#worried it’ll be more sexist than I remember | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkacademicfrom2021 · 3 years ago

Text

Away. So, so far away.

"There wasn’t a single moment where he could forget how fragile you were. How different your life span was compared to his —he wanted to give you all of his enormity, all of the years that wore too big on his bland and heavy life.

He couldn’t keep you by his side forever".

Pairing/s: Loki x reader, Bucky x reader

There's 2 alternative endings, a "choose your own adventure" kind of thing.

<<Previous part Masterlist Next part>>

Warnings: angst. God, believe me, this is so fucking sad. Sorry about that. Some fluff, implied smut, Odin and Frigga's A+ parenting (/s). Thor being a little bitch. Reader not wanting kids.

Total word count: 16,3K (this was supposed to be an oneshot???)

Chapter word count: 4,6K

If you had to choose the best outcome from working with the Avengers (or, more specifically, under the economic decisions of Tony Stark), it had to be the hotels he chose for the team on the missions.

The rooms were always a bliss —you would’ve never gone to such fancy places if it were up to you. You didn’t think it was worth the money at all, and you didn’t fit into the overpriced lifestyle of those who loved the five-stars everything.

But your work was something you had to do, and, let’s say the comfortable beds, big bathrooms and incredibly talented chefs making your breakfast wasn’t something you had to work hard for you to enjoy.

And now, as your sore muscles ached and your fogged head went everywhere and anywhere, you thanked greatly to be able to be there that night. Peaceful. Tranquility washing over your back in the form of drops of water.

The mirror was covered with steam and a curtain blocked your way, but you still noticed the tall figure of Loki peeping in. You heard his clothes being dropped on the floor and you kept on putting soap over your shoulders, as if he wasn’t there. You were so, so tired, you didn’t even realize that the shower was a little bit too hot for your lover. It even was too hot for you, too.

“Damn”, he gasped as he flinched away from the water. You woke up from your daydreaming and immediately turned the cold water on. The mixture of them formed a perfectly tepid temperature you both could tolerate. You learnt the hard way Loki showered on such cold water your lips would turn blue. “You alright, dear?”, he asked from behind you.

“Yeah, a little tired, not more”.

“You need some rest, take the day off tomorrow, would you?”, he purred on your ear with his hands on your shoulders, giving you a soft massage. His hands moved up to your hair, and he soon began cleaning it himself. He loved to do that for you, and you loved to feel his long fingers caress your scalp, the soap running down your body, the shampoo smell staining his own skin and leaving the shower smelling the same.

“I have to finish this mission up”, you mumbled. “But once we’re back to the compound you bet we’re taking a day off together. You must be tired too”.

“Not that much, but I can’t deny a day off with you”, you felt him smile, even though you weren’t facing him. You knew how and when he smiled; you memorized the curve of his lips and every situation it would curve. His smile did things to you. “You know I don’t get tired off of these things”.

“Yeah, it’s almost like you’re a God or something”.

You both laughed softly. He gently pulled your head back and cleaned off the shampoo. He kissed your temples, all the way down to the nape of your neck, and kept kissing each protuberance of the spine, bone by bone, as if missing one would make it feel left out. As if every inch of you, every single bit of you, deserved the same praise and the same love —it did. He made sure you knew that.

“It’ll be all over soon”, he promised in a whisper. You sighed.

“Don’t worry, my love. It will pay off”, you assured him. You turned around to face his furrowed brows. Standing in your tiptoes, you reached his forehead and planted a kiss where his frown disappeared as if by magic. “Now it’s my turn to wash your hair”. He smiled and kneeled before you, so you could reach his head.

You shampooed and conditioned his hair slowly and silently. He closed his eyes, not letting you know he was overthinking about everything he was making you do, and how much he appreciated you doing it.

“You know…”, he murmured, his deep voice almost getting mistaken by a groan if it weren’t for the clearly spoken words, “we could stop all of this, if you see it… surpassing your limitations”.

He opened his eyes and raised his head to meet yours. Those puppy eyes of his. You scoffed.

“Limitations?”, you cocked an eyebrow and smirked teasingly.

He laughed and rolled his eyes.

“You know you’re a weakie”, he said jokingly, emphasizing on how bad that word described you at his gaze. “Now, seriously. I’m aware it’s a lot. A lot, lot”.

“Love, you don’t have to keep worrying about it. I accepted because I love you so, so much. Some even could say too much”, you caressed the back of his head and sank your fingers in between the curled strands. “I may not agree with it ideologically, but I can make a little sacrifice if that means being with you for the rest of my life. And, for the record, it’s not as much as you think”.

He didn’t say anything else to that. He simply smiled again, pressed lips in the tiniest curve, as if repressing it would make it last longer, and let you wash the conditioner off him.

You could do very well with a day off, though. Between the missions that seemed to never stop and only get worse week by week, and the infinite amount of trials you had to go through by the Asgardian royals, you thought you may pass out any time soon.

The trials… ah, the weirdest thing you’ve ever had to do in your life. And that was not little to say, for you had fought freaking aliens and helped supersoldier’s wounds to heal in a matter of seconds with Stark’s subdermic nanotech.

Loki had a possibility, a chance to have everything he ever wanted to have, and he could’ve taken it. They said ‘you can have the throne now’, as if it had always been that easy, and he didn’t take it right away, as if it hadn’t been the thing he most wanted.

“The thing I most want, little darling, is you”, he told you when he explained what had happened.

And you swore he was about to propose —he almost took off a damn ring off his pocket. But he didn’t, and instead, he related carefully and detailedly what had to happen before he could marry you, if he were to get the throne. You had to show your in-laws you were a good companion for the King.

And that sucked. Why did it matter so much? You loved him and he loved you, and he was going to be a great King. That was all that mattered for both of you. But the conditions were very clear, and had no room for argument. And you wouldn’t let Loki give up his unfulfilled wish to rule the realms, nor would he give it up now that he had the chance.

So there you were, balancing between the missions and the trials. Which were very sexist, in fact. Who would’ve thought royals and Gods would be so conservative? You laughed. They varied between many housekeeping duties, archery, Asgard’s history, a lot of politics, the cooking and baking of different Asgardian treats, and a lot of those idiotic kind of trainings of putting books over your head and walking in heels. They said they had to transform an avenger into royalty, and you almost laughed in their face. Loki did.

It was impossible you'd ever actually become who they wanted you to change into. A submissive and silent companion, not possessing any other ability than smiling politely and attending your husband's needs? You were so incredibly far from even being like that, that not even Strange could see a reality in where you'd do it.

But you could pretend. You passed the first dozen trials, and passed them well. Odin had started growing a certain liking to your attitude, much unlike Frigga, who was increasingly repulsed by it. She was trying her best in transforming you, a lost cause in her eyes, into whatever she found fitting to accompany her younger son.

"Your mother's idea of a 'good' partner is very different from mine", you said over a glass of wine, waiting for dinner to finish cooking. Loki was sitting over the counter reading a book. He closed it over his lap and marked the page with a wooden spoon that was on handy.

"Mine too", he sighed. "She doesn't see that you already are perfect".

"I don't think she'd see me with your eyes".

"You must remember she was raised to be the princess that would someday marry Odin. She has no other view of marriage than… changing the true self. Much as she taught me shapeshifting, we have all learnt different ways to hide underneath a veil of lies and deceiving".

You took in his sincere words and went back to silence for a while. He didn't go back to his book, instead, he looked at you. He wanted to know what you were thinking about, but asking felt like an intrusion of some sort. You looked back at him, an invitation to ask. He then asked,

"How do you feel about it?".

You nodded with no reason to nod. Pressed your lips in a line, a smile that wouldn't form just yet. Not for this.

"I sincerely don't know", you finally said. He hummed. "I love you, that's all I know. My perception of marriage doesn't mean giving everything and everyone up. But again, in my perception of marriage I never thought I would actually marry a prince. I know this is how it is. I know this is what has to be done".

"It doesn't", he jumped off the counter and surrounded your waist with his arms, resting his head on your shoulder. "Love, this can be solved. I don't want you to resign everything and everyone. This is not how it has to go if you don't like it. Say the word. Say the word and…", he sighed.

"And you'll resign your everything and everyone?", you chuckled.

"You're my everything and everyone, I wouldn't be resigning anything I don't already have".

"Liar. You want this", you said almost in a whisper. Turning around to face him, you cupped his face and kissed his chin. "You can have it. I'm sorry, I don't want you to feel guilty".

"I have reasons to feel that way".

"I'm just being dramatic".

"You're not".

"I really am", you assured him. Love sometimes was protecting him from your thoughts. Love sometimes was waking up from a nightmare where he died and not telling him about it. Love sometimes was not worrying him and lying. Or was it? Were you protecting him or were you creating a demon? "This is your big chance. Do I have a big chance here? I don't. My big chance so far has been being by your side. You make me blindly happy. I don't care if I have to change some things to please your parents, we both know I wouldn't actually change. We can see underneath the acting. You know me".

"I know you enough…", he started saying, with no need to finish it. I know you enough to know you don't want this.

"Let's have dinner", you smiled, and he kissed your forehead.

Love sometimes was accepting, he thought. Accepting you didn't want to talk about it that much. Love sometimes was sharing time. Sharing that glass of wine while sharing moments in the kitchen. Sharing the dinner you cooked together. Sharing time. Sharing. And this… Loki knew he wasn't sharing. He was taking his chance and making you go through it without you wanting it. But you shared —your life, your motivations, your fears, most of your thoughts. And you shared your thoughts about it, yet he could sense that wasn't all. You were keeping some worries to yourself, and that was what preoccupied him the most.

In the training room, you avoided Thor’s blasts and threw your daggers, trying to practice over the little things the Queen had taught you. Loki observed from afar, not wanting to distract you. He stared proudly, knowing who he was going to marry. It was not bad at all.

You had started liking that part of the training. You catched interest for Asgard’s history, politics, and the trainings of archery and dagger-fighting. You grew fonder of the idea of living in his Palace, and, to him, nothing sounded better than you calling him my King in front of everyone. But, whatever would come for the future, would come brightly.

You weren’t closer with Thor than with any other Avenger. And you weren’t exactly friends with anyone. You got along pretty well. Tony Stark liked your fierce personality, and laughed at the contrast between your bitterness in the field to your kind essence in any other situation.

Steve Rogers constantly pointed out how hilarious it was that someone like you would end up with someone like Loki. Both took it personal —Loki thought it was an offence to him, “how could someone as caring and sweet as you end up with that mass murderer”. You thought it was an offence to you, “how could someone as dull and incompetent as you end up with a literal God”.

Natasha Romanoff… She didn’t talk much. But, unlike James, she didn’t even try to communicate. James was interesting, and you were sure you would call him a friend, someday. He wasn’t very talkative, but he was always there. Always laughed at your jokes. He memorized your coffee order. He liked the same shows you did and watched them with you, in silence. He was quiet, but his actions spoke to you much more than any other Avenger. Although, James “Bucky” Barnes, was not an Avenger. Much like Loki. He was just there, he was always helping.

“How are the trials?”, asked Thor, avoiding one of your daggers without much effort. You weren’t actually good at it. Thor had learnt to avoid them for the last thousand years.

“I have a week left, and then it’s done. I think I’m doing pretty good”, you said, hiding your exhaustion. Thor was barely moving and you couldn’t catch up to him as much as you tried. He laughed when you fell, and helped you up, only to blast you again with a tiny electric wave, that at that point you felt no more than a tingling sensation.

“My son”, heard Loki from behind him. He turned around and made a small reverence to her. She smiled and stood by his side, observing you too. “I see their determination”.

“Nothing better for a King’s companion, yes?”, he said, proud dripping off his words. Frigga rolled her eyes and nodded. She wasn’t amused that Loki, from all the choices he had, had chosen a dull midgardian to follow him for less than a century. And then he’d had to choose again. Hopefully, someone who would live longer than a damn heartbeat.

“We ought to have a little talk, boy”, she finally said, and Loki’s heart tightened with nervousness. Very few people managed to get him that nervous over a couple of words. “Join me to a more… private space”.

They walked in silence until his room seemed like the best option. Room was a formal way to call it, for it was huge as an apartment. You both had managed to make a standardized-looking studio apartment into a cozy space, decorated with care and dedication. It was obvious Loki’s good taste and your inherent warmth had a big role on the decorations.

Frigga roamed around the room, observing the hung pictures and passing a finger through the white Christmas lights. She stopped at a particular photograph of Loki and you ice skating. He was carrying you as if you were a feather-weight doll, your seemingly cold hands wrapping his blue neck. Frigga stared at the actions developing at that moment. Under your cold touch, he was half transformed in his Jötun form, completely comfortable. You looked at his eyes with a glimmer that Frigga knew it to be the same Loki looked at you with. You were both laughing, and he seemed to have carried you up bridal style only to tease you into throwing you into a snow pile.

“Mother?”, Loki pulled her off of her thoughts. She turned around. “You wished to talk about something”.

“You seem… in love”, she murmured under a confusing expression. Despite Loki’s perceptiveness, he couldn’t figure out if his mother was repressing a smile or holding back a frown of sadness. Perhaps both.

“I am, mother”, he admitted, appearing a mug of tea in her hand and inviting her to sit on one of the couches. “If I must be sincere with you, as I always have been, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way for anyone”.

“For a mortal, Loki…”, she sighed and sipped her tea. “You know what will happen now. You’re so… attached”.

“As attached as you are to Father, not as one is to a puppy pet”, he clarified.

“But much more like a puppy pet, they’ll live less than a quarter of your life. Much less. In fact, you’ll blink twice and you’ll be by an empty space on your bed, my dear”.

“I certainly hope you’re getting to a point here”, he scoffed. He’s had this conversation countless times before, and his mother never gave in.

“There is this last thing in the trials…”, she said, raising her eyebrows and getting up to pace around the room once again, barely watching over the decens of good moments in pictures you had displayed on the wall. “One thing that has to be surely not optional”.

Loki sipped on his own tea, looking out the window. He watched the spider boy try the man of iron’s flying boots and crush against a window. It was a much better thing to have his mind on, than in what his mother had just implied.

He didn’t realize it, but a few tears formed in the corners of his eyes, and he had to swallow harder to speak his mind. The implication alone of what that meant… he knew all of this would crumble under his touch. Sooner or later, he would have to make a choice, and he’d choose the wrong thing.

Both options were the wrong thing. There was no way out. There was no right path to follow.

“There has to be a way out of this question. Of this decision”, he hurried. His mother chuckled.

“Given your reaction, son, it doesn’t sound like there’s much to decide. It’s an answered question, and we all know it”.

“Yet you thought it wise to pull them through all of these trials, all of these…”, his lips trembled, and he had to stop to take a breath. “To rouse us with the illusion of the better life we always dreamed of?”.

“I had warned you about it, Loki. There is no us in your daydream for the throne. And much less with a short-lived being such as a midgardian. I had warned you”, she repeated, and rage boiled on Loki’s veins.

“Why is it that everytime I get a glimpse of what a good future could look like, it gets destroyed before it arrives?!”, he lost his temper, raising his voice. The tea fell to the carpeted floor and he didn’t even look at it. Frigga didn’t flinch, and walked closer to him. She gave him an arm-length grab on his shoulders that was supposed to calm him down.

“Hush, little boy… this is for…”, she tried to soothe the wound she opened, but he interrupted her before she could say anything else.

“For my own good? Were you going to say that, Frigga?”, he hissed. His mother dropped the arms. She didn’t like when he called her by name. It implied things he had implied before, and were no less true than what he felt like. Apart. Away. “And must I remind you I’m not a little boy you need to protect and make decisions for? This is ridiculous. I’m given, once again, the illusion of the choice”.

“Oh, Loki, when have I ever given you a golden apple you couldn’t actually reach?”, she folded her arms, furrowing her brows. “I’ve taught you magic so you could be unstoppable. I’ve raised you equally, despite your roots. I’ve…”, she enlisted, and Loki’s chest hurt so tightly he thought he’d finally die. He couldn’t speak. “I’ve left everything to your reach. Your arm just wasn’t long enough. You could’ve stretched it further, yet you decided to go for another apple, and that, my son, is not our fault”.

Loki sat on the floor, and she stayed standing. The height difference that would always make her look up at him was now gone, dissolved as the confidence Loki had gathered in the past few years he’s been living in Midgard, away from all of those words. Away from what he considered at some point, the truth. And you weren’t there to hug him and squeeze the lies away —it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, he repeated himself like a machine. It wasn’t true, although it felt so much like it.

“Loki? You haven’t said a word in…”, she began saying, rotting her patience of steel.

“What would you like me to say?”, he asked, blinking some tears away. He got up, not letting her see how much smaller he felt now. Words are just words. “Perhaps you could facilitate me with a script, so I would never wrong my path again, yes?”, he spat sarcastically.

“Oh, son. You musn’t…”.

“Take this personally, I’m aware. Now, if you excuse me, my beloved will come from training any time soon now, and it would be very unpleasant for you to come across them and have to greet them, right? So I’d suggest we wrap up our little chat and you go… Queen around”.

“Now, you’re being just rude. I wouldn’t wish you to fail in anything”.

“I’ve never said that. You said that I’m just too… incompetent to reach, the apples, was it? Were you talking about Iduna’s or was it a metaphor for all the things you’ve taken from me?”.

“You’re putting words in my mouth”.

“You’re right. You’ve never taken anything from me. You’ve never given them in the first place. You’ve only put them near, so I could want them enough, and then give them to your real son”.

“You’re my son, too. You’re a real son, too, Loki”, she extended her palms for him to grab, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned around.

“Excuse me. I must have misunderstood”.

“You certainly did”.

“Perhaps it’s because I live in a world of illusions, and I’m forgetting what’s real and what’s not”.

She nodded, hiding impatience. Without saying another word, she teleported away, disappearing behind a veil of yellow lights, like a flame surrounding and consuming her.

Loki dropped to the floor again, and inhaled and exhaled, inhaled and exhaled, inhaled…

“Love?”, you asked, dropping your water bottle on the table without unlocking your eyes from him. You kneeled next to him immediately. “Love, what’s happening? Are you bad?”.

If he wasn’t in such a state, he would’ve laughed at the comparison of what caring for the other meant in your eyes and his family’s.

He didn’t let you see his face —torn apart, wet with cold tears that solidified to the touch of his skin, the blue form that couldn’t hide when he was too upset, or too broken, like he was right then.

He sank in your arms, hugging you as tightly as he allowed himself to. Grasping for your touch, for you to never leave him, for your soul to never leave your body and stay with him for the rest of his life.

His mother was right, he thought. He was all she said he was, and that hurt him. But it stung him even more when he knew how right she was about his short-lived being beloved. He was going to pull away from your hug and you would take a few more breaths, and that was it. And your worried face, frowning your expression as you couldn’t see what had taken over his lover this time, would become cold as marble.

“Please, please—I can’t live without you, not like this—not anymore”, he sobbed over your neck, sinking deeper into the embrace you would oh so tightly hold and hold —you wouldn’t let him go, not ever, not if you had the chance to. And Loki knew you would actually do it. He’d lose you because you would never agree to that, and with good reason.

“You don’t have to, I’m not leaving. I’m here, Loki. I’m here, love, and you’re alright. Deep breaths, breathe with me, love, come, breathe with me”, you helped him calm down, rubbing big circles on his back, your palms open and warm trying to cover the immensity of him compared to you.

There wasn’t a single moment where he could forget how fragile you were. How different your life span was compared to his —he wanted to give you all of his enormity, all of the years that wore too big on his bland and heavy life.

He couldn’t keep you by his side forever.

He could, on the other hand, keep you as far as he could manage to.

He was already stable, now. You cuddled him on the couch, weighted blanket surrounding his body, a few ice cubes inside a bag for his forehead and neck —you knew it would always make him feel less pushed, keeping his Aesir form costed an extra amount of energy he sometimes couldn’t handle to bare— and your hand kept brushing his hair, braiding it, letting him know he was safe.

He opened his eyes and there you were —an angel, a healer caring for his wounds. He sighed at your sight, and embarrassed himself for even thinking about it. No, no. Of course he would choose you. He would never choose the throne if he had to give you up. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He raised a hand to cup your cheek.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered.

“Don’t be”, you assured.

“I… I have to ask”.

“Tell me”.

And so he asked,

“Would you, ever, at any given point of your life, want to have a child with me?”.

You stayed silent. You looked at him, every bit of his face, every expression that would tell you what he was actually thinking about. Why was he asking this now? After all of this? He knew the answer, why would he bring it up again?

And then it hit you.

“Your Mother was here”, you lowered your gaze. Your legs started bouncing.

“She was”.

“This is a condition”.

“It is”.

“Heir”.

“Not more and not less”.

