#the idea of having a love so vast and boundless and aching within you that it brings you back from the dead

[sentientsky]

help

[recallingrealities]

Aligned - Chapter 8 (Zelda x Reader - NSFW)

For Chapter 1, click (here) 

Chapter 8:  Singe

When you and Zelda had enjoyed that moonlit night together - the memory felt full and quiet, spilling with magnetic attraction - it resonated between your bodies. Vibrant and vibrating; what magic had originally felt like to you, in the way you had sensed limitless as a child.

 It felt so much thicker, more vast. Beyond possible comprehension without entering it completely. This awareness arose, that you yourself: searching, identifying the electricity building between young minds as their thoughts connected across your classroom, in minutes during introductory lecture. Their identification of concepts known yet unknown, in that indescribable sensation of the everchanging present that you so adored finding recognition in.

You had not expected most of your nights to follow in this way. After the rendezvous in your office, you would have expected nearly the opposite from Zelda. Perhaps you were assuming she'd be one to hold her distance in winsome glances towards you. That the two of you would stare, amongst the witnessing presence of your Coven. Aloof, as so many things were, entranced in their community of magic. Yet, she and you, had grown in intimacy. Across the halls, past shoulders and nods, beckoned in silence for more from her. Things were shifting. You had adjusted to read her, with the way she held her stoic composure, experiencing her words, and her thoughts unspoken. 

You were sculpting in new habits of your nights proceeding dinner - in spending your evenings together. Consumed by the time that would pass, you would make your way back towards your study, and she towards her own. Moving like your life depended on the coolness of your collected composure, the stillness you felt it setting, cooling and settling between your muscles and with each and every aching step. You had to allow the excitement to shiver in bliss within your muscles fibers, awakening you rush of happiness. Otherwise you were sure you’d tremble in anticipation, unable to get much of anywhere with an aching center and a driven, heating need. It felt like the inevitable was drawing closed like the heavy velvet curtains drawn at every window when the sun held betwixt the air and  Earth. This anticipated, simple action, came swift and known in its proper unspoken timing.

 The woman would wait exactly thirty three minutes before teleporting to your door. Rather than appearing inside. She found profound pleasure in the formality of knocking - as if it was merely an excuse to cease your breath with her entrance - as it never failed to do so.

You never spoke directly about your night of passion, but the two of you would play with it, in quiet fleeting references. In toying words or the craning shapes of her body language, she would play upon it. Even in the way she would eye over your face, then hands; when sending hot embers scoring the brim of the ashtray - your skin, with her heated and wildfiring, passionate bond. It was as if she knew it erupted you in goosebumps, the ashes reflecting visions of her hot kisses charring your flesh. She would send you a smirk or a knowing look, as her hand brushed against your leg - your trembles, as if she knew it would blur you between a vision and the presently jarring reality. It made you feel… drunk. It was as if the hunt was what pleased her especially. Knowing full well you were practically hers, wading in silent bated breaths - to be caught in grip of her jaws once more. 

Tonight, that specific thought felt prolific, like foresight, but you never took stock in assuming. Assumption would be the bane of anyone's true knowing.

 You had taken up in advising the Directrix in her personal journey towards the Goddess. It felt humbling. What an honor, and to some, a bafflement that a young woman and such new member such as Y/N being illicitly chosen to advising the High Priestess, at her personal request, for guided practice.

There were ways in sculpting her that you knew would be more useful. To help her build the relationship on her own. It felt like you had done this a thousand times with yourself. In the beginning, constantly feeling yourself waver in and out of connection with the Goddess. It had only been when you realized you were the one that had lost touch, disconnected from such an eternal internally expanded force, that you felt you could reach her in an instant, as if nothing had ever happened. Nothing has been disconnected or out of reach or place at all. This was when you had felt, what you could now detect as, unconditional love, for the very first time. A love that had never left you, or stung with resentment. In a force far greater than the collection of everything, and everything in between it.

When Zelda had asked you, she had no idea where to start. She had confided in you the vulnerable expectancy of her role, but that it was not that which had urged her to ask you. It was her own sense of yearning for Lilith, for Hecate - Astarte, Inanna, Ceridwen, and the rest of the Goddess in wholeness. She was raised to expect Lucifer to present himself to her. To wait and become whatever he wanted for task or pleasure. To know her and be known in return felt ineffable. She would have never thought in her lifetime that she would move humbly towards an entity, in hopes to understand an ancient force such as the Goddess, or source of life, and existence, a boundless Source. In magic. Let alone the option; to know her personally, as a friend and confidant and living love. Zelda was beginning to see in your lessons that the Goddess, Source, was a hidden face in every tiding. A piece in everything no matter her form. The pieces in shatters always fit, the web weaved in perfect collection of all of it. 

The coven was in fact, indebted to Hecate - but Zelda's yearning to thank her entirety, beckoned, and called to her very core. 

There had been none other that came to mind, to be better in guiding her than you. You felt blessed, remembering the Goddess's words that all was as in alignment. All was as it should be - in your choosing to embrace it.

