#I reread it on the flight home and again like a week later

[emometalhead]

really interested in your thoughts on Turtles All The Way Down, partially since I know you deal with some of the stuff in it but also because it's honestly imo his best book (I say this as somene who LOVED TFioS as a teen and dealt with some of that stuff)

Hi Fiona!! Thank you so much for your interest!!

I love Turtles All The Way Down! Very few characters are as relatable to me as Aza. John's portrayal of OCD represented my own thoughts and experiences in a way I had never before seen in literature. The book is very meaningful to me.

[pathologicalreid]

hii!! its me again!! please could i request another spencer reid x female!reader where spence is just reading a book and minding his own business, and then the reader comes along and wants his attention bc she's feeling a bit needy, so she starts bugging him to get his attention and its just really fluffy and ends up being really cute :)) thank you!!

attention | S.R.

in which you attempt to get your boyfriends attention

who? spencer reid x fem!reader

category: fluff! tooth rotting sweet fluff!

content warnings: defined relationship, anna karenina, idk its just fluffy

word count: 569

a/n: howdy! thank you so much for the request!!!!! this was fun and sweet to write. i hope you enjoy <333

He was sitting on the couch, his nose buried in a book. Spencer wasn’t purposely ignoring you, but his reread of Anna Karenina held all of his attention.

You were sat in the reading chair, a novel open in your hand, but at some point, your eyes had wandered from the ink to your boyfriend. In your defense, he had just been in Oregon on a case for a week, and this was the first time you’d seen him since.

Tilting your head to the side, you looked at him, “Spence?” You whispered, not wanting to interrupt him, and hoping he would look at you when he finished his page or chapter.

He didn’t budge. He kept his hand covering his mouth and every once in a while, his lips would move as he read. Realistically, you knew that he would be done reading the entire novel within an hour or two, but books be damned, you had missed him.

“Spence?” You tried again, tucking your bookmark in your book, and setting it on the side table. “Spencer,” you called his name in a sing-song voice.

Like Excalibur from the stone, he stayed put. You couldn’t help but smile at him, because you had always been fascinated by his ability to get lost in a novel, let alone a novel he’s read countless times before.

Giving it a rest, you got up, refilled your glass of water, and sat back down at the opposite end of the couch he was reading on.

Spencer reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, giving you hope that his attention was off the book, but he just went back to the book, never even lifting his eyes from the pages.

You set your water down on the coffee table before turning to face him again, the leather of the couch was cold even through the fabric of your clothes. Instinctively, you moved closer to Spencer, who radiated heat like a furnace during all four seasons.

He adjusted so that his legs were more extended across the couch and kept the book at eye level.

Sighing, you said his name again before resorting to slightly more extreme measures. Making your way across the couch so that you could poke your head through the slot between the book and his body. Acknowledging you, he hummed and gave you a dopey smile. “Hey,” He murmured against your lips when you leaned forward to kiss him.

Feeling accomplished, you laid down next to him and settled your cheek on his chest, “Hi, Spence.”

Spencer moved his arms so one was holding the book up and the other was lazily scratching up and down your back, “Do you want to get dinner later?” He whispered lowly like he was in a library. Really, in his apartment that wasn’t much of reach.

You nodded against the fabric of his sweater, “Yeah.” You peeked at his book, “Are you reading Anna Karenina in the original Russian?”

He hummed, “I read a translated version on the flight home, I want to compare the two versions and see… Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I think you’re perfect,” you whispered before setting your head back on his chest. “Continue reading, I’m good here,” you said, closing your eyes, intent on taking a nap.

Spencer pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “You’re perfect.”

[whats-wild-to-you]

hi! can you write something fluffy like stay at home date? like just chilling tgt and childish banter and also when u go to sleep tgt (don’t have to be sexual) thank yooooou

🥰 perfect timing! I think I need to write something fluffy to cleanse my soul 😂😂___________________________________________

Checking the time again, you tapped with your perfectly manicured nails on the glass table. Jay’s flight would be landing soon so he should be home in an hour. The food was ready and you even went and got matching onesies for you and him.

Jay’s text a few days ago worried you. You pulled out your phone and reread it.

So sick and tired of these overseas schedules. All I want is to be lazy with you. ❤️

You had messaged him back, asking him when he would return and have been prepping for tonight since then.

You cooked his favorite food, bookmarked his favorite movies on Netflix and lit a ton of candles all around the house.

When he unlocked the door and entered, you jumped in his lap, covering his entire face with kisses.

“I missed you!”

He looked tired and exhausted but livened up when he saw the dim lights and candles and smelled the delicious food.

“Shower first. And wear what I laid out on the bed for you!”

He smiled, looking at you from top to bottom, taking notice of your cute onesie.

Twenty minutes later he showed up, presenting his equally adorable onesie.

“Aww, I’m so glad it fits!”

Together you had dinner and talked about what you missed since you were separated for a whole week.

“… and then we simultaneously reached for the pickles!”

“Oh. Supermarket romance.”

“Shut up!” You said, stuffing lasagna in his mouth.

“Fo you lihh hmm?”

“What? Swallow your food I don’t understand what you’re saying!”

“Do you like him?”

“If you keep being like this, I might.”

“By the way, I didn’t take my shirt off for mommae, just raised it a bit.”

“Progress. I like.” You answered but couldn’t keep yourself from laughing.