“What will we do?”, you asked, raising your eyebrows. As you looked for Loki’s eyes to be wet, to have any emotion of regret, they weren’t. He was hiding them very well.

“We will stay here. No more trials. No more boring royal things for you to learn”.

“This can’t be possible”, you frowned in concern. “Loki, this is the thing you most want. You can’t give it up for this”.

“For what? For being with the love of my life? I certainly can and will”, he smiled. It was a sad smile, you noticed. His eyes couldn’t hide what his lips tried to. He noticed you didn’t believe him. “We’ve talked about this over and over. I will bargain more. But as for now, I can see the most likely option will be this one. I propose we get comfortable. You once talked about a house by the mountains and cats, right?”.

“Don’t change the topic, mister”, you frowned and he laughed. You hugged him tightly, and murmured in his ear “are you sure you want this?”.

“So, so sure, my little darling”.

(Taglist: @lucywrites02 , @louieboo87 , @the-departed-potato , @jesuswasnotawhiteman , @idontknow296 , @beksib , @spythoschei , @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass , @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 , @joscelyn02 , @t00-pi , @selfship-mishaps , @sallymagnoliaposts , @deadgirl88 , @enderslove)

112 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! I saw a post that said your prompts are open, but if they’re not yet, please don’t worry about this. Anyway, if you’re interested, please take this ‘Wen Ruohan appoints Lan Wangji his next heir with being 1) impressed by him, or 2) bested by him’ Lan Wangji is less than thrilled about this

Modern AU

“I hate this,” Wei Wuxian grumbled. “This is so dumb.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to enjoy being kidnapped,” Jiang Cheng said, his arms crossed over his chest. He was scowling. He hadn’t stopped scowling. Nobody blamed him one bit. “It’s not like it’s something that gets advertised in travel brochures or anything.”

“Listen, if it was like in the movies, it’d be one thing,” Wei Wuxian argued back. Lan Wangji suspected he was just arguing in order to hear himself speak, but since Lan Wangji also enjoyed hearing him speak, he didn’t mind. “Getting snatched into a van! Taken to a mysterious secondary location via plane! Villain monologues! Handcuffs! Zipties! Ropes! Chains!”

Lan Wangji wondered if Wei Wuxian had a thing for bondage. He would be okay with that.

Very okay with that.

“Wei Wuxian…” Jiang Cheng started.

“But noooooo, we don’t get jungles or the ‘most dangerous game’ or sexy people in skimpy swimsuits –”

Lan Wangji had a bathing suit. It wasn’t that skimpy, though.

“- we just get kidnapped by a deranged politician who’s decided that the best way to figure out who deserves to be his heir is via a stupid reality show!”

“I think it’s based on the Apprentice,” Nie Huaisang said from where he was sitting. “Possibly the Bachelor? I actually don’t watch that much reality television.”

“You watch the Great British Bake Off like a fiend,” Jiang Cheng pointed out.

“First, Great British Bake Off doesn’t count. Second, if this was a bake-off, your sister would win, instead of not even being here. Is that what you want?”

Both Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian shuddered.

“So, we’re all in agreement that the goal is to lose, right?” Wei Wuxian said. “No one actually wants the job of being Wen Ruohan’s heir, right?”

Nods all around.

“Doesn’t he have kids already?” Jin Zixuan wondered.

“Wen Xu and Wen Chao,” Lan Wangji said shortly.

“…yeah, fair, I’d be looking elsewhere too. They’re pretty awful – dumb and dumber. But surely there’s someone else in the family…?”

“I think they’ve been disowned. Anyway, who would want power if it means putting up with Wen Ruohan?”

Nods all around a second time.

“How will this work?” Nie Huaisang asked. “Are there, like – contests?”

There were.

Stupid ones.

Lan Wangji did his utmost best to mess up the archery competition – archery? In this day and age? – but he wasn’t quite willing to turn around and wildly shoot backwards the way Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng were doing, if only because the possibility of collateral damage made him shudder. He focused his arrows on a small corner just outside the target.

(Nie Huaisang’s arrows impressively did not reach the target even once. When asked how he had managed to pull that off despite being closely monitored to make sure he was actually trying, he proudly pointed to years of practice in fucking up his brother’s efforts at getting him to train.)

Lan Wangji was also incapable of getting a low score in the calligraphy competition, although Nie Huaisang shared in his misfortune there – being an artist did not necessarily translate to good penmanship, but in Nie Huaisang’s case it did – and naturally no one could quite compare to the atrocity that Wei Wuxian had created.

“It’s still recognizable as words, in my view,” Nie Huaisang declared after several minutes of close study. “So it should be fine to submit…you should really consider taking up abstract art, though. It’s quite nice, from that perspective.”

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian said. “I think. Or was that an insult?”

The mathematics segment was even more disastrous for Lan Wangji – his uncle had brought him up with a strict prohibition against lying, including on test answers – and then they’d brought out music…

They didn’t even give Lan Wangji a chance to sabotage his chance, opting to just play a Youtube clip of one of his public performances on the guqin.

He was very, very good at guqin.

At least they’d done the same for Wei Wuxian and his flute – he ended up getting ranked first in music, even above Lan Wangji – but that wasn’t going to be enough to overcome his middle-of-the-road performances in the other subject.

“I think you’re going to win,” Jiang Cheng told Lan Wangji. “I’m very sorry. Seriously, and without sarcasm: I’m very, very sorry.”

Lan Wangji said nothing, but apparently his face managed to convey his misery effectively enough because Wei Wuxian came over and gave him a hug.

Lan Wangji enjoyed the hug, at least.

“Don’t worry,” Nie Huaisang said. He was fanning himself again – where did he even get a fan? Lan Wangji thought all three of the ones he’d seen Nie Huaisang pull out of his pockets had been confiscated, and surely there was a limit to how many “back-ups” a person plausibly needed – and reclining under the shade, having been thoroughly knocked out of the running during the physical portion of the competition. He hadn’t even had the courtesy to be concerned: he was, as always, secure in his uselessness. “We’ve been here for quite a while, haven’t we? Our families will be along soon enough to pick us up, and then we can forget all this.”

“What if they can’t, though?” Jiang Cheng said, wringing his hands. “I mean, we all hate him, he’s awful, yes, but he still has influence and power, for some unknown reason –”

“I still can’t believe there are people who support him. Least of all nearly half the cultivation world!”

“Less than half. Remember, we just counted.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but still. Regardless, don’t worry – it’ll be fine.”

“Surely if our families were going to do something, they’d be here already?” Jin Zixuan asked.

Jiang Cheng pointed at him. “See? Even the peacock is worried!”

“Also, what if Wen Ruohan wants to keep Lan Wangji as his heir even after we’re rescued?” Wei Wuxian wanted to know. He looked worried, which Lan Wangji appreciated. “Listen, my future boyfriend and I are not going to live somewhere named something as classless and pretentious as the, and I quote, ‘Nightless City’, okay? I refuse.”

…future boyfriend?

“The Nightless City is a perfectly decent name,” Nie Huaisang said. “For a Bond villain. Which I’m not convinced Wen Ruohan isn’t.”

Boyfriend? As in – romantic partner boyfriend?

“A Bond villain wouldn’t be this stupid,” Jiang Cheng argued.

Wei Ying’s future boyfriend?

“I dunno,” Wei Wuxian said. “There were some real stinkers, especially in the 70s…”

Did he mean Lan Wangji?

“Can we get back on subject?” Jin Zixuan wanted to know. “Lan Wangji is on the verge of being selected to be Wen Ruohan’s heir, and I’m not sure that process doesn’t involve brainwashing at some point.”

Wait, why was it future boyfriend? Couldn’t they be boyfriends now?

“I would fight them first,” Wei Wuxian declared. “All of them. Immediately!”

“Or we could escape. I know the guards took our cell phones, but I pickpocketed Wen Zhuliu’s and the GPS says we’re actually just at a warehouse outside the city.”

“We’d need a distraction, though…”

“How about we release the giant turtle?”

“Wait, that thing in the moat is a turtle? I thought it was a snake.”

“I don’t know why you expect me to know anything about amphibians.”

“It’s not – they’re not even remotely – a snake has no legs! What is wrong with you people?!”

“Unrelated, but has anyone noticed that none of the girls got brought in? Isn’t that sexist?”

“Like Wen Ruohan being sexist is a surprise –”

“I still think we need to do something before he tries to adopt Lan Wangji –��

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” Lan Wangji asked Wei Wuxian, who blinked at him, and then beamed. “Or maybe make out in the corner while everyone’s arguing?”

That seemed like something they’d both enjoy.

It was, too, right up until someone did unleash the giant turtle, at which point it was mostly screaming and splashing and all of their families coming to their rescue at just the right time.

But Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were dating now, so overall, a good experience.

Well, mostly. Wen Ruohan sent him countless letters for the next two months asking him to consider coming back for an internship (to be paid in "experience" and "exposure", of course).

Lan Wangji burned them all.

#mdzs #wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #jin zixuan #lan wangji's hormones #they get a special mention as a character #my fic #my fics #staringatstarsblog

619 notes · View notes

thomcantsleep · 3 years ago

Text

Rambling About my Autism: Masking, Self-Exploration and Understanding Eachother

I don’t know if I speak for every single neurodivergent person out there but I don’t struggle with autism. I struggle with other people not having it or not even having a concept of what it is. I don’t expect total empathy but it would be nice if I got a centimeter of wiggle room when it came to social situations without coming across like I want cheat codes for life.

I use the pronoun “my” because everyone experiences autism differently and it’s such a complicated diagnosis that it’s entirely understandable why neurotypical people are very confused by it. It doesn’t help that autism isn’t really touched upon in education or that representation of neurodivergent people in the media is pretty poor. Often, whenever an uninitiated neurotypical person thinks of autism, they either think of edgy internet humour or Rain Man and they’re just as bad as each other in my estimation.

I was diagnosed in Primary School when I was about seven years old but at the time, I didn’t think much of it. I might’ve told some of my friends at school but I couldn’t tell them anything about what it meant or anything. I never understood why my parents took me to this place far out of town where this man in a suit was asking me bizarre questions and conundrums or why I had to leave the room for several minutes whilst the man just spoke to my parents.

I was one of those kids who was steadfastly attached to a counsellor because I had a short fuse in the nursery which carried on until I was about nine years of age. I don’t remember her ever having a conversation with me about my diagnosis. Maybe she wasn’t qualified to speak about it or something, I don’t know.

Anyway, I only really took notice of it when I was fourteen because I started to realize that I was missing pieces of puzzles all the time. Throughout school, I had a terrible fear of failure in the sense that I didn’t want to try and do anything without very specific instructions because I was scared of the consequence of doing it wrong. People would tell me jokes and I wouldn’t get them. I would miss social cues sometimes. I was overly self-conscious of things that “normal” people aren’t supposed to be self-conscious of like the size of my shoes.

Then, I was worried about telling anyone because of the stigma attached to it at the time. Being raised by the internet mostly, people made fun of autism all the time and not in a particularly fun way. Being autistic meant that you were stupid and sub-human. I feared facing direct harrassment in real life so I left it alone for a bit. Only my friends knew about it.

It wasn’t until I was about eighteen where I realized that it was something special about me; it was part of my character. I read more about it. I talked to people online who also had autism or they were concerned that they might have it and encouraged them to be diagnosed. I was exploring it and I realized that it was more interesting than I thought. I embraced it. One of the very few good things about the internet is that you are allowed to be who you are and find other people who are the same as you. I know this is because of social engineering and advertising etc but still.

To this day, I still live with it and it still does bother me from time to time but I feel like part of being human is self-exploration and learning to live with yourself. There are still times where I act irrationally because I’m socially paranoid which is an off-shoot of me being a constant thinker. There is still a fear of me doing or saying the wrong thing to upset people or that I’m misinterpreted. Not having many friends at school, I’m keen to get attached to people but I get quickly overwhelmed and anxious. I would still probably suffer a sensory overload in nightclubs which can lead to something like panic attacks All this is part of learning about yourself and it’s a disservice to not try and address it. Not to solve it, but to realize who you are and accept yourself.

What some neurodivergent people are self-conscious of is the idea of masking. This essentially means that you hide autistic behaviours by doing an impression of a neurotypical individual which is a practice that is definitely unhealthy. I’ve been guilty of this throughout university when I’m rubbing shoulders with people I barely know because there is an element of safety in it. Ultimately though, you should be allowed to be yourself in real life and I do know that there are some people who see my overanalysis in conversation and wished that I would shut the fuck up. What I say to that is that there will be people like that anyway if you’re autistic or not and we should work together to normalize being who you are. “Normal” to me is who I am.

Really, I’ve had it easy in comparison to other autistic folk. Some won’t find out for ages that they’re autistic because they don’t have anyone around them showing concern or, if you’re AFAB, you have to jump through all these hoops because of the inherently sexist industry. In 2021, the “woman are just hysterical” viewpoint is indeed, still a thing. I spare a thought for people who are getting diagnosed after their teens when I got diagnosed in about an hour. To those people, I encourage you to keep pressing forward with it and to not give up getting the help and support you need. It’ll be alright because it’s not as scary as Rain Man makes it out to be.

If there is anyone reading this who is concerned that they might be autistic or that they know someone who does. I say that you don’t need to be concerned. If you want to be diagnosed, push for the diagnosis but if you can’t or you don’t want to. That’s fine too. Do what I did. Reach out to other autistic people and talk to them. Join a Discord server and have a chat because there are more neurodivergent people out there than you might think and they are all looking to open the conversation as well.

Outside of that, I don’t know where this was going. Just try and understand each other.

123 notes · View notes

world-of-horrors-au · 3 years ago

Text

Horrors AU - Laughing Jack in Love

Welcome back to this series, where the creeps (known as Horrors in this au) fall in love with all the pain that comes with it. Today it's LJ's turn! The strongest Horror, and the oldest, dating back to the Victorian era, he's a living doll and a total asshole. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have a sweet center, and I'm not just talking about his stuffing...

[This is long and I am sorry.]

He’s dense. He’s not stupid, he’s just... dense. When he falls in love with you, he will be the last to know. Or maybe you will be.

Dude has shit social skills because he spent the last few hundred years killing people instead of socializing. So... He’s a jerk. An asshole. A son of a bitch. If he doesn’t like you, he’ll just ignore you, but if he does, you can expect to find yourself involved in snarky banter and obnoxious pranks. Nothing harmful or genuinely mean, he’s just doing [what he thinks] clowns do

But if he actually hurts your feelings, he will panic. If he makes you cry, he will panic even harder. This like nine foot tall clown will be on his hands and knees begging you for forgiveness and promising to never do it again. And he won’t. Because he’s just trying to show that you’re part of the ‘pack’ but he has shit social skills.

On the other hand if you snark back and join in on the pranks on the others, he will like you even more than he did before. You could become a real terrible trio, you, LJ, and BEN.

If you get scared of something relatively harmless, like spiders or thunder, or have a nightmare, you can go to him. He will lightly tease you for it but will deal with the spider, hold you through the thunder, or let you sleep next to him so the nightmares won’t come back.

Once BEN catches him playing with your hair as you sleep next to him, him smiling softly at you. He only ever shows this to LJ, pretending its for blackmail, but it’s not. They all know better.

When he starts falling in love, his quote-unquote ‘alpha male’ instincts kick in.

Listen, he’s the strongest, the fastest, the oldest, the best Horror ever. It’s his responsibility to protect everyone. Technically he thinks he should be the leader but he loves and respects Jeff too much to try and take over. Also because he really doesn’t want to be pack leader, he’s got the responsibility of, well, a clown. He likes having fun instead of Serious Stuff, even though that having fun normally involves murder...

So when he falls in love, catch him being an even bigger asshole than before. Trying to protect you from extremely minor threats, not wanting you to go out into the Forest alone, wanting to follow you when you go hunting...

The others don’t put up with this for one minute. They shut him down hard and make fun of him for it. Like, haha, no, chill the fuck out LJ.

And he does. He talks about that stuff with Eyeless Jack and Jeff and BEN, and he calms down.

But now he’s openly worrying over you and this is where you remember he hasn’t fully left the Victorian Era due to being a murder shut-in. If you’re afab, he will have serious concerns about your womb falling out when you ride in vehicles, even where he didn’t care before [and it not even working anyway since you’re a Horror too]. Amab will deal with him fretting about their insides getting twisted, or not letting their skin breathe enough [because fun fact, at some point in the Victorian era they believed you breathed through the lungs AND your skin]. It’s possible he may come off a bit sexist but he’s not trying to be a jerk. He just... doesn’t know any better.

Again, talking with the others will help this a lot, though he’s not interested in learning about stuff that isn’t gonna help him kill people so it’ll take a bit longer.

When he realizes he’s in love with you...

He’s gonna freak.

Like, really, he’s gonna lose it.

Initially he’s gonna blame himself, as if he did something wrong, but then he’s gonna realize that’s silly. He’ll have the thought to blame you but then he’ll be like ‘blame you for what?’ He’s not gonna be thinking coherently for a while.

He’s never really been in love-love before.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

So for a few days he’ll be quiet and distant and almost sad. And everyone will be worried until he takes each person aside and, you guessed it, talks to them about it.

This time he’ll talk to you about it too, and be open about how he feels, and all the complications that it comes with. He won’t expect you to return them

But, come on, this is a character x reader post. Of course you return them.

And when you tell him that, you will never see him happier. Find him trying to make you just as happy, with long walks alone together, clockwork things he’s made, anything he’s found that you’re interested in he’ll dump on you...

A complete different from the jerk he once was.

But he’ll still play pranks on you and banter if you’re okay with it.

#creepypasta #creepypasta au #horrors au #creepypasta laughing jack #laughing jack x reader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta x oc #creepypasta x y/n #reader x laughing jack #horrors in love series

68 notes · View notes

sweeethinny · 4 years ago

Note

He and Harry had a fight last week... James said he didn’t like him anymore.’’ Ginny looked at her mother, looking a little sadder now. ‘’Harry cried.’ Would you consider writing their fight and then James Sirius apologizing? I was (re)reading this today and I just love it

thank you anon! you can also read it on AO3, if you want :)

the last part, is the content of the letter that james wanted to send to Harry, i hope you liked it! <3 PART 1, i think? idk, but the fanfic that anon referred to

Ginny didn't quite know what was going on when she got home, exhausted from yet another tiring day at work, with sexist coaches who didn't listen to what she had to say in the interviews, and other journalists who didn't care about the ideas she had proposed.

She did not expect to feel so miserable when she agreed to work on the Prophet.

But either way, she was happy that Harry managed to cut the workload that month, spending more time at home with the kids, especially now that James was six and started going to school, Teddy had just gone for Hogwarts, Albus was at a stage where he just wanted to be with his father, and Lily had her teeth born and was in a bad mood.

They hadn't had much of a problem with James at school so far, he had adapted, made friends, done homeworks, and was well controlled with his own magic, occasionally exploding or making things fly.

Nothing too dangerous and that they couldn't fix.

In the last week James' classes were suspended when 7 of the 12 children caught lice, luckily James was not one of them, so the boy seemed a little anxious about the sudden change in routine.

But today it looked like a war had broken out in the middle of their living room. Lily was taking all the clothes out of the clean laundry basket, Albus was on top of the trunk where they kept some old things, with his knee shredded and looking like he was waiting to make a dressing, while Harry and James argued beside him.

Ginny knew that the combination of her and Harry would make children easy to explode, but she realized that James had an extreme facility in getting Harry off track, much more so than Lily or Albus did. Albus knew how to irritate his brothers, and Lily only irritated them with her loud crying and childish antics like throwing things, but James was at that stage where he challenged his parents to find out how far he could go. Teddy had been there, too, but it was with Ginny that he could do it most easily.

However James seemed to know exactly what to do to have an angry Harry.

'James,' Harry asked, eyes closed as if asking for patience, it probably wasn't the first time they had had that conversation.

'I just wanted to fly!' James shouted angrily, his cheeks red.

'And didn't I tell you that you couldn't do that?' Harry countered, running a hand through his hair. 'How many times have I told you that neither you, or Albus, could fly alone?'

'But Albus was there because he wanted to! I didn't tell him to follow me.' The little one looked as furious as his father, his arms crossed in front of the small body just as Ginny did when she argued with someone. 'Why can Lily fly and I can't ?!'

'I was with her, she was not alone, you know that very well. I said that we could fly later, and that I would go with you- ’

'But you worked all day, and then the night would come and we would not be flying! Again!'

'James... You could have hurt Albus! Or hurt yourself.' Harry pointed out, looking as alarmed as if it had actually happened. As far as Ginny could see from the entrance to the Living Room, only Albus was a little hurt, and he didn't even seem to want to cry or anything.