A silent shiver courses through your shifting body. You had instructed Zelda to begin writing, whatever so moved her or felt intuitively natural. You urged her to write whether it made sense in the moment, or not - wherever the inclination came from. That her intuition was a tie, and if she came to trust it, she would come to realize that her ability to commune to the Goddess was just that, listening. In choosing to embrace it.

 The redhead was already capable of prayer. It was the learning to listen that was the ticket for anyone's mastery. Of course, it can feel strange praying or writing to someone, something you do not feel you know. You suggested she write anything, even words in random that arose in her intuition - and that by writing them, she could dedicate whatever the product, to Hecate, despite satisfaction, for this was doubt. That an offering in genuineness, there could be none greater. You had explained that this was the intended act of honoring your experience: that in releasing control to the Goddess, whatever would come of it would be Aligned. Not only that, it was another form of offering - something much less conventional than the blood of a virgin or soul of the unborn. If there was anything Zelda had known about Lilith, it was her keenness for the unconventional. Something personal to this version of her, that she connected, she could resonate as personal. An attribute Zelda had become pleasantly familiar with, in her time knowing her.

She confessed, sacrifice hadn't been like that in Satanic witchcraft. This didn't require blood, or pain, or sacred items. It felt unsettling. It only required the intention that it was for her.

 "A Goddess who believes that all we desire on our own, is truly what she desires for us". 

This was a level of worthiness Y/N had mentioned recurrently, without the confession of your breathtaking awakening in the forest a few steps away - before sharing with the woman. You explained that you felt no human or witch knew how to handle such a concept, until now.

"How do you even begin to talk to someone like that..?" 

Zelda confessed one evening, bewildered that such a Deity or concept, in selflessness could exist.

 "I’ve learned that it's as much about talking - as it is about listening.

It is perfectly valid to begin with ‘I’m not sure what to say…’ and to let your thoughts flow in honesty from there. If you are ever unsure, take the time to listen. Take the point in pen hitting paper to release even the blotting smear of ink from the pen. It is the concept that you are consciously there in her presence”.

The silence seemed to stir those embers like before, except rather than in you, in herself. 

"It is within all of us" 

You comforted her, before returning her to the task of writing, the warm glow of your heat embering with the soft confident brush of your index against her forearm.

It was now, like many nights, that you read through the entries of her journal alongside her. You had insisted the first time, that you need not read it in order for it to be a valid sacrifice to the Goddess - but she had insisted in sharing the strangeness of the exploration with you. You found her words to be beautiful. Her handwriting, as smooth and sweeping, and divine as the way she entered each room and stole each gaze. Her words were unexpected, beautifully honest, and vulnerable. Shaken like the trembles responding to her voice and will. It was in reading her dedications, that you felt for the first time, your heart pang in adoring admiration, for anyone aside from Source herself.

Tonight as you were reading, as you had forsought - her lips met your heartbeats in the nape of your craning neck. You had grown so lost in her words that the impact of her warm flesh had startled you - like a snapping twig in the silent wood outside the Academy's grounds. Your body trembles like layered leaves, interrupted by her gust of wind, lifting up and guiding your movement towards her figure. You feel yourself sway and mark the page with your index as her fingers now clasped your cheek, leaning into it as the tides lean towards the moon. Natural. Surrender. You feel it deep within you and remember that by embracing your experience, as the Goddess had prompted you before, was a way you could honor both her and yourself, in utter pleasure… and desire.

"Z- elda…" you swallow breathlessly, not wanting her to stop as your heart flutters helplessly in your throat. You witness your tangled muscles relaxing at her touch, as your voice returns faltering at the preface of your lips "these entries are stunning"

The redhead lifts her mouth towards your ear, and the tenderness of your flesh shivers beneath it with careful urgency.

"As are you, little seer"

You feel your hands lift the book towards your desk, before releasing it on its surface to turn yourself quickly towards her. Your heart patters in racing tandem to the sudden burst of rain tapping rhythmically at your windows pane.

You turn yourself to face her before meeting your hands to hers, resting on your cheeks before pulling her into a swelling kiss. The way her hips press against you, brings you to sudden awareness of the natural rhythm in the way you moved together. The braiding together of instances in harmony, the progression of the prior lessons collecting towards this very  moment, in apex - like the building of each rain cloud, erupting in release over Greendale.

 You turn, she moves. You press, she shifts. It was as if every movement was as synchronized as the pendulum on the grandfather clock, well tuned and cadenced in its natural precession. The goosebumps you had felt before were now spread across your entire form as your body shivered against her touch. The collecting swells of the raindrops met as the touch of her palm. One of her hands immediately shifts to support the small of your back, which trembles and softens against it. The base of her palm meets your flesh, gentle, yet firm, warm and reassuring as she slips effortlessly beneath your blouse. Taking you in another breathless kiss. Her lips part, to allow her tongue to request meeting your craven taste on her pallet. It was clear to you more than ever, that she had wanted you. This every moment she spent with you beneath her gaze had been that of undeniable desire, and building pressure. 'Of…. course', you think to yourself, but in just the manners of her movement, you now know for certain.