As soon as you finished dinner, you cozied up in front of the tv. Instead of cuddling up in Jay’s arms, you embraced his large frame, with his head rested on your chest. You played with his hair since you knew it relaxed him. Soon he got up and you took his hand, allowing him to lead you to the bedroom, where you cuddled up under your fluffy sheets. Instinctively you turned to him, and continued playing with his hair. Soon he started snoring softly, pulling you closer to him. Content you went to sleep wrapped in his arms.

[animeomegas]

I hope you’re feeling better now monarch! I just reread ur pregnant dabi hcs and could it be possible to get some of your short thoughts about what happens next? Like let’s say they finally moved, and are settled somewhere safe and Dani just gave birth 👀

Hello, queen!!! I'm feeling much better thank you 💓 You mean the story where his father finds them so they move? Of course I can give a few of my thoughts about what happens after!! Enjoy~ @queenondeezmatatas

Here is the link to the previous post

So, you and Touya get a very, very early morning flight out of Japan, armed only with a couple of changes of clothes, your important documents, some water and snacks and a few irreplaceable items like photos and the soft little baby blanket that you had splurged on for your pup when you found out that Touya was pregnant.

You both wear hoods and baggy clothing and take the most confusing route to the airport that you can, just in case.

Touya is tense the entire time. In fact, tense is probably an understatement. He's barely holding on to his composure.

You're in shock. Everything had happened so quickly and now your future was uncertain and the life you had was lost, but you pushed everything down to deal with later. Your first priority was getting Touya and your unborn pup to safety.

Once the plane took off, destined for a small city on the mainland with good transport to where your friend lived, Touya relaxed enough to fall asleep, exhausted from the whole ordeal.

He had pushed himself as close to you as the aeroplane seats had allowed.

You had at most four months until Touya went into labour. Your friend had allowed you to stay with them until you managed to get some sort of visa for another country, but their block of flats was strictly adults only, so you and Touya would have to be out before the pup was born.

Four months was all you had.

...

You made it to your friend's house easily enough. Touya took the sofa and you had an air bed on the floor.

You didn't waste any time trying to find a place you could live. Touya mainly slept and cried during the first week. He couldn't build a nest, he couldn't indulge his cravings, he didn't have a proper bed to sleep in, and he had to abandon his home.

He kept himself plastered to your side at all times, trying to get any amount of comfort that he could.

You spent each night with your air bed pushed right up against the couch so that you could hold his hand while you slept.

You spent all your time researching and applying for various things. You had never been so grateful for your job experience. It didn't pay much but it was well sought after in many countries and so you managed to find a couple of visas that would allow you to move and bring Touya with you.

You had to use your friend's electronics because you had abandoned all your technology in Japan, lest you be tracked.

Eventually you found the perfect place.

A country far from Japan, with a mild climate and affordable towns in the countryside. A country giving out work visas in your field, a pretty safe country with decent schools.

So you applied.

It took three days of non stop work to get the applications filled out.

And then it took another week to hear they received it.

And then it took four more tense weeks to hear back.

You got approved.

Both you and Touya cried for hours when you heard the news, and to celebrate you bought Touya some of the white chocolate he'd been craving but that you hadn't been able to budget for.

But Touya was now 6 and a half months pregnant.

Your approved move day was another three weeks away.

You spent that time looking for a place to rent and packing what meagre belongings you did have. You also spent a good deal of time soothing Touya, whose instincts had started to feel safe in your friends house, just in time for him to have to move again.

Touya just looked so hopeless at this point.

Sunken eyes, no energy, crying all the time, nightmares, weight loss... he was in bad shape.

You were just as anxious, but you were trying desperately to hold it in for him, to make him feel better any way you could.

You managed to find a studio apartment with a deposit you could afford. Once you started working, you'd be able to upgrade fairly quickly, but all of your savings had disappeared to pay for the travel costs and food, so a studio was all you could afford even though it was in a fairly rural place, about an hour and a half away from the nearest city. Crucially though, it came with wifi and furniture and cleaning supplies and crockery already set up. All you would need to buy is baby stuff, clothes, food and toiletries. Touya was getting dangerously close to his due date, and you needed as much set up in advance as possible.

...

The second you walked through the door into your new studio flat, Touya burst into tears.

He wasn't happy or sad, he was just exhausted and overwhelmed.

It hurt to leave him, but you knew he'd feel better when things were set up, so you left him with some of your clothes and the baby blanket, crying on the bed, while you ran around (still without a car) trying to get everything you desperately needed.

Bedding.

Food for tonight and tomorrow.

Something comforting for Touya, maybe a snuggly blanket or something.

And a cheap laptop or phone.

Everything else could wait until you had a bit more money in your account.

It took you about five hours. And when you got back Touya had fallen asleep on top of the bare mattress, his face buried in some of your clothes. He had dark circles under his eyes and you could tell that he'd been crying for a while.

Gently as you could, you shook him awake and sat him in the only armchair in the room while you made the bed with all the new bedding. Then you covered the soft blanket you got with as much of your scent as you could.

You tucked Touya into the new bed and wrapped him up in the blanket to finish his nap while you made something for dinner.

Over the next two days you couldn't afford to buy anything other than more food, so you worked on making Touya feel comfortable in the flat, preparing him for when you started work, and hopefully encouraging him to feel comfortable enough to nest by the time you could afford some materials.