'Oh, of course, if something happens to the precious Albus, it's the end of the world!' James threw his arms up, as if giving up, and before Harry was able to answer him, he shouted; 'I hate you!' And he ran off, tears streaming down his face as he climbed the stairs as fast as he could, his little legs not helping him to be too fast, but Harry didn't follow him either, which helped James get to the room and slam the door.

Harry sighed, hands on his tired face, and Ginny was still a little paralyzed at the door, thinking about what had happened. 'Mum!' Lily shouted, now sitting in the empty clothes basket, making the other two look at her.

'Hello my loves.' Ginny smiled going over to Albus and kissing him on the cheek, realizing how scared he looked. 'Hi my love, how are you?' She preferred to act as if she had just arrived, looking at his grated knee, still a little dirty with grass.

'Fine, I just fell.' He smiled, the little children's teeth a little dirty from what looked like chocolate.

'It'll be okay,' Ginny promised, casting a simple healing charm and placing him on the floor, before of course, she kissed the small scar that remained. Nothing too serious, but it was a tradition that helped them to be less afraid of when they needed to apply potions or other healing spells that were stronger.

They were a Weasley-Potter, after all, they were always falling.

'Hi my other love,' She smiled at Harry, hugging him, but realizing that he seemed a little reluctant to speak. He just smiled awkwardly, kissing her forehead and letting her go to be hugged by Lily, who had managed to topple the basket of clothes to be able to crawl out and run into her mother's arms. 'And my other love.'

'Hi mommy!' Lily cried awkwardly, hugging Ginny back, and hanging from her neck so she could be picked up.

'And where's my other love?' Harry sighed at her question, waving his wand and causing all the clothes to levitate, to be folded, and to go back into the basket.

'Up there,' Harry murmured. 'Do you take care of them? I'm going to prepare dinner.' Ginny nodded, lowering Lily to the sofa when Albus asked her to play with him and the Lego castle he had won from Percy.

‘Mommy, come and play with us!’ Albus asked, seeming not even to remember the fight between his father and brother anymore, amused by the pieces and teaching Lily how to stack the blocks too - even though she seemed willing to just destroy everything.

‘I’m coming, okay? Let me just go and say hi to James, and I'll be back here, okay?’ She promised, crouching in front of them, drawing all the attention to herself. ‘No mess and fights, Mom will be back.’

'Daddy and James fought,' Al whispered, as if it were a secret.

'Bad James,' Lily added, crossing her arms as she could, to look like her brother.

'They are just stressed, and he’s not bad. Now, I'll be right back.' Ginny left the room and went up to the second floor, still listening to the conversations between Albus and Lily, and the sounds of pots and dishes, much louder than usual, and she imagined that Harry was more angry at what he looked like while fighting with James.

Ginny knocked on the door to their eldest son's room, the photo hanging next to her made her smile, a picture of when they went ice skating, a few days before Teddy received the letter from Hogwarts, he and James were smiling from ear to ear. ear, while she and Harry still needed to hold hands to keep steady and not fall.

She hated it when she or Harry lost patience with their kids, when they got carried away by the tantrum. They should have known that the best thing to do when it happened was to just get away, let the kids scream alone for a few minutes, before they came back calmer and managed to talk to them.

'Hi my love,' Ginny murmured, opening the door and entering James's room, it was colder than usual inside, and maybe he had done accidental magic for this to happen and he could be hidden under the covers. 'It's Mommy.'

'I don't want to say anything.' James' voice was muffled by the pillow and the covers, but she could still tell that he was crying.

Ginny sat on the bed next to him, her hand on what she imagined was his shoulder. 'I heard that you and Daddy had a fight, is it true?'

'He hates me.' Ginny smiled sadly, denying and sighing.

'He doesn't hate you my love, and hating someone is a very strong thing to say, I promise you, he is just tired, and you need to help him a little too.'

'But he wasn't going to fly with me, and I just wanted to fly.' James uncoveredlooking at Ginny with brown eyes wet with tears. 'He only cares about Lily and Albus, he doesn't even love me anymore.'

'James, of course not, your father loves you very much, which is why he was concerned that you might get hurt. You know you can't fly alone, it's very dangerous.' She held out her arms for James to crawl onto her lap as if he were still a baby - for her, he always would be - and put him against her chest, cradling her body a little from side to side to calm his crying. 'Dad was just worried that you would get hurt. Besides, you are the older brother, and Lily is still very small and needs help to do a lot of things, just as Albus still needs more help. You are my big boy already, and you have to help them, and not go flying without authorization.’

'But he yelled at me.' James sobbed, holding Ginny's shirt in his hands, hiding his face like he did when he was a kid.

'Look, what Dad did was not right, but you didn't make it easy either. Both are wrong… Dad is having dinner, go take a shower, okay? I promise that tomorrow we can fly together.' James nodded, still glued to his mother, like a sloth clinging to a tree trunk. 'I love you my baby.'

'Me too,' he murmured, without further tears.

[...]

Dinner had been… tense, to say the least. Proving that he was Harry's son, James spent the whole dinner in silence, sullen, without even looking straight up, just as Harry was, determined to eat the lasagna without saying anything.

If it weren't for Albus chattering, and Lily trying to imitate him, they would have eaten entirely in silence.

After all the children were in their beds, sleeping soundly, and the house was quiet for another reason, Ginny lay on their bed, waiting for Harry to get out of the bath. They hadn't talked much, and he didn't even want to go shower with her, so she just waited, sitting on the bed while pretending to read the last pages of the romance Angelina gave her. Of course, the words didn't make much sense in her head, she couldn't concentrate, but she had to hide her nervousness.

When Harry finally got out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, damp, messy hair, and still that sullen look, Ginny couldn't take it anymore; ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

Harry looked at her quickly over his shoulder, before entering their closet and disappearing, still in silence. Ginny can hear the drawers opening and closing, and then she can see Harry coming back from there wearing old shorts that almost didn't stop at his hip anymore. If he wasn't so sullen, she would try to ease the tension he carried on his broad, bare shoulders.

'He and I had a fight.' That was all he said, throwing himself on the bed next to her and covering himself, looking like he was about to go to sleep.

'It's not me you're mad at, don't be an idiot.' Ginny dropped the book on the nightstand, not turning off the lamp beside her, staring at Harry with determination.

He sighed, sitting up too. 'I was taking care of Lily, now that she is coming out of diapers it looks like she wants to pee every minute, and I asked him to keep Albus playing. They were in the garden, and James had already asked me to fly with him, but I was solving ten problems at the same time and making sure our daughter didn't pee on the couch, so I asked him to hope that later on maybe we could fly… But he is your son, after all, and he managed to break the lock on the shed and get a broom.' Ginny shouldn't laugh, she knew that, but she smiled, a little proudly. 'When I went down with Lily, I could only see Albus flying too, unbalanced, not much more than a meter from the ground, and James going up without control. There was no time and Al fell, but I had to make James levitate because the broom was very uncontrolled and he was unable to get it down.’

‘Harry…’

'It was my fault, I know, I shouldn't... I should have put a different lock on or I don't know, and,' He stopped, hiding his face with his hands again, denying. 'And I lost my temper because I had said that he couldn't fly alone, and Albus was crying on the ground and James looked scared when he realized he was too high... I shouldn't have screamed.'

'You were angry,' Ginny reminded him, realizing how sad Harry looked at this. ‘And worried.’

'But I should have known that when I forbidden him, he would try to do exactly what I said not to.'

'He's a child, Harry, of course he's going to do everything we say he can't.' She said what he usually said to her, when Ginny was worried about Teddy at Hogwarts after he spent two weeks without sending letters, even after she asked him to update them every week.

'He said he hates me, Ginny.' Harry finally looked at her, his eyes watering. Again, her heart broke.

‘Oh, Harry, of course not.’ This time, she didn’t wait for him to come to her embrace, as she did with James, Ginny preferred to hug Harry herself. 'He was just nervous.'

'I did everything wrong,' Harry denied, crying even more, as if he had held his emotions up until now, as if just inside their room was a safe place for him to finally let go. 'He didn't say it like it was nothing, I saw Gin, I saw that he was upset, he meant it.'

'He didn't want to, of course not..Look at me, no, no, Harry, look at me...He doesn't hate you, and you didn't do everything wrong, I probably would have done the same thing, you're just tired.' Ginny stared at him, forcing him to look at her too, her hands holding his face, tears streaming down his cheeks. 'You are the best father they could have, the best I could have chosen to be their father, you will see, tomorrow you will be calmer and everything will be fine.'

'I hate to fight with them.' Harry hid his face on her neck, tears wetting Ginny's skin, his hands tightening on her waist as if to make sure she stayed there, with him. ‘I don’t like them to cry because of me.’

'It's the side that nobody tells you about being parents, love.' She laughed softly, trying to calm the mood. 'But he doesn't hate you, I promise you that... I'm sure you are still his hero, and the person he loves the most in this whole world. You are not a bad father.’

[...]

The next morning, Harry got up first, he heard noises downstairs and knew that probably one of the children was already awake and wanting to make a mess. Passing through the rooms just to check, he saw that Albus was still asleep, and that Lily seemed far from waking up, but James' bed was empty, which wasn't too strange, since the boy seemed to still be keeping up with his early morning routine to go to school, even in that week of recess.

He heard footsteps as he approached the kitchen, an owl hooting loudly at the window, and low murmurs. ‘Stay still.’

'James?' Harry watched as his son tried to tie the letter to the animal's leg, which was trying to get away from him. James was on top of a chair, leaning over the counter, trying to pull Pandora’s closer.

‘Dad!’ Pandora flew away with his cry, without the letter, seeming to frustrate the boy.

'What are you doing? Who do you want to send a letter to?’ Harry was careful to move towards James, but he was happy when his son accepted his arms to come down. He still felt guilty.

'Hm... for you.' James looked at the floor, looking embarrassed.

'Me?' Harry knelt in front of him, staying in his line of sight. ‘Why don’t you just give it to me?’

'I thought it would take you longer to wake up.'

'I heard you coming down the stairs,' Harry said, looking into his son's eyes.

'Are you still mad at me?' James asked quietly, holding the letter tightly in his hand.

‘No, my love… I’m sorry for yesterday, I didn’t want to yell at you, I was nervous and I was worried that you might get hurt.’

'I'm sorry for flying without permission, and I didn't want Albus to have followed me for this either, I didn't see him.' James said. Harry felt so bad all night, unable to sleep in peace, conscience weighed down by having yelled at James, thinking about how sad he looked when he said he hated him.

'It was very risky, you could have been seriously injured.' The two looked at each other, Harry pulled his son close to him. ‘I don’t want you to do it again, okay? You can fly, but only with me or mom, never alone.' He whispered against the boy's hair, hugging him tightly, as if that alone could heal the pain he had felt.

'I didn't mean to say that I hated you, either.' James hugged Harry back, looking sly. ‘I don’t hate you.’

'I love you, Jamie. A lot.' He planted a kiss on his son's head, not caring for the tears that seemed to want to appear in the corner of his eyes.

‘Me too, Dad.’

-----

''Dad,

I'm sorry for yelling at you, it wasn't my intention. I don't hate you, I was just nervous, I'm sorry again.

Love you

James.''

#hinny #harry x ginny #next gen #james sirius potter #harry potter #ginny weasley #hinny headcanon #harry and ginny #next gen harry potter

115 notes · View notes

fae-fucker · 3 years ago

Text

Zenith: Chapter 76-79

Chapter 76

Andi has a nice little poetic nightmare. It’s irrelevant. The next morning has the girls preparing for the ball, complete with dresses and makeup.

Some things to note include Lira saying that in Adhiran religion (which is global, I guess), one has to mourn for three days before “letting” the souls of the dead pass on into ... everything.

Andi tries to say that it’ll take time to heal from it all, but Lira is having none of it.

“It will take time to move past what happened on Adhira,” Andi started, but Lira held up a hand.

“My three days of mourning have passed. Lon’s and my aunt’s, too. Now we, and the others who lost loved ones during the attack, must give the lost spirits to the stars, to the trees, to the wind.”

Which basically means that she’s done feeling bad about the unexpected and brutal attack on her home planet, so that’s convenient. Well, if one of our main characters doesn’t care about her people getting senselessly murdered, then why should we?

She also lets us know that her aunt has fixed up the Marauder and brought it here, because of course. Lira wants to arrange for Lon to be transferred to the Marauder, and though she has a logical reason for it (taking him home personally), it’s only a setup so we know why he’s on there at the end of the book when Andi’s bleeding out and needs a universal donor.

Spoilers, I guess.

Andi’s mother, Glorya, intercepts Andi as she tries to leave her crew to their makeover montages, just so we can move into a scene where her mom is brushing her hair and babbling on about gossip and vapid high society stuff.

But Andi, of course, gets lost in a flashback that’s so amateurishly written it’s honestly embarrassing and only highlights Shinsay’s helpless reliance on flashbacks as a storytelling device.

Observe:

Her words faded away as memories took their place. Andi lost herself to them.

The whole flashback is written in italics for some inexplicable reason, even though it would’ve been fine as just regular text since we’re clearly told what’s happening now and what’s a memory.

Also, there’s one bit where the memory “fast-forwards” to a different one. Shinsay, this isn’t a fucking movie. This isn’t a screenplay. What the fuck are you DOING.

The flashback and the mother’s inane babbling are all there to illustrate how vapid and brainless Glorya is and how she only ever cared about her status and not about her kid. Glorya pretends that everything is back to the way it was but Andi curses her out for abandoning her when she needed them most and how “the way it was” was actually always shit.

I mean it’s fine. It’s all right. I see what they’re going for, it’s melodramatic as all fuck but it works for what they’re trying to do? I can see this as being a realistic way for an emotionally neglectful family to look like. I wish it was more nuanced and wasn’t just shoe-horned in here (Glorya doesn’t show up before or after this bit, this is the only time she’s ever present or even mentioned in this book in any meaningful capacity) for the sake of making Andi’s friends look better and for her to not have anything that anchors her to Arcardius, but like, I won’t say this isn’t realistic.

And then Shinsay can��t stop themselves and it’s back to silly time:

“Really, Androma...”

[...]

“That is not my name,” Andi whispered. She allowed the darkness to come up into her voice, the mask of shadow and steel to sweep across her face. “My name is the Bloody Baroness. And if you or Commander Racella ever so much as utter a single word toward me or my crew again, I will personally strip the skin from your body and wave it like a flag from my starship.”

Glorya let out a soft squeak. Andi snarled with all of her teeth.

Guys I can’t breathe this is too fucking funny. And not in a good “woo vindication!” sort of way, but in a “they really put this right after an emotional confrontation about parental emotional neglect/abuse huh?” way. They really thought this was ... badass? Revenge? Andi, sweetie, you’re, like, traumatized? Presumably? I can’t really tell. But maybe get some therapy?

Do Shinsay think this is somehow a win and that Andi’s threat means she’s fully released from the hurt and pain her parents have caused her through their neglect? It’s honestly written as if Andi just confronted her mother and her own hopes of coming back to her family in this one short scene, and then upon realizing her parents never loved her, she scares her mom a little and then is all smug and satisfied at the end.

That ain’t how it works, darlings.

Then the annoying Marketable Space Pet runs in and starts biting Glorya’s toes and she runs away shrieking like a defeated Disney villain.

Way to undercut your own drama, Shinsay.

The chapter ends with Andi thinking about how her crew is her True Family for the bajillionth time. Because we’re all idiots and Shinsay wants us to remember that.

Chapter 77

It’s the evening of the ball and Andi thinks about how she missed Bavista, which is apparently your generic coming-of-age ball held at Arcardius for every 16-year-old. I’m guessing it’s a yearly thing? The book never clarifies. Not sure why the fuck it’s here tbh.

Actually, it’s a pretty good demonstration of how the worldbuilding in this book is presented so here, have at thee:

She could still remember seeing the otherworldly dresses and suits float by her on the feeds as she watched the girls and boys glide into the A’Vianna House in the Glass Sector. They seemed light as air, full of pride, bursting at the seams with excitement. Once inside, they would be greeted by members of the Priest Guild, who would award each young person three items.

The first was a vial of water from the Northern Ocean, symbolizing strength. For growth, they accepted a single leaf from the oldest tree on Arcardius, known as The Mother, which was said to have been planted when the Ancients first arrived. Lastly, they were given a single floating pebble, no larger than a child’s fingernail, chiseled from the very gravarock where the Cortas estate was. It represented the wisdom of rising above.

Is this relevant to anything? Does this help you understand this world or its inhabitants? Does it tell you anything of the culture of Arcardius or its youth and what’s expected of them? No? It’s just a really generic list of things thrown together using Mystical Proper Nouns as glue? Weeell heeell.

Also what does “it represented the wisdom of rising above” mean? This is utterly generic and means fuck-all, that’s what.

Anyway, Andi’s admiring herself in the mirror. Her dress is very sexy, trust me, I can’t be bothered to include it so just imagine your favorite My Immortal outfit description. It does include sword holsters at the back, which are Andi’s favorite part, because she’s a strong independent woman who don’t need no man. She never actually uses them or brings the swords to the ball so ... Idk what the point of this was.

We also get some shit about how Andi actually LOVES dresses and being pretty but she never admitted it to anyone. But don’t you worry, this badass space criminal LOVES all things girly, because that’s feminism! Can someone check in on Shinsay? I’m not sure they’re getting enough air with their heads so far up Sarah J Maas’ asshole.

Admitting to herself that she looked pretty was something Andi kept private. She didn’t want to give her crew the satisfaction of knowing her true thoughts about fashion. How even though she was a fierce, hardened criminal, she could still appreciate the joy of a beautiful, impractical ball gown.

Huh. And here I thought they were your family. That’s weird that you’d keep this information from them, especially considering all of them seemed pretty excited to be prettied up in the last chapter. I guess they’d really just haaate the idea of sharing this joy with their captain, huh? Why aren’t you admitting this to them, Andi?

You’re saying shit about how “even though” you’re a hardened criminal, you can “still” appreciate beautiful gowns, like those two are somehow contradictory. Are you, mayhaps, ashamed of having this traditionally girly interest? Hmm! Interesting. Why could that be, I wonder? Why would having traditionally feminine interests or even caring about one’s appearance be seen as something inherently shameful or embarrassing, as inherently contradictory to being fierce and “hardened?”

This is all just so *clenches fist* feminist.

Forreal though, somehow Shinsay managed to take their entire made up GALAXY and make it subtly and not-so-subtly sexist. Good job, morons. Really girlbossed that one, huh?

The only bit I like about this whole mess is this:

The dressmaker had also accented her gown with a sparkling necklace full of jewels that Andi didn’t plan on giving back.

This is the one and only space pirate-y thing Andi does -- sorry, considers doing -- in the whole book and honestly could’ve been used to build her character more, but it’s just a one-off joke here. Wasted.

Valen comes to fetch her and we get some subtle foreshadowing.

“Valen the Resurrected.”

He stopped to look at her, brows raised. “What?”

She shrugged. “It’s what the press is calling you in all the feeds.” Valen let out a deep chuckle.

[...]

“Something tells me things are about to change for the better,” he said. “I’m ready to see it all happen.”

Andi wondered what he would do now that he was home with a whole planet at his disposal.

He deserved to have some fun.

Is it bad that I’m rooting for Valen to destroy everything? And this isn’t my villain-fucker coming out, I just want this poor bastard to absolutely annihilate Andi and her gang of acolytes.

Chapter 78

Andi and Valen arrive at the ball. It’s all very pretty and space-y and aesthetic. There’s a bunch of aliens everywhere. Andi sees a woman with funky eyes and assumes it’s a body mod, because I guess she knows the genetic characteristics of every species by heart and can tell when something is real or not.

An old classmate of theirs comes up to talk to Valen and congratulate him on being alive, then Andi reminds him of who she is just to be a smug asshole and the guy fucks off in a panic. She’s just so cool and badass, you guys.

Then it’s time for Valen and Andi to dance, and of course General Cortas looks like he’s about to lose his marbles because these darn kids! >:(

The chapter ends on Andi noticing Dex pouting in the distance.

“Relax,” Andi whispered. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”

She flashed him a wicked grin as the music began.

And as Valen spun her into the first move of the dance, Andi saw Dex standing on the fringes of the crowd, an expression of longing clear on his face.

Chapter 79

This chapter is exactly 298 words of Dex moping around about how he’s actually not over Andi at all when he thought he’d done such a good job of repressing his feelings, and how he should be the one dancing with Andi instead of Valen. If you’re surprised, you’re clinically dead.