"I think that's enough lessons for tonight" 

Zelda's voice mulls softly, as her words feed into the vibration building at your teeth. You can't help but moan as your lips meet her shoulder in nipping, mewing desperation. Your hands pull needingly to have her closer to you, your whimpers in guiding gasps before your palms meet her breasts, clasping with a secured certainty that the trembling had seemed to release. Beckoning, your lips whisper a few words against her skin before she suddenly falls deep into your bed. The mix of desire between you both teleports you without notice to the safety of your quarters. The weight of your push and the sudden shift in location knocking her off her feet into the pillowing plush of crushed velvet. You climb it's preface, drifting to straddle on top of her, far more forward than encounters before. You press your lips to the seam of her blouse, aching her to remove it in the swiftness of her own enthralled passion. Seeing her sprawled across your bed, shifts a knowing in you. Your heartbeats together panged in your ears, your jaw guided in hungry kisses to meet her accented collar bones. Their beauty is like porcelain sweeping to meet her sculpted breasts. Her breaths rising and falling erratically, draw you closer into the nest of her arms. Pulling your weight towards her, you feel your legs tangle, aligned with the meeting and sharp pressure of your clits connecting. 

The shock.

 The connection is prevalent, like lighting's fire - tangible in the release of her harmonious moans linking with your own. Your desire so tangible, Zelda can hardly feel embarrassed with the rouge rising in her face. Her hands pull you close towards her hips, urging you to grind against her and provide little relief towards your building passion. Your kisses begin to grow as they travel across, and down each breast. Your hungering wetness, dampening her skin. With your breathless moans tracing her - Zelda is caught completely off guard and vulnerable the moment your soft lips draw, to bite her. Her pale breast purpling beneath your sucking lips, she gasped, in delicious ecstasy. The gorgeous yearning that devours her, tearing at the peak of her need for you. Zelda's skin rippled in goosebumps as her exposed abdomen tightens, a smirk attending to your hunger's liking. You find yourself growing far more exposed and domineering with her than ever before - and you can tell how completely off guard she has become, finding herself whimpering against your confident smirk. 

What a shift.

You had never imagined you'd hear her whimper. The woman who seduced you with growing need, using just her eyes to send electricity through you, was beginning to tremble. Her fingers gripping your back, your teeth assist in removing and unclasping her lace bralette. Nothing with her was as you'd expected, you find yourself even more satisfied with the result unfurling before your eyes, her breasts spilling over, gaze hungering and desperate for your thighs movements up to grind against her precious heat.

Abridged and supported by her crying, frustrated moans, you remove her bra with a keenness, causing it to flutter against the dresser's surface, across the room from the two of you. The mirror reflecting your candlit bodies, she unzips the back of your dress, your swift, defiant movements pulling her delicate fingers away from the zipper as your lips take her breast in peaking proposal. Your tongue flits her nipple, the warm dampness of your tongue beckoning her to arch against it, as you take her sweet flesh into the hold of your mouth. Suckling in pleasurable hunger, your thigh draws down her covered core with gruesome, fracturing friction. You find the lace of her panties fits in perfect contrast to the soft ageless touch of your skin against her. The firm pressure in contrast to the delicate flesh that scathed her form, drawing her breaths inward - her energy enveloping you in gorgeous enthrall to pull you as close to her as your bodies can bare. You shift your mouth in time with her breaths, drawing inward towards the honest wetness of her fabric, closing in on her. 

It is only then, that you pause for a brief moment to touch her thigh, your breath warm and tangible against her, your l fingertips, tweaking her nipple, sucking deeper to pull her breasts fullness towards your mouth. Her gasping moans echo your chambers as if they had longed to reverberate her sound.

The pleasure you feel in unbelievable, your own heat gasping in needing waves as you grind just as needily against the mattress in return to the response of her bucking mound.

It is then, that she flips you, your lips a moment away from capturing her craving heat. You are shocked, by the power burning within her. Her eyes are sharp and daggering, your dress splitting open as she lifts your hips to plunge her fingers into your dripping cunt. Dazed, your mouth trembles - unable to utter the "FUCK"  sitting gutteral in your throat, her firm graising thumb streaking from your entrance to your clitoris. Her fingers spread then curl inside you, before her free hand grounds firmly next to your ear. You can feel your waves of panting met only by the slapping wetness of her palm at your core, her curling fingers pushing you quickly towards a blistering climax. 'So… soon…' you think, contracting her cunt against the pressure of her relentless fingers. It is now that your eyes meet hers, her needing eyes connecting to a depth within you never searched. The moans spilling from your lips in tongues unfamiliar. Your desperate hands grip the sheets and wrist at your crown, grinding back in restless tides. Your jaw tightens with baited breath, using everything in you not to come immediately. It is then that gloss covers your sweet dark eyes, erupting you in waves of pleasure as you spill out uncontrollably across her fingers. 