...

When you had to start going into work, Touya wasn't happy, but he got used to it slowly. He felt better once you could afford some baby supplies and nesting supplies because then he had something to do while stuck at home.

You had been working for a month when Touya went into labour.

He gave birth in a small town hospital with no complications and you brought home a healthy baby boy.

And it may be cramped in the one room flat, and your budget was tight, and Touya had to do the majority of the rearing while you were at work....

But it was safe and it was far away from Endeavour and it was a start to a new life, a completely new life, that you and Touya could build together.

[jmagnabo92]

Drabble (or not) - Run For It

Happy Sirius and Harry Saturday.

As I’m rereading the fifth book, I’m finding prompt ideas.  This little story is under the idea about a different ending to Chapter 2 of OoTP.  Harry doesn’t like being told to sit tight and that’s he’s been ‘bad’ for saving his own (and Dudley’s) lives, so he decides to Run For It.  

***

Harry looks down at Mr. Weasley’s letter again, and then considers what happened already.  Figg had been spying on him for years, Dumbledore believed he was at risk and left him at the Dursleys with someone stalking him for his ‘protection’, and now, apparently, the Ministry didn’t care to investigate.  Instead, they plotted to get rid of his only real source of protection: his wand.  

Well, screw that. After everything he’d been through in the last four years, he’s done fighting – it’s time to run.  

It doesn’t take him very long to get his things together despite Vernon yelling at him the entire time and the owls that keep interrupting.  In fact, he barely ever unpacks, so it makes things that much easier. Knowing that he’s been followed all summer long, he calls for Dobby instead, who is more than willing to get Harry wherever he wants to go and buy whatever he needs.

Harry has Dobby get all of his money out of the bank and some potions to change his appearance. Then he books a red-eye flight to Spain. It wasn’t his last stop by any means, but he had to make multiple jumps in order to feel protected and not easily found.  Those jumps would help him figure out where the best final place would be to live.  

***

It’s several months later, Harry’s happily laying on the beach in Queensland, Australia.  He’d been jumping around every other day trying to figure out where he truly wanted to be when he ended up getting an offer to go to other wizarding schools.  Apparently, he’d been properly expelled from Hogwarts, but none of the other schools had cared because Britain had lost a lot of their acclaim to be taken seriously based on their responses to Voldemort’s war and return.  Many of the other countries in Europe had already noticed a change in the tides in just the month of July and when Harry had been found in Italy a week after he’d left, he’d been offered asylum.  Still worried about being too close to Britain for comfort, he’d gone to Australia and began school at their school.

He'd also gotten some help and support after everything he’d been through and asked for asylum for his godfather, Sirius, who had reached out worried about him, apologizing for his following Dumbledore’s Orders and not telling him anything while letting him stay at his house (even though Dumbledore cast the charm would only let him invite people to Sirius’ house).  

Harry hadn’t been sure about forgiving him, but Sirius had told him that he wanted to get Harry out of country and away from the war, but felt helpless since he’s a fugitive.  Harry could understand that, after all, he was a wanted man, and he had done right by Harry during fourth year, so Harry had forgiven him.  

In fact, since the Australian school allows for their students to floo in or visit home whenever they want, Harry could visit and actually get to know Sirius as his godfather and be a proper family.  

“I’m so glad you’re here, kid.  Glad to know that you’re not involved in that mess in Britain,” Sirius states as he brings out a couple of drinks.  

“I’m happy to be here, too,” Harry admits.  “I just knew I had to leave – I feel bad that Voldemort took over, but I just want to live.”

“And you deserve to live,” Sirius states.  “It’s what we wanted for you all those years ago when things went haywire.  I’m glad that I didn’t have to convince you to run, I was worried you wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for the dementor attack, learning about Dumbledore spying on me through my whole life, and Ministry trying to expel me without even investigating. It’s been months and I still can’t believe it all happened.”

“Me either, but I’m glad it did because you’re safe and we’re both free.”

Harry lifts his bottle of Butterbeer, “To Freedom.”

“To Freedom.”

[ayybtch]

Snickerdoodles

Wanda Maximoff x f!Reader, Baker!AU + Friends to Lovers

Chapter 2 of Made With Love

Word Count: 3,198

Chapter Warnings: so sweet it’ll give you a cavity, some not so subtle wlw yearning from the reader, and a brief little moment of angst that will make you want to hug Wanda

A/N: A special thank you to @thefallenbibliophilequote for giving this a beta read for me! Dividers made by @firefly-graphics

You were sitting at home watching TV when your phone lit up with a text notification from Wanda. You smiled and leaned over to grab your phone. 

Bucky is asking about chocolate chip cookies again. He’s driving me nuts!

You chuckled at the message as you typed out a reply, I’m not sure if I should be flattered or annoyed for your sake at how persistent he is. Though, we should probably take it as a sign you’re due for another baking lesson. How do snickerdoodles sound? 

Wanda agreed almost immediately and the two of you worked out a time for later that week. 

Mindlessly, you scrolled back up and started rereading some of your old conversations. It had been just over two weeks since Wanda had found her way into the bakery and made her disastrous batch of chocolate chip cookies. She had texted you not long after she left the bakery that night and the two of you had texted sporadically since. Her texts had started off very polite, if not outright formal. 