#eff reads: zenith

7 notes · View notes

hotchley · 4 years ago

Text

“sometimes you do everything right, everything exactly right, and still you feel like you failed”

morehotchcontent day two: whump (in a hostage situation/hurt on the job)

tagged: @ablogofthecriminalmindsvariety

why should the team look for him? he was nothing. he would die for them, because they were his team and they deserved the world. but he was not the world. he was just one broken, old man and they could do better. they could do so, so much better than a drill sergeant, sexist, narcissistic bully.

an unsub kidnaps hotch. in his mind, he isn’t worth saving.

warnings: torture (choking, forced to choke on water, caning, punching, stabbing), depictions of violence, implied/referenced child abuse, non-consensual removal of clothing, references to the events of george foyet, references to tobias hankel and reid's torture, references to ian doyle and what he did to emily

read on ao3!

Hotch had taken one look at the case-file and immediately known it was going to be a bad case. The victims had all been kidnapped and tortured, before being dumped in the local park, stripped down to their underwear as a form of humiliation. A word- always a personality trait- had been carved into their back.

For the BAU, it was pretty standard.

For Hotch, it was like looking at a mirror. All the victims fit the same criteria, which on the one hand he was grateful for because maybe it would mean they would find the damn unsub without any more bodies appearing, but on the other hand made him want to be sick.

The victims had all been the leaders of their respective teams. The first was the manager of a supermarket, the second a senior partner in a law firm, the third a headteacher. He had no idea what the fourth was. He’d read it, but without ever really processing the words.

But their subordinates hated them. Deemed them bullies, narcissists, dickheads, evil bastards. When they’d been informed of the deaths, not a single one had cried. One had laughed. They had all been relieved enough to be considered suspects.

He looked out at the bullpen. JJ was sat with them, sat on the edge of Reid’s desk as she laughed at something Emily- Agent Prentiss, he corrected mentally- was saying. The case had come directly to him, the file lying on his desk as though it was mocking him because the previous day he’d told the team it was likely they’d be spending the weekend at home.

Morgan was watching the scene unfold with a wide smile, yet his eyes darted round the area, always watching over the other members of his team like it was his duty. Not for the first time, Hotch wondered if he should have stepped down permanently. Morgan had done well as Unit Chief. And he wasn’t hated by the team. They didn’t look at Morgan and think of a boring, misogynistic, horrid narcissist. They looked at Morgan and thought of a protector.

He sighed. Part of him wanted to ask Rossi to inform the team they had a case but that was just being unfair. It was his stupid comment about getting to spend time at home that had undoubtedly landed them in this situation. The least he could do was own it. At the last moment, he decided to read through the casefile one more time. It would give JJ enough time to finish showing them the pictures of Henry at the beach.

When JJ tucked her phone back into her pocket, he stood up. Took a deep breath and exited. Almost immediately, the laughter stopped and they all turned back to their reports. JJ slid off the table and started to head back to her office. Hotch tried to disguise his hurt as indifference and he knew he’d succeeded when Reid swallowed and Morgan looked disappointed.

It had been five years since Tobias Hankel, and yet nothing had changed. The team still hated him. Cases still ruined their everyday life.

“We have a case. Roundtable in ten,” he said. The rest of the words wouldn’t come. Because if he said more than the bare minimum, he would reveal too much and they would hate him even more than they already did. It was bad enough that he was everything they’d called him, but it would be even worse if they realised just how weak he was.

He went back up to his office to pack things away and send a quick text to Jess and Jack, before he realised that they’d benefit from having Garcia with him. He had always wondered what Garcia really thought of him, but he’d always been too afraid to ask. A part of him liked to think she liked him, but that was impossible.

JJ thought he was a bully, and when he thought of the number of times he’d snapped at Garcia for not being fast enough, he understood. Morgan considered him a drill sergeant, said they weren’t friends, and he was always breaking up their fun, teasing comments. It didn’t matter he was doing it for professionality, that was one of their only reprieves and he was constantly taking it from them. Prentiss accused him of not trusting women as much as men, and there had definitely been times when he’d looked at Garcia and felt the urge to ask where she’d got the information from. Reid told Hankel he deserved to die because he was a narcissist. How many times had he asked Garcia to look at the worst of humanity, knowing she was too good for that?

Garcia never told him what his worst quality was. He’d heard enough by the time it would’ve got to her. Jason had opened his mouth, probably to tell him to stop, but he’d had enough. He wished he hadn’t stopped him. Maybe if he’d known, he could’ve changed and then Gideon would still be with them and Reid would have someone who was actually competent as a father figure.

It was with a heavy heart that he took the elevator down to Garcia’s lair. As he’d passed through the bullpen, he saw the haggard faces of his team, and he wondered, not for the first time, how many more crime scenes they could suffer through before their hands stopped going cold and they lost their humanity.

He knocked on the door, once, slightly hesitant.

“You don’t need to knock Kevin!” Garcia called out.

Hotch swallowed the lump in his throat. Yet another relationship he was ruining. He coughed once before saying it was actually him.

Almost immediately Garcia flung the door open. “Sir! I didn’t realise it was you. What is it?”

“We have a case. And, well, I’d like you to come with us. It’ll be easier,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Of course! Just give me sixteen minutes to pack my stuff and then I’ll be up, okay?”

He nodded, then the Southern manners kicked in. “Would you like any help?” he asked, slightly hopeful that she’d say yes.

“Oh no, of course not. It’s much simpler if I just do it myself. I know where everything goes and it’s just easier.”

“Right. I’ll err, I’ll see you in a bit then,” he said, trying to not take it personally. Garcia probably wouldn’t let anyone touch her computers or equipment. It wasn’t just him. It couldn’t be. He wasn’t sure he’d survive it. He was about to exit when she called out his name and he turned.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay? You’ve seemed distant recently. And normally I wouldn’t comment, but I’m worried about you. You know you can talk to us? Any of us. I know the others weren’t particularly fond of Haley, but you didn’t have to be a profiler to realise you loved her.”

He started fidgeting, stuffing his hand in his pocket as he brushed his thumb over his fingers.

If Garcia noticed his discomfort, she didn’t comment. “It doesn’t matter that you got a divorce, you still loved each other. Recovering from that is hard. Add in the fact that you’re going back to the same job, and it’s a recipe for disaster. What I’m trying to say is: are you okay, and do you want to talk about it?”

He wanted to say yes. He so desperately wanted to hug Garcia, fall apart in her arms and confess all his fears to her. He wanted to tell her how ever since Hankel, he’d hardly been able to look at the team, or how the list of people he’d failed to save- Elle, Jason, Kate Joyner, countless innocent victims, Megan Kane, Haley- seemed to be growing with every breath. He longed to finally tell someone who horrifying it was when Foyet was in his apartment, how he could hardly look in the mirror without gagging, how he had blinked because he was human. He wanted to say that there were nights where he couldn’t comfort Jack because how dare he touch his son with the same hands that had killed a man?

But he couldn’t. The only value he held as a member of the team was being stoic. Unshaken. The one that dealt with the politics, played bad cop, spoke to Strauss and the higher-ups, dealt with unruly lead detectives without flinching. If any of them knew just how choked up he got every time Strauss asked to see a report, how every case that involved him playing the role ended with him sat in the shower, water numbing his body as tears rolled down his cheeks, they’d cast him out.

And he would have nothing.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Just a little tired. Jack was keeping me up. He’s excited about starting school soon.”

Jack had kept him up, but not because he was excited about starting school. Because he was scared he was going to come home and daddy wouldn’t be there.

“Wow. I remember when he was just a little baby coming in to visit. Back when the Reid effect was still a thing.”

Hotch faked a laugh, ignoring the bile that was rising in his throat. He didn’t want to think about that. How the team had done nothing more than be polite, all stood a respectful distance away, as though he was poison. Or how just minutes after he said goodbye to Jack and Haley- who was still happy and in love- they were called out on a family annihilator case.

“Yeah. The time has gone by so fast. I’ll let you pack up,” he said, needing to get away from the lights and brightness.

“Oh, of course. I’m so sorry,” Garcia said, as though she had only just remembered why he’d come down.

“You have nothing to apologise for Penelope,” he said, before closing the door behind him.

Forty minutes later and they were in the air.

JJ was on the phone to the local P.D, convincing them that releasing any sort of information to the public, especially the name of a suspect, would not be beneficial to the investigation. Hotch wanted to intervene because it wasn’t fair that she had to be fielding their phone calls when she should be resting, but he didn’t want to overstep so he settled for keeping one eye on her and the other on the casefiles.

When they landed, JJ said that the local PD had wanted them all to head straight to the precinct, so they piled into the government SUVs. Hotch tried to not let it sting when Morgan sighed before getting into the passenger seat. Once upon a time, he would’ve said they were friends. But now he knew better. Morgan had only wanted him around because he could lead the team. But after Foyet, he’d proven that he couldn’t even do that, and that Morgan was clearly the better leader.

Why he was still on the team was a mystery to him.

“Miss Jareau, hello. I’m Sheriff Finkelstein, we spoke on the phone?” the sheriff greeted.

“It’s Agent Jareau, Detective,” Hotch corrected, voice betrayed his tiredness.

JJ looked over in surprise. She could have sworn she saw him drift off.

Hotch wouldn’t meet her eyes. He corrected people when they called Dr Reid agent. Of course he would do the same for the rest of them, regardless of what their opinions on him were.

“Of course, my apologies, Agent Jareau. We’re very grateful to have you here, we’re completely in over our heads. Our lead detective just took early retirement as his wife had a baby and he wants to be at home with the two of them- an admirable decision- but it just means that we’re now overwhelmed and still looking for a new lead,” Finklestein explained, leading them to one of the conference rooms. He held the door open for the ladies, who all gave him small smiles.

Hotch tried to nod. Yet another person who’d managed to do the one thing he had failed at. If he had taken the transfer, or left when Jack was born, then Haley would still be alive. There would be a tan line on his ring finger from where his wedding ring sat.

“Do you have any clues who it could be? It’s a very specific MO and victimology, which should help us narrow things down,” Morgan asked, always eager to get straight into things.

Sheriff Finkelstein sighed. “Unfortunately not. There’s no DNA anywhere. All of the team members have been questioned, and although they all hated their respective bosses, there’s no indication that any of them would’ve done it.”

“We’d like to see the recordings of their interviews,” Rossi said.

“And if I could have a map of the area to start creating the geographical profile, that’d be great,” Reid added.

“Whatever you need,” Finkelstein said, leaving.

Hotch left with him to gather some of the extra information they needed. The team- bar Morgan and Rossi, who had left to go to M.E’s office, were skimming through the files created on each of the members and their victims.

“I’m not saying they deserved it, but these men were disgusting,” Emily commented.

“Prentiss,” Hotch warned, but he knew she was right.

She stared at him, daring him to go further. He dropped his gaze and walked over to Reid. “How’s that geographical profile coming along?”

“Well it’s interesting. See, their workplaces are all the ones in red. The places in blue are the last locations they were seen in- which is another common factor actually because they were all in restaurants, cafes and takeaways which is actually similar to a previous case we solved so I may look into that to see if there are any links- and I’m doing that rambling thing again aren’t I?”

“You’re okay,” Hotch said, not wanting to cut Reid off when they didn’t really have a time crunch.

“No I’ll just get to the point, we all have more important things to be doing. Look at the area where the victims work and then where the unsub takes them. They’re all within five minutes of each other. Our unsub probably work somewhere where they can watch their targets from, otherwise how else would they be able to find them?”

“We need to deliver the profile,” Hotch said.

Two days after they delivered the profile, and the unsub still hadn’t been found. Garcia’s tech skills had given them a suspect, but he’d been out of the country during the last murder. Since the development with the geographical profile, they hadn’t been able to find anything. Hotch had felt like someone was watching him since they landed, but he hadn’t said anything, not wanting to distract the team.

Morale was low. Patience was running out and tempers were going to be lost if there wasn’t a break in the case. Officers had started joking with each other in the macabre way only people that dealt with these things on a regular basis could that they were lucky none of them were evil as the station was extremely close to the other workplaces, bur Finkelstein had shut them down almost immediately.

Hotch had cried in the shower that night. Reid had wanted to say something, but ultimately refrained because it was Hotch and Hotch didn’t blink; he’d be okay.

So things weren’t going great, and the team were exhausted. They needed a pick-me-up.

Hotch picked up his jacket. “I’m going to get us food. Does anyone have any specific requests, or is donuts and coffee okay?”

“You’re going to go?” Prentiss asked, a little confused. Hotch had gone yesterday. It was supposed to be Reid’s turn.

“Yeah. I am. Reid’s busy, and it’s not fair to ask him to go and it’s unfair to get someone else to go because they’ve all be running themselves into the ground. And before you say it, I’m not saying that you haven’t, because you have,” Hotch said, his own temper also fading. He was trying so hard to be good, to not treat anyone the way his father had but the lack of progress, combined with the way Emily seemed to get off on undermining him, even now, after everything that had happened, was beginning to wear on him.

“Hotch? Are you okay?” JJ asked, entering with another stack of files. As it turned out, the town was full of white males in their mid-to-late 20s that worked jobs where the person in charge had a bit of a dodgy history, and they were still trying to narrow it down.

“I’m fine. Any requests for dinner? I’m probably going to go to that café because Reid will want coffee as soon as he gets back from the workplace with Morgan, and Rossi likes their croissants but I don’t mind making another stop if you want me to,” he said.

JJ smiled at how well her boss- well, family member- knew their team, and also at how willing he was to go out of his way for all of them. But her smile faded when she took in his appearance. The circles under his eyes were getting worse and his suit seemed to be looser. She knew Reid was having trouble sleeping as the fifth anniversary of his abduction approached, and she knew Emily was still struggling with her place on the team in a world without Doyle, but their trauma was not Hotch’s responsibility. She just wished he would stop blaming himself.

“Surprise me with something from the café. But are you sure you should be the one going?” She didn’t tell him it was because he looked exhausted; she liked her job.

But she had her back turned to him. She didn’t see him clench his fist, rubbing his thumb over the nail of his index finger in a self-soothing motion. She didn’t see the tears form in his eyes.

“I’ll be fine JJ. Tell the others I should be back in thirty minutes,” he said, voice cracking slightly as he fled.

“Is something going on with him?” Prentiss asked.

JJ shrugged. “Jack mentioned him being unwell right after you came back, but I thought he was doing better now.”

Emily watched the space where he’d been previously stood. “I just wish he would talk to us. He has to know we love him and wouldn’t think any less of him for struggling.”

JJ nodded in agreement.

Hotch was driving, unable to focus on the road properly. He knew his team thought they were being subtle with the way they hated him, but he was a profiler. He knew JJ was only questioning whether or not he should go because he was just like all the other victims and it had been a week since the last body was found, meaning there was bound to be another abduction soon.

It wasn’t going to be him. He wasn’t deserving of even that attention.

“Oh hello again. I was wondering if I was going to see you again,” the barista said when he entered.

Hotch noted that there was nobody else there. “I’m so sorry, is it really close to closing time? I saw that the light was on and I just assumed it was okay.”

He laughed. Hotch shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

“We’re still open, don’t worry about it. What can I get for you?”

“It’s another long order,” Hotch warned. The barista just shrugged, used to it. When Hotch was done, he took a brownie out and warmed it up.

“This is on the house because you look like you need it and your order will take a bit of time,” he said, sliding it across the counter.

Hotch stopped observing the artwork. “I couldn’t possibly-”

“Yes you can,” the barista said, his tone so much like JJ’s when she was mother-henning them all that Hotch silently took a bite. It was a good brownie. He took a few more bites, wincing when his head started to feel fuzzy.

“Do you like it?” the barista asked.

“It’s really good. But my head- I have- my head feels, not right,” he whispered, vision starting to blur as well.

“It’s not supposed to,” the barista responded, jovial tone gone.

The world went black.

The first thing he noticed when he came round was that he couldn’t move his arms. Or his legs. He struggled, unable to see what had happened to him as his eyes were taking forever to adjust to the darkness, but there was no movement to be had.

He was tied to a chair. He struggled even more, but his bonds held.

“You’re awake.”

“You,” Hotch whispered. “It was you the whole time.”

“Yep. And my name is Jonathan. You would know that if you had just bothered to read my nametag,” he said.

Hotch scanned the room, searching for anything that would act as a weapon. There was nothing. He tried to calm his racing heart and think logically but he couldn’t. The last time he’d been this vulnerable was under George Foyet. George Foyet who had destroyed all feeling in the lower part of his stomach, who had killed Haley, who had made damn well sure Aaron would never be able to look at himself without seeing the victory on Foyet’s face right before his eyes fluttered shut from the blood loss.

“I’m sorry for forgetting,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even.

Jonathan slapped him across the face. Hotch recoiled as much as he could, not making a sound. It was always worse when you made a sound.

“Stop lying to me. I know who you are. I know how you people work. You think that if you convince me that it was all just an honest mistake, then I’ll forgive you and let you go running back to your team. Well I won’t and nothing you say will make me change my mind.”

“I’m sorry,” Hotch whispered. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

Jonathan scoffed, slapping Hotch again. Both his cheeks were red now. “You’re all the same. You do one small thing for your team, and you think it will make up for the lifetime of pain you caused them. Well it won’t.”

He turned. Hotch tried to see what he was picking up, but he couldn’t. Before he even realised what was happening, pain blossomed in his stomach. Above him, Jonathan bought the cane down again, and again, and again.

Tears were streaming down his face now. “Please, stop. Please, I’ll do anything, just stop with the cane.” He hated begging. He hadn’t begged since he was a child. He hadn’t flinched when George Foyet fired a gun at him. But he wasn’t that man anymore. He was tired now. More tired and more broken that he’d ever been before.

Jonathan laughed. “Okay. I’ll stop. But I’m going to release you from the chair, and you’re going to raise your arms high enough for your hands to touch that chain on the ceiling. If you fail, I’ll cane you till you’re curled into a ball, begging for mercy.”

Aaron was half-delirious now, but he managed to follow the instructions given.

When Jonathan ran the cold metal of his knife, the same knife he’d used with all the other victims, down his cheek and across his chest, Aaron flinched. Minutely, but he flinched.

Jonathan smirked. “Normally I killed them quickly. I made them die quickly because they didn’t deserve to live. But you, you I want to have fun with.” He cut down the centre of Hotch’s shirt with one clean cut. Aaron closed his eyes, unable to look at the scars.

“My, my, someone must really have hated you,” Jonathan laughed.

Hotch didn’t respond. Jonathan pressed the metal to the scar over his chest. Hotch jerked at the coldness, straining his arms even more.

“You’re a bad man Aaron Hotchner. I’ve been watching you since you landed. You’re very bad. Do you want to know why you’re bad? You’re a bully. I saw the way you shouted at your technical analyst over the phone because she wasn’t fast enough.”

Hotch hadn’t meant to shout. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to remember it.

“Oh are you ashamed now? You don’t get to be ashamed. Open your eyes.”

Hotch shook his head.

Jonathan wrapped one hand around Hotch’s throat and pushed down. Hotch opened his eyes, panicked as he tried to inhale. He relaxed his hold then.

“Good boy. You shouted at her. And then you undermined the blonde one by taking over her interrogation. And the other one by interrupting her conversation with the officer. Sexist pig.”

The plan had always been for him to take over. The officer had been making Prentiss uncomfortable with his flirting. Hotch tried to say that, but Jonathan just laughed, then punched him in the stomach. Claimed those were just lies they told him to protect themselves so they kept their jobs.

“You tried to control their every move. You wouldn’t let Mr Strong do the right thing and come look for me. Drill sergeant. You cut off the baby because you needed to speak, acted like you were better than him. Like you were better than all of them.”

“I’m not a narcissist,” Hotch protested.

Jonathan dropped the knife, opting to punch him in the stomach again. Hotch let out a groan. “That’s what they all say. It’s been half an hour. They’ll be expecting you back now. I wonder what will happen when you don’t come back. Will they look for you? I think they will. Not because they love you, but because they’ll be afraid. What if you’re the one to survive? What if you escape?”

“They won’t come,” Hotch said.

Jonathan, who had gone back over to the table, turned. “What did you say?”

“They won’t come,” Hotch repeated.

Jonathan stormed over, holding a bat. Before Hotch could prepare himself, he was hitting him with it. In the knees, across the back of his thighs, everywhere that would cause the most pain. Hotch didn’t want to know what the crack he’d heard when that bat had hit his ribs was.

Jonathan liked the bat. When he heard the crack, he grinned. And then he Hotch over the head. For the second time that day, the world went black.

“He should be here by now,” Reid said, pacing up and down the conference room. “It’s been fifty-seven minutes. The journey should have taken an average of thirty minutes, forty with traffic, but it’s now after eleven when there’s virtually no traffic on the road.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Reid. There was probably some cute barista he got stuck talking to. You know how Hotch is. Never knows when people are flirting with him, and then when he does realise, he gets stuck in an awkward conversation,” Morgan said, but it was all an act. He knew there wouldn’t be a cute barista. But for the sake of Reid, he had to stay strong.

“Look Aaron wouldn’t want us to worry. In twenty minutes, we’ll go back to the hotel. And if he’s not here tomorrow, then we’ll start to investigate okay?” Dave said.

The others nodded, all feeling uneasy, but having the utmost faith in their leader.

Their leader that was still unconscious, Jonathan having moved him to the floor. The back of his head was coated with blood. He almost looked like Haley. But Haley had looked peaceful in her coffin, face void of any expression. Aaron was in pain, despite not being awake.

Jonathan didn’t try and force him to wake up. Aaron Hotchner was going to be his masterpiece.

“Is Agent Hotchner not with you?” Finkelstein asked once they got to the precinct.

They all turned to each other. Dave immediately dialled his cell.

“Voicemail,” he said.

Emily turned away, not wanting to think about the last time his phone had gone to voicemail. She still couldn’t get the image of him, so weak that he couldn’t even sit up without assistance, his face so defeated as he said goodbye to the one good thing in his life, out of her mind. It haunted her nightmares more than Ian Doyle did.

“We need to find him,” Morgan said.

“I’ll have Garcia track his phone,” JJ said.

She tracked his phone to the coffee shop. There was nobody there. No signs of a struggle. Nobody outside had seen anything strange or suspicious.

When Morgan and Rossi returned, faces grave, Reid excused himself. When he returned, his eyes were red. JJ hugged him, words not enough to convey how sorry she was for everything that had happened between them. Emily watched, biting her nails. Hotch had put everything on the line for her multiple times. He didn’t get to go missing like this.

Jonathan was bored of watching Aaron sleep. He kicked him in the stomach, grinning when he let out a soft groan of pain, but managed to open his eyes.

“Morning sunshine,” he greeted.

Aaron tried to flinch away, but found his legs and arms were bound. His head was pounding, his ribs ached, his stomach was bruising from where Jonathan had kicked him and there were angry welts from where the cane had struck.

“You’re a bastard,” Hotch spat, trying not to panic when blood splattered onto his clothes.

“You give me the sweetest compliments, I’m starting to wonder if you really are like the rest of my victims.”

Hotch tried to glare up at him.

Jonathan laughed. “And then you do things like that, and I remember that you’re all the same. You know, I wanted to have a conversation about what you said earlier, but now I think I’ll save that for tomorrow. There’s a few things I want to do before then.”

Hotch had choked on water before. It wasn’t pleasant. But having it forced down his throat was worse. He couldn’t keep swallowing it, and most of it ended up on his shirt. That angered Jonathan. It led to more pain. More torture. Hotch couldn’t feel anything though. He didn’t think that was a good thing. A part of him was holding out hope that the team would find him, but with every passing moment, it seemed to fade slightly.

Why should the team look for him? He’s nothing. He would die for them, because they were his team and they deserved the world. But he was not the world. He was just one broken, old man and they could do better. They could do so, so much better than a drill sergeant, sexist, narcissistic bully.

There were no windows where he was being held. But at some point, Jonathan forced him to eat. And at some point later than that, he told Hotch to get some rest as the next day was going to be big.

Hotch closed his eyes, but he did not sleep.

Nor did any member of the BAU. A whole day of searching and there were still no clues that would lead them to Hotch. Nobody had been reported missing either, which meant either nobody cared enough about the person that had been kidnapped or the unsub was developing a new pattern. Either way, it wasn’t looking good.

Rossi forced them all to get some sleep. He told himself that if they got Aaron back safely, he would make sure that man knew just how much he was loved by all of them. He would finally tell Aaron how he had always viewed him as the son he’d lost, and how he had never once regretted returning.

Morgan knew his relationship with Hotch would never be perfect, but at the end of the day, they were a family. He would spend the rest of his life convincing Hotch that he deserved all the happiness in the world if he needed to, as soon as he’d lectured him about being an idiot.

Garcia was already planning what she was going to make for him. She remembered when she had first started in the BAU, and Hotch had been the only person to treat her like an actual employee. They would eat lunch together because neither of them really had any friends within the unit. Morgan and Reid were still trying to adjust to her, and Gideon had always loved Reid more than he loved Hotch, which had made her sad.

Reid couldn’t lose another father. He lay awake, thinking of stories that he could recommend for Jack. He wanted to be in his own bed, where he could look at the constellations on his ceiling. Hotch had somehow found out about his fear of the dark, but instead of mocking him, he said he’d understood. A day later, he found glow in the dark stars in his bag with a note from Hotch saying he wanted to see a picture of the constellations he made.

Reid had returned the favour after Foyet.

JJ held Emily and they both hoped that he- the man that had already lost so much and struggled through it all for the sake of their band of misfit profilers- would come home safely.

“Rise and shine Aaron,” Jonathan said, throwing a bucket of water over Hotch, who immediately jerked awake as he started to shiver.

“What’s going on?” he whispered.

“You’ll see. But first, I need to make you a little bit more… presentable, shall we say?”

Hotch knew better than to hope that would mean a change of clothes. Jonathan removed the rope around his hands, but only to slide Aaron’s shirt off his shoulders. He pushed down on the bruises, only stopping when Hotch gasped.

“They’re going to be distraught,” he commented, punching Hotch in the face.

His eyes immediately started watering. Jonathan punched him again. Hotch recoiled, feeling the blood drip from his nose. He was dead weight now, but they had been right in assuming that their unsub was incredibly strong. He pulled Aaron into the chair before tying him up, bloodied and beaten and bruised and broken.

Hotch saw the camera.

And he suddenly understood what Jonathan meant.

“No,” he shouted, voice hoarse.

But it was too late.

“Hello Agent Hotchner’s team. I apologise for not knowing your first names, but Aaron only ever used your surnames. Maybe he wanted to detach himself from you all. Let’s see. Ah, the whole team is there! I don’t actually know who you all are, but that’s no worry. I bet you’re trying to work out where he is. It’s not going to work. You should watch the show instead. I bet you really want to see your fearless leader.”

Jonathan stepped back to reveal Hotch.

Morgan had to put his hand on the screen to stop Garcia from closing it. Reid whimpered, JJ shouted, Rossi cursed loudly. Finkelstein grabbed a whole bunch of officers and told them to do whatever it took to find that man.

“Now, Agent Hotchner talks in his sleep. Did you know that? And he’s said some quite interesting things. But first, we’re going to unpack something he said to me on our first day together. Do you remember what that thing was, Aaron?”

Aaron looked up at him, dazed. “No,” he whispered.

“You told me, they weren’t going to come and get you. I killed four people. All of them laughed and told me their colleagues, or their friends, or their families would find them. You didn’t. Why? Tell me. Tell them. They’re all watching.”

Hotch closed his eyes, needing to ground himself. When he opened them, tears were pooling in them, threatening to spill. “They already failed once. They didn’t- we had a case. But they never found me. I didn’t answer my phone, but they didn’t come looking until it was too late to save anyone. They failed to save me once. Why would they try now?”

Garcia was crying. She was trying to find him, but the unsub was right. It was impossible. They’d already dispatched officers to the man’s work and home addresses, but they all knew it was just a formality. They weren’t going to find anything.

“He’s right. We didn’t find him. We should have gone the moment his phone went to voicemail,” Emily said.

“That’s in the past,” Rossi said. “We need to focus on now. Where is he, now? How are we going to save him this time?”

“He’ll send us a message. Some sort of code. He has to,” Reid said, intently watching the screen.

Jonathan looked at Hotch for a few long moments. And then he took the knife he was holding and he cut one deep line from Hotch’s knee to his ankle. Hotch begged for mercy the whole time, but it never came.

“How tragic. Did you ever wonder why they didn’t try?”

“I’m not worth saving,” Hotch whispered.

That caused Jonathan to pause. “What?”

“I’m not worth saving. I’m a narcissist. A bully. Drill sergeant. I have trust issues, I don’t trust women as much as men and they don’t want to be my friend,” Hotch said.

Rossi frowned. “Kid, what’s the message? I don’t get it.”

Reid was shaking. “I don’t- I called him a narcissist when Hankel told me to choose someone to die but I didn’t mean it. I didn’t, I said it because I knew he would understand. He never puts himself above the team. But when I said that it gave away my location. There’s nothing with what he just said. Nothing. I don’t even know where the other things came from.”

Prentiss pressed her hand to her mouth. “He genuinely believes that. He’s not lying. I know his tell. He’s not doing it. He’s telling his version of the truth.”

Rossi turned. “What do you mean he genuinely believes that?”

All three of them swallowed, unable to form a response.

“When Reid called Hotch a narcissist and then quoted the Bible, Hotch went off. He told everyone to say what his worst quality was. And in the moment Morgan called him a drill sergeant. JJ said he was a bully. Em said he didn’t trust women as much as men. He cut them off after that and it was never addressed. I told- when we got back to Quantico, I told him he didn’t wear casual clothes enough and he- he smiled,” Garcia explained.

Rossi had never been so angry at his family. “Why would you say that? You know what he’s like. You know how personally he takes things. It doesn’t matter that it was just in the moment, he needed to hear it from all of you that you didn’t mean it.”

Prentiss lunged forward. “Aaron,” she shouted. When Hotch turned slightly to face the camera, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Aaron, it’s Emily. I know you’re not sexist. I know that you trust me just as much as anyone else on the team. I promise. And Morgan loves you too. JJ doesn’t think you’re a bully. We love you, but we need you to help us. Please.”

Jonathan turned to face the camera too. “Stop ruining all the fun, Emily.”

Emily flinched. Jonathan said her name like it was something dirty, but Aaron had only ever said it like it was something to be cherished.

When Jonathan slapped Hotch, Reid closed his eyes.

“What do you think Aaron? Do you think she’s correct? Are you worthy of their love? Or are you exactly like the other victims, maybe even worse?”

Hotch shook his head. “I don’t know. Please, I just, I don’t know.”

Jonathan picked up the cane. Hotch curled in on himself as much as he could. For everyone else, it was like watching Hankel torture Reid all over again. When the cane made contact with Hotch’s stomach, the sound he let out made the tears in Rossi’s eyes fall.

“I think I’ll let you all struggle for a few hours before the grand finale. But, I am nothing if not generous. Aaron, is there anything you want to say to them?”

He looked directly at the camera. Not even Morgan could look into his eyes, so full of pain and anguish. “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry for everything. I’m- I never meant for any of you to become so damaged and I am so- I will spend every last minute making up for the pain I caused you, but please, just, please forgive me. Forgive me. Please.”

Jonathan ended it all. There was no way of tracing them.

Reid repeated the words to himself. He needed to find the clue. He needed to work out what the message was. He refused to believe there wasn’t one. Morgan and Rossi slipped into their respective leadership roles, commanding everyone and barking orders. Garcia’s fingers were like lightning, she was finding everything she could on Jonathan. JJ dealt with the media, who wanted to know exactly what was going on. Prentiss flitted between the various groups, offering support. It was weird. Coming back had felt like coming home, but then there were moments like these where she wasn’t sure she’d ever been part of the team.

Hotch was confused. He knew Emily’s tell. She couldn’t hide it from him. He’d been searching for it as she spoke, but it wasn’t there. Which would imply she was telling the truth. But that wasn’t possible. He couldn’t let himself believe it was possible. Only, there was no other logical discussion. Maybe they loved him. Maybe they cared.

“What are you?” Jonathan hissed.

“Their friend,” Aaron whispered, momentarily forgetting where he was.

Jonathan kicked his bare foot. Aaron winced.

“No, you aren’t,” Jonathan said. “You’re a narcissist. You’re a bully. And a drill sergeant, and a sexist prick. I’m assuming- by the looks on their faces- the blonde with glasses and the old man never said anything against you. But I think I know what they would say. You’re rude. And you’re a failure. So what are you?”

“A narcissist,” Hotch replied. But he knew that wasn’t the truth. They were going to find him. They were going to save him, somehow, because that was what their family did.

Dave saved him by offering him the spot. He saved Penelope from a life of crime. Penelope saved Emily from doubting herself too much. Emily saved Jennifer from carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Jennifer saved Spencer from thinking he wasn’t worth loving. Spencer saved Derek from getting too cynical. Derek saved Dave from getting too cocky. And the cycle continued.

Reid was pacing, wringing his hands, still mouthing the words to him. Everyone else had stopped because there was nothing left to do.

Without warning, Reid turned and punched the wall.

“Spence!” JJ shouted.

Reid stared at his hand, where blood was now covering his knuckles. Shaking, he fell to his knees, sobbing. Hotch would know what to do. Hotch would take his hand and gently wrap it before talking to him about whatever it was that was going on. He would help him sort through the information overwhelming him.

But Hotch wasn’t there. And it was all his fault.

JJ and Morgan ran over to him. Reid wanted to push them away but found himself powerless to resist their coddling.

“Guys,” Garcia said, answering the call.

She let out a gasp. Hotch’s stomach was worse. There were more cuts on his leg. His face was covered in bruises. But there was something else that hadn’t been there before. A defiant, hopeful glint in his eyes. Like he knew something else now.

“Hello again,” Jonathan greeted.

Garcia immediately started trying to trace the call, not even hesitating to try thousands of other methods when it failed.

Reid pushed Morgan and JJ away, taking the seat next to Garcia to try and find the hidden message.

“I’ve trained Aaron very well,” Jonathan commented. He was holding a gun. Hotch’s gun. Hotch’s back-up gun he’d kept holstered against his ankle ever since Adrian Bale had left him defenceless.

Under the table, Reid fiddled.

“What are you?” Jonathan asked Hotch.

“A narcissist,” Hotch replied, but there was something different about the way he said it when compared to earlier. Reid leant forward, determined to work it out.

“What are you?” he asked again, now pointing the gun at his head. Reid felt bile rise in his throat. It must have been like that for everyone else, watching him with Hankel.

“A bully.”

“And?”

“A drill sergeant.”

“He doesn’t believe what he’s saying,” Reid shouted, then covered his mouth, just in case Jonathan heard. But he was too busy taunting Hotch with the negative things that had been said about him.

“What?” Rossi asked.

“Look at his body language. He doesn’t believe it anymore. Emily convinced him. We just need to work out where he is. If he knows we love him, he won’t do anything stupid.”

Garcia started typing even more furiously.

“Tell them again what you are. Let them savour the moment. Let them always remember this as the moment where Aaron Hotchner finally admitted how dreadful he was.”

“I’ve got a location!” Garcia whispered. Everyone looked at each other, then nodded. Finkelstein and his team would arrest Jonathan and get Hotch out. They would follow as soon as the call had ended.

“I’m a narcissist. A bully. A drill sergeant. A sexist prick. A failure. And I’m rude.”

“I suppose you get the smallest amount of credit for admitting it. But it’s not enough to say it. I want you to prove it. Choose one of them to die.”

Reid dug his nails into the fabric of his trousers.

Hotch’s eyes widened, and for the first time his confidence wavered. “What?”

“You heard me. If you’re truly all of these things, choose one to die. Choose one of those team members that hate you so much to die by your own gun.”

“Come on Hotch. Give us that message that tells us how to get you out safely,” Reid muttered to himself.

Hotch wasn’t answering.

“Wasn’t Agent Reid in a similar situation to this? And didn’t he say that he chose Aaron Hotchner? That must have hurt.”

“It’s Doctor,” Hotch responded, voice weak, the adrenaline waring off as he lost more blood and as his previous injuries went untreated.

“Oh god,” JJ said, the first to realise his mistake.

Hotch’s eyes widened.

Jonathan smirked. “Oh dear. Have you been lying to me? Are you not actually these things?”

“Finkelstein is three minutes away,” Rossi updated.

“I am!” Hotch exclaimed. His voice was hoarse, his eyes glazed over and unfocused.

“Then choose.”

“No.”

“My patience grows thin Aaron. Choose.”

“Two minutes,” Rossi said.

“Hotch please,” Reid pleaded. JJ rubbed his shoulder, just as tense.

“I can’t,” Hotch said, pain starting to overwhelm him as he tried too hard to think of a solution.

“Do it,” Jonathan said, fingers fiddling with the trigger.

“I choose myself,” Hotch said.

“No,” Reid whispered. “There has to be a message somewhere in there. He said: it’s doctor, but before that he said what and after that he said no and- there’s no message. Rossi there’s no message. What are we supposed to do?”

“Finkelstein is a minute away. Hotch will keep him talking. And then we’ll get him back. I promise.”

“Why? Why do you choose yourself, when your team hate you?” Jonathan was angry and holding a gun. A dangerous combination at the best of times. But Hotch had no weapon. No vest.

Restrained and already weakened by his injuries.

“Because they don’t,” Hotch said.

“Yes they do,” Jonathan said through gritted teeth.

“They just need our signal to go in,” Rossi said.

“I can’t make that call,” Morgan confessed.

Rossi looked at him. “We can’t afford to wait.”

“No, they don’t. Your team did though, didn’t they? And then you lost your job for all the bad things you did and ended up being the victim of a person that was exactly the same as you had been. Aren’t I right? You’re not exactly hard to profile, I’ve just been waiting for the right moment.”

“How fucking dare you-” Jonathan started, then sighed. “I want you to tell me. Tell me why it should be you and not one of them.”

Rossi turned away. “Now.”

“Because they are my family. I love them unconditionally. And they love me back. And when you love your family, you do everything you can to keep them safe.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“They’re your family? Who love you?”

Aaron used the last of his strength to look up into his captor’s eyes. “And I love them.”

Jonathan hmmed.

The gunshot that rang out was nothing compared to Reid’s cry of horror.

60 notes · View notes

harrypotterthehufflepuff · 4 years ago

Text

Suffocated

This was requested by: anon !

Request: Would you do a George Weasley imagine during the Goblet of Fire where his crush is The Golden Trio’s age and a Durmstrang boy is a childhood bully of hers so while she chooses to ignore his sexist rude comments but the Twins refuse to and their feelings finally come out?

Alrightie, so I had a little trouble writing this because I have no idea what it’s like to be bullied or made fun of in any way and I didn’t want this to offend anyone. So I didn’t mention much of the background behind the relationship between the reader and the said bully. So you can build up your own picture of this. Hope you like it!

Warnings: none really.

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Words: 1.5k

If you’d like to request something please head over to my other blog, https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ronaldandremuslover and I’ll try and fix it for you !

~ ~ ~ ~

People were dashing in all directions within the hallways. Talking in excitement about the Triwizard tournament; students the age of 17 or over were even more ecstatic about the possibility of being chosen to compete.

"You're the talk of the school, boys." You sat down at the Gryffindor table and took the vacant seat in front of the Weasley twins.

Fred smirked, "Our attempt might have gone to shite, but at least something good came out of it."

Shovelling a big piece of chicken pie onto your plate, you sneaked a glance over your shoulder to the Slytherin table. The person you scanned was sitting with his elbows on the table and talking to a younger-looking boy.

"Can I copy of your homework, Y/N? I forgot we had a charms essay that needs to be done for tomorrow." George asked, gripping your attention.

"Oh," You turned back to look at him, "really? We've had one week to do it! Have you done yours, Fred?"

He nodded, scooping up peas on his spoon. "Angelina helped me."

Sighing, you turned to look at George again. "I can help you with it, too. It's an important essay, George."

"Fine, that'll have to do." You glared at him. "Thanks."

~ ~ ~ ~

You had agreed to meet in the library as the Gryffindor common room was filled with people chatting about the tournament and the newly addressed Yule ball. Passing several Veelas on the way there, you reached your destination.

Walking over to a rectangular table, you sat down and opened your bag to pull out your already finished essay. You scanned it over just to make sure you've done a satisfactory job. It seemed to be in a state where you could offer help to another person. So you sat your bag down onto the floor. And as you did you saw a tall boy walking in and sitting down at a table only a few feet away. You barely had time to react before another tall boy walked in and sat down at your table.

"Oi, sorry I'm late. Peeves thought it would be an excellent idea to launch water balloons at the first years that I was just happening to pass by."

You snapped out of your daze and shook your head. "Oh, It's fine. I only just arrived, too."

George pulled out his completely blank essay and quill. He dipped it in ink and looked at you for assistance. But your focus was elsewhere. The other boy sitting at the opposite table was occasionally sneaking glances at you.

He waved a hand in front of your face. "You there?"

"Sorry, blanked out for a second. Okay, let's begin." You went on, instructing him how to best start the essay and how to fill his sentences. But it was hard to concentrate when the boy you tried to avoid was looking at you. It felt as if you were a prey to him. George noticed your eyes wandering behind his back.

"You crushing on him?" He joked half-heartedly, his voice filled with anything but amusement.

You looked at George in disbelief but quickly shook it off and smiled at his half-assed joke. "Hm, no way. He's from Durmstrang."

He huffed, "Yeah, no kidding. The broad shoulders and weird hat sort of gives it away."

"That's ordinary dressing from where they come from." You educated him.

"You should know, you spent your two first years there."

Nodding, you pointed at the paper on the table. "Now, continue. I can't be here all day."

George did as what he was told and scribbled down answers to the tricky questions Professor Flitwick had written down for him to clarify. He asked you to help him with certain questions where you tried to explain to him the best you could so that he would understand. When he was concentrating on writing you would glance over at the Durmstrang boy. And for a second your eyes met and he gave you a smile which made your stomach turn.

"Y/N?" George's voice was quiet and his eyes were narrowed when you turned back to him.

"Yes?"

"What's up with him? You're off."

Deciding to finally tell George, you leaned over the table. "Remember the guy I told you about? On my first year of Hogwarts?"

His eyes widened and his eyebrows raised higher than you thought was possible. "That's him?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"George!" You hissed and grabbed his hand. "Don't do that!"

"Right, sorry." He looked down at your hand that was firmly clasping his. You quickly let go and slid your hand underneath the table. His hand had somehow felt perfect underneath yours.

"Yes, that's him. Branimir is here, obviously." You whispered, feeling embarrassed about the situation.

George discreetly looked over his shoulder, he turned back frowning. "He looks a bit like Snape."

You couldn't help but chuckle, mostly because it was true. He had long black hair and a big nose. His eyes were dark and he had very thin lips.

"I know. He looks the same." You said truthfully. Talking about your past with Branimir was awkward and made you uncomfortable.

The red-headed boy looked at you, and you hated that you could see the worry in his eyes. This was what you wanted to avoid.

He stuffed his papers in his bag and used magic to clean up some spilt ink. You looked at him, feeling confused.

He reached his hand out to you, his long fingers aiming at you. "Let's find another place."

"That's unnecessary, George. It'll do fine here." You protested, but he didn't budge.

"You're a horrible liar, Y/N. C'mon."

Looking at him, you willed for him to sit down again. But his hand was still in front of you and you had a sudden urge to grab it, just to hold it. And you did, you grabbed his hand he helped you up.

Having expected he would let go after he helped you up, you were surprised to find him still holding your hand in a strong grip even after you exited the library. But you didn't mind.

"You know, Y/N, if he ever makes you feel troubled, I'm always here to put him in his place. I know you have some awesome moves that you wouldn't even need magic for, but I have no problem shoving my foot so far up his-"

"Okay! I get it." You grinned, happy that George was by your side. Happy that he understood you. And you were especially happy that he had dragged you out of the library even though you had told him not to because being around Branimir made you feel suffocated.

George stopped so abruptly you pulled his arm. His eyes were serious and his lips were drawn in a tight, thin line.

"What's the matter?" You asked, confused.

"What I said is true. I don't want you to feel unprotected at your own school. And I bet Fred would search him up if he knew he was here. He wouldn't stand knowing he's walking these corridors."

Your heart ached at his words and made you remember how truly, truly lucky you were to have him and Fred as your friends. It made you glad to know they're around. So you nodded and smiled at him. The thing currently on your mind is your hand's still in his.

"And if he bothers you at the Yule ball we'll make sure his night won't go to plan." He added, a hint of humour and seriousness mixed in his voice.

But at this, you grimaced and smiled awkwardly, shaking your head. "Mm, that won't be a problem."

George raised his eyebrows, but not as far as before. "How'd you know?"

You rolled your eyes and huffed. "I'm not going to a ball without out a date." You were surprised at how embarrassed you felt when you had said it. It sounded pathetic, you thought.

"I was going to ask you if you would come with me. I'm quite lousy at dancing but I'm sure you could help me out." He said, his cheeks tinted with the faintest of red. But he seemed overall calm.

But you, you felt perplexed. You waited for him to laugh and tell you it was all a joke or something in that Weasley category. But he was solemn, he meant it.

"You're asking me to the ball?" You asked, your voice quiet.

George nodded and grinned, "I am."

Your heart was beating fast and your face was hot. But you were over the moon. It felt unbelievable. "I would love to go with you, George!" You exclaimed, maybe a bit too loudly.

"Great! I was nervous for a while, thought you didn't want to go at all." He was beaming at you.

"Well, I didn't know that you were asking me out."

You both went quiet when you realised that your hands had been intertwined the entire time. But it didn't bother you, and George made no move to let go.

"Let's get your essay done, Georgie." You teased and dragged him along the corridor.

"I hate when you call me that." He complained.

You smirked at him. "I know."

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter imagine #george weasley imagine #george weasley x you #hogwarts #harry potter fanfiction #request #reply #:) <3

170 notes · View notes

3piox · 4 years ago

Text

The Jedi and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Plan

Making new post because that reblog chain was getting a lil long and I can talk about Ventress til the banthas come home:

What does the Jedi Order do with this?

They decide “we can use her as a tool. We will send one of our own to her, under false pretenses, and we will have him pretend to be a Fallen Jedi. We will have him inveigle her to train him in the secrets of the dark side. And we will have him use her to launch an assassination attempt on Dooku, killing him using his own student.”

This is a HOWLINGLY bad decision. It is morally dubious. It is grotesquely dismissive of Ventress as a person, it is NOT in accordance with the Jedi Code. This is a desperate, fear-based attempt at murdering their enemy using any weapon available to them.

Fear, of course, being the path to the dark side.

Asajj Ventress dies because the Order fucked up and gives her life to protect the vehicle of that fuckup.

It’s those kinds of decisions that should be laid at their door.

- @opinions-about-tiaras

Oh, yes. Now setting aside my more Doylist opinions on That Book (Golden is a hack, Asajj dying to further Quin’s story is tired sexist BS, anyways she’s a lesbian duh) something I do like about this terrible, terrible series of events is how thoroughly Obi-Wan roasts the Council at the end for their choices.

"We lost our way," Kenobi had said. "We lost it when we decided to use assassination, a practice so clearly of the dark side, for our own ends, well intentioned though they might have been. All that has happened since-Vos succumbing to the dark side, the deaths he has directly and indirectly caused, the secrets leaked, the worlds placed in jeopardy-all of this can be traced back to that single decision. Masters, I submit to you that Vos's fall was of our making. And Asajj Ventress's death is on all our hands. That Vos is here with us today, devastated but on the light path once more, is no credit to us, but to her. She died a true friend of the Jedi, and I believe that she deserves to be laid to rest with respect and care, with all gratitude for the life she gave and the life she has restored to us, and this bitter lesson that came at so dear a price. We are Jedi, and we must, all of us, always, remember what that means."

This scene is also very interesting when you contrast it to Ventress kinning Ahsoka when Ahsoka was framed for the temple bombings.

My master abandoned me, and that's exactly what you did to her, you and your precious Jedi Order.

Obi-Wan defends Quin where Ahsoka was failed. Ventress wanted the full pardon Ahsoka promised to argue for her, but Ahsoka losing faith in herself and the Council meant she never did try to speak in Ventress’s defense. Ventress still living on the edges of society meant she was in prime state to be used for this terrible, terrible plan.

"If we can take him, we can turn him back," Kenobi said.

"You cannot save everyone, Master Kenobi," Plo Koon said, not without sympathy.

Yoda nodded. "Save themselves, they must."

(...)

"You know as well as I do that there is still hope for him."

"I don't know that," she said bluntly. Kenobi was surprised. Mace Windu frowned, leaning forward. "You weren't there. You didn't see his face. You don't know how hard it is to come back from-"

"You did it," Kenobi interrupted quietly. Ventress paused in midsentence, her eyes looking piercingly into his. He could sense how stunned she was by his recognition of what she had done.

“He could sense how stunned she was by his recognition of what she had done.” Ventress saved herself, without being given any favours. I do understand in a general way why the Jedi wouldn’t offer her any. She has done horrific things. I wish they had decided to reward her from the start of this plan, however, even if they chose to keep her in the dark (hah) because of her lack of trustworthiness. Instead they just sit on an offer of a pardon until they need to reassure her she won’t be arrested for helping them get Vos back.

The Jedi assume that because she’ll be DTA (Down to Assassinate) she won’t have changed enough to earn forgiveness, despite the fact that Vos would get to stay a Jedi after hopefully beheading Dooku. Moral equivalence, and all that.

We owe Vos the chance to choose again, and, with our help, wisely.

We owe him that chance to choose again. “Anakin, this path has been placed for you; the choice is yours alone.” People make informed choices when all their options are clear to them. Thanks to Dooku and Ky Narec, Ventress knows the life of a Sith and of a Jedi. She can choose how she wants to live as a result -- but some material limitations exist outside her (i.e. her status as a war criminal.)

The Jedi come up with this terrible plan because they’re clouded by emotion -- the novel opens up with Dooku committing a mass murder and laying the blame at the Jedi’s feet. They react by doing what they’re always seen as both guilty and not guilty of: Taking action.

"Answer me this. How often has this Council sat, shaking our heads, saying, Everything leads back to Dooku? A few dozen times? A few hundred?"

You accept the ‘gift’ of a million soldier slaves to end a terrible war. You could also end that war by laying down your arms, accepting the consequences on your own small organization -- and the deaths of billions as they’re mowed down by droids. You choose to fight, and if you take that step, what’s so different about sending someone to kill the instigator of this war? Where do you draw your line in the sand?

To Quin’s credit, he does tell Ventress who he is and about the whole plan before any training or assassination plans take place. She agrees without needing any reward.

I think what really gets me is the point they bring up time and again, and Dooku himself sums up so perfectly:

"Our escape plans hinged on her?" Dooku exclaimed almost at the same moment, his lip curling. "The most abysmal assassin of all time?"

They can make all the noise they want about Ventress having gotten closer than anyone to killing Dooku -- at the end of the day, she’s still failed, TWICE, and that was with magic witches on her side. Why would they use her for this plan, for any reason other than she’s convenient. It’s lazy. It’s that ultimate allure of the ethically dubious: “It’ll just be easier if we do it this way.” If they really wanted to assure this working, why didn’t they just offer Ventress a pardon in exchange for Dooku’s itinerary, then send Mace and Yoda to dice the devil up? Seriously.

Also, this whole stupid book becomes Even More Pointless when you consider how fucking funny it is that after Learning Their Lesson here the Jedi decide that the perfect plan of action a whole 2 months later in RotS is to .................................. send Obi-Wan to kill Grievous. I mean, what, they weren’t worried just a little bit that Obi-Wan would end up sleeping with him instead and switching sides? 🤔🤔🤔

#asajj ventress #quinlan vos #obi wan kenobi #jedi #dark disciple #*#i hate this book sm #poor ventress deserves so much better #but lowkey they dump her body in the magic swamp that once resurrected someone #so like...........................ventress lives!!

14 notes · View notes

harryfeatgaga · 4 years ago

Text

Okay I got some creepy shit to tell you! For context I am engaged. So my fiancé YEARS before we met, had gone to this psychic because he was having really weird dreams that felt really real and they would stick with him emotionally, cause his distress, and severe anxiety but he never remembered the dreams fully and his friends thought he should go. And the psychic went on a whole tangent about the dreams correlating to a person. She told him that at some point in his life, he’ll meet a person who will desperately need his help the moment he meets them. She said specifically it’ll probably have to do with like some sort of fight/dispute and that it would be in a mall. Very weird. She also said that the person will have a similar birthmark on their pinky as him. She told him the dreams could’ve possibly been about that moment and he was getting anxious anticipating it? So jump forward about five years later and I’m in a mall, I’m was at a jewelry store buying myself a necklace (very expensive one) because I needed to treat myself lol and the guy working there was being very rude, asking me where my husband was (I was single) and that there was no way I could afford it. Overall being very sexist. He was getting a little hostile too (like calling me a bitch) and I was kinda worried about him getting more aggressive because I’m a small woman and he a large guy. And my now fiancé had been just outside the store and he heard me arguing with guy working there. He told me later on that the things the psychic said didn’t even cross his mind until after our first date. so anyway he walked in to the store and literally told the guy to fuck off and that it was incredibly rude to treat a woman like that. (Also another strange part is that my fiancé is such a shy person, if you knew him, you’d know he’d NEVER talk to a stranger like that even in a bad situation, but he told me he just felt compelled to do smth) I was taken aback, no one has ever stood up for me in any situation. And when I looked at him, I felt so weird? Like I felt like I knew him but I also didn’t. And that’s how we met and we bought coffee afterwards and the rest is history lmao. And we do both have the exact same birthmark on our pinkies. He told me the stuff about the psychic about a year into dating. Sometimes I think it’s just coincidence but idk I think it’s a bit too specific for it to be. Also he stopped having those dream after we met. His anxiety lessened tremendously. It freaks him out more than me but yeahhhhhhh. Also I’m being fully truthful, I promise you!!!!!!

oh my god??????? THIS IS SO FUCKING INSANE BUT SO COOL??? and so fucking weird and spooky and ALL OF IT omfg im obsessed with this story thats so fucking wild oh my gd???? I LOVE THIS FOR YOU TWO OMFG CAN I COME TO THE WEDDING

#submission

12 notes · View notes

hysteriium · 5 years ago

Text

The Irony of Fate [2]

Gif not mine!

(A/N): Uhhh this gif kills me holy fuck LOOK AT HIM- UGH. OK, SORRY this took so long lmao, my writing has honestly been so slow lately. I’m trying to fix that but idk I guess it’s a work in process. ALSO!!!! I’m so GRATEFUL for y’all! You’ve all been so kind and supportive with the series, I honestly thought I was going to be swamped with hate! I’m really glad you’re all enjoying it, and love Arthur as much as I do. It’s really made me feel better about my shitty writing. So without further ado, I’ll let you read. Sorry for the monster essay!

Summary: Arthur hated his life. That was no secret. He could pull out a list of the reasons why if someone had to ask. Perhaps he had pissed off fate really badly, a time he couldn’t seem to recall. Or perhaps, not that he believed in it, in a past life he had behaved so reprehensively that he was cursed for the entirety of his reincarnated existence. At this point, anything would make more sense than his continual bad luck - make more sense than his life. Was he doomed to be miserable for the rest of his time on earth? Or would the woman he spotted from his window instigate a rapid spiral of change?

Word Count: 3,400

Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Reader

Warnings: None!

!! SPOILERS FOR ANYONE WHO HASN’T WATCHED THE MOVIE !!

Anxiety coursed through (Y/n) like a turbulent storm, its rage coursing throughout her body, numbing her fingertips. Her mouth was abnormally dry and her attempts at swallowing - to try and lessen the prominence of the drought within, were all in vain. Counting down the seconds in her head silently, her jaw ticked. Large multicoloured drapes burned into her eyes, their bright colours harsh if looked at for too long. As she stood behind them, backstage, the familiar, upbeat music filled her ears, a tune she had known since teenagehood. In person, the arrangement of instruments beyond the curtains sounded different. It was raw. Loud. Unfiltered. The difference was something she found she prefered, it’s authenticity shining through.

Despite the nostalgia, and the thrill of her dreams coming true, the song was hardly comforting, adding to the growing nausea in her stomach. Solidifying the presence of the knot within.

The fact she was there was surreal.

The crowd, in response to the anthem, went wild, clapping on cue, along with the song.

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen!” Murray shouted. His renowned dance moves, which had him swinging to the beat, were perfectly timed.

Although (Y/n) was shrouded by the massive curtains in front of her, she could practically hear the smirk on his face. Sickly sweet and, dare she say, sickly fake. While she was eternally grateful to be where she was, the disingenuity unsettled her. It rubbed her the wrong way.

Good ratings meant more money, and more money meant fewer problems.

“Now, tonight, we’ve got an extra special guest,” he said.

(Y/n) swallowed.

She felt her fingers twitch in anticipation while the majority of the public oohed at Murray’s news.

“She’s a gorgeous woman…” a handful whistled, earning a soft chuckle from the host, “though I must say, she has an even lovelier voice.”

“It’s quite funny actually, I met her on the street the other day. I was blown away when I first heard her performing. And...I usually don’t do this, but I just had to have her on the show. You all know how much I love talent.”

“However, there was just one thing that left me confused. I asked her, ‘why on the streets?’” Murray gave a quizzical look, “with such a gift, you’d expect her to be in the clubs!”

“She shrugged her shoulders and told me, ‘you gotta start somewhere’.”

“Now while I respect that, starting from humble beginnings and all, I told her, ‘honey with a face like that, you don’t gotta go around singing on the streets for money,’ if you know what I mean.”

The spectators laughed, and (Y/n) rolled her eyes in response. Suddenly, she was glad she was hidden. She wouldn’t want her annoyed expression to give the wrong impression. She didn’t want to be labelled. The last thing she needed was to wake up and read some shitty news article painting her as a ‘diva’ and ‘ungrateful’. Gotham thrived on negativity, so once that was out there, she’d never recover from the defaming blow. Sexist jokes or not, fighting up against one of the most dominant television personalities in Gotham, as well as the media, was a deathwish careerwise.

“Now that’s enough from me, you’re all probably sick of my face. Please welcome, (Y/n)!”

Swiftly, the live band played their tunes, signalling her entrance. Murray directed attention to the infamous curtains, his arms stretching, his fingers wiggling towards the material. Screams of joy echoed off the studio walls.

At the sound, her hands raced to her form-fitting black dress, smoothing out the wrinkles before the curtain opened. When they did, they were slow. A cringe formed its way onto her face as the pully system squeaked along. As ready as she’ll ever be, she cemented a smile, hiding the wince, and walked through the drapes, deciding against waiting.

Feeling a little dramatic, her form hunched over into a bow. A leg darted behind the other, with one hand in front, another resting against her back. Wolf whistles decorated the air at her arrival, though they were promptly replaced with roaring laughter as she made her way towards Murray and planted two firm kisses on both of his cheeks. Eventually, the clacking of her heels signified movement from the older man as she moved to occupy the yellow chair next to Murray’s desk.

Murray made a face after her display of affection, a look although (Y/n) couldn’t see, with his back towards her, she knew it transpired because of the public’s response. She could only imagine the face: one of shock and surprise, or perhaps confidence, as he winked towards them. Either way, both weren’t hard to envision, and the thought made short, distinct, puffs of air release from her nose in amusement.

Shortly, he followed her lead and took a seat behind his table.

“You’ve got some flare kid,” Murray chuckled, and (Y/n) could tell a genuine smile had replaced the false one. A twinge of pride wriggled in her chest at the realisation.

“Are you nervous?” Murray asked suddenly, his eyes flying to the hands in her lap, fidgeting, “you seem nervous.”

She shot the audience a look, her teeth clenched as her eyebrows flew up.

“Yeah,” was all she said, her tone coming out high and unsure.

Laughter.

“You’re already doing great. This your first time on live television?”

The reminder that this was live exacerbated her anxiety, her leg threatening to bounce. The pressure was on; if she screwed up, everyone would remember.

“Pretty much,” a hint of fear wavered her voice, and the laugh that followed was shaky, “this is really surreal.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he flicked his wrist at her, “it’ll be second nature the way you’re headed.”

Her hands flew up to her cheeks, a tinge of pink coating the area while she tittered, “thank you, but I’m not so sure of that.”

“So humble!”

Murray adjusted himself in his chair, his leg crossing over his other. He leaned forward towards the singer, form angled away from the onlookers. His concentration was solely on her.

“So (Y/n), what have you got planned for us tonight?”

A diffident expression crossed the woman’s features as she recalled her song.

“One of my favourites. Put On a Happy Face by Tony Bennett.”

Murray nodded.

“Interesting choice. But, a classic.”

His formerly interlocked hands were thrown into the air, giving a signal to the band. At this, (Y/n) stood up from her seat, and headed towards the already arranged set up towards the end of the stage. Once she arrived, she gripped the cylindrical microphone with both hands, its body supported by a stand. The object was cool against her heated fingertips.

The music started, the funk infectious and the woman’s hips began to sway.

----

Arthur barely held the gasp within him when he gazed upon (Y/n) ’s form, her flattering black dress a spectacle to behold. Her bow, cute and pure, converted the gasp he was restraining into a lovestruck sigh.

He was sold, struck by the arrow of the little rascal Cupid himself.

She looked just as good on TV.

He found it endearing how honest she was, admitting to her nerves. In his eyes, she was genuine, not like the scum that riddled Gotham’s streets; not like those who laughed at him; not like Randall.

Similar to a child who was urgent to take in his favourite cartoon, he moved himself closer to the screen, a meter away at best, as he sat cross-legged. The tickling sensation of excitement shot throughout his slender body.

As the music started playing, the overly happy tune seized him. When the camera panned on (Y/n) ’s walking form, he took in every little detail. The sigh she let out when she reached the microphone. The wobbling of her hands, which she tried to hide by clutching the device. The movement of her throat, suggesting a swallow. The jaw that clicked.

Arthur saw it all.

Then, she started singing.

Gray skies are gonna clear up

Put on a happy face

Brush off the clouds and cheer up

Put on a happy face

The spectators interjected, drowning out a portion of the lyrics as they released sounds of support.

As Arthur leant into his tv screen, he was absolutely convinced nothing could deter his eyes, his hypnosis. Not even the whining of his mum, who had been entirely obstructed from viewing the screen.

He hadn’t even realised she was there, he’d forgotten all about her.

Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy

It’s not your style

You’ll look so good that you’ll be glad

You decide to smile

Arthur wished he was there in the room with (Y/n). In the crowd. To see her pretty (e/c) eyes glance over him and shoot him a wink. Or perhaps a smile. Anything - like the acknowledgement she gave him days prior. Just something to know that he really existed. That he wasn’t riding through life like a doormat - invisible, stepped on, beaten up and chucked around. No one really noticed the object, nor cared to, as it dejectedly rested below the door. Day after day.

Pick out a pleasant outlook

Stick out that noble chin

Wipe off that “full of doubt” look

Slap on a happy grin

Arthur began to grin when she saw her nerves were starting to leave her. Oh, how badly he wanted to applaud her. Encourage her.

And spread sunshine all over the place

And put on a happy face

One hand released the microphone, moving to her face as she traced the outline of her upturned lips, a short, accidental giggle slipping out. It made Arthur’s heart swell!

The band complemented her style perfectly. Their contrasting deep voices were melodic as they harmonised with her humming.

Gray skies are gonna clear up

Put on a happy face

Brush off the clouds and cheer up

Put on a happy face

Arthur found his form lightly swaying to the tune, his grin extending from ear to ear, impossibly deeper.

She was really into it now, and he could tell she could feel the music rushing through her, now a conduit for the art. When he saw the confidence which had manifested, growing with each passing second, his mind swarmed with joy, his mind conjuring a bundle of soothing words he noiselessly projected through the cubic barrier before them - to her.

And if you’re feeling cross and bickerish

Don’t sit and whine

Think of banana splits and licorice

And you’ll feel fine

She disconnected the microphone from the stand, bringing it under her chin. Quickly she departed from her spot with a small spin, strutting across the rest of the stage - something that got the fans rowdy; wooing. Her body swung to the beat, shoulders moving with her.

I knew a girl so gloomy

She’d never laugh or sing

She wouldn’t listen to me

Now she’s a mean old thing

Now incredibly expressive - antithetical from when she first began - she accompanied her singing by miming the lyrics. A fist rocked below her eyes imitating tears in a burlesque manner, and a fake frown contorted her features. Though, no matter how sad she pretended to be, Arthur knew just by the twinkle in her eyes that she was bursting with happiness.

So spread sunshine all over the place

And put on a happy, happy face

Put on a happy, happy, happy face

During the final verse, she had moved closer to the camera, dragging out the closing note with a high.

Oh, come on bubby, smile, it’s your birthday!

She made direct eye contact with the lens and winked.

Arthur’s chest tightened at the action, and he couldn’t help but take it personally; as if the playful act was directly meant to be for him. Him and only him.

Applause nearly deafened Arthur as it reverberated around the room, projecting shockingly loud for such a small device. Scrambling, his hands tried to lower the volume. Unfortunately, in his rush, his clumsy hands instead knocked up against another button, changing the channel entirely in the process.

Regrettably for Arthur, the noise emitted only worsened. Although the tv was no longer on the Murray Franklin show, it was now on a channel playing an old war movie. Explosions and the earthshaking noises of artillery filled his crappy apartment, gunfire jolting his poor, unexpecting form. Letting out his shock with a shout, and a string of curses, his hands automatically moved to cover his ears - a reaction he midway stopped; gaining some control, he felt the device vibrate beneath his fingertips when they finally discovered the volume button. When he had readjusted the strength, he returned back to the station, free from the clamour, the show now on commercial break.

He sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

Why was he so fucking clumsy?

Even the smallest things he couldn’t seem to get right.

Gentle snoring shifted his awareness from his self-deprecating mental exchange, and when he looked over to the noise, he saw his mother asleep in her chair. Her head was tilted against her shoulder, her mouth open. It was a sight that made him laugh through his nose; something that managed to halt the negativity which began to swarm in his mind, like a vicious cloud of hornets.

Arthur didn’t know how his mother could one minute be the lightest sleeper on earth, then the next, swing to the other extreme. It was a miracle she slept through his fuck up, but then again, if she were in a deep sleep, he was confident enough to bet she’d sleep through a natural disaster.

It was honestly impressive.

Emitting a soft groan as his palms pushed himself up from his sitting position, he trailed from one end of his apartment to the other. He opened one of the squeaking cabinets near the bathroom, the small storage space containing miscellaneous items. Though, it mostly harboured their modest collection of towels and blankets. As his eyes skimmed the shelves, from top to bottom, they soon fell onto what he was searching for. On the very bottom, his hands gripped onto an old quilt. It was soft to touch, though when he moved to collect it, he felt small pricks against his flesh as his arms maneuvered to fit its length.

Feathers.

The floral pattern, which was a chaotic blend of reds, pinks, whites and cremes was gaudy and straining to look at. Arthur guessed it was a victorian design, and it was quite apparent that it was a style he wasn’t fond of. He didn’t think he ever understood the things his mother liked. It was definitely a selective taste.

Shaking away his absentmindedness, and the staredown he was giving the blanket in his hand, he moved back to the living room, rounding behind his mother’s chair as he gently placed the cover against her. She was still snoring, some of them morphing into snorts. He honestly did try to contain his giggling, but most of it slipped out. To try and lessen the ache in her neck she was bound to wake up with tomorrow, he lastly righted her position.

The upbeat music coming from the tv began again, letting Arthur know his favourite show had returned. Hurried, his lips pressed up against his sleeping mother’s forehead before returning back to his spot in front of the tube.

“Welcome back, everyone! If you’re just tuning in, we have the lovely (Y/n) with us.”

For what was probably the 100th time, the crowd responded to Murray, who was sitting back at his desk, gaze set towards the camera.

“And I’ve got good news for you, kid!”

(Y/n) looked up at the host from her chair, eyebrows furrowing.

“What do you-”

Murray interrupted.

“I’ve set you up with a few clubs. We can’t let talent like yours go on without reward, it would be a disservice. On behalf of Gotham city, I think we can all agree we need some joy in these troubling times, and your presence just seems to radiate it.”

(Y/n) was evidently stunned. Suddenly, to her, some of his awful jokes had been worth it.

“This isn’t a prank, right?” she turned to the audience, eyes expanded wholly making the audience explode into chuckles. Arthur found himself joining in.

“I assure you lovely, we wouldn’t do that to ya.”

“Your first gigs gonna be at Pogo’s comedy club. And yes, although it is a comedy club, they’ve made an exception. It’s best to start small and work your way up into the bigger names.”

Arthur’s chest constricted.

He went there all the time!

He could see her perform!

Talk to her!

Finally have the chance to introduce himse-

“So what do you say, darling?” Murray piped up, his eyes giving her an encouraging glance.

Arthur leaned forward, nose about to touch the screen in anticipation.

Her hands found her cheeks as she tried to conceal the spreading heat. Even in darkness, she was convinced the crimson flush would be bright enough to light up the room. While Murray had said a few off comments here and there, things she didn’t agree with, he truly had been welcoming to her. She thought maybe, just maybe, she had been too harsh on him.

“I-I don’t know what to say?!”

Please say yes - please say yes - please say yes.

“You could say, yes?” Murray shot her a playful look.

The woman finally nodded, adrenaline and joy manipulating her quaking frame, “yes! Yes! Thank you so much!”

Arthur’s fists shook in the air, a sigh he wasn’t aware he was holding, released.

(Y/n) got up from her seat, shooting up like a rocket as she made her way behind Murray’s desk. He followed her actions and removed himself from his chair, and accepted the hug she pulled him into with a ‘whoa’.

“Well, there you have it, folks! Pogo’s, Friday night, at seven. Be there or be square!”

With a little whisper to (Y/n), she was sent off, back to the area with the microphone.

“Goodnight, tune in next time, and always remember-”

Instantly, the legendary keyboard tune started playing, and (Y/n) prepared herself to sing once more.

“-that’s life!” Arthur mimicked.

For one final performance, the camera panned away from Murray, setting on (Y/n) as the credits rolled. Arthur relished in the sound, the lyrics hitting his very soul.

That’s life (that’s life), that’s what people say

You’re riding high in April, shot down in May

But, I know I’m gonna change that tune

When I’m back on top, back on top in June

I said, that’s life, (that’s life), and as funny as it may seem

Some people get their kicks,

Stompin’ on a dream

But I don’t let it, let it get me down

Cause, this fine old world it keeps spinning around

He sunk into the numbing feeling of the lyrics, forcing himself to close his eyes. He didn’t even realise the song was nearing its end until she reached the final verse.

My, My!

With the expression of dazed euphoria, Arthur opened his eyes, watching her part from the microphone, the credits now over.

“Thank you,” was the only thing she said, her beaming expression the last thing Arthur saw.

The show ended.

Arthur, who was abandoned by the gentle, radiant hue of the cube before him, was consumed by the darkness. It dwelled within the room as the device had been switched off by his lingering hand.

He didn’t know how long he sat in silence for. His mother had finally stopped snoring.

He didn’t want to watch television; didn’t feel like it. He wanted to soak in the episode he’d just witnessed - flick through the memorable moments for the rest of the night.

He wanted to think about what he’d say to (Y/n) when he finally met her officially - he wanted it to be perfect. While the little wave she gave him days ago would have been such an insignificant action to most, it wasn’t to Arthur. It was real.

And the fact that he knew it was, reeled him in like an unsuspecting fish speeding to bait.

Well and truly, Arthur was bewitched.

The sombre air surrounding him - a mood that always seemed to cling to him - and the dim blue hue which encompassed his apartment, strangely didn’t feel so bad for once. Hell, he didn’t feel so bad for once.

With the image of her smile repeating in his head, he didn’t feel so...

Alone.

#arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #joker x reader #joker 2019 #joaquin phoenix joker #x reader #joker imagine #fanfiction series

256 notes · View notes

fracturedmotivationwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Dex goes full mama bear

TW: violence, language, mentions of abuse

Dex hadn't given a second thought to the man that followed her into Matteo and V's building. He hadn't looked particularly suspicious, and she could tell from his scent that he was part of the pack. She figured he probably lived in the building as well, given how many pack members lived in the area. Now she regretted not giving him a second thought.

Butter knife in hand, she didn't think twice about lunging forward. Mark was ready for her, however, so he easily blocked the knife before it could puncture him between the ribs. He swung back with a left hook, making Dex stumble back. Most people would be knocked out from such a hit, but that was the benefit of being a werewolf: she was able to withstand such a blow and remain conscious. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt like a b!tch. Dex winced as she moved her jaw, trying to make sure it wasn't dislocated from the hit. It wasn't dislocated, but she wouldn't be surprised if he had fractured it.

Mark didn't wait for her to hit back. He lunged forward, presumably to tackle her to the ground, but Dex was fast. She sidestepped him, using his momentum to trip him easily. Mark was quick to turn over, throwing a kick up at Dex as she tried to lunge at him, hitting her in the stomach. She felt the breath knock out of her, but as she keeled over she used the momentum to somersault away from him. She spun around on a knee just as Mark pulled himself up. She took the opportunity of the height difference to slice his thigh with the knife. As it was a butter knife, it was difficult to slice it through his skin and muscle. Dex was never more thankful for the werewolf strength. Mark howled in pain but didn't let the surprisingly deep wound stop him from grabbing Dex by the hair and yank her towards him. He landed a punch, fracturing her nose and giving her a black eye with his huge fist. Dex struggled to fight his grasp, finally stabbing him through the foot to distract him long enough to loosen his grip. She used her shoulder to push him back as she rose to her feet. She took a few steps back, breathing with great difficulty and wiping haphazardly at the blood dripping from her nose. Or maybe it was Mark's blood. She wasn't quite sure.

"You b!tch," he snarled. "You can't stop me from getting what's rightfully mine. Violetta isn't getting away from me this time."

"She isn't yours," Dex growled, her voice almost giving over to her wolf form with a real growl. "You aren't her mate. Even still, Violetta doesn't belong to anyone but herself."

Dex vaguely heard the sounds of two sets of footsteps running into the apartment and coming to an abrupt stop behind her. Given the scents, she knew it was Matteo and Frankie. Surprisingly, neither man rushed between her and Mark. Dex didn't bother glancing at them before she lunged forward again.

Mark assumed she was going to try and tackle her again, prepared to grab hold of her, and throw her to the ground. But Dex ducked at the last second, grabbing the knife sticking out of his foot and yanking it out as she spun around behind him. Mark, in his confusion, nearly tripped himself as he spun around to face her. He tried to throw another left hook, but Dex was expecting it this time. She ducked before surging forward to knee him in the stomach. She heard him grunt. She stomped her heeled boot on his injured foot, earning another howl from Mark. She used his natural urge to keel forward to push her weight against him, slamming him into the ground. She straddled him and pressed the knife against his throat, right above his jugular. She watched as a small amount of blood trickled down from the pressure. Enough to cut him, but not enough to do real damage. Not yet.

Before she could slice his throat with the ease of slicing butter, a hand landed gently on her shoulder. Dex almost growled in frustration as she turned her head up to meet Frankie's eyes. She was about to snap at him to back off, but Frankie shook his head silently with pleading eyes. Dex raised an eyebrow. Wouldn't Frankie want his sister's abuser dead? Seemingly knowing what she was thinking, Frankie nodded in the direction behind him. Dex eyes traveled behind him, understanding instantly.

Matteo had his arms wrapped around V, trying to comfort her and shield her from the sight of Dex and Mark. But V's eyes were peaking out his embrace. Dex could see the fear underneath the tears, but there was something else too. Dex couldn't quite name it. But she knew that she couldn't do this. Not without V's permission, and definitely not in front of her. With everything she'd been through, she didn't need to watch Dexter kill Mark. She didn't need the added trauma.

Dexter gave Frankie a small nod before turning back to the monster under her. She pressed the knife just a little harder as she leaned forward, forcing Mark to meet her eyes.

"I'm not going to kill you," she informed him. "You're a monster and you deserve to die, but I'm not giving you the easy way out. I want you to remember this pain for the rest of your sad, small life. Maybe then your little pea brain will realize what a terrible person you've been."

She leaned forward even more, bringing her lips next to his ear. She felt Mark struggle under her, but he stopped as she pressed the knife down a little more.

"If you ever come near V again, through, I will kill you. It'll be long and tortuous. I'll have you begging for death, and just as you think I'll give you mercy, I'll stop. I'll let you get better, and then I'll do it again. And again. And again. I'll keep repeating it until you've given up all hope on dying. And once you do that, I'll drown you. I hear it's the most painful way to go. Say something so I know you understand me."

"I understand," Mark whispered, his voice coming out raspy as he struggled to speak without letting Dex's knife do any more damage.

Dex pulled back, studying Mark's face. She found glee in the pure fear in his eyes. He'd gotten her message. He knew she wasn't lying. Dex offered him a maniac smile.

"Now, you're going to leave here, and you're never going to come back. If you ever step foot in this city, hell in this state, again, I will find you," she promised him. "Being a lone wolf sucks. I suggest finding a new pack far, far away from here. Maybe they'll allow sexist, narcissistic abusers like you."

Dex started to get up, gratefully taking the hand Frankie offered her. She knew he heard ever word, even the whispered threats she'd given Mark. There's no way he could've missed it with the werewolf hearing and standing behind her. But she was pretty certain she'd been quiet enough the V and Matteo had missed it. She hoped V missed it. She didn't want to frighten the woman more.

Just as Mark started to sit up, however, Dex placed a foot on his chest and pushed him back down. Mark looked up at her startled, and she felt Frankie bristle beside her.

"One last thing," she murmured, crouching down quickly and slamming her fist down. The knife in her hand plunged into his eye, causing Mark to scream out in pain. The noise was likely loud enough to alert all the neighbors, if the howls earlier hadn't. It sent a shiver down her spine, but Dex did her best to ignore it. She'd done much worse, but every time she heard a scream like that it still shook her to her core.

She stood, wiping the blood on her hand on her jeans. She watched as Mark curled into fetal position, holding his face around the knife as blood poured between his fingers. She hoped Matteo had some strong cleaning supplies, or a really good maid.

"All your other injuries will heal without so much as a scar. I wanted you to have a lasting reminder of this. So that maybe you won't ever treat someone like you treated V," Dex explained, stepping back and gently bumping into Frankie. "Now get out."

She watched Mark with steady eyes as he scrambled to his feet and hurried out his door. She stared at the open doorway a bit longer, waiting until she was certain he was out of the building, judging by the way his scent faded into the background. Was he was gone, she felt her body sag in exhaustion. The adrenaline drained out of her body, leaving her tired and in much more pain than she cared to admit. She had been able to ignore most of her injuries while fighting, but now she felt the effects of every hit. Mark had definitely fractured her jaw and nose, left her with a black eye, and maybe even caused some pretty bad bruising on her ribs and internal organs. Not to mention that her knuckles and joints were sore from hitting him. And she was covered in blood -- both hers and his.

Dexter swayed on her feet. She felt Frankie grab her elbow to keep her from falling. She gave him a grateful smile, receiving a worried look in return. But Frankie didn't say anything. Dex wasn't quite sure what was going through his mind, but she was secretly grateful he was silent. She wasn't sure what to say to him.

She turned towards Matteo and V, who were still holding onto each other. V's face was still full of tears, but it seemed that having her mate beside her had calmed her down a little. Or maybe the fact that Mark was gone had. Dex couldn't be sure.

Dexter stopped a couple feet away from them, looking down at her bloodied clothes before slowly raising her eyes to meet V's. Dex suddenly felt ashamed for taking things so far. She fiddled with the rings on her fingers, making a mental note to carefully clean the blood from them later.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that, V," Dex started softly. "But I don't regret doing it. No one gets to harm my family and get away with it. Maybe I shouldn't have taken it so far, but Mark deserved to feel the pain he caused you."

V took a step forward, out of Matteo's embrace. Her mate watched her with careful eyes as she approached Dex. Dex watched her with a frightened look. V stopped just before her, seemingly hesitating as she eyed Dex's bruised and bloodied form.

"Dex, please go home" she started softly, making Dex's heart clench in fear. V hated her. Dex had taken things too far and now V wanted nothing to do with her. Dex had lost someone who felt like a sister, and now she was going to have to leave the pack. Leave her family. Leave her mate.

"And shower so I can give you the biggest hug ever."

Dex stared at V blankly for a moment. Shower? Hug? V didn't-

Dex let out a tiny laugh, smiling widely at the woman before her as she realized that V didn't hate her. V was grateful for Dex's actions. She wanted to hug her. Dex gently nodded, agreeing to do just that.

"I'm glad you're safe," V added. "Thank you for defending me."

"Anytime, Violetta," Dex promised, her voice a little more solemn than the happy moment dictated. "Anytime."

#mafia mates #dex goes full mama bear #trigger warning #tw: violence #tw: mentions of abuse #tw: language

3 notes · View notes

daisyjohnsonquake · 4 years ago

Text

Recruits

Alya Fitzsimmons grumbled as she stomped out of her SO’s office. She hated having all of the male recruits think that she was defenseless and then the bratty females would glare at her as if that was her fault. She had said the same to Alora, but she had kept her decision. “Why do I need to do this”, she murmured thinking back to their earlier conversation.

A few minutes ago

Alya walked into her SO’s office and flashed a smile at her clearly wondering why she was there. Alora smiled at her, “Alora, great you’re here. I have a job for you.”

“A job?” Alya looked worried, “You didn’t kill anyone did you? Because I’m not hiding the body.” Alora laughed in amusement.

“No don’t worry I didn’t kill anyone yet. But you need to train the new recruits.” Alya quickly lost the smile on her face, as she started to sputter out excuses.

“But Alora, you know that they always hate me. Please let anyone else take the job.” Alora held a hand up and Alya quickly stopped talking. Alora may have been her best friend but she was also her superior and Alya had to listen to her.

“Look Alya, there’s this girl, she has potential. And a lot of it. But the males will never let her advance and the females are a bunch of Barbie dolls. I wanted a female instructor to take the job to prove to the sexist idiots that you can be better than them. Now tell me Agent Fitzsimmons can you do that?” Alya had quickly agreed and walked out of the room.

She was startled out of her thoughts as she crashed into someone. She raised her head only to be met with a pair of olive green eyes. She blushed as she looked at the very handsome face of Owen Shaw. ”Owen, hi. I didn’t see you.” He smiled softly at her,

“No harm, no foul. So where are you heading?” he said falling into step with her.

“I’m going to train the moron, sexist, and cheerleader recruits,” she said with false cheer, “what about you?” He sighed,

“Nothing really, I’m banned from missions until my partner comes back. Apparently without her I’m useless and volatile as well as reckless. So as of now I am wandering around without a purpose. Can I come with you?”

Alya sent him a fond smile she knew she wouldn’t be able to resist that damn pout on his face. “Sure. The recruits are pretty pathetic except for these twin boys and this one girl. Alora sent me because she needs someone to encourage her and show that she can kick their asses whenever they hell they want to.” He hummed a noise of approval. For some time they both walked in silence taking comfort from each other’s presence, a few steps outside of the gym Owen broke the silence,

“Alya, I was wondering if you would like to have lunch with me the day after tomorrow, my sister wants to meet you.”

“I would love to. Now come it’s time for me to kick some sexist ass.” She walked into the room and immediately all the chattering went down. She looked around the room to see most of the men looking at her and quite obviously undressing her with their eyes, there were women wearing push up bras and with faces caked with foundation that would soon be running due to the sweat. Near the corner of the room there were three people, two identical boys with stylish brown hair and honey eyes. They looked identical and were obviously the twins Adrian and Matthew Jones. Next to them was a pale girl with dark hair and amber eyes and Russian features, Lelyah Lebedev. All of this happened in a moment and she quickly turned to the rest of the recruits, only to find that they were now looking at Owen. She sighed in annoyance and whistled loudly making Owen who was next to her wince. “Listen up.” she called out, “I’m Agent Alya Fitzimmons. I have clearance Level 7 and I will be testing you today.”

All of them looked at her in disbelief but she saw that Lelyah and the twins were smirking. A man stepped forward he would have been incredibly handsome if not for his incredibly crooked nose. It looked as if someone had twisted and turned it. She remembered reading that Lelyah had put it there. “How can you teach us? You’re just a woman?” She felt Owen tense behind her and she shot him a look indicating that she could fight her own battles. She noticed Lelyah scowling. Alya brushed aside strands of blond hair from her face as she ignored the asshole. “First were going to run a few laps then each of you will need to try to beat me in a fight. If you hold out for longer than five minutes you pass, if you beat me, well you might just become the next Agent Romanoff. Now you need to run for 15 minutes. Go.” They all stood in their places staring at her except for the trio who were already running. Owen looked confused,

“Are you all deaf?” He didn’t even sound as if he was trying to offend them, he sounded genuinely curious. The same man who spoke before stepped forward, “How can she teach us? She’s just a woman, she would never be able to beat us, and can’t you teach us?” Owen raised his eyebrows, and spoke,

“I’m not allowed to do anything till my partner comes back. She keeps me in line.” The recruits looked at each other before running to the track, as they ran Alya couldn’t help but eavesdrop on their conversations.

“How could she ever teach us? She wouldn’t even be able to run a few laps.”

“Totally man. At least it’ll be easy for us.”

“Did you see that ass? She could be a model.”

“She might be able to beat that Russian freak.”

“I heard she was a part of the KGB.”

“Me too dude, I doubt it’s true. She’s too weak.”

Alya growled in frustration, and called out, “More running less talking. Cadets Jones and Lebedev, keep it up.” Mr. If only my nose was perfect scowled obviously angry due to the fact that Lelyah had done better than them.

As the running came to an end she whistled loudly and they all came to her. “Alright, I’ll read your names and you need to assemble in a line. Whoever is first will fight against me. You know all the rules. Breaking any of them will result in your suspension. Do I make myself clear?” She rolled her eyes at the silence that was rolling through the gym, “Do I make myself clear?” She asked again.

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Good now first is Hugo Adams.” Once again Mr If only my nose was perfect stepped forward,

“That would be me gorgeous.” She ignored him and finished calling out the names finishing with Lelyah Lebedev. When she looked up she saw Hugo step forward. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll go easy on you.” He said cockily. She smirked thinking of what the result would be. She nodded at Owen indicating that he could start the countdown.

“One, two, three, Go!” She stood still as Hugo leapt at her and dodged right before he could hit her face so he fell to the ground she continued dodging until someone called out, “Really sweetheart? You can’t even punch?” She quickly punched Hugo and he crumpled to the ground and didn’t get up, she looked at Owen for the time.

“2 minutes 3 seconds.”

The fights went on and every person lost except for the twins who held out for 6 minutes and Lelyah, who had the same Russian training as the black widow, beat her. Before she quickly stopped them and spoke,

“SHIELD has always believed in strong heroes. It doesn’t matter if they are men or women, young or old, black or white. A hero comes from within, a hero will rise up.”

With that she walked out of the room, with Owen behind her. He slipped his arm around her waist, “You did good”

“I know”

Ps. Quote by Jeph Loeb- Marvel has always believed in strong heroes. It doesn’t matter if they are men or women, young or old, black or white. A hero comes from within, a hero will rise up

#alya fitzsimmons #alya fitz #owen shaw #equality #female empowerment #agents of shield #aos #marvel #the full circle #kicking ass #womenempowerment #Agent of SHIELD #marvels agents of SHIELD

4 notes · View notes

someonefantastic · 4 years ago

Text

I Think I need a Doctor

Fun fact, I started this whole month out with a mini bucket list and this fic was one of two things on there. I really wanted to do some Karen whump since she is so underrated and this idea spawned during a convo about Deez Nups with the psych discord. It's a little different from my usual but I hope y'all enjoy it nonetheless! Summary: Fun fact, I started this whole month out with a mini bucket list and this fic was one of two things on there. I really wanted to do some Karen whump since she is so underrated and this idea spawned during a convo about Deez Nups with the psych discord. It's a little different from my usual but I hope y'all enjoy it nonetheless! Warnings: hospitals, miscarriage, nausea, blood also on ao3 (recommended cause this gets long) ___ Karen sighed. The women’s restroom in the police department wasn’t the most ideal place but it had been an extremely long day and she needed answers. All week she had been feeling tired and nauseous- frankly, she would have chalked it up to sickness but then she remembered that she had also missed her period which caused her thoughts to go elsewhere.

That was at 8 am and since then, she had been called down to a murder scene, the victim turned out to be an old police chief, had to deal with two ex-cops butting heads with her consultants, and comfort her detective after some sexist remarks. So she shoved the thought to the back of her head- or at least tried to. But the curiosity remained growing bit by bit. Eventually, the anticipation became too great and she had used much of her break running to the drug store and waiting in the women’s restroom.

Glancing at her watch for what felt like the millionth time, she took a deep breath noting that the three minutes were finally up. Her hands shook as she picked up the small piece of plastic, stilling herself for what answers it might hold. Her eyes widened as she saw the results.

Two clear pink lines.

She was pregnant.

Naturally, she’d have to confirm it with a doctor first but judging by all of her other symptoms, she was pretty sure it was true.

Leaning heavily against the stall door, reality started to sink in. A smile began to spread across her face, her breath coming out in huffy laughter.

“Holy crap, I’m pregnant.” She breathed, staring at the results, her heart beating rapidly. Her smile had turned into a full out grin, joy rising in her chest. She and Richard hadn’t exactly been trying but they weren’t being safe either. They had always wanted another kid but due to both of their ages, had never really thought it would happen. But now…

She resisted the urge to jump up and down. She couldn’t wait to tell Richard. ___ Walking through the front door, she barely paused to throw her keys in the bowl and shed her heels before seeking out her husband. She found him tucking Iris into bed and paused in the doorway to watch them. He was reading the four-year-old a story- If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, her favorite- but the peaceful atmosphere was short-lived as her daughter saw her.

“Mommy!” She yelled, reaching out with grabby hands and Karen smiled, pushing off of the doorway to sit on her bed beside her.

“Hello sweetheart, I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Isokay.” Iris shrugged before giving her a gap-tooth smile. “Did you catch any bad guys?”

“Tons of them.” She leaned forward, placing a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “Did you have fun with daddy?”

“Mhmm,” She nodded vigorously, “We went to the park and had hot dogs and I fell off the swings!”

Karen raised an eyebrow at her husband who smiled sheepishly, “It was just a small fall, she’s okay.”

“I got a Wonder Woman bandaid, wanna see?” Karen didn’t have time to blink before the covers were pushed back and her pajama pants leg was rolled up, revealing a red bandaid on her knee. “Can you kiss it better?”

After exchanging amused looks with Richard, she bent down, pressing her lips against the wound. “There… all better.”

“Thank you,” Iris beamed, settling back into bed. “You can read more daddy.”

Richard laughed, “Sure thing pumpkin.”

After two more books- because of course, Iris needed her mom to read also- she and Richard gave their daughter one last kiss. Bidding their goodnights, they shut the door a little behind them, finally alone. Karen was suddenly very aware of just how nervous she was. It was big, life-changing news and while she was excited, it still made her stomach clench with anticipation and anxiety.

They made their way into the bedroom, out of earshot of their little one, before Richard turned around, arms crossed as he leaned casually against the bed. “So, how was work, really? I mean, obviously, you had to work late.”

“Yeah,” She sighed, shedding her suit coat and tossing it in the hamper. “An ex-police chief got murdered and now he’s suspected of laundering drugs. You can imagine the kind of PR nightmare this is gonna be.”

He frowned nose wrinkling, “That does not sound fun. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, “Well hopefully our detectives and consultants come up with something.” She shook her head, giving a little wave. “But enough with work, I have something I need to tell you.” Shifting a little, she bit her lip.

Sitting up straighter, he raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on her mood. “Yeah? What?”

“Well…” She started, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the pregnancy test that had weighed heavily there for most of the afternoon. “I’m pregnant.”

His jaw dropped, eyes going wide and she thought for a brief second that he may have been upset. But his face quickly broke out into a smile, leaping off the bed and pulling her into his arms.

“Holy crap, we’re gonna have another kid.” He gasped, burying his nose into her hair.

“Yeah…” The tears of joy that had been threatening to fall all afternoon finally did fall, slipping down her cheeks to land on his shirt.

They were going to be parents again, their family was going to grow. It was amazing and wonderful and she just couldn’t wait. ___ The next few weeks were a whirlwind of babies and cases. An appointment with her doctor confirmed that yes indeed she was pregnant, putting her at about four weeks along. She half-listened to his warnings about overexerting herself since miscarriage at her age was so common but she waved away those doubts. There was no use worrying over something that hopefully wouldn’t happen.

Shortly after that, they sat Iris down and told her the news. She was elated at the idea that she was going to be a big sister almost instantly berating her parents with an onslaught of questions about the baby. For the next two weeks straight, all her drawings were of her and her brother or sister.

As for her and Richard, they were thriving. They both decided to not tell any of their coworkers or extended family until the second trimester, not wanting to get any of their hopes up in the off chance that something went wrong. But they didn’t have any fear. Keeping the knowledge just to their little family made the whole experience feel more intimate. Sure they did have a few slips ups- especially since Iris couldn’t keep a secret- and she noticed her detectives giving her a few odd looks every now and again, particularly when she left early for a doctor’s appointment- but for the most part, the knowledge stayed between the three of them.

Between pulling Iris’ old baby stuff out of the attic, taking vitamins, working, and getting morning sickness, it felt like Karen’s life had gone to a new level of crazy. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t love it. The idea of having another baby was exciting and fun and caused her to seek Richard out and steal a kiss or two on several occasions. Of course, some days weren’t as great, like when she’d feel sick all day or wouldn’t get home until late or Richard had to travel for work, but regardless, she was still happy.

Truth be told though, she barely had enough time to focus on the baby or any preparations due to her job. It seemed like lately the crazies were just getting crazier. Not only did she have to deal with a hostage situation- on a boat of all things- two convicts wound up escaping, launching a manhunt. Then after that, there was a serial killer who was picking off people from a liver donation list, her consultants started acting weird, and somehow they wound up implicated in aiding an enemy agent. Of course, the Feds had to be called in which was a nightmare in of itself, and then her detective asked for two weeks off- which she was more than happy to give to her considering everything O’Hara had been through as of late- which was shortly followed by a retraction and a request to aid her partner in extraditing a convinced criminal back to the states.

So to say life was crazy may have been an understatement. It was downright insane.

On top of all of that, she had started feeling worse and worse and she worried for her unborn baby, fearing that getting sick could cause problems. But, luckily, she had a rare Saturday off and she was insistent on using it to relax and spend time with her daughter and husband.

And she did exactly that.

Sitting outside in the warm fall Santa Barbara air, she smiled, watching Iris run around the yard. Her daughter was playing her new favorite game, doggy princess, which basically was her running around and doing dog-like things. Laughing, Karen sent a content smile at her husband who exchanged the look and reached out a hand to cover hers.

“I can’t wait for Iris to have a sibling.” He squeezed her hand and her smile grew.

She glanced down, her hand rested on her stomach, fingers brushing the very small bump. “Me too, it’ll be good for her to have a playmate.”

He hummed in agreement, picking up her hand to press his lips against it. “I love you, dear.”

“I love you too.”

Turning back to their daughter, she frowned as her stomach clenched for what felt like the hundredth time that day. She had felt crampy pretty much all morning and well into the afternoon but had shaken it off. She worried that it would turn into morning sickness- after all, it had been a few days since she last got sick and she wasn’t looking forward to that again. She was never one to feed into her worries though and figured that if it continued into the next day, then she would call her doctor.

She turned her head, looking at her husband through tired eyes and he frowned. “Still feeling bad?”

She nodded lazily, “I guess I forgot how much being pregnant can suck sometimes.”

He gave a short laugh, leaning forward to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’ll all be worth it though.”

“You bet your butt it will.”

She closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her. She wasn’t planning on taking a nap- after all a four-year-old made that particularly difficult- but resting her eyes seemed like a good idea. With a sigh, she relaxed, letting her stress and worry ease away.

She didn’t get very far into her quiet time before she felt a warm wetness between her legs. Groaning, she stood up and started walking towards the house.

“Where are you going?” Richard asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I think I wet myself.” When his eyes widened, she rolled hers. “Remember? It happened all the time when I was pregnant with Iris. It’s just my luck that it’d happen with this one too.”

He frowned, “I’m sorry darling.”

“It’s fine,” She shrugged, “I’ll meet you inside for snack time?”

“Of course.”

She sighed again as she headed into the living room and snagged a clean pair of underwear from the laundry basket- thankful for once that she put off doing chores. Wandering into the downstairs bathroom, she stripped out of her pants and peeled back her panties, blood running cold. They were stained with a dark red.

She quickly changed, hands moving of their own accord as her mind raced. Exiting the bathroom, she made wide-eyed contact with her husband who paused his trek into the kitchen, picking up on her distress.

“What’s wrong?”

Swallowing heavily, her hands gripped the doorframe, knuckles turning white. “I think I need a doctor.” ___ The wait in the ER had been quick- only lasting about ten minutes- but to Karen, time crawled by. Waiting for the test results was even worse, the nurse had hastily taken blood, asked a few questions, then rushed off. Iris had been dropped off at her nephew’s house with little explanation which left the two of them to their thoughts and worries.

She wrung her hands, a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. It felt weird sitting on a hospital bed, after all the last time she had been in the hospital was when Iris was born and those memories did little to quell her nerves. Richard stood behind her, hands working her shoulders and she was grateful for his presence. If he had been on a business trip… she shook her head, now wasn’t the time for what-ifs.

“It’ll be okay.” She heard him say, though she wasn’t sure if it was to her or himself.

She didn’t have the heart to reply nor did she need to as a knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” Richard called and a doctor walked in, holding a clipboard close to his chest.

“Chief Vick, Mr. Vick,” He greeted with a nod of his head. “My name is Dr. Phillips, I’m sorry for the wait.”

“It’s okay,” She replied, “Thank you for seeing us so quickly.”

“Well with something so-” He waved his free hand, “Serious, we wanted to get you in fast.”

Her stomach clenched. “Serious?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes. I’m terribly sorry for this news but your blood work- and symptoms described- indicated that you’re having a miscarriage.”

Even though she had her suspicions, the words still hit her hard, knocking the air from her lungs. Her blood ran cold and she felt like she might throw up. Their child- the kid that they had been so excited about- was gone.

“In addition to your miscarriage,” He continued and she glanced up, barely registering his words, “Due to your age, I’m afraid you won’t be able to have any more children without serious complications. I’m very sorry.”

It felt like a punch to the gut, except she had experienced those before and this was so much worse. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight. The world was falling apart around her, crashing to pieces. Her fingers found Richard’s, holding his hand as if her life depended on it- right now it felt like it did.

“Do- do you know the gender?” Richard spoke up, his voice sounding distant and shaky.

Dr. Phillips nodded, “While it’s not one-hundred percent accurate, the results of some blood tests indicate that the baby would have been a boy.”

“A boy.” He whispered, and her heart twisted again. They could have had a boy.

“I’ll give you two a few minutes.” The doctor said, though she barely registered his words.

Once he left the room, Richard climbed onto the bed, legs on either side of her, and wrapped his arms around her stomach, burning her face into her neck. She couldn’t even relax into his touch though, her body too stiff, too shocked to even move. Numbness felt all-consuming aside from the constant ache in her abdomen, stomach cramping with broken dreams- a signal that what they had longed for had officially come to an end.

She didn’t even realize she was crying until he wiped at her tears with his thumb and suddenly, all her emotions couldn’t get out fast enough. Her face crashed into her palms as sobs wracked her body. Behind her, she felt Richard tremble, his own tears beginning to fall. Her chest ached, lungs heaving as she grieved- because that’s what this really was, it was grieving. Grieving the loss of their unborn son, grieving the opportunity to have another child, grieving the joy that would have come with it.

They sobbed for what felt like hours until tears no longer fell and her cries turned to dry heaving. Her sleeves and back were wet, soaked by their combined tears but she didn’t care, too focused on the ache inside her chest. Leaning against him, she took a shuddered breath and he wrapped his arms across her chest, her hands coming up to grip his forearms.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. “I lost our baby.”

She could feel him shake his head. “Absolutely not Karen.” His voice was scratchy from unuse. “You didn’t lose anything. It happens.”

“It happened to us.” She took another shaking breath. “We were going to have a son.”

He sniffled. “I know.”

The pain increased as a thought crossed her mind, “How do we tell Iris?”

His breath hitched, “I don’t know… oh gosh this sucks so much.”

Nodding mutely, she closed her eyes, letting stray tears slip down her cheeks. “How are we going to get through this?” She mumbled.

“I don’t know,” He repeated, “but we’ll get through this together. We always do.”

Swallowing roughly, she nodded. “Thank you for being here… I love you.”

“I love you too. For better or for worse remember?”

“For better or for worse.” She echoed. ___ Two years later and the pain had faded, though not completely. Some days seeing mothers with new babies or families with lots of kids brought her back to that hospital- to pouring her emotions out on that bed and feeling that pain. But time had gone by, Iris was 6 now having recently started first grade, she was still chief and loving it. Life was still moving forward, and definitely for the better.

Her head detective was getting married and she sat in a dressing room, watching his bride-to-be get ready for her big day. She talked about how excited she was to be marrying him and Karen smiled, reflecting on her own wedding day all those years ago. She knew first hand that marriage had its ups and downs and she didn’t hesitate to tell the woman exactly that- about her occasional dreams of running away to the South of France, about Richard’s failed attempts to make eggs florentine or how he knew exactly what she needed on a stressful day. Her heart twisted and she yearned to tell them all about her miscarriage, that even in the hard times, it would all be worth it but she stopped, knowing that now wasn’t the time.

Instead, she began talking about what might have been. About her dreams of Richard being there for the birth of their child- about their son. “Oh, or that day when he walks into your hospital room holding your newborn son, and he will lay him gently on your chest, and he tells you that you look beautiful, even though you know you look like hell frozen over…” They chuckled and she smiled fondly, “And it all will be worth it.”

The moment was cut short as the maid of honor began complaining about her parole officer but she didn’t mind, jumping on the opportunity to help out- and thankful for the distraction. And later, when her detective cornered her, asking about why she said son when Iris exists, she didn’t hesitate to share what happened, reminding her that all relationships had pain but often the pain was worth it.

Watching her detectives dance and party, she smiled. Yes, she didn’t get to have more kids but her family wasn’t small. While the pain was still there, there was also hope. She had found her family and while it was unconventional, she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

#whumptober2020 #no. 29 #i think i need a doctor #emergency room #psych #karen vick #chief vick #richard vick #iris vick #hospitals tw #miscarriage tw #blood tw #nausea tw #fanfic #psych fanfic #skipps writes

2 notes · View notes