Zelda licks her lips, pleased, and surprised at your body's response, slowing her thrusts to meet her upper lip to your bud, sliding her tongue between her digits inside, to taste you.

Her moan is earth shattering. The way it echoes up inside you enough to make you burn with intensity, in sensuous waves as your hips meet her to ride out your orgasm.

[exilevilifyrp]

Congratulations JJ, you have been accepted for the role of ROBYN KANE with the face claim CHLOE BENNET! This was an incredibly difficult decision for us, but JJ, the tone of your Robyn is what ultimately won us over. It is so perfect to what we had in mind when we wrote her. And not to mention the details of worldbuilding and of Robyn’s life poured throughout--do I dare say your application is perfect? Congratulations! We are so happy to have you. 

Make sure to check out our checklist and send us your blog within 24 hours!

THE AUTHOR BASIC INFO: JJ, 21, they/them/theirs

IN CHARACTER CHARACTER YOU’RE APPLYING FOR: Robyn Kane AGE AND GENDER IDENTIFICATION: 27, intersex + female identifying, she/her/hers GENESIS: Organic SPECIAL SKILLS: Cleaning, Climbing, Parkour, Spatial Memory & Analysis. FACE CLAIM: Chloe Bennet, Karen Fukuhara, Stella Maeve

IN DEPTH

ANALYSIS: I think rose-colored and strong of heart define Robyn best!

STRENGTHS:

COURAGEOUS: No person is fearless, as much as everyone would like to be. In general, Robyn demonstrates less aversion to physical threats than the average person, though this change wasn’t made overnight. What differentiates her from most is her drive to work and overcome - another meter, another dive into the deep. If doing the right thing means jumping headfirst into something that terrifies her, she’s likely to steel herself down and move forward. Her heart had always been stronger than the forces that palpitate it, and willpower alone often allows her to stay upright.

HARD-WORKING: Bruised hands, aching legs, and rows of sparkling fifty-floor buildings always meant Robyn could go home with her chin held high. Slacking Wash Captains were met with veiled slights and ignored words in conversation, and she, as was customary for her line work, earned her seat at happy hour by shadowing superiors and helping greener kids finish their tasks without pay. Working the tough grind was always the baseline of expectation, and that’s why much of Robyn’s satisfaction stems from going above and beyond tasks, taking additional responsibility, and finding ways to make herself useful - often without being asked. She prides herself on her aptitude and ability to endure.

EMPATHETIC: Care is a landscape that, while confusing to Robyn, has always been navigated without force. Comfort comes in hand squeezed and consistent, reliable company, but sometimes she gets so overwhelmed by her fondness for others she’s left wildly distraught. In these instances, she’s often compelled to gift miscellaneous pieces of garbage - chalk…candy wrappers…useless items she compulsively passes or leaves outside someone’s door with “from Robyn” scribbled next to them. She’s not sure exactly where this habit stems from, but it’s her way of saying, “oh, you, you you! I’m so, so happy you inhabit this planet too!”

STRONG OF HEART: No matter how many times hardship strikes, Robyn always finds a way to spring back. Her heart, as with most people’s, changes shape with every rough occurrence, but she loves fearlessly and endlessly despite pain. Her hope can spring back after anything, and is characterized by boundless stamina and capacity for good. She believes fiercely in the kind potential of humanity, and even if the world isn’t as kind a place as she’d like it to be, with enough work from enough people, knows it can get there.

WINSOME: Chivalry, kindness, and relentless positivity make for a personality that, in Robyn’s case, often comes off as just the right blend of charming. Holding doors open, admitting fault, and remembering names come as second nature to her, and her zest for life comes through in starry eyes and enthusiastic nods of agreement. Sure, she’s never going to overcome people with class or genius knowledge, but she’s genuine and approachable, and sometimes, that’s all a person really needs to be.

DEVELOPMENT AREAS:

MEDDLESOME: Other people’s problems leave Robyn sleepless more often or not. She tosses above her covers when she senses even the slightest hint of conflict, turns when she sees a drop in energy in someone she cares about. She has a way of unsolicitedly inserting herself into conflicts and can become somewhat of a nuisance until they’re resolved. This becomes especially problematic when the conflict is heavy, or when she projects a problem that doesn’t exist upon people.

ROSE-COLORED: So firmly does Robyn believe in humanity’s goodness that she becomes starry-eyed in her conception of everyone’s morality. She believes even the worst can change with enough tangible support and cheerleading, though this isn’t always the case. She’s taken advantage of easily because of this, and blames herself when things go wrong. Sometimes, investing so much in people only leads to heartbreak, and for those who give chance after chance, it will time after time.

NEEDY: While somewhat capable of keeping herself up by herself, Robyn’s likely to withdraw without enough outward compliments or affection. Her lip droops, her self-esteem withers, and her outlook towards the day can become fairly morose. If she doesn’t feel useful, her motivation rapidly loses steam. Sometimes people will have to fake a problem to get her back up again, though something as simple as a dropped pen or misplaced item will often do the trick.