Hi. It’s Wanda. I know I sound like a broken record, but I really do appreciate what you did today.

That had been her first message. Since then, the messages gradually became more casual. Most recently she had sent you a video Sam had recorded of Bucky begging her to make cookies on their flight home from a mission with nothing more than a series of eye-roll emojis. 

It was strange having a superhero take time out of her day to text you. Though, you couldn't deny the fact that each time she did, it left you grinning like an idiot. It’s not that you think poorly of yourself or that you thought you weren’t worthy of being friends with someone like her; it had far more to do with how unexpected it was. In fact, the whole process of meeting her was unexpected. How many other people alive were lucky enough to say that an Avenger casually walked into their kitchen asking to bake cookies? 

And how many people could say they had anyone, let alone an Avenger, smile at them the way Wanda smiled at you? 

You groaned at your own stupidity and forced yourself to put your phone down. That was enough ridiculousness for the day. You didn’t need to feed into this silly little crush you were developing. Wanda was your friend, nothing more. 

It was three days later when Wanda finally walked back into the bakery. She stepped inside right as you finished tying your apron around your waist. You greeted her with a bright smile, which she returned in kind. 

“Hey, how has your day been?” you asked. 

She shrugged, “It’s been a day but something tells me it’s about to get better.” 

You tried not to show how flustered her words made you and rushed over to the sink to wash your hands. Wanda stood next to you and waited patiently for her turn. While she was washing her hands, you started speaking. 

“Okay so, snickerdoodles are the best cookies in existence and are stupid easy to make. Most of the process is similar to what we did for chocolate chip cookies, but there are a few differences. Why don’t we start off with having you refamiliarize yourself with where everything is in here?” You hand her the recipe you had written out for her, “Here you go. Grab everything you can find.”

Wanda read through the list carefully and was soon rummaging through the cabinets. She set each ingredient on the counter next to you as she found it until it looked like she had most of her items, but she kept pausing to reread the list. Her eyebrows were furrowed together as she turned to look back into the fridge, only to come back to the counter empty-handed.

 Her expression was a mixture of confusion and determination at the same time as her eyes focused on the ingredient list. It shouldn’t have been as cute as it was, but you couldn’t help but stare at the woman in front of you. It was almost shocking how green they were. Even when sad, her eyes were filled with warmth and kindness. Her mouth twisted slightly and drew your attention downwards. Were they naturally that pink? Or had she lucked out and found the most perfect shade of pink lipstick? They looked so soft and plump too, perfect lips for kissing...

You snapped back into focus as she said your name. “I’m sorry what was that? My mind drifted.”

She smiled and repeated herself. “The only things I’m missing are Crisco and cream of tartar. I looked in the fridge for the cream of tartar, but I didn’t see it and I have no idea where to begin with Crisco.”

You nodded as you walked towards one of the cabinets, opening it up as you began to speak. “I like your reasoning behind the cream of tartar, but unfortunately its name is a bit misleading. It’s a powder so it’s in the same cabinet as the cinnamon and sugar. The Crisco is up here too.”

You grabbed both items and set them next to the rest of the ingredients. Wanda picked up the can of Crisco and looked at it curiously. 

“What is vegetable shortening?” she asked. She opened up the can and stared at the white solid inside. “It almost looks like butter, but it’s also so white it almost looks like plastic?” The confusion on her face perfectly matched the confusion that seeped into her voice. 

You nodded along as she spoke, “It’s kind of like butter, which you can also use for this recipe if you wanted to. I think they turn out better when you make them with Crisco personally so I’ll only use butter if I’m in a pinch.

“Okay, so now we’re going to measure out two cups of Crisco into the mixer and start creaming it. From there we’ll gradually start adding in the sugar, cream of tartar, salt, and baking soda.”

Wanda nodded and got to work. As she scooped out the Crisco and smushed it into the measuring cup, she made a face that had you grinning.

“What’s with the look?”

She made it again as she continued working. “Don’t laugh at me, but it feels funny. I know it’s not that different from butter, but I usually don’t have to touch butter this much to figure out the amount! It’s gross.”

You didn’t laugh but continued to grin for the entire time she measured out the Crisco. A sigh of relief left her as she finally finished with the Crisco and got to wash her hands.

“These better be the best cookies on the planet after making me touch that,” she said, giving you a teasing look.

A sheepish smile spread across your face as she spoke. “I hate to tell you this...but you’re going to end up touching the cookie dough again. Like, you are going to be touching it a lot.” You cut off her groan and continued to the next step in the recipe, “Now we’re going to add the eggs and milk.” 

She nodded and began measuring out how much milk she needed. Once that was done, the eggs were added in and she turned the mixer back on. She waited a few minutes before turning the mixer back off. “Time for the flour now, yes?” she asked, turning to face you. You nodded and she began measuring it out.

After the last of the flour was added, she reached for the switch on the mixer.

Before you even thought to remind her to start slow, the mixer was going full speed and flour was flying everywhere. Wanda rushed to turn it off but by the time she did, she was covered head to toe in a dusting of flour. 

She stared over at you with wide eyes for a moment before bursting out laughing. 

You had heard her laugh before, but never like this. This was full-bellied, tears running down her face laughter. It was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Hell, you were willing to bet it was the most beautiful sound you’d ever be fortunate enough to hear. Soon you were laughing along with her.

Each time the laughter started to die, Wanda looked down at her clothing and burst out laughing all over again. It took almost five minutes for the two of you to calm down enough to even start to think about getting back to the cookies. 

“Well, I guess I’m doing laundry after this.” She shook her head rapidly and more flour came floating down off her hair, making her giggle. “And I think a shower might also be in order.” 

You started laughing again at her words. “We’ll have to get you an apron to help protect your clothes. Though, if you keep turning a mixer on to full speed like that it still won’t do you much good,” you teased. 

Wanda stuck out her tongue in response before slowly starting the mixer back up. She stared into the bowl as the flour began to mix in with the rest of the ingredients and her face twisted.

“How do we know that there’s enough flour still in there with how much just flew out?” 

You just shrugged, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. If it’s too sticky when we start trying to form the balls we’ll add in some more.”

The dough mixed for another couple of minutes before Wanda turned it off. You leaned over and pinched off a tiny piece of the dough and rolled it around in your hands before popping it into your mouth. 

A satisfied hum left your mouth and you nodded enthusiastically. “It’s perfect,” you said. “No need for anything extra.” You reached into a drawer and grabbed two spoons before handing one to Wanda. 

“So what we’re going to do now is roll them into small little balls about an inch in size. Once they’re as round as we can get them, we’re going to roll them around in the cinnamon and sugar.” You gestured towards the two bowls in front of you. “Any questions?”

Wanda shook her head no and the two of you got to work.

It didn’t take long for Wanda to get the hang of making the individual rolls and coating them evenly in the cinnamon and sugar mixture. A comfortable silence fell over you as the first batch was placed on the baking trays.

“So, what made you want to become a baker?”

You smiled as you answered, “My parents both cooked a lot when I was growing up so being in the kitchen is like second nature to me. My dad and I spent a lot of time baking together around the holidays and as I got older, I was put in charge of making whatever treats we wanted. By the time I graduated high school, I couldn’t see myself doing anything else.” Wanda nodded along as you spoke. “What about you? What did you want to be before you became a superhero?” 

“Definitely not a baker,” she teased, a grin spreading across her face. You chuckled and she continued. “I wanted to be a lot of different things, but one of the most consistent things was being an actress. I always thought it would be fun to star in a cheesy sitcom.” 

You grinned at the thought. “You’d make a great sitcom character! Though it would be such a waste of great material if your character could bake. Between the salt last time and the flour just a minute ago, you’ve naturally got some great material right here.” 

“If you don’t stop that, I will throw this cookie dough at you,” she groaned. You wiggled your eyebrows at her words. 

“You know, that has to be one of the least threatening things someone has ever said to me,” you teased. 

She groaned again and changed topics. “So how did you end up working here? It’s not exactly your average place to start looking for a baking job.”

You laughed and nodded along. She had a point, this was a very strange place to work in general but especially for someone who bakes for a living.  “Technically, I don’t actually work for SHIELD. I’m just on loan from Stark Industries. ” She looked over at you curiously so you continued.

“I catered an event once that Tony went to, back in his pre-Iron Man days. He offered me a stupid amount of money to come work for him so I did. Right around the time he started working closely with SHIELD, I had some...creative differences with one of the other bakers he had employed so I was able to transfer over here.” 

Wanda had all but stopped working as you spoke. “What do you mean by ‘creative differences’? How do bakers have creative differences?” 

“It’s more of a euphemism than anything. She was my ex. We broke up and it was just a little rocky working with her after that, you know? We were still professional and all, but there was enough underlying tension that I didn’t hesitate to apply when they told us about this position.” 

She nodded and slowly started working again. A few moments of silence passed before she spoke again. 

“Well, I’m sorry that things didn’t work out between you and her. Breakups are never easy.” Her voice was gentle and honest, which made you smile.

“Nah, don’t be sorry. People don’t work out sometimes and that’s okay.” You couldn’t help but laugh as you continued, “Besides, she thinks snickerdoodles taste better when you make them with butter. I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.”

The two of you burst out laughing and the conversation resumed.

Almost an hour later, six dozen cookies were carefully being set into plastic baggies for Wanda to carry back to the Avengers quarters. Each batch had cooked up perfectly and you couldn’t help but melt at the proud look on Wanda’s face. With every batch that came out just as perfect as the last, her confidence grew until she was smiling so brightly she overpowered everything else in the room. 

As she finished sealing the last bag, a satisfied hum left her and she turned to face you. 

“Once again, I don’t even know where to begin thanking you. Not only for the cookies but for the time we spent together this afternoon. It’s not often that I meet people who treat me like a normal person.” Her voice was dripping with gratitude as she spoke and your face felt hot. 

“Once again,” you teased, mirroring her words, “There is nothing to be thanking me for. I’m always happy to help when and where I can. But, we should probably at least try the cookies first before anything else.”

Wanda nodded enthusiastically and quickly pulled two cookies back out of the baggies. She handed you one before grabbing hers and taking her first bite. 

She let out a satisfied hum as she chewed. “This is the best cookie I have ever tasted in my life,” she mumbled, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as she spoke. She paused abruptly and her eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh my god, I’m turning into Bucky!” she groaned, “I did not just moan over a cookie and talk with my mouth full. What is wrong with me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey, if you’re going to moan and talk while you eat because of a cookie, this is the cookie to do it. I do think we’ll have to find something a little more challenging than cookies for you next time, though.”

Her eyes lit up in excitement. “What about bread? Could we do bread next?”

“Six successful batches of cookies and you think you’re ready for bread now, huh?” you teased. 

Wanda took the teasing in stride and responded just as cheekily, “I don’t mean to brag or anything, but I do know how to make the most incredible snickerdoodles and chocolate chip cookies on the planet now. So you better watch out or I might just end up coming for your job.” 

You grinned, “I’d like to see you try.” 

The two of you continued to giggle at each other’s nonsense as Wanda washed her hands and began collecting the bags in her arms. “So, we’ll figure out something soon yeah?” 

You nodded and moved to open the door for her as you spoke. “Definitely! It most likely won’t be bread though, I hate to break it to you.” 

Wanda rolled her eyes dramatically, but the smile on her face showed she was anything but upset. The two of you said your goodbyes and she made her way out of the bakery.

As you crawled into bed that night, you couldn’t help but replay the conversations in your head. Talking with Wanda had been the most exciting social interaction you had in years. She was so genuinely interested in getting to know you and asked you so many questions about yourself, but was never shy about answering questions about herself in turn. 

“So what’s it like being an Avenger?” you asked, unable to hold back your curiosity any longer. 

She paused and shrugged, “Honestly, it’s really not as great as some people make it out to be. I know that I should be grateful for the opportunity to make a difference and for having the ability to keep people safe, but more often than not the bad outweighs the good.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “You don’t always get the bad guys and so many people still accuse me of being one of them. There are always so many cameras pointed at me. Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe.” 

You nodded, sympathy rising in your chest. “I can’t imagine what that’s like. I know my opinion probably doesn’t count for much, but I don’t think you’re a bad guy; I don’t think you ever really were.”

Her smile was blinding as she replied, “Your opinion means everything.”

That had been one of the more serious moments, though the majority of it had been filled with laughter. At one point, she had started trying to teach you some basic words in Sokovian. You stumbled over the words repeatedly, but she continued to be nothing but patient and supportive. The buzzing of your phone drew your thoughts away from Wanda momentarily, only to see a text from her.

I keep thinking about what you said earlier today. I think you’re right.

You stared at the message with confusion as you hastily typed out a response, I am right, but remind me what I’m right about?

Three dots appeared on the screen then disappeared. A minute later, a message appeared. 

They’re better with Crisco. I haven’t tried them with butter but I don’t need to. You’re also right in that you don’t need the “butter Snickerdoodles are better” negativity in your life. You deserve nothing but the best.

[outerbankspreferences]

Is It Just Me? - Chase Stokes

Is It Just Me – Chase Stokes

 Word Count: 2893

 MASTERLIST

It's been way too long for me to find it this hard Sitting alone, my fingers picking the sofa apart An attempt to distract from the fact that I miss you I wonder if your friends have had to carry you home And stay for the night because they don't want to leave you alone Way before it was fun, it's becoming an issue

I know it's cruel But I kind of hope you're tortured too

 It had been exactly 3 months and 13 days since you and Chase had broken up. You wished it would have been a shock to you, but you had seen this coming. Things with Chase were great in the beginning. He was caring and sweet towards you. You could remember a time someone had cared for you as he had. You always supported Chase with everything he wanted to do with his life. You met him when he had just started out acting, and you were proud to watch his career blossom to the extent it had.

 But had someone told you 6 months ago that you guys wouldn’t be together anymore you would have denied the accusations. 6 months ago, you thought Chase was in love with you.

 Chase had been going back and forth to North Carolina for auditions and eventually got the leading role in the television series. You spent the first month with him and his new cast mate Rudy, having the time of your lives with the other people on the show. The whole cast would go out to different clubs every weekend enjoying spending time together.

 Just a little over 6 months later you were still going to clubs but this time on separate sides of the country. You couldn’t process what had happened in a healthy manner and instead turned to going out with your friends every weekend to keep your mind off things. It always ended the same, one of your friends dragging you up the stairs of your once shared apartment because you were too drunk to do it yourself. They had grown accustomed to the weekend ritual of getting you sleep wear and a bucket for the morning.

 Then you would wake in the morning, puking the nights content in the bucket popping Advil for the headache and dragging yourself to couch, throwing on some stupid movie that you wouldn’t be able to watch anyways. Instead, you would pick at the loose strings of the sofa thinking of all the times you spent in the apartment with Chase.

 Tell me, does your heart stop at the party when my name drops? Like you're stood at the platform when the trains cross Are you hurting, yeah you must be Or is it just me? Tongue-tied, screaming on the inside When I say that we broke up and they ask why Are you crying in the shower like a freak? Or is it just me?

 As you sit picking away at the sofa, you mind wanders to Chase. You still follow everyone on Instagram, and you were still good friends with Rudy, so you could see everyone’s stories. Rudy had been the only one to keep in touch with you, which surprised you because he and Chase seemed to be such good friends.

 You wondered if Rudy ever asked about you to Chase, and then you wondered what Chase’s reaction would be. Would his heart be in his stomach at every mention of your name, or would he simply shrug like you guys had never been more then distant friends?

 You sat wondering if Chase ever thought back to the day at the airport. The way he let you walk through security with no more then just a side a hug you would give a sibling. Wishing you a good flight and see you later before leaving. He hadn’t even waited for you to board the plane.

 There were so many things you had wanted to say to him. You want to tell him you loved him, that you would fight for him. More so you wanted him to fight for you, for the years you had spent together. To fight for the promises he made to you, the ones you made together and the ones to come. You wanted to apologize for not being enough, but you couldn’t find the right words, so you watched him walk out of your life.

 I heard a rumor you've been spending some time With that blonde girl that you work with and I know she's exactly your type And my miserable mind's running wild with the picture Or are you there by yourself, dialing, redialing my number? And I'm calling your mother, spilling tears on my jumper again The way I am

I know it's cruel But I kind of hope you're tortured too

 1 month later, Chase’s mother, Jennifer, had called you because she had seen the announcement on Instagram. The two of you had been close while dating Chase considering how close he was with her. Your mother lived down south, and you didn’t get to see her that often, so Jennifer was a close second.

 You had heard rumors from Drew and Rudy about Chase and Maddie hanging out together more, and it didn’t come as a shock to you. In the last bit of your relationship, you played second fiddle to her on multiple occasions. “It’s probably nothing, it because they have scenes together.” Rudy would make excuses over facetime when he watched your face drop at the mention of her name. “Yeah, you’re probably right, nothing to get worked up over.” You responded in a less then convincing tone, “she seemed super cool the couple of times I met her.” “Yeah she is. I think under different circumstances the two of you could have been friends.” He encouraged.

 When the nights started to get cold in LA again you found yourself struggling to sleep. It was at these times you would reread old text messages and look through old pictures of the two you. You knew it wasn’t healthy, but you weren’t ready to move on. Chase had extra time to mourn the lose of the relationship while you were still grieving. It was on these cold nights alone in the apartment you shared that you began to wonder if he was thinking about you. Was he sitting next to her thinking about you? Was he wondering whether he should call you or just delete your number?

 Tell me, does your heart stop at the party when my name drops? Like you're stood at the platform when the trains cross Are you hurting, yeah you must be Or is it just me? Tongue-tied, screaming on the inside When I say that we broke up and they ask why Are you crying in the shower like a freak? Or is it just me?

 It was early in the morning in North Carolina and Chase was sitting on the patio of his shared apartment with Rudy. The sun was just starting to rise in the distance as he found himself restless yet again. He had been awake for about an hour just laying in his bed when he finally decided to get up. He was careful not to wake the sleeping girl next to him. She felt different next to him compared to you. When the two of you slept together you always liked to be the big spoon. Chase let you, finding comfort being wrapped up in bed next to you. Maddie was different, she preferred to lay her head on his chest, letting the sound of his beating heart lull her into sleep.

 Not soon after Rudy came on the patio too, and Chase cursed him for being a night owl. “Not tired?” Rudy asked pulling out the bong they kept under the table. “No, and I didn’t want to wake Mads’” Chase spoke up tossing Rudy the lighter next to him watching the blonde inhale the smoke.

 “I can’t stop thinking about her.” Chase finally spoke up, keeping a hushed tone just in case. “Oh yeah?” “I shouldn't have left her like that. It wasn’t fair to her I just didn’t know what to do.” Chase explained and Rudy didn’t need to be a love doctor to know he was talking about you.

 “It’s been 2 weeks, she’s okay.” Rudy explained and Chase gave him a confused look. “When you guys broke up, I stayed in touch with her. She was mine friend too, and I felt bad that we all sort of dropped her when you guys broke up.” Chase nodded his head in understanding but was still jealous that Rudy got to talk to you. “Why did you break up with her? Not that I’m judging, I just thought things were going good between the two of you.”

 It was Chase’s turn to have a hit from the bong while he thought of his answer. “Shit man I don’t know. Things just feel different with Maddie then they did Y/N. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did.” “Are you sure you’re not feeling too much as an actor oppose to being a person. Sometimes having a love interest on show can be different and confusing.” The blonde tried explaining to him but even he saw the demise of the relationship before Chase start acting with Madelyn. “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” Chase asked looking at Rudy and he could tell by the look in his eyes that it was doubtful. “You hurt her man. I think maybe one day, but not right now. I think right now she’s just trying to figure out how to do this without you.” Rudy could see the few tears in Chase’s eyes, and he knew that this wasn’t easy on him ether.

 Chase got up but before leaving he spoke one more time. “If you talk to her again, just tell her that I never meant to hurt her the way I did.” Chase still wasn’t sleepy but the effects of the marijuana did aid in his problem, so he finished off with a shower. He turned the water to steaming hot and then got in. He let the water soak his hair while he wondered what you were doing right now. It only took a few more minutes for the tears to start. Chase stayed another hour in the shower wondering if he made the right decision.

 'Cause this would be one whole lot easier God, I know that's selfish but it's true If underneath some calm exterior You're all fucked up too

 The first few months of quarantine had been rough on you working from home. You also felt alone all the time but seeing Chase’s Instagram post sent you spiraling down another unhealthy path. You had just started to get better. You weren’t drinking as much, and you had let your friends set you up on a group date. You knew you weren’t ready for another relationship just yet, but you also couldn’t hide in your apartment for the rest of your life.

 You had also been talking to Rudy a lot more. He had been your biggest support through all of this. He had flown back to LA a couple weeks ago to help you move to a new apartment. You figured if you were going to move on you had to move from the place you spent the most time with Chase. It was bittersweet because not only did you have good memories at the home with Chase, but those memories extended to your other friends as well. Rudy had ensured you that you would make knew memories in your new place.

 But when you woke up on June 14, 2020 you almost had a heart attack. It had been 3 months and 13 days to the day, and he had already moved on. Now you were stuck trying to grabble with the emotions you were feeling. In some messed up way at first you didn’t want him to be happy. You wanted him to hurt the way you did, but you knew it wasn’t right. There was a small part of you that was happy that he was now happy.

 Then you were reminded that you owed Chase his half of the damage deposit. Rudy had told you they all moved back to LA and were waiting for season one to come out. You debated on just giving the money to Rudy for him to pass along, but you also wanted to face Chase, to show him that you were now okay even it was a lie.

 You took the latter of the chooses and sent him a text. (Y/N) It’s Y/N, I have your half of the damage deposit from the apartment. I can drop it off or you can pick it up if you want. You stared at the text message for fifteen minutes before sending it. It only took five for him to answer and you dashed to look at the phone. (C) Oh shit I forgot about that. I mean if you want to keep it, that’s fine. You scowled at the text. You didn’t need or want his pity money. (Y/N) I’m fine without it, if your busy I can send it with Rudy the next time he’s here. (C) Okay, no that’s fine I can come by today and get it just air drop me your address. You did just that deciding against messaging him back.

 Chase’s heart fluttered a little when he saw your name come up on his phone. He hadn’t heard from you in months, and he assumed it was going to be about the post on his Instagram. He made the decision that Maddie made him the happy he wanted to be and left you. He had just gotten back in town when you told him about the deposit, and he didn’t mind letting you keep the money. It was the least he could do after everything he put your though. His heart sank when you declined his offer but lite back up when you offered for him to come over.

 Tell me, does your heart stop at the party when my name drops? Like you're stood at the platform when the trains cross Are you hurting, yeah you must be Or is it just me? Tongue-tied, screaming on the inside When I say that we broke up and they ask why Are you crying in the shower like a freak? With only cigarettes for company? Are you crying in the shower like a freak? Or is it just me?

 He honestly thought of this as his chance to apologize for everything that happened. You didn’t deserve for him to treat you like that, and he owed you an explanation. He drove over to your house, white knuckled the whole way. You lived in a small, gated apartment building and he remembered Rudy telling Maddie B. about it. He remembered Rudy saying how excited you were for a new place, and he wasn’t sure if Rudy was just saying that to upset him. Every time Rudy mentioned something about you it always made his heart sink underground and he was reminded about the way he treated you.

 Chase started to walk up the stairs to your apartment once you buzzed him in but to his surprise you were waiting outside on the step. You looked tired and had lost weight which worried him because you were small to begin with. “Hey.” He spoke not really knowing what else to say. “Hi.” You said and he could hear how sore your voice sounded almost like you had been crying. You were smoking, which was something new, but he figured this was just as stressful for you as it was him You handed him an envelope with his name on it. “Uh, I cleaned the whole apartment, and nothing was broken so we could all the money back. Your half is in there, so I just need your key to give to the landlord.” You explained looking at Chase. He pulled his keys from his pocket fumbling with the ring.

 “Y’know, I never meant”- “Please don’t” “Please don’t want?” Chase looked at you confused. He thought you wanted an apology. “I can’t listen to it Chase. I know it’s mean, but I’m not ready to hear you apologize. I’m just starting to get better, and I don’t need you to set me back again.” You explained looking him the eyes. He flinched when you said again. He handed the key back to you. “Thanks, I hope everything works out. I’ll make sure to watch the show.” You smiled at him and he didn’t realize how much he missed seeing you smile. He returned the smile before turning on his heels to leave. “For the record Y/N, you weren’t the only one to get hurt in this.” And it was your turn to flinch at his words. “I guess grief looks better on some people.” And with that you escaped back into your apartment sliding down the door letting out a silent cry. What you didn’t know was that Chase was going back to his car to the same thing.

TAGLIST:

@drewstarkeysbitchh @taylathornton @jjmaybankzz @lemur46

[everlarkficexchange]

the song of my heart (plays in you)

Written by: @thelettersfromnoone

Prompt 108: Everlark fall for one another over a blood transfusion. It happens not once, but twice. His blood runs through her veins, and now hers runs through his. What are the odds they would save each other’s lives? [submitted by @mandelion82]

Rated: Teen and up; mentions of: car wrecks, physical and mental trauma, amputation.

Tags: One-shot, Soulmates, Time Jump(s), Blood-Oaths.

Word count: 2342.

Notes: Unbetaed. All mistakes are my own. Thanks to @javistg and @xerxia31 for being amazing hosts for this exchange ❤️

“The blood [of the covenant] is thicker than [the] water [of the womb].”

“Mama, tell the story again?” Grey eyes peek up shyly through dark eyelashes, fingers curling the folds of her mother’s nightgown. “ ‘bout the dream-people?”

“It’s late, darlin’,” Mama murmurs with a soft smile. She presses a kiss to her daughter’s brow. “Papa will tell the long version tomorrow, hm?”

The girl’s lower lip pops out in a pout- papa is the better storyteller, but she wants to hear the story tonight. She snuggles against her