Though to be honest the first trimester nausea was still hanging around. It wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been at least.

Hiding the symptoms of her pregnancy hadn’t been simple. Thankfully the first trimester had just been filled with exhaustion and the occasional bout of nausea. She had been able to convince everyone that she was just overworked and her immune system was probably struggling with the workload. No one had doubted or questioned her explanation.

She hadn’t brought up trying for a baby. Work had been pretty hectic lately. Jimmy and she made love but the discussion of conceiving hadn’t been brought up. Jimmy hadn’t questioned it thankfully. She was sure the guilt would have swallowed her whole if he had brought up conceiving not aware that they’d already succeeded. 

She’d even managed to have her first doctors appointment in secret writing it off as a normal gynecologist appointment when Jimmy had asked. It had been a guilt filled experience. 

She’d tried to silence her guilt telling herself that it was only one appointment and it had just been to confirm her pregnancy and reassure her that everything was normal and healthy. Jimmy would have plenty of appointments to attend with her for the remainder of this pregnancy.

She was relieved to find that there were no guests lying out on the autopsy tables as she entered the room.

Even if her nausea had lessened she wasn’t sure she could handle the gore at the moment.

Jimmy kissed her cheek thankfully not questioning her sudden appearance even if he did seem to be caught off guard by it.

“Ready for lunch?” She asked hoping that she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt.

“Yeah, I think I’m good to go. It’s actually been a pretty slow day. Dr. Mallard told me to take an early lunch break, but I wanted our lunches to sync up together.” Jimmy explained reaching into his scrubs pants pocket verifying that he did in fact have his wallet and his phone. 

He went to the coat rack Dr. Mallard kept in the corner of the room locating the laptop case he carried to work and finding his car keys.

Y/N let him take her hand in his thankful that he didn’t question the gift bag in her hand just yet.

They didn’t have to go far to get lunch given that there was a bistro not too far from NCIS headquarters. 

They did decide to get take out though knowing that the day was nice enough that they could most likely just sit outside of NCIS headquarters and take their time to enjoy lunch in the fresh air.

Y/N felt her throat grow tight as Jimmy finally acknowledged the gift bag she had placed beside her as they sat to eat. “What’s with the gift bag?”

“It’s kind of for you.” Y/N admitted taking a deep breath hoping that this was the best way to spill the beans to him. 

Jimmy widened his eyes taking a bite of his sandwich speaking between bites. “Why a gift for me? I’m pretty sure it’s not my birthday…right. I mean I know work’s been busy lately but I don’t think I missed my own birthday. I am also more than sure that it’s not Valentine's Day. I know it’s definitely not our anniversary because you would have killed me for getting this far into the day without me acknowledging that it’s our anniversary. So, what’s the occasion?”

Y/N took a deep breath picking up the bag handing it over to him. “It’s just better if you open it.”

He placed his sandwich down in his carry out box wiping his hands on a napkin before he took the gift bag.

He opened it peering down into the bag as he began to remove items.

He furrowed his brow as he stared down at the first item. He held up the book a look of confusion washing over his features “Winnie the Pooh?”

Y/N felt her throat grow tight as she nodded at the bag. “There’s more.”

He placed the book aside reaching back into the bag pulling out two more items staring down at them. The crochet booties were a pale yellow and if they weren’t enough to explain it the sonogram scan he was holding in his hand fully explained it.

He spoke his voice filled with disbelief as he struggled to place his words together. “I…you’re, we’re...”

He paused, taking a shaky breath. “You’re pregnant…how, when?”

“Twelve weeks…I’m twelve weeks.” Y/N explained her stomach in knots, unable to read his expression.

“How long have you known?” He asked, still staring down at the items in his hands, the sonogram seeming to capture most of his attention. 

“I knew at five weeks…I took a test…I took more than one test. The doctor confirmed it with the sonogram week seven.” She admitted the knots in her stomach were growing more and more furled and tight.

She continued to study him, his expression still so unreadable. 

Guilt began to cloud her mind a voice in the back of her brain claiming that he was upset with her that she’d kept this to herself for seven weeks. She’d excluded him from the first trimester. Her attempt to protect him had hurt him.

The tears begin to set in guilt becoming overwhelming. She spoke, babbling her voice breaking as she frantically tried to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry”.

Jimmy took her by surprise pulling her against him holding her against him. Jimmy shifted both items he’d been holding to one hand using his free hand to rub her back. “Slow down, take a breath. Just slow down and breathe, my love.”

She tried to to follow his advice the guilt shoving her into a full blown panic attack. He continued to rub her back his voice soft. “Twelve weeks.”

She spoke her voice weepy the guilt still hanging over her. “I wanted to tell you a thousand times. I was just so scared.”

“Scared of what?” Jimmy asked his voice thankfully not harsh though her mind insisted she deserved it.

She felt her throat grow tight, deciding to just spill it all out. “I kept thinking back to the last time.” 

Jimmy furrowed his brow, taking him a moment to realize what she meant by the last time. 

She spoke again, her voice still weepy. “I kept thinking about how you looked that night in the ER. You were trying so hard to be strong for me, but you were hurting too. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. After we miscarried I did a lot of research into it…I’m a scientist. Research is what I do. A small percentage of women experience multiple miscarriages. It’s a small percentage, but it happens. I just kept thinking about how much trouble we’ve had conceiving when it was so easy to get pregnant the first time. I was afraid that it’s all my body…that there’s something wrong with me. I knew we wanted to get pregnant so bad, but I was so afraid of my body. I couldn’t get your hopes up knowing that there was even a chance of me losing this pregnancy.”

Jimmy spoke continuing to rub her back his voice soft. “Honey..”

He didn’t have a chance to speak as she spoke again interrupting him. “I know it wasn’t my choice to make…keeping you in the dark. I didn’t involve you in my decision. I wanted to protect you and I kept you in the dark. I always told you I’d never keep anything from you and I broke my promise. I hurt you. You’re the last person I want to hurt. You have the right to be angry with me.”

He shushed her pressing a kiss to her temple fast to speak before she had a chance to keep talking. “You should have told me, but I can understand why you were afraid. I love you too much to be angry. You were scared sweetheart, and we’ve struggled to make this happen. We’ve had our hopes destroyed so many times. We wanted this so bad. I can’t blame you for being afraid it was going to be taken away. You don’t have to be scared alone though. You never have to be afraid by yourself. I’d much rather be afraid together than be afraid alone.”

She sniffled her voice weak. “You always try to be the strong one for me. I guess I thought I should be strong for you for once. If I had to be afraid alone I thought it was okay because at least you didn’t have to be scared too.”

“You are strong for me…when we lost the baby…I felt so guilty. You had to go through all the physical aspects of it along with the emotional pain. I only had to feel the emotional pain. I thought that you were stronger than me for that. I never told you that…I should have. Never doubt how strong you are. I think we’re both strong for each other. I think we're strongest together. That's why our marriage works. We're at our strongest when we can lean on each other.” Jimmy reassured her, squeezing her a little tighter.

He dared to pull back from her his hand pressing to her stomach his voice soft the guilt fading from her all the more. “A baby, my baby. I did that?”

She managed to speak a weepy laugh leaving her. “It’s hard to comprehend, but the sonogram kind of makes it a little more real.”

He stared down at the sonogram still in his hand. “It’s healthy right? I mean, everything looked okay on the sonogram?”

“Everything looks good so far. The is the only sonogram I’ve had so far….they wanted to do one this soon given…the miscarriage…You really can’t see much of anything. I keep thinking it kind of looks like a peanut…They think we’ll be able to hear the heartbeat next sonogram. They could see the heart starting to develop in this sonogram, but we couldn’t hear it…the doctor said it’s nothing to panic over though.” She explained almost relieved she hadn’t heard the heartbeat without him.

She spoke again sharing the other news he’d missed at the appointment. “My estimated due date is November 15th.”

“It missed my birthday.” He remarked his eyes still locked on her stomach his hand beginning to rub it.

He spoke again, his eyes turning to look at the book he’d placed beside them. “Winnie the Pooh?”

“I remembered what your mom sent the last time…the stuffed animal…like the one you had. I wanted to get another one, but…I just couldn’t. I thought the book might be a good start…maybe we can get the stuffed animal after they’re here.” She explained his eyes growing a little damp as it hit him.

The stuffed animal his mother had send the last time they’d gotten pregnant. It had been a Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal. Jimmy had one when he was a child. Jimmy was pretty sure his grandmother had gotten it for him at Sears for Christmas. 

Of course the one Jimmy’s mother had sent for her future grandchild hadn’t been from the 1980s like Jimmy’s had been. 

He spoke nodding his head. “It’s a good start. It’s a great start. The booties?”

“I figured yellow was a good choice. We don’t know if it's a boy or a girl.” She explained.

Jimmy was fast to speak certain of the words. “Boy or girl, I love it. I love both of you.”

“I love you too.” She responded relieved as his lips met hers all of the fear and doubt she’d felt disappearing.

They sat in silence for a moment as their lips parted Jimmy not pulling his hand from her stomach they soaking up the moment. Y/N felt like she could breathe clearly for the first time in months. 

Jimmy finally spoke breaking the silence. “Can we tell everyone? Is that okay?”

“Yeah. We can tell everyone.” She replied knowing it was time to come clean to everyone.

She was surprised as he reached into his scrubs pants pocket fishing out his cell phone. She watched a little confused as he opened his contacts finding the number he was searching for. He spoke fast to say the words. “Abby can you gather everyone in the lab? Y/N and I have something to say and everyone needs to be there.”

She watched as he finally got off the phone, somehow resisting Abby’s insistence to explain his request further. He spoke, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “I thought the lab would be better than Autopsy. I don’t know how I feel about announcing we’re having a baby, in Autopsy…I mean I know my job is a huge part of my life and our kid will most likely figure out what I do for a living and isn’t going to totally escape dead body talk…but announcing our kid’s existence there might inspire Baby Autopsy Gremlin jokes from Tony.”

“I thought you like the Autopsy Gremlin jokes.” She replied.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek quick to respond. “I like them fine, but I would prefer our baby be spared from it.”

She let him take her hand in his as he stood up helping her gather their things he clearly ready to go share the news.

She took a deep breath ready to completely spill the beans. She felt her stomach flip as it hit her they still had to call their parents.

………………………………………………..

She stood by Jimmy’s side as everyone crowded into Abby’s lab it a tight fit. Autopsy probaby would have had more room, but she had to agree with Jimmy that the idea of sharing the news of a new life in a place where death was so prominent seemed a little too uncomfortable.

Jimmy held her hand scrambling a bit with the gift bag to find just what he was looking for with his free hand.

He felt his cheeks flush the bag almost falling to the floor until Y/N reached out with her free hand steadying it.

He finally found what he needed Y/N taking the bag from him allowing him a bit more freedom of movement.

He held up the sonogram picture proudly, his chin tilted up, his chest puffed out ever so slightly as he spoke. “We’re having a baby. We’re twelve weeks in. I’m going to be a dad”.

Y/N and Jimmy weren’t shocked by the rush towards them their coworkers crowding them the sonogram easily being passed around as well as congratulations. 

Y/N twisted her lips trying not to chuckle realizing Tony was predictable as Tony spoke, staring down at it. “Baby Gremlin looks like a peanut.”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes, a huff leaving him. “No Baby Gremlin jokes, and it’s beautiful. If it's shaped like a peanut it’s the most beautiful peanut I’ve ever seen.”

Gibbs was fast to respond giving Jimmy’s shoulder a pat. “Spoken like a true father Palmer.”

They were surprised by the hug that came from Abby with exclamations containing babysitting offers.

More hugs followed from McGee and Ziva who were less eager to make any offers of future babysitting.

Ducky was quick to offer hugs as well quick to remark. “I am still open to being Grandducky.”

Jimmy and Y/N felt their throats grow tight knowing that with their last pregnancy the concept of Grandducky had come up. 

Any sense of sorrow was overshadowed by the joy they felt spotting the sonogram knowing it would be different this time.

Jimmy was fast to speak. “They couldn’t ask for a better Grandducky.”

Jimmy held Y/N against him as there was more talk among their work-family about the newest edition to the Palmer family.

Jimmy pressed his lips to her temple, his voice soft as his free hand reached down pressing against her stomach. “I love you.”

“I love you. We both do.” Y/N replied any fear and anxiety she’d felt so far away now.

This had been a difficult seven weeks, but she knew the remainder of her pregnancy would be far less difficult.

Even if she was scared, she wouldn’t have to be scared alone. Jimmy was right. They were strongest together.

[thefreelanceangel]

Tagged: Altitis Edition

@luck-and-larceny​ caught me. (Please ignore the goo-goo eyes I’m making at her. Or... don’t... I mean... :D?)

Favorite:

...I... hm. I have the hardest time nailing down a “favorite” in all honesty. Especially if we delve into the dangerous territory that is “former RP NPCs turned novel characters” that I live in. Because I have... so, so many favorites and I absolutely love so many of them. And I love to hate quite a few more of them. 

Okay. OKAY. Forcibly restricting myself to FFXIV characters. (Don’t you sulk at me, Nathan Talbot. Get back into the novel that’s awaiting editing. I’ll get to it in... uh... ask me in five years.)

And I honestly can’t choose a favorite. Even characters I made, took a few pictures of, thought about and then shelved can qualify because every single idea that sparks to life reassures me that age, exhaustion, capitalism and stress haven’t destroyed my urge to create.

Oldest:

As we’re sticking with FFXIV characters, it’s actually C’allie! And not just because she’s the first I made in FFXIV, but because her original incarnation was a Ceilican for an old World of Darkness online game that I ran. (It’s actually one of the first times that my husband and I got a chance to really RP together.) And that game was... gracious... twelve years ago?

I actually used Callie’s name for my FFXIV miqo’te because I was migrating over from GW2, where my hubby and I had Seifer & Anna, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be translating any characters from Tyria, but I wanted someone with a mental tie to the man I was (at the time) dating because I hoped to lure him in to play with me. It worked marvelously and the world got C’allie Kyho, the Seeker of the Sun. 

You’re welcome.

Newest:

Carmen Heron, the Keeper of the Moon architect specializing in erosion repair who is deaf in one ear, really really likes the ladies and smells like candied ginger because she spends so much time sucking/chewing on it. (She always keeps a tin of it in her pocket.) Why candied ginger? 

She lives in and works in Limsa Lominsa and she gets horribly sea sick. So! Having ginger always at hand helps!

Meanest:

Anna. 

Just... yeah. No debate, no question. Anna.

Softest:

Esti Kyton, my sweet, damaged barista. She’s spent her entire life just hoping to be special to someone, living on the fringes of a huge family that never quite seemed to accept her, and has dealt with abuse from both her mother and her ex. All she wants is a quiet home with someone she can take care of, good coffee and a small yard where she can hang her aerial hoop up for her daily practice. 

Most Aloof/Standoffish:

Meli Iliakos, my Warrior of Light. 

There’s... a lot of heartache she’s dealing with, especially after the events of Endwalker and what she learned about her distant and recent past. And being the Warrior of Light means people either assume they have a right to your time or they act like you’re too good for them. Meli doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth anymore to deal with either extreme, and so she stays quiet and tries to let the Scions (and her Scions-Ish) deal with the public at large whenever possible. 

Only in Norvrandt does Meli warm up to the people around her and drop the aloof demeanor.

Dumbest (Affectionate):

Chessi Eder, my lovable idiot. She has more than two brain cells to rub together, but does she realize that? Nope! With all she’s suffered in her life, it’s really a testament to her stupidity that she doesn’t realize she’s been horribly used. Chessi takes everything at face value, assumes the best of everyone and that finally paid off with her being “adopted” by Narasen & Voranoix L’espoir and getting herself a boyfriend-who-isn’t-her-boyfriend-right?-ooo!-is-he-my-boyfriend??? in Sezra.

Dumbest (Derogatory):

Reneaux Iseterre is... too smart for his own good, which essentially turns inside-out and becomes so dumb he can’t comprehend anything without it slowly soaking through his skull. He’s not quite That Guy From Your Literature Classes but he’s dangerously close.

Smartest:

Anna. While C’allie is really damn smart, Summer makes a living as a professional author and Esti has incredible business acumen, Anna’s greatest weapon truly is her intelligence. She’s incredibly good at analytical thinking as well as translating theory into practical application, which stands her in good stead in her quest for complete magical mastery. Anna also masters languages fairly quickly, helping her along when she finds new tomes or treatises from other nations. 

Horniest:

I’m going to shock anyone who’s read this blog for more than a month. It’s not C’allie. Seriously!! It’s NOT C’allie!

It’s Narasen. 

She and Voranoix spent years as just friends, aware of each other, friendly to each other but not much beyond that. And then he comforted her and kept her safe when she had a particularly bad night involving alcohol and loneliness, which led to a rather... long couple of days that they spent together. They went their separate ways and Narasen often thought back to ... well... all of the details of that particular encounter. 

When they officially began a relationship, Voranoix began slowly helping Narasen to recover from the multiple traumas she’d suffered in her youth. (Which involved killing a few people but you know, that’s how these things go.) And some of the methods involved that worked best finally coaxed Narasen into feeling safe enough to express sexual desire. 

Voranoix didn’t realize what he’d unleashed by doing that, but he’s not voiced a complaint yet. 

Now that Narasen is away from Gridania, married to the man who healed her heart and ensured her safety, and feels secure enough to show active desire without fear of what it might entail? She is always after her husband’s ass. 

Character You'd Bang:

Honestly, it’d be C’allie. I wouldn’t actually feel self-conscious with her because C’allie doesn’t have a “type” and she’s playful and fun and funny. I’d really rather hang out and chat with her for a few hours, maybe compare reading lists, exchange recommendations. But if she wanted a roll in the hay, well... She’s experienced enough to make it really good and isn’t hesitant about teaching, so I’d probably come away with some pointers.

Character You'd Be RL Besties With:

Again, C’allie. 

While Summer and I would get along marvelously, and I’d love to have Esti advise me on how to make coffee, C’allie is curious and loves to chat and would drag me out of my comfort zone to explore new things. I’d give her a safe ear where she could talk about her multiple partners as she needed and get her to slow down and maybe even work on creating things for herself. 

Tagging: @riftdancing & @gatheredfates (you two DEFINTELY have enough alts for this to work!); @gray-morality & @catscratching (I know the black snack has more characters and I think Seda’s player does, too); @miqojak (You’ve got at least two that I know of); @fair-fae; @furys-mercy; @thedragonrabbit

[write-now-ggs]

Thank You!

Thank you guys for over 100 readers! We hit this milestone a little bit ago and I've been trying to figure out how to say thank you to those of you enjoying my writings. I can't believe it's been two years since I started this account on here and Its hard to explain how fulfilling all of your support means to me. As I've stated before all of these stories started off in the brain of young 15 year old me, and that was many many moons ago so I've been in the process of rewriting or just finally finishing them. I still have so many stories to finish so I hope that you can stay along for the journey with me.

I'm not good with my words so enjoy this silly little gif adventure to show just how grateful I am.

As I've gotten older finding the time to sit down and write my silly little stories has gotten harder. Between having a full time job (sometimes more than full time), trying to sorta take care of my physical health, moving around the country and well now across the world, and trying to go back home to visit my family, finding time to myself feels nearly impossible. But the thing is, I love writing. Sometimes it does take a huge toll on my mental health but I can't help it. I love creating silly little fantasies for other people to enjoy. When I write I go through phases and they're always random. There are times where the words are just flowing through me and the inspiration is in abundance. I love those times. Then usually soon after that I sit staring at my ceiling with an empty brain (Then I usually get distracted by tiktok). Those times are usually the hardest to go through because I feel guilty. I finally have the time to write something, but nothing. Words just don't seem like words, nothing brings me inspiration and anything I do write just doesn't make sense. And then there's the days where I find the time to write very late into my day and I end up writing and writing up until I have no time to get sleep for my next shift and the sun is peeking through my window. Writing is a journey and no matter how hard or taxing on me it may be I appreciate all the support from you that I get. It genuinely makes everything worth it. Thank you.

The way I celebrate whenever I finish a story is hard to explain. I go pretty insane (It's honestly probably very worrisome), it typically always ends with me putting my hands on my head and hollering "Finally!" Then I usually celebrate with my one singular brain cell that I have left. The long journey of a new story is finally complete and I can share it with all of you lovely people.

Right after uploading something I've worked on for so long I lay by my phone constantly checking it to see how the reception to my newest upload is. It may seem dumb but any little interaction any of my stories get is a huge bump to my motivation. So thank you. Thank you to everyone who comes across this account, to those of you that like every story, to those of you who leave the nicest of comments and especially to those of you who quietly scroll through my stories. I appreciate every single one of you.

This is genuinely how I picture all of you in my head when I see you left a little heart thing on my post. It's one of the best feelings in the world, to me at least. It makes all those many hours spent stressing out on google docs worth it.

I genuinely admire each and every single one of you amazing people. I never expected all of those years ago to have such an amazing group of people supporting my stories. So once again thank you.

So if you made it all the way to the end of all this rambling thank you. This heart is for you <3 . I've never been someone who's been good with my words when it comes to expressing how I feel so I just hope that this gave you at least some insight in to how important you all are to me. So for the last time, Thank you <3 .

I hope you have a great day/night!!

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

I Prefer My Heart To Be Broken, Chapter Seventeen: The Little Black Book

A tense reunion. A fearful flood. A surprising return.

AO3 | Playlist | Masterpost

-----

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK

The King is just there, no smoke, no noise, and only the displacement of air to announce him.

Martin inhales and holds it. He wants to hurl himself on the King and try to tear him apart.

Yeah, that wouldn’t go well.

“You didn’t wait long,” Martin snaps into the silence, one hand on Jon’s arm.

“I am aware when I am wanted,” says the King in his horrible, piercing rumble, sounding so damned pleased.

Arthur doesn’t know what to do. He clearly doesn’t know what to do. He’s shifting, panting, half-standing, then sitting again, gripping the table as though he plans to either throw it or hide underneath.

Which makes sense, if he knows this is John Doe.

Martin can’t even imagine. What if he went somewhere that Jon went full monster? What if he landed in a place where Jon carried out his scary threat, and became… something else?

Belonged to someone else?

Martin swallows and tries to keep himself between the King and Jon. “Right. So. You need to answer some questions.”

“If you say so,” says Hastur, so gracious it makes Martin’s teeth hurt.

“What are you going to do if Jon finds your Arthur?”

“I have a body for him,” says the King.

Everyone is stunned.

You do? says John.

“It took me many years to craft it,” says the King in Yellow, tentacles waving languidly as if in deep current. “The hardest part was the brain.”

“You….” Arthur begins, and everyone goes still as he addresses this strange, alternate version of his person. “You didn’t just use the old body?”

“It was too damaged, and I had not the means to repair it then,” says the King, and he sounds regretful.

He actually may be regretful.

“But there’s nothing to fear,” says the King. “I’ve taken my time, using the humans of this world; I have dissected and studied every cell, every neuron, every aspect of their genome, every stray soul mooring, and I know how they work. Intimately. The body I have made for Arthur will be his own. I even used his DNA.”

“Well, isn’t that sexy as hell?” says Kayne, stepping out from behind Hastur.

Something in Martin’s soul tugs, and he gasps.

Terror rips through him.

He didn’t want to feel that connection.

Didn’t want to know Kayne could do that.

Didn’t want—

“You leave him alone!” Jon bellows, Jon roars, and everything turns to static.

#

It’s hard to quantify what just happened.

John sort of knows. The part of him that is, used to be, will always be a god, knows.

The part of him that lives in Arthur and restrains himself and will never hurt this fragile human flesh is fucking confused.

Other-Jon just… blew up? No. Expanded? No.

The Archivist just plugged into that flow of power inside him, and he did it with the singular goal of aiming himself at Kayne.

This will not work.

Kayne is too old, too big, too much—

And Jon is too new, and his aim immediately fails.

Power of some revealing, fear-building kind splashes through the room like someone dumped a bucket.

It is not John’s fear. It’s human fear, utterly alien, and the strangeness of it is worse than anything else as it neatly, perfectly, seamlessly paints over his own.

Kayne stops whatever he was doing to Martin with a shudder. Arthur cries out. Martin gasps, and turns to Jon.

Jon, who stares directly at Kayne, and whatever he’s doing is lifting his hair like electricity and sparking in his eyes like fire and leeching the color from everything but himself.

The very air turns to fear, the ground beneath them to terror.

“There’s no need for that,” says Hastur, calmly, too calmly, disturbingly serene in the middle of all of this as though he’d seen it coming. “He will not take your lover, Jon. I guarantee it.”

“Fuck you, I wont,” Kayne laughs.

But Jon… believes Hastur, and that, perhaps, is where all of this was going, all along.

The power fades. The invasion retreats; Jon’s hair settles down, and his eyes stop glowing, and his cells stop vibrating with unreleased horror.

John is still trembling, though. The fear, wielded like a spear, is beyond violational. It is cruel, and personal, and deep.

It’s not natural to him, but that made no difference.

Overwritten, he thinks.

John is panting.

Arthur is panting.

“Jon?” says Martin, barely audible.

Hastur sounds fucking pleased, and his rumble is too big to ever be called a purr. “And here, I’d feared we were moving too soon.”

“Was that really what all this was for, Hastur?” says Jon, low. “All of this, to get your person back?”

“Can you not relate?” says Hastur, who speaks without shame, and John can see the appeal. “You had to stop fighting that which loves you—that which empowers you. Otherwise, when you step through the way you have made, you will simply die.”

“Maybe I can do it. I don't know,” says Jon. “But I’ll tell you what I do know: you’d better tell your fucking dog that if he takes Martin from me, I will not stop there. I will rip through any reality he takes him to, and he thinks he’ll like that, but he won’t. By the time I’m done, the only thing Nyarlathotep will be able to foment is his own damned screams.”

There is a moment of silence on the edge of the world.

A moment of reverence for Martin Blackwood, who inspired such love that the one who chose him would destroy everything to keep him safe.

A moment of horror, because Kayne surely would not respond with kindness.

And he doesn’t. “Oh,” Kayne says so quietly, and there is a thrum, a  weirdness under the floor like a boulder rolling near. “Oh, I hate you so much.”

“Stop it,” says Hastur—and it is a command.

It’s a horrible feeling. A choked feeling, a closing of airways and vision and sound, and whatever this binding is that forces Kayne to obey that which is lesser is unpleasant and unnatural and crude.

But it holds.

Kayne bends over, hands on his knees, panting—and whatever esoteric nonsense is happening to make him appear so human even now, John doesn’t think he wants to know.

Then Kayne looks up and meets Jon’s eyes. “I’m going to enjoy ripping you to tiny, shrieking shreds, over and over again, and you are going to let me because of him.” He points at Martin.

“I’m not, I,” Martin squeaks.

John is still shaken, and so was not prepared for Arthur to suddenly step forward and address the King. “John,” he says. “I want my daughter back.”

Kayne gasps dramatically and covers his mouth with his hands. “You did not.”

Yet another utterly fraught moment of tension and pain and the unknown, and how many more of these can they have before they all just explode?

Hastur hesitates. “Arthur. If the Archivist finds Faroe, I am going to give her to my Arthur.”

And Arthur feels stabbed.

Right through, through the heart, through the soul and spirit.

He makes one soft, inhaling sound, and goes still. If anything so much as nudges him, he’ll sob.

Hastur sounds almost… vulnerable. “I will… I… will see you outfitted. When you return to your home, you will have tools. Perhaps she will no longer be out of reach to you there.”

“Wh… what? You will?” says Arthur.

“As best I can.”

So that’s what he sounds like when he’s actually being gentle, John thinks.

Jon, meanwhile, is staring at Martin. “Did I hurt you?” he whispers.

“Not… not much, it’s fine,” says Martin with enormous eyes. “Just… it was a lot.”

So now Jon looks like he’s about to have a breakdown. “Fuck,” he whispers. “I can’t aim it, maybe.”

“Aim it? Jon!” Martin whispers back.

If John had a face to smack in exasperation, he would.

Panicked, Martin points at Kayne. “Does he have to be here?” he asks the King.

“No, not particularly. It merely seemed fitting,” says the King. “After all, one should be present for one’s own defeat. Besides—he owes a favor, I believe.”

Kayne rolls his eyes so hard there is a sound. “Sure. Whatever. Oh, by the way,” he says, producing a small piece of wood, and begins carving an obscene shape with a knife. “You do realize if you actually managed to remove the Fears from you (which will just kill you, in all probability), you wouldn’t have all these powers anymore?” He smiles. “Sssstripped! Boom, done.”

“Shit,” whispers Martin.

“Oh, yes,” says Kayne, eyes fixed on Martin, and it is an eager, glinting look, polished obsidian in the dark. “He’ll be helpless. Trust me, cupcake. You’re going to learn to love it.”

That’s our knife, says John.

Because it is. The one Martin had used to stab Jon. The one with Arthur’s blood.

“Give me the damned knife!” Arthur bellows.

Arthur! John warns.

Kayne snorts. “Wow. Do you want me to stab you? ‘Give me the damned knife, hur-de-hur!’ But, no. Too easy. I won’t even consider it your favor. Here you go, kitten.” He tosses it.

The knife, stained and dark, clangs and slides across the floor, incredibly loud.

Arthur crouches and feels for it. He’s a mess. He’s in turmoil.

John can’t see why he wanted it so badly. Fuck, he thinks.

And then Martin says, “Jon, what are you doing?” because Jon has the book.

The one wrapped in Hastur’s skin.

The one that yelled at him before.

The one that makes people go mad.

But he isn’t reading it. He’s holding it, frowning at it.

And whatever is happening, it’s making his eyes glow green.

“That’s just cheating,” says Kayne with great cheer. “No fair. I wanted to see him go crazy, just a little.”

“Jon?” says Martin.

“It’s connected,” says Jon, which could mean anything.

Everybody stares at him now (except Arthur, but he certainly does look that direction).

“What’s connected? Jon, you’re scaring me,” says Martin.

“You’re ready,” says Hastur, eager, low, his limbs undulating faster.

Martin suddenly has a horrible feeling.

It’s too like what happened with Jonah—not that he’d been there, but he’d read the damned letter after.

You are marked. You are ready.

“Jon,” he says.

“I can do this,” whispers Jon, and his hair is beginning to rise again, like static.

“Jon!” Martin grabs him by the shoulders and shakes once, sharply.

Jon doesn’t look up. His gaze is fixed on Kayne’s black book, clutched in his white-knuckled hand. “I need to go,” he says. “I feel… it’s like a shining thread, but it’s moving. If I lose sight of it—”

“Bet he can’t wait to set his eyes on the place. The great and dead unknown, never before seen,” drawls Kayne, and Martin knows damn well he just poured fuel on the fire.

Jon looks up at something absolutely no one else can see, and the room goes gray.

Sound dims. Color disappears, vanishing outward from him as if it’s being sucked away.

Martin can’t move. Flashbacks of a Scottish sky going red and serrated, flashbacks of fluffy cows turning to carnivores with red eyes and lowing. Flashbacks of his race back to the safe house, to Jon on the floor, surrounded by broken glass.

Flashbacks—of Jon in his arms, who, until he finally got himself under control and reached that place of constantly fighting, had irises that glowed that flickering green.

It’s the book.

The book wrapped in the skin of a dead god.

“It’s calling him,” Martin says, and embraces him. Tight. So tight, tight enough to make him creak, even as Jon peers over Martin’s shoulder at something no one else can see. “Come back to me. Jon. Don’t do this. Jon! Jon!”

Jon stirs. “I….” He’s breathing hard. “Martin?”

“Look away! Jon!”

Jon gives Martin an absolutely terrified look. “It’s got me,” he whispers.

“I’ve got you!” Martin cries. “Look at me! Just at me!”

“Mister Blackwood,” rumbles the King, low, his growl rising like some terrible quicksand. “Your invitation is revoked.”

“Aww, is that my cue?” says Kayne. and he surges at them.

#

It happens so fast.

John knows what he sees, is capable of seeing it and understanding it on some crucial level, but he has no ability to protect Arthur from the fallout.

Kayne lunges—

And the Archivist manifests a tidal wave between them, loaded with so much fear that though it has no power to actually stop anything, Kayne makes a sound like a hurricane and retreats.

Fear splashes everywhere, hits everyone, and Martin cries out, and the King cries out, and Arthur cries out, and John—

John realizes he had definitely spent too little time considering just how it was the Archivist had any self-control at all if he’d been relying on his extinguished human will.

He would have had no control—and he clearly had some.

Which means Jon still has his human will.

He shouldn’t. Wasn’t possible. The very process of deification should make it gone, burned out, extinguished.

But The Archivist also has a current (power terror transformation) from beings made of human fear flowing within him, and one of those beings loves Jon like itself.

Emulsifier, is all John can think, because he sees that human will and inhuman power merged in a smooth and perfect mixture that simply should not be, and that’s happening because somehow, when Jon was made, the thing that loves him protected those parts of him from being destroyed.

Foolish. Short-sighted. Should have resulted in the death of the Beholding’s Beloved.

But it didn’t.

Like John Doe’s mad gamble centuries before to bind Kayne and destroy the old King, it should not have worked.

But it did.

The Archivist has power, which John showed him how to use.

Jon has his will, and the Beholding makes it strong.

So little time has passed that Martin has blinked only once.

Kayne tries again.

He is no longer remotely human, impossible to look at without eye-bleeds and insanity, and Kayne surges forward in growing and bulbous and ravening form.

John has just long enough to think, if this keeps happening, we’re all going to go mad with fear, but the Archivist doesn’t do what he did last time.

The power is cleaner, and it isn’t a wave, not a liquid, not a splashing, loose-edged thing of mayhem and mess. Instead, it’s a huge and monstrous maw.

Now, John doesn’t know what the fuck he sees.

He feels Arthur react, though, respond to this thing (Hunt, that’s the Hunt, that is the actual Hunt taking form by Jon’s will and the Beholding’s love and the Web’s fucked-up exaltation), and he tries to lunge toward it.

It’s like nothing John has ever felt. Arthur is terrified but drawn, desperate to get away and yet choosing to join.

John grabs the table with his left hand, and Arthur’s entire body jolts off its feet with the force of his aborted leap.

That’s all the time it took. The jaws (invisible but tangible, unseen yet imprinted on the back of everybody’s eyelids) chomp down on Kayne, who would absolutely be able to get away but for his thoroughly understandable surprise.

And then Jon shoves Martin to the right, leaps to the left, and takes Kayne with him into the Dark World.

There’s a moment of silence, of gasps, and shudders.

Martin screams.

#

Arthur groans.

He feels like he got hit with a blackjack. His heart pounds, and his hands throb.

And he remembers being called.

There’s nothing formed in this memory. Nothing solid, nothing in color, no images; but in that moment, undeniable, inescapable, his heart no longer hurt.

And it’s strange. He doesn’t feel like he forgot Faroe, but… it’s worse than if he had.

The nebulous memory came with a dose of fear so strong that his mouth still tastes like pennies, and yet, it was glorious. It was beautiful. Perfect fear, casting out love.

He can't deal with this now. Nope. Maybe not ever.

“John?” he wheezes, desperate to focus on anything else, and then realizes there is a fight.

Arthur, he says. Fuck, I was worried. But shh—they’re arguing.

“Get the tapes!” Martin is saying, loud, demanding, to the King in Yellow.

“I have no tapes, Mister Blackwood,” says the King.

“Don’t lie to me! You owe him that! After what you put him through, put us all through!”

For fuck’s sake, Hastur, John is saying. What harm can it possibly do? Give him the damn tapes.

Tapes?

Him?

What?

“Do you truly expect me to hand over my last bargaining chip, John?” says the King, serene.

“Don’t do this,” Martin says. “I’ve lost him so many times. You said so many times how special he was, but you won’t even give this one stupid thing that costs you nothing!”

“And if Kayne destroys them the moment he returns?” says the King. “They are not mere sound. I don’t know how the Web recorded Jon’s essence on those tapes, but she did. Even if I recreated them, they would not have the same power. No; no, I think I’d rather keep them safe in case of some emergency.”

“This is an emergency!” Martin bellows.

John sighs.

The King’s tone does not gentle. “Besides, I have no way to deliver them to your lover. Until Jon comes back, they’d just be sitting out, vulnerable.”

“I don’t want them delivered! He’ll need help to find his way back!”

“This is unlike the coffin of your past, Mister Blackwood. The situation is different—and your lover is changed.”

Martin sounds bad. He’s almost unable to speak. “You don’t even care. All those pretty words, and they were lies.”

“Mister Blackwood, I am hardly trying to harm your lover. The fact is that Jon does not understand how remarkable he is—and neither do you. He can do this.”

“He’s in there with Kayne!” Martin cries.

“Kayne is trapped. He needs a way to get out.”

“So what?”  says Martin.

“Without Jon, he can’t get out, any more than I could get in. I don’t think he’ll kill him.”

“But he can hurt him.” Martin’s voice breaks.

“I will repair any damages,” says the King.

“If he does what you want,” says Martin, who’s no fool. “And if he doesn’t, you’ll throw him back in like shoving a man who’s drowning back underwater.”

Silence for a moment. “Mister Blackwood. Have you misunderstood the situation?”

“I think I’ve understood it better than you.”

“As I recall, you said you didn’t care what other universes suffered as long as you could save your lover,” the King casually says. “So perhaps, in your infinite human wisdom, you could be… a little more kind.”

Asshole, thinks Arthur.

Arthur, warns John.

“That’s not fair,” Martin says, quieter.

“I think it is,” says the King.

So all of this is awful.

Immovable object meets irresistible force, Arthur thinks.

Are you all right?

“Fuck, John,” Arthur says, louder. “What tapes? What are they for?” He tries to sit up, and nausea immediately proves that a bad idea.

They’re tape recordings of the Archivist’s voice, or something. Martin thinks they’ll help his Jon get back from the Dark World.

Arthur whistles, low.

Martin doesn’t answer. It sounds like he’s pacing.

The King in Yellow sighs. “Arthur. You’ve concussed yourself again.”

He’s fine, snarls John.

Arthur props himself on one elbow and turns his face toward the King’s voice.

Toward… John’s voice. Other-John.

Not his John, sure—but still John.

“John,” he says, not addressing the one in his head. “Will the tapes help?”

“I do not believe they will accomplish anything,” says Hastur, but now…

Now, he sounds less sure.

“They’re… so you’re saying they’re….” Arthur is having trouble with words.

Hastur sighs again.

Thick, warm limbs lift Arthur from the floor, and he remembers.

Suddenly, sharply. Remembers Hastur doing this before, remembers being cradled, being… healed.

“You must be more careful, Arthur,” says Hastur, low and warm. He slides one hand over Arthur’s head, and the ache goes away.

“Thanks.” He can’t recall the conversation when this happened before, but that’s not what matters.

What does is this is not the King.

Not the one who’ll never be forgiven.

Not the one Arthur would leap into hell for if it meant he could drag him there himself.

Arthur has not been put down.

He’s not asking to be.

Better? says John, grumpy, probably because of the whole not-put-down thing.

“Yes,” says Arthur.

The way this feels…

So right. Safe. Good.

It is a choice to remain still, not to panic, not to thrash—but not a hard choice. It’s still John, no matter how much he’d fucked himself up.

“I know I’m not yours,” Arthur says, verbally processing. “You’re not mine, either. But you know what? Before we split, before that fixed point, whatever it was, you were mine, and I was yours.”

Everyone is silent.

“Yes,” Hastur finally says.

“Do the tapes really not matter?”

“I don’t know,” says the King.

“Is their destruction really the concern here?” says Arthur.

A moment of silence. Hastur sounds like he’s smiling. “You’re being clever, I see.”

“I’m not being clever. I’m walking a mile in someone else’s shoes. You can make brains, for fuck’s sake, and you’re going to tell me you haven’t already reverse-engineered the fuck out of those tapes?”

Martin goes still.

The King chuckles. “Ah, I’ve missed you.”

“If you really did, you’d give a damn how Martin feels right now,” says Arthur. “I don’t expect you to care about me, but you’ve got to care a little about him.”

“I do. I intend to keep them together,” says the King.

“Then you know what the right thing to do is.”

“I… Arthur. Your understanding of the situation is simplistic and new. You don’t understand the complexities—”

“I understand his heart just maybe got lost forever in the Dark World, and he thinks those tapes can help,” says Arthur. “I understand he’s yelling at a terrifying monster god because he’s so afraid for him. I understand I’d be doing the same thing, if not worse.” Arthur smiles crookedly. “Let’s be honest. I’d be trying to punch you in the eye, or something. Stupid.”

“Quite stupid,” agrees the King with a low purr that rumbles the room.

“The way I see it, Jon’s going to manage it, or he won’t. Will the tapes matter to that?” says Arthur. “Will they at least comfort Martin?”

“You are trying to be reasonable with me because I have promised you aid,” the King deflects. “Or perhaps to gain more of it. But you are not my Arthur. I am hardly the John you know. My answer remains unchanged.”

Arthur takes Hastur’s nearest limb in his right hand. “I fucking was, for fuck’s sake. Look, you want another reason? How about this—when the other me comes back, if he finds out about any of this, how’s he going to react to the whole tape thing?”

Hastur stares.

Oh, Arthur, says John.

“Perhaps,” says Hastur very slowly, “you have a point. Maybe it is to my advantage to provide the—”

Kayne suddenly comes bursting out of nowhere, tearing between them at top speed.

And right behind him, the King in Yellow’s dead, eaten, other half comes flying after, and attacks.

(part eighteen)

NOTES

Jon, what are you DOING.

Also, Arthur? Well done, my man. Pity the Zombie!King decided to interrupt.

[youcouldstartacult]

Hey! Gotta say that I usually agree with you but this time I feel like you're putting everything and everyone on the same bag, I mean, who cares about what Twitter stans can say? Most of that people have 2 brain cells and they only follow a trend (to constantly hate). And yeah some fans talk like they're managers and sadly now days it seems like music's all about streams and numbers, personally I couldn't care less about it or he having new fans through festivals (I think it's a bit "silly" that idea cause there are hundreds of ways to find/listen different artist) of course it would be awesome that more people could recognize how talented and hard working he is, that's what every fan wants. Also, maybe I follow the right people idk but the few ones that I saw complaining about the songs they were respectful, didn't doubt or commented about the music, I want them to be longer cause from the snippets that he gave us ALL OF THEM SOUND SO SO GOOD, REALLY, IT'S GOING TO BE HIS GREATEST ALBUM and some of us genuinely want like 2 more songs at least because we know what he's capable of, and yes, I know he tries to tell a story with the album but we're coming from HBW with 14 SONGS plus Dress and Nothing, it makes sense to want more.

On the other hand... if 2020 was tough for Niall, who's rich, white, went out countless time when quarantine was still on and then travelled wherever he wanted, what's left for the rest of the world? C'mon, he's not an angel and it's okay to say it

hey! idk why u think i’m putting people in the same bag, especially since i never @/ed anyone in any of my posts and have consistently said that was just how i personally was feeling! you can want more, i never said it wrong that you want that. i never once policed anyone in my own personal posts about my own feelings lmao :)!

I’m well aware he’s a rich, white man. That doesn’t make his mentality any less important and him having to deal with the disappointment of his vulnerable and personal art getting derailed and his disabilities is a pretty big deal! kind of weird to diminish that when he’s spoken about depression, OCD, and his physical disabilities so openly and for putting words into my mouth like I ever said “he had it the hardest out of everyone in the world” bc i never did!

“He’s not an angel…” because he didnt put more songs on an album? i dont see how that is relevant at all😭

[datguytv]

For everyone to know - the N8GGER through Honky Thought they were smarter than everyone else - tried to take my life as offspring of Wilma that they hated - to get revenge on Wilma For Hating Their Ways as WHOREs.

Then the WHOREs through turning Wilma's Daughters into Whores - instructed the Daughters through Dave To Kill Wilma - and was instructed through Dave by way of his honky alliances to Take me After they Killed Wilma. That down to the police department the police department then promised the family members that if they killed Wilma They would be rewarded with me and business for them of those left.

Then the HONKYs was to lie and backup their lies with surveillance of that which I had done and planned for myself and the HONKYs was to say - that I had done for myself in my career choices was part of the crimes that they got the family members on.

When the family members were the HONKYs watching me Study and preparing for my career.

They were to say my career was waa result of them when my career was my choosing followed by them. They were supposed to lie to you and get all the Ashford including the one who was living his own life that was followed by them which they were supposed to have taken in the end.

I decided my career choices and they were to follow and create crimes around the career I chose and then LIE to you that my career choice was a result of the crimes who was Them the HONKIES. Handled like a pro.

See there are reasons and justifications for my choosing journalism that you even today don't know. Just like my internal hidden reasons for working out so hard as a child - which I just unveiled that it was my feeling sad all the time as a young boy - I found on my own the answers and that was working out. And found later in study that the adrenaline flow that pushed endorphins to my brains and stopped me from crying as a child! That which mom was there to see. And now I don't have depression anymore as an adult when I started working out the hardest when I was feeling sad that I was fat as a child. Fat as a child made me Ugly to me then.

The HONKYs didn't know until I introduced them to solutions for sadness - which for me as a child was Exercising in my room.

Endorphins that moves the brain cells and lifts the spirits back to normal psychological levels of that of energy.

They were envious that I had answers to all their plots - because I had experienced all their plots from the time I was a child and studied them. Then.

In journalism when we pull footage for a professional report that footage can be the basis of our writing modules or the opposite - the writing could come first and we can pick the footage based on the script we have already written beforehand.

That is what we know that they didn't know we knew.

Their plan was to be based on the ones they targeted and then the leadership was to use the Numbers IN to lie and about the Beginnings.

On a World Court stand - I can make these WHOREs Look exactly like Whore Killers to the world and get rid of all the Pussys on Earth if I want to.

Cuz I Know! The Pussy wanted to hurt me because they couldn't have me. And got Outted about their Pussys! All over the World.

The N8GGERS targeted WILMA and therefore Targeted My Life To Have Been taken By The N8GGERS and HONKYs for their Hate of Wilma.

[millerkingnyc54]

What Are the Most Challenging Solitaire Groupings in World of Solitaire?

Introduction

World of Solitaire is a popular online stage that offers a wide demonstration of solitaire games for sweethearts to appreciate. While different people are have a few commitment in unimaginable Klondike and Spider Solitaire, World of Solitaire takes these games to an extra fundamental level by giving different challenging assortments. In this article, we will explore plainly the most challenging solitaire moves toward that anybody could expect to track down on World of Solitaire. From the model Klondike to the flabbergasting Google Solitaire, these games offer a remarkable blend of method and strength that makes players need to a reliably extending degree.

Klondike Solitaire: The Model Test

Klondike Solitaire is the most surprising and respectable solitaire gathering. It's the game overwhelmingly most consider when they hear "solitaire." The objective is to organize each of the cards in four foundation loads by suit and in rising referring to. The game early phases with seven scene areas of cards, with the top card in each part face up. The player can move cards to add up to dropping plans and uncover hidden away cards.

World of Solitaire offers Klondike in various difficulty levels, and the challenging perspective reliably comes from dealing with the set number of moves and the essential for huge planning. Experienced players can partake in the "Draw 3" gathering, which develops the test by allowing only three cards to be drawn from the deck at a time, making it harder to uncover hidden away cards and plan your moves.

For people who search for an essentially more clear test, World of Solitaire offers decisions like "Vegas" and "Vegas Joined." These assortments present a scoring structure that can repulse worked up moves, adding an extra layer of framework and making Klondike much genuinely challenging.

Spider Solitaire: Eight-Legged Issues

Spider Solitaire is a challenging social event that has obtained a given following among solitaire dears. In this game, the goal is to figure out the cards in eight foundation stacks, with each store containing cards of an essentially indistinguishable suit in climbing interest. The mutilate in Spider Solitaire is that all of the cards start in ten scene parts, and the player's endeavor is to make all over groupings of cards in sliding plans, paying little brain to suit.

World of Solitaire offers different difficulty levels for Spider Solitaire, going from one suit (least requesting) to four suits (hardest). The four-suit structure is thoroughly seen as one of the most challenging solitaire games open. With 104 cards to work with and bound moves, this assortment demands creativity as well as a sharp eye for sorting out the best upgrades to move.

Spider Solitaire incites that players should get ready and consider the consequences of each card's situation, which makes it so challenging and satisfying to wrap up.

Free cell: The Limit based challenge

Free cell is a staggering solitaire gathering known for its challenging nature. The game is played with four foundation stores and eight scene sections. The curve in Free cell is that the 52 cards are evidently controlled face up close to the start, and the player can move any card to an unfilled segment or onto a card that is one position higher and of the opposite tone. The objective is to move each of the cards to the foundation loads, figuring out them by suit and in rising game plans.

The test in Free cell comes from the player's ability to plan their moves unequivocally. While the cards are distinguishable from the start, there is a set number of void cells and scene segments open to take the central actions. This requires cautious status, and players an essential piece of the time end up in conditions where a lone wrong move can incite a stalemate.

World of Solitaire offers different Free cell groupings, including Mix puncher's Down and Eight Off, each with its own superb hardships and rule plans. These additional combinations add significance to the by and large phenomenal world of Free cell, seeking after it a brilliant choice for solitaire fans.

Yukon Solitaire: The Crucial Test

Yukon Solitaire is a less prestigious yet basically challenging solitaire blend. In Yukon, the goal is to move each of the cards to the foundation loads, essentially dubious as Klondike, yet with a key fragment. In Yukon, all the scene cards are managed face up, allowing players to see all reasonable moves from the start. The catch is that the scene cards can be moved in plans, paying little psyche to suit, making an enthralling blend of construction and card control.

The test in Yukon Solitaire comes from planning and executing long groupings of cards while limiting the use of void cells and scene pieces. A game separations players who can think two or three pushes forward and exploit the conspicuous cards on the scene.

World of Solitaire offers a committed view of Yukon Solitaire, and for those searching for an extra test, blends like "Russian Solitaire" and "The Frozen North" give pivotal rule sets and astonishing checks to make due.

Google Solitaire: A Top tier Curve

Google Solitaire is a genuinely late development to the world of solitaire blends. Made by Google as a Secret treat covered in its represented records, it's an unparalleled regardless propensity addressing sort of Klondike Solitaire. The goal is to stack each of the cards in rising courses of action by suit in the foundation loads, as excellent Klondike.

What makes Google Solitaire enamoring is its moderate technique and responsiveness. While it could ooze an impression of being much more gather straight up, the test lies in the appointed number of moves and the essential for accurate card circumstance. The game capabilities players who can complete it with the least moves possible.

World of Solitaire has seen the allure of Google Solitaire and made it into its liabilities. It's a nonsensicalness and open decision for those looking for a fast solitaire fix that genuinely gives a fair test.

Tri Zeniths Solitaire: A Stack of Issues

Tri Peaks Solitaire is a solitaire mix that stands isolated due to its captivating scene plan. In this game, the objective is to get each one freed from the cards by picking one card moderate in rank than the foundation card. The scene is worked with in a three-sided shape, with the foundation load cards at the base and covering cards above. Players need to uncover cards by shedding the ones on top of them, uncovering new decisions for play.

The test in Tri Pinnacles Solitaire rises out of the need to demandingly course of action moves to clear the scene and work on the potential for making headways. Also, the game plans in which cards are uncovered could according to a general point of view at whatever point influence your procedure.

World of Solitaire offers a party of Tri Peaks Solitaire groupings, with moving scene plans and rule sets. These blends add significance and complex arrangement to the game, making it a go-to choice for players looking for something different and challenging.

Pyramid Solitaire: Building the Swaying

Pyramid Solitaire is a charming solitaire blend that merges destroying a pyramid of cards by matching cards that have a full scale worth of 13. The objective is to get each one freed from the cards by making matches and uncovering the foundation cards. Pyramid Solitaire moves players to think to the extent that card values and blends instead of according to a general point of view suits and positions.

The test in Pyramid Solitaire comes from the completely analyzed plan of the pyramid and the need to carefully sort out for which matches to make to uncover regardless cards as could sensibly be anticipated. A single flounder can incite what's going on where the overabundance cards can't be matched to show up at 13.

World of Solitaire offers several Pyramid Solitaire groupings, each with its own brilliant pyramid plan. Several plans add additional obstructions and goals, for instance, "Tut's Internment chamber," which joins mummy cards that ought to be matched to clear the pyramid. These plans update the test and assembling of the game.

Clock Solitaire: A Head of solidarity and relentlessness

Clock Solitaire is a period delicate solitaire collecting that adapts a wonderful bend with the standard solitaire rules. The objective is to move all of the cards to the foundation stores, coordinating them by suit and in rising game plans. The breeze is that you have a limited degree of time to take your activities.

The test in Clock Solitaire is changing your essential for speed with the need of chasing after huge choices. The sort of a ticking clock can empower even decisions feel really challenging, and players ought to conform to this additional predicament.

World of Solitaire offers an especially coordinated Clock Solitaire game that tests players' ability to think quickly and execute their moves capably while really focusing in working.

Conclusion

World of Solitaire is a treasure trove of solitaire groupings, each offering a striking system of moves and strategies to regulate everything. From the splendid Klondike Solitaire and Spider Solitaire to less astounding critical stones like Yukon and Pyramid Solitaire, this stage has something for solitaire aficionados, considering everything. Whether you're a lovely player looking for a relaxing game or a carefully set up veteran searching for a solid groundwork of your solitaire limits, World of Solitaire oversees you. Consequently, if you're prepared to take on a circumstance, impact into the world of solitaire on this stage and see which blend changes into your new most respected check.

[citylightconfessions]

He said I could write you a letter.

I've been wrestling with God, lately. He tells me to keep my distance and it would be naïve of me to believe that it's for my own good. I know it's for yours, because, well, How dare I reappear out of the pit of abandonment just to ease my own fears. Especially if I'm not going to tell you that I've gone and changed my mind. That I've rearranged my thought patterns to make room for us. I wonder if you've given up on that hope, yet. Hoping one day I'll come jaunting out of the woodwork to tell you that I've re-wired my brain. I wish that were true...But it isn't. But I will tell you what is true. What is true is that drinking from the cup of my self-righteousness contaminates the soul- So I've gone and dumped them all down the drain. There are so many words that I've said to you I wish I could take back. I've been crying over you a lot lately. I see you in everything, everyone. It's not in my nature to leave. It never will be. I'm not very good at it, you see. I hope that your hair is growing back. I hope that as the dead cells fell into your hands that you discovered there was something new hiding underneath. I hope that the memories you have of me aren't completely tainted. I hope you still eat shredded cheese right from the bag. I hope you still love people with your whole heart. I hope you've taken that dragon heart of yours on a flight or two. I hope your friends started showing up for you. A nice couple came into work today, they said they were from Virginia Beach. I hoped that they knew you, though, I'm sure they didn't. I still can't go into a petsmart without crying. I showed your picture to someone yesterday. I said, "Look at her, eating her cheese." He didn't understand when I said that leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. It was never an easy choice. So I write this letter. Because I don't get to reach out. I don't get to uncover old wounds just to see those three dots bouncing on the bottom of the screen to let me know you're typing...to let me know you're alive. I know we’re in our separate universes that we had to return to in order to maintain the order of the world but I sit on that bench we talked about. I see your little green active symbol over your name and I imagine you’re waiting with me. I Imagine we have a different story to tell. Please tell me that I did something good. Tell me that I wasn't just a stain on your pillowcase. Tell me that you don't hate me. Visit me, somewhere in my dreams, as you often do, but this time tell me that you're healing.

[cosmicangel888]

The Only Thing that will Ever Matter ~ Spirit, Love ~ Matter is Spirit + / -

In our awakening we are all seeing, the truthful, the corrupt, the ways in which we each chose, as individuals, and collectives to bring higher truths, and what is best within, for the greater good;

When there has been disconnection from spirit, soul within, as multi-dimensional beings, we are awakening to the greater context of all being spirit, how we intend, direct, focus, is how, what the matter unfolds as - be it cells, tissues, bone, or brain -

Most of what is seen in cults, gangs, or corrupt circles, their motive due to inner wounding and no sense of self, no inner direction due to the wounding, is that of superficiality for it provides false sense of self, importance, and value - all is false - be it politician, pastor, false community leaders at every level, how, who is what crossing hands, regardless of where, how, those that stand before you -

Whoever is before you - is the vibration, is the message an empowered offering, with light knowing, promise, hope, honour of life being sacred?

Does it feel pure, aligned, higher consciousness - from here on out -

Any person that gas-lights, deflects, projects, works in private to bring hell to your life on every level - is far deeper lineage wounding, akashic, and know every step of the way what they do -

When you choose to intend harm on any in any way - all know what they do - all is the return = karma and most have no idea for their are mentally emotionally and spiritually imbalanced - they have NO IDEA the DAMAGE they do, cause - when they play with demons, entities, and voodoo, timelines, and akashic or birth charts - when all fog clears - all will see the enormity of damage -

Wake up dear ones.

You affect all worlds, realms and lineage - there is no money, title, that when the fog clears - nothing is worth this level of damage.

Your ache to want, be, take, win; will be what will hit the hardest - the damage to innocent souls is never never worth any spell to 'get' which will never work - for the return of harm always returns - this lifetime, all from here on out - none have any idea what they are doing - all will be called out - fake clients, those that hold lies, karma and loyalty to those that will not have your back, corruption is corruption - they will not have your back - you are holding karma for those that say hold their ways, their lies, when they will not have your back or loyalty -

HIGHER CONSCIOUSNESS will prevail those that choose to be in leadership roles - if they do not speak of oneness, unity, peace, inner alignment - inner peace, connection - inner empowerment - connection of mind, body, spirit, soul - there is no connection to that which they lead, offer 'greater good' to

If someone is not offering you 'greater good' you will tell, you will sense, and feel - discern greatly what you give, offer your sacredness to - personally or financially

Not all have your higher interest at heart

You to use your own light, power, choice, voice, and do you stand for what is not ok; if you come out of a church feeling confused, drained, and feeling sick, or bump into things, there is underhanded demonic spell work, mental projections, and mind-scraping going on and before you know it, there are false leaders that drive the innocent to corruption, and giving their power, bodies, and mental acuity away -

Behind closed doors there are those in very high places, that scheme, plot scam, and do say whatever to be seen as righteous and certainly are not - and when light, truth stands before them - truth is and breaks the density of any spell, regardless of how what one thinks they spells are ~

Are you wanting the consequences to hand over such darkness to your children and future timelines you offer yourself in continuing dark arts and dark intentions to your own life -

Source, truth, purity of what is the ALL CREATION is will prevail -

The collective is awakening - and dreams, those coming forward, every person being bathed with the legions stepping in to awaken every person having spells cast on them - for I am not the only awakened ones, there are those that can awaken over night and speak to those that need to know #calgarycorruption #calgary #falseprophets and soul, spirit, will always be with every person until balance and healing, karma be balanced - how is trading a life for a position or title or money 'ok' and using people like machines, toys, and light orfaces to feed the sick and the corrupt of their wounded and imbalanced souls - the spell work will not work on everyone and it takes but a few to wake up and all, every person, every slight of hand and deceitful lie to cover up the last lie, the previous one, the one before that -

Superficiality - is being bathed for the deepening of soul growth - the wounds that live in delusion of importance of superficial false importance - no sense of self -

your lineage and all timelines that you return to and your children to those that do such; the damage, the harm, nothing is worth what any think they get will never ever ever equal simply surrendering and living in truth - your soul will be free in truth, continuing of such human rights violations, spiritual violations will only cause damage

the false beliefs, fed even in churches that are meant to assist in healing and realignment - superficiality, ego titles, greed, roles that are meant to be of models and leadership that simply take, steal, theive, and cover what is pure of spirit, purity of creative expression, and cover the wounds of deep inner child disconnection

MAKE RIGHT, FAIR - NOW - there is no further extension on time for those involved in corruption - every person, every action, every deed -

God speed to all - all is the all 0 none will be left out of our new earth - children are sacred, to be left alone, women are sacred and to be held equally in all sacred new earth texts - we are and will balance or fall to the greed, self imbalance you cling to -

Bringing harm, anger, agitation and annoyance to someone to get attention, or the confusion that anger and abuse is love, is distorted wounded soul - we must see dysfunction, abuse, corruption as it is;

Call for healing to all.

We are bringing all religions in to unity of our Allness -

We are brining all systems into the unity of our wholeness - how could we continue segregated systems when we are unifying within - all aspects of who we are is one - loving all aspects and leaving nothing out - this is evolution of the soul - the all - celestials, angels, God, Source, holds no person above another - all is sacred - every animal all is purposeful and held dearly -

I am the daughter of God - I am the light of new word - and yet been constantly fighting for my life to be held as valid and heard, seen - at what point will life simply be sacred for all - there will be no further persecutions for the word of Oneness -

Jesus, I am, God, I am, love is and oneness is - every life cycle for Gaia, humanity - is to be and live in Oneness - this is our destiny - period; son, man, daughter, mother, children - all is ALL

Do you believe in love - or separation

Is your father more valid and important than your mother

Is your brother more important than your sister

Is your son more important than your daughter

One = One

Love = LOVE

CREATION is balanced - all is sacred. If you hold anything different - do the seeking, do the healing -

When you hold such staunch belief of separation - any belief, religions holding any person less than - isolating any life out of the all equation - all will be re-written - seek within what beliefs you hold so true - when it is merely the imbalance and non-acceptance keeping you suppressed in non-expression -

Every person that was a writer of ancient texts - had no clue they all encompassed DF/DM energies and wholeness - none was ever taught - they were dissected by 3D mostly men - from their perspectives and intellect at that time - were not ever mostly aligned with pure higher self - to the wholeness factor, quantum knowledge, the science of creation nor the illness that is infected within our entire collective about those isolated out of life due to such staunch and improper misguided texts, beliefs that have shaped our world into deep deep imbalance and corruption to maintain power - ego, arrogance of power - when divine feminine comes into her truth; staunch religions will press against - to keep old rules of suppressions, and degradation of most of its collective that is not male dominance -

All must evolve as we do - the ALL is the ALL - the multi-verse is not only male - every male that speaks of their religious beliefs were all birthed by women; yet few hold regard for such, nor equality nor sacredness and respect to any DF - this must and will change -

The corruption of such misguidance and such hateful misrepresentation, how women are treated, how women are abused, abandoned from their own lineage, collective and isolated when they do come into their birthright and power - there is a far deeper wound we are healing - my story is one of billions that the disregard we have given our power, voice, choice to that which is not serving all of our collective - how is that ok?

What you do to another is your result - there is no competition if you are not there - competition, to the DNA is not there - life is not, the sacred life of innocent children - what darkness befalls someone to sacrifice children for 'false status' what status will you have when your children are not there - you will feel their presence and heartbeat everywhere - wake up dear ones -

God, Source, Ancestors and all realms are now involved - common sense, misguidance, lack of knowledge, selfishness and the depths of damage is beyond what any doing such - will ever ever know -

Every person walking on this planet has DF/DM energies they must balance, own, honour - regardless of what ancient texts written in only 1 voice, 1 lower vibrational intelligence -

3D is not high consciousness - it is steeped in limitation, judgment, separation, and power over others, dominance over others - life, nature - read and know what you give power to is now crumbling if it is not pure love and oneness - all will face their abuse of life, corruption of life, and separation of ones own self - creation -

You cannot write off, silence half of creation -

Source is telling a far grander story - and it is now unfolding - ©

Any person on spell-fog, voodoo - they are not balanced to begin with, coupled with those that already have mental instability and dementia, or dark night of soul releasing - it is a dangerous elixir and no person that joins in group tactics, none of them understand energy, none understand universal laws and legions of beings that over-see all life on earth and those meant to be exactly who they are - There is no power over another - period.

Dominance and authority over another is done.

3D timelines and grids are no longer there - and therefore the corruption as stated in our video last night - conglomerates will be the first to fall and it begins now - one-by-one, individuals that choose to play God, using, abusing natural laws, universal higher order, and the sickness of selfishness over life, when all is said and done, when you resort to spell work, voodoo, regardless of money, greed, title you think you are 'getting' 'winning' your health will never allow you to enjoy or be with what you think you want so bad -

Women deserve to have thier voice, women are divine offering beings of the divine the sacred word - we deserve to be known, seen, heard, and not stifled at every step of our journey simply because those that unfit from humanity being suppressed and by those that benefit from the collective being numb or dumb to higher order, higher laws, higher truths -

Every person born; regardless of colour, race, creed, religion - all is equal - we each have human & heavenly rights for a reason - however there is corruption in such judicial systems - all know all and all being paid, and silenced, or swayed to serve those that have always been in power - and such the heavens, will intervene - God is all - God is love for all of all - not dissected into false importance due to misguided beliefs and perspectives of separation

We will awaken - the Mother, the DF will be a part of our new earth and our human expansion - we are meant to be valued, respected, and offered the same equity and not silenced or shadow banned - conglomerates will be called out - period

I speak and offer the word of God - all religions that leave any aspect of life out of the healing and oneness equation will be shown their higher way ~ all will be called out - corruption is corruption and even the most high, those in every position will feel the pressing of higher order to do what is right -

Our entire #judicial system will be re-written -

JUDICIAL SYSTEMS, POLICING #policingsystems, #judges, #judicial systems should not be political - and all know there are corruptions to sway and make happen for agendas and motives while the pure and the innocent are run, thrashed, thwarted to the point of intimidation, suicide, ceremonies of death by the cults, groups, sects, that support their hands and fingers in everything for the imbalance of how things to seem go specific ways again, again and those keep showing up dead, or missing, - wake policing systems, wake up judicial systems -

Greater Good, Divine Order, Oneness in ALL - that is 5D - nothing will be missed we will not ascend, none will ascend if you hold you are better than another - period.

Your riches will never be if you think isolating, silencing half of the collective is a way of life - and success - period. It is called now.

All have their own opportunity to make right, bring balance now.

The longer any holds on to discrimination and corruption and harassment in any way in which you watch corruption, and harm done to another - and o nothing - all are being called now - speak now or forever hold your peace - spell work, intentions, and hiding, all is being returned by Source, God, your own guides - make right - close out unfair, inequality abuse stories -

Galaxies, realms, universes rely on humanity 'getting' this screwed imbalance of what is running our world, how is running our world and how it will crumble - it is crumbling now - every corrupt system -

Now it begins - bring truth, bring balance, bring equity, bring fairness for this is our oneness - all is now!

Choose who you wish to be, and return to - life is life and nothing will be missed -

Light will not miss a single spec of life - health, abundance, every aspect of every persons life will be affected, karmically until this global systems of discrimination to women, nature, children, nature are Brought to balance - GOD will not rest until this is so -

Nothing to do with religion - this is a spiritual and divine human birthright - liberation is our destiny - I will not silence -

Selfish and disconnection, the need to feel important and outer focus, stars and false sense of importance, that our politicians are being called out - for the deeds that can occur in every hour - and these are the people having say in judicial and operations with humanity - greater good has not been the foundation -

It is superficial suppression - there are none that have the right to place confusion, and docile spells over any to get, scheme, sway decisions, and choices over policies, and signatures, and warped plans, plots, to take from the innocent to maintain the cancer that is the mentality of greed, envy, jealousy, competition - at what point will we wake up and discern - trust how you feel and never ever ever keep a lie for any person, for you are holding their karma - period.

Why is it that a DF star can make a 'like' on a comment and called out like a criminal - and to defend herself and yet there are leaders men, of countries, lands, that have corrupt islands and slight of hand that affects millions - this is corrupt and discrimination period.

Time to wake up and balance out who we are - all is divine

rituals and ceremonies to take from anyone, any life will = karma

those that do such to harvest, take, and chant consciousness abuse, dream weaving, shapeshifting, and trying everything in their power, to hold power over another's path, voice, choice - will = karma -

all involved are as guilty, be it keeping a lie, those that are in important and oathed positions for the safety and greater good while those in power are the very ones seeding cancer, corruption, and diseases to the innocent -

communities, conglomerates, businesses, politicians, all will be held to their account -

All that matters is love - spirit is matter - regardless of form, colour, sexual preference or expression - brothers sisters - all is equal - this is our healing

Spirit sees, knows, and regardless of what destroying of evidence, or falsifying and photo-shopping - spirit the unseen are working in every level of every person consciousness that transcends a demonic 3D person in greed and imbalance - dimensional vibration is everything and all that will ever matter / all that is matter is LOVE, SPIRIT and none will be missed - at what point of destruction do people need in their life before they bring truth - your soul will bring truth in any all levels -

TRUTH is the only way through - period.

accounts of harassment, intimidation, discrimination on however many levels, to forge, to falsify and harm, to get and intent to sacrifice, murder, bring death and harm to all to receive false title, false money - nothing will be worth what your soul will have to see, and move through when you know the damage you create to any and all involved - - all will receive judgment = karma is

Unconditional love,

Compassion

Forgiveness

LOVE IS

Blessings be

Love is One All

Joanna

JoannaCosmicAngel@yahoo.com

DONATIONs; PayPal link here; paypal.me/JoannaLRoss

#ascension #enlightenment #awakening #God #source #healingcorruption #healingabuse #healingcorruptsystems

#CelestialContact #healingdiscrimination

[ritikshukla1122333]

The Power of CoQ10 Vitamin Tablet for Heart Health and Energy Metabolism

In today's fast-paced world Maintaining good heart health and energy levels is essential for living a satisfying life in today's fast-paced society. Coenzyme Q10 (CoQ10) is one of the key nutrients that our body is less able to generate as we become older. Thankfully, 'Simply Herbal' has developed a ground-breaking supplement called 'Simply Herbal CoQ10 Natural Coenzyme Q10 Tablets 200mg with Bioperine Antioxidant Supplements,' which has been designed specifically to improve heart health, energy metabolism, and general wellbeing. In this article, we'll examine the advantages of CoQ10 vitamin tablet with an emphasis on heart health and consider how it pertains to controlling blood pressure.

1: Understanding CoQ10 and its Importance : 

Coenzyme Q10, commonly referred to as CoQ10, is an antioxidant that exists naturally in human cells. By aiding in crucial events inside the mitochondria, the powerhouses of the cell, it plays a critical part in the creation of cellular energy. Given that the heart is one of the body's hardest-working organs, maintaining its function and fostering cardiovascular health depend on having an adequate supply of CoQ10.

Energy Production:

Adenosine triphosphate (ATP), the chemical that stores and transports energy within cells, is produced when CoQ10 is present in the body. The mitochondria, a cell's energy-producing organelle, are where this process takes place. The electron transport chain, a set of chemical events that produce ATP, uses CoQ10 as an electron carrier. For cellular operations, organ health, and general vitality, energy must be produced.

Powerful Antioxidant:

Additionally, CoQ10 has an antioxidant effect that guards against free radical-induced oxidative cell damage. Free radicals are unstable chemicals that can destroy cellular structures, speeding up the ageing process, causing tissue damage, and contributing to a number of disorders. CoQ10 functions as an antioxidant, scavenging free radicals and preserving cellular integrity and general health.

Heart Health:

One of the body's organs with the highest energy requirements is the heart. The fact that heart cells contain a lot of CoQ10 emphasises how crucial it is for cardiovascular health. It encourages healthy blood circulation, enhances the heart's capacity to pump effectively, and aids in maintaining normal blood pressure levels.

 Immune Support:

The immune system is supported by CoQ10 as well. As an antioxidant, it aids in shielding immune cells from oxidative stress so they may work at their peak capacity in protecting the body against illnesses and infections.

Cellular Repair and Regeneration:

DNA and RNA must be synthesised in order for cells to mend and regenerate, and CoQ10 plays a role in this process. This process is essential for keeping the body's tissues, muscles, and organs in good condition.

Neurological Health:

CoQ10 is being investigated for its possible advantages in preserving neurological health and may have a protective effect on brain cells. CoQ10 may be able to decrease the progression of several neurodegenerative illnesses, according to some research.

Statin Medication Use:

The body's levels of CoQ10 can be decreased by a class of drugs called statins, which is used to control cholesterol. CoQ10 supplementation may lessen the muscle-related adverse effects of statins and lessen the depletion they induce.

2: CoQ10 Vitamin Tablet - Your Heart's Best Friend 

'Simply Herbal CoQ10 Natural Coenzyme Q10 Tablets 200mg with Bioperine Antioxidant Supplements' is a premium formulation created to offer the best support for heart health. Each pill has 200 mg of CoQ10, a significant amount that guarantees your heart gets the nutrition it needs. The inclusion of Bioperine improves CoQ10 absorption even further, maximising its advantages.

Regularly consuming CoQ10 vitamin supplements can help your cardiovascular system perform better. According to studies, CoQ10 may aid in lowering blood pressure, which is crucial for keeping the heart healthy and preventing cardiovascular disorders.

3: CoQ10 for Energy Metabolism and Stamina

In addition to being good for the heart, CoQ10 is crucial for energy metabolism. CoQ10 makes sure that our cells have the energy required to carry out their duties properly by boosting the creation of ATP (adenosine triphosphate) within the mitochondria. As a result, people who use CoQ10 supplements frequently report having more energy and stamina overall.

4: CoQ10 and Blood Pressure Management

CoQ10 might be a natural remedy for people who are worried about their blood pressure. According to some studies, taking CoQ10 supplements may result in a little drop in blood pressure. It shouldn't be used in place of prescription medications, but it can be a helpful addition to a routine for overall heart health and Coq10  blood pressure 

In short:

The 'Simply Herbal CoQ10 Natural Coenzyme Q10 Tablet 200mg with Bioperine Antioxidant Supplements' offer a powerful and effective way to support your heart health and energy metabolism. By providing your body with a premium CoQ10 dosage, you can boost cellular energy production, promote cardiovascular function, and enjoy increased stamina. Remember that while CoQ10 vitamin tablet can be beneficial for blood pressure management, it's essential to consult your healthcare professional before making any changes to your medication regimen.