CORNY: Spending too much time with a fake hero can make anyone feel like they’re stuck in a bad cartoon. “Keep you chin up, hero,” “a team who cleans together, dreams together,” and “evil never wins” are only a few phrases folks who hang around Robyn tend to experience daily, and she seems blissfully unaware of her tendency towards the cliche. Sometimes, it’s hard to see past the stock imagery of her, especially as a co-worker, and this can lead to people to perceiving her as a joke or a simpleton.

SOMEWHAT OF A HUSTLER: While not always conscious of the fact, Robyn has a way of soaking up or compelling people to give her their resources. She’ll charm people into giving her a snack or buying her a drink, but the expended credits pile up before most people know. It’s good to cut her off after a while, as she’s likely to drain more than few pockets if not.

BIOGRAPHY:

TW: Guns, hospitals. blood, death

Robyn Kane dreamed of mangoes.

Sweet, sap-fleshed fruits she could describe in such vivid detail you could feel their gold-yellow dripping down your throat. They had, Atticus rationalized, been her mother’s last meal request; three mangoes, halved, (pits still in, please!) cubed at about one inch in diameter. Such a tremendous yearning this must’ve been that it found its way to her daughter, who in turn ate up washers and packing peanuts, swallowed down marbles and screws in her futile pursuit of sweetness. “Normal toddler behavior,” articles on his armlet read. “Just whack ‘em hard on the back if you see ‘em gulping away anything important.” Of course, Atticus never whacked Robyn, but the idea of normality washed relief over the father. “Still,” a voice nagged, often late, often red-eyed on the pull-out couch of their rusted apartment. “What could be said of the planets?”

Well, for one, they were huge! Vast, sweeping expanses Robyn dreamed up with forests high as the SungX building and deserts red as the setting sun. Sands that stung in sporadic blizzards. Skybirds who soared over archipelagos in triangular formations, fighting fish over seafoam, their hunger a constant, bitter pang. Such were the untrekked settings that congregated heroes to Robyn’s stories, that in turn congregated ruddy-faced factory cleaning kids, their stinking mops forgotten, around her during their glorious hour of lunch break. “Pew pew pew!” Robyn would say, her small voice teeming with life, “and then the heroes and the villains became best friends, and no one’s mom had to die, and the planets weren’t lonely for anyone, anymore. I accept tips via my dad’s credit account or in mangoes. The end.” And then, in the same tidy fashion as always, everyone would pack up and get back to scrubbing floors.

The crowds dwindled after parents caught word. Scrap metal never fell far from the ship, people said, and everyone and their android knew that Kane kid was going to turn out bad. That monster - Clemence Kane’s - child had those same foxlike eyes, lips the same raw swath of ochre…a gaze that flickered time to time with the same strange, insatiable hunger. “Stay away from that Kane kid,” workers warned, their fingers shaking, their grey uniforms all the same. Fathers cursed and flicked cigarette butts. Mothers pulled their children to the other side of the litter-caked road. And so the crowd on the back steps of nutripowder factory, which had once overflowed like steel wool from a storm cloud, shrunk to the size of one lonely droplet.

Robyn kept herself steady by looking upwards. She’d work hard, she’d be so helpful they’d all have to come around. Tears found it harder to squeeze by when her face was lifted towards the ceiling, and muscle memory kept her mouth pulled into the same sweet, little grin. At lunch, alone with her flavorless mix of powder, though, her lips would tremble - until her eyes caught sight of the strange heroes who, day in and day out, would flip and fly above her city.

Wash Captains. That’s what her dad said when she asked him. And they weren’t villain fighters - they were actually cleaners like both of them were. Still, hearing their hoots and howls as they tumbled from building to building, their washbots flocking behind them like rafts of ducklings, sent a rush up her little spine. The Captains grew into her new idols, another reason for her to dream. And every day during break, she’d make it further up the walls of her own building, brave a further jump from height to height. All until one day, she plucked up the courage to follow her heroes, trying to keep up, but finding herself slipping behind.

“Talia, you’ve got a tail!” A Captain signaled for the group to slow down. The lot of them, adults between their early twenties and late forties, decelerated to a pace that wouldn’t endanger the kid, though they did this surreptitiously enough that the twelve-year-old thought she was catching up.

“What’s your name, speedster?” The youngest one, Talia, asked.

“I’m Robyn Kane!”

“Well, you’ve got guts coming up here. I like that.” The rest of the group didn’t shiver or scowl, instead, they just shared a kind, collective laugh. “What’s good?” “Nice to meet you, Robyn,” voices chorused. And when they darted off to work on their respective building groups, Talia gestured for Robyn to follow her. She stopped at the edge of a metallic skyscraper, her washbots swarming to wipe the windows of the behemoth adjacent. From dawn until dusk, she let Robyn shadow her, explaining what a Wash Captain’s duties were, the test it to become one, and difficulties the job brought with it. Long hours, limited work lifespan, days without rest…the ability to problem solve and stay cool under pressure was paramount. But if you were the right kind of person, you’d find family here like no other. And Robyn hoped, hoped, hoped that with enough effort, when the year’s test came around, she’d be ready to join them.

Setbacks were inevitable. Sprained wrists, lack of formal training, exhaustion after back-to-back days at the factory…nothing, though, that could quite prepare her for the sickness. A flu, its origin the lungs of a machine operator, spread through the adults, then the children, then to her. Everyone and their uncle hacked up phlegm for two weeks, their faces pale green from the night sweats, though none fell quite so ill as Robyn Kane. A hospital rush led to injections, led to IV drips, led to peals of hushed conversation, led to the sound of a final lamp smashing outside her door.

“The warden promised they’d treated her!"

"The CD4 count-”

“Fuck the CD4 count!”

“Sir, can you just…”

Robyn shivered. What was her dad talking about with that doctor? Was she going to die? And what had made him so angry? Her eyes had already begun drooping shut when Atticus came back in, though, his face shaking with anger.

“What’s going on, dad?” Robyn tried to roll to face him, but he shushed her.

“You’re going to be okay, kid.” He kissed her head, sitting gently at the side of her hospital bed. Only when he thought she was asleep did a sob leave him, the sound of heartbreak, of betrayal, of an uncertain man.

In truth, the doctors weren’t sure how she’d survived so long. ARHIV - or advanced resistant human immunodeficiency virus - was livable with treatment, but going nearly thirteen years without, especially after being born with it…well, complications usually reared their heads sooner. Still, the NRTIs seemed to be lowering the viral load in her blood, and with the aid of intensive anti flu meds, her immune system managed to struggle through.

“Take your meds,” Dr. Ota said, as Robyn and her dad breathed fresh air for the first time in three weeks. “And remember, any fluids that come out of you are not to be touched by others.”

Atticus wanted Robyn to rest. She was still weak from her bout of illness, but almost a month had gone by without any exam preparation, and she wouldn’t let anything get in the way of her dream. She pushed herself to jump farther, to climb higher, to memorize every protocol in the Washbook. And when test day came, she gave it everything she got. “We’ll call,” her examiner promised, though the stern look on his face was airtight. “We’ve only got room for about three people this year, so don’t get your hopes up too high, okay, kid?” But when the buzz rang out on her armlet that evening, her hopes had already soared through the roof.

“Hello?"

"Hey, is this Robyn?” Talia’s voice drifted in through the speaker.

“Yeah, yeah, this is me, Robyn- Robyn Kane - Kane, Robyn - I-”

“Marks Building, speedster. Tomorrow. 5AM.”

And then the call clicked out, and a teenage squeal woke nearly half of the building.

The job wasn’t all games and glory. Most days, she went home with limbs that threatened to tear off, but how many people could say they ended a shift by skydiving off a building? Magnetic gloves carried her to the very top of the city, reminding her of her smallness, though a hoot from one Wash Captain to another reminded her she was never alone. Skyscrapers rushed together as air gave way to metal under her feet, running upwards and downwards, leaping from one to another with an expert’s grace. This was, save for her, the kind of movement reserved for heroes, and shadowing other Captains to get the hang of more advanced techniques ensured she continued to grow. From this vantage point too came new insight on the city - inequity others more often chose to ignore. Apartment Piles - swaying stacks of low-income housing - were collapsing. At first, it seemed accidental, but then the breadth of the falls seemed more sinister. Factories bought out the land. Overwatchers failed to check the sites. And since a lot of first responders wouldn’t set foot in the rougher neighborhoods, the Captains took it upon themselves to search and rescue.

Such was her transformation from girl to hero. Pulling injured folks from buildings, keeping kids safe…it was this grit and responsibility that matured her. Time with her dad became precious. Happy hours with friends began to mean more. But youth was still youth, after all, and when time brought on an admirer, Robyn’s heart began to palpitate.

There’s was a typical teen meeting - boy watched girl soar from building to building, boy plucked up the courage to wave, girl told him she’d come say hi during her lunch break. And so said boy appeared day after day, wonderstruck in crooked glasses, his hand outstretched to offer a cool bottle of water. A Harbor boy, Deek Jenkins. When they talked, her lies grew from goosebumps to mountains - yes, her mom was nice, yes, she’d eaten a mango, yes, her dad was a world-saving space pilot and, if she disappeared for a few days, it was because she helping him fight off evil. Truth be told, she wanted to keep Deek around. But how could a Harbor boy remain interested if he knew about her dark origins, her sickness, how a job washing windows was the most exciting thing that’d ever happened to her? Instead, she told him about the skybirds, the archipelagos, the burning sands. All while the virus inside her was shifting, overcoming her medications, and threatening to overcome her as well.

Time passed. Deek began bringing two water bottles. Robyn always finished the one he brought with a still-thirsty gulp, then gobbled down two, then three, and he was about to bring four when she stopped showing up.

“Check the clinic on Fourth, kid,” the Wash Captain, Talia, who visited in Robyn’s stead offered. So check Deek did.

“Hey,” he greeted, pulling a whole cooler of water bottles to her hospital bed. She uncapped one.

“You’ve found me out, Jenkins.” The twenty-year-old’s lips quirked upward, falling as a hack expelled from her lungs. “I’ve caught an ‘opportunistic infection.’ Tuberculosis. Not fun stuff. And while we’re at it, I’ve got another disease called ARHIV, which my doc just said’ll probably kill me by 35. And my mom-”

“Was a rebel terrorist,” Deek finished for her. “Who killed upwards of a hundred Overwatchers and their associates. She was sentenced to death six months after being turned in by a man named Thomas Martineaux, and would’ve been sentenced immediately had she not been pregnant with you.”

Robyn nodded. “Happy?”

“No.” He paused. “I mean, yes, that you were honest with me.”

“Why’d you hang around then, if you knew?”

Deek shrugged. “I guess I just liked you.”

“I guess I just liked you too.”

Robyn got over her infection. Time went on, work continued, and she was back on the rescue grind. The number of collapses grew, and the public’s anxiety grew with it. Her dad, who’d been promoted to a managing janitor inside the factory, spent time cleaning the inside of apartments despite danger, and three times, buildings collapsed with him in them. Each time, Robyn would hold her breath, her body trembling, her boots pounding miles to find he was okay, but there was never a second to spare for a hug or a word of relief when she got there. Every moment was instead spent pulling people from the wreckage, searching for help, until one day, a shard of glass changed everything.

“Don’t-” Robyn tried, but Talia had already reached in with a cut hand to pull it out. She jerked her leg away at the last minute, preventing contact, but it was in this moment that she realized her own body was a danger, herself a hazard that could be spread on. How could she have been so reckless, so stupid, to endanger everybody? Any time, she could’ve gotten cut. Any day, she could’ve spread her disease. Rescue efforts were abandoned, and happy hours avoided for fear of being seen as a coward. Until Deek Jenkins, again, came to her aid.

A birthday present - the big twenty-five. Robyn was huddled up on the couch, watching a livestream of an apartment collapse from her armlet, when Deek came in.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” She asked, but he just grinned at her, extending a parcel from his hands to hers.

“I, uh, made this.” His eyes sparkled as she unwrapped it, a costume of fine, black material, cape included. “I know the design is kind of corny, but you’ve always been into the hero thing and you’ve seemed so down ever since Talia, um…the fabric’s cut proof. In the case that something gets through, though, there’s a compound on the inside that’ll immediately clot your blood, so people are safe, no spread. And I also wanted to tell you that I-”

“I love it, Deek.” Robyn’s lips rose, then fell as her eyes honed in on her screen. A pair of Overwatchers, their bodies too small to be seen clearly without zooming in, moved in the corner.

A familiar face, familiar gait, familiar everything. Suddenly, it all made sense. She checked her armlet.

“8:30. Pile A7X.” The apartment her dad was suppose to be cleaning. Time to put Deek’s outfit to the test.

The rescue mission was a rush of pure adrenaline. A building scaled, a fire alarm pulled, and hundreds evacuated in the nick of time. She gave no name - a vigilante, in and out before anybody could ask. And now it was time to get to the bottom of the collapses.  

She made her way to the factory. Dark, no people or stars to be seen. If she could get into her dad’s office, maybe there’d be a list, some way to predict the next Pile falls. She’d save hundreds of lives, expose a massive conspiracy -and then a dot of red light materialized on her chest.

“Robyn.” Her father’s voice broke the silence. “I can explain-” “Explain what? How you’ve been killing innocent people for years?” All those apartments cleaned, how she thought he’d actually been in danger.

“Rebel suspects, Robyn. They’re killing thousands. Hear me out, I-”

Her eyes hardened. “You’re going to pay for this.”

Atticus’ lip twitched, another Overwatcher making his way beside him.

“We’ll kill her off, Martineaux. Don’t worry about it.” The man raised his mass accelerator, his finger draped on the trigger and then… five shots. A dropped body. But her dad’s weapon had made the blast.

“I’m sorry, Robyn.”

Another rustle. Deek- Deek had followed her. Maybe they could overpower him, find a way out, but Atticus whipped around, firing a shot before the boy could even blink. His body fell, an innocent who’d given his world for her. And then another shot. There was no time to think, no time to process, only dark.

When her eyes opened, they saw earth.

EXTRA MUSE: I have a pinterest board here!

POSSIBLE CHANGES: none!

[multifandomimaginethings]

“Sick” Spencer Reid

You have not felt this bad since the time in college when you somehow managed to get pink eye, mono, and strep throat all at the same time. This time you had only come down with one thing, but it did not make it feel any worse. Your immune system was in bad shape. You were overworked and constantly exhausted. You had not been taking very good care of yourself because you were stressed. In an attempt to ignore your problems, you through yourself into your work. It was only a matter of time until you got sick and here you are.

You felt like complete crap as you laid on your soft couch. You should have just gone to bed hours ago but you did not have the energy to do anything of the sort. It was time to take more medicine but, you just could not force yourself to get up. You  lay on the couch, curled up, freezing cold even covered in three blankets, trying to ignore the pain radiating from your head. You attempt to fall asleep but it is fruitless. How can you be so exhausted and in such terrible shape but not able to fall asleep at the same time.

All of a sudden, you here a knock on the door. You know that you should get up or tell the visitor to go away but, when you try to shout at them to go away all that comes out is a groan. The door knob jiggles and your door swings open.

“Y/n?” a familiar voice calls out to you from inside your house. You hear your door shut behind him.

It is Dr. Spencer Reid. He was your closest friend at the BAU and as you got to know him, you quickly developed a major crush on him. You loved everything about him, from his awkward social skills and vast amount of geeky interests, to his lanky limbs and gorgeous golden curls. You found his endless ability to take in knowledge and his boundless mind incredibly endearing. He was unlike anybody else you had ever known, unique in his own perfect way, and you had fallen hard for him. Despite your life-controlling crush on the man that you had entered your home, you continued to sit inert on your house. He would find you in your misery eventually, it was not worth the energy to do anything more.

He came to your side within minutes. He knelt down beside you and he looked at you. You groaned as you opened your eyes. He looked at you, it was apparent in his eyes that he was pained for you. He wanted to help you to be better so badly.

“Hey, y/n.” he spoke softly to you. He gently brushed some hairs away from your face, you closed your eyes at the feel of his soft fingertips sliding across your head. He felt your forehead.

“Y/n, you are burning up.” he whispered to you. You groaned in pain as response. “When did you last take your medicine?” You shrugged, your eyes crushed together, pinching away all possibility of light from reaching your eyes, and burning them. That was the only answer he needed.

Spencer rose from where he had knelt down and wandered into your bathroom, leaving you alone on your couch, cold and shivering. He quickly located the medication that you had been using and took out the prescibed amount. When he returned to you, he brought you the three little pills and a glass of water. He carefully helped lift you into a sitting position and you groaned as you moved, aching all over, your head pounding and numb. He handed you the cure to your pain and you mindlessly through them into your mouth, he tipped the glass of water and you took a small sip, washing down what you had to swallow.

Spencer brought your hand into his. He looked up at you, his eyes shining with empathy, practically mirroring the pain that you felt. He delicately rubbed your back, moved the palm of his hand around in comforting circles. You slowly began to feel a little better, your mind clearing a little more and more.

Eventually, you cleared your throat. “Thanks, Spence.” you croaked out. You smiled gratefully at him.

He smiled back at you. “Are you hungry?” he asked “I made chicken noodle soup and brought you some.” You nodded. Now that you thought about it, food did not sound half bad, especially if Spencer made it.

A sharp shiver splashed through you, and you shook. Even through all of the thick layers that you wore, you were freezing. God, you hated being sick. Spencer noticed your movement and he quickly reached onto the chair adjacent to the couch and grabbed two blankets that were wrapped around the back of it. You do not remember putting those there. He must have brought them from your bedroom when he went to get the medicine. He wrapped both blankets around you tightly. His hand grazed your shoulder and you shivered again but, this time it was not because of your cold. It was because of Spencer. He looked at you, concern stretched in his gaze, his brows furrowed in sympathetic compassion and something that you could not completely perceive.

“Alright, I will be right back.” He left to go and fetch you some soup. You smiled as he left. He was so cute when he was all caring and protective of you. Then it hit you. You realized it. The little thing that had always nagged at you. The emotion that he hid, that you almost saw through the gates of his gaze, the one that you could not quite perceive. It was care, love. You felt your heart swell as you thought of the idea of Spencer liking you, too. You sat on your couch, smiling like an idiot to yourself, until he came back, two bowls of soup in his hands. He carefully handed one to you and watched you as you took your first swallow.

You ate in comfortable silence, both of you thinking of your own things. Then, without any warning or forethought you said, “Do you like me?”

He looked at you curiously. He was stunned by the uncharacteristic outburst. Normally, you would not simply  blurt out your thoughts, but your inhibitions were slowed by the painkillers and medication that Spencer had given you. You looked at him, waiting for his answer.

“W-well of course I like you. You are my best friend.” he stuttered

“Not what I meant.” you say through a mouthful of soup, pointing your spoon at him. “I meant like as in ‘like-like’ because I 'like-like’ you and I think you 'like-like’ me, too.”

He laughed nervously. “That was a lot of 'likes’, y/n”

“You are avoiding the question, Spencer.” you gave him a pointed stare. Even though you were drugged, you were a profiler. You knew when he was evading a question, especially since he was your best friend.

He sighed. “Yeah, I do.” he said quietly “I do 'like-like’ you. I 'like-like’ you a lot.” He smiled at you. You smiled back.

Spencer snuggled closer to you, feeling like he was allowed to do so now that the two of you had both admitted your feelings. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his chest.

You were feeling a lot better now. You soon fell asleep in Spencer’s arms, warm and comfortable. He stayed with you  for the rest of the night. In the morning, despite your rejections to the idea, he insisted on taking the day off himself, and taking care of you.

Yeah, you definitely felt a lot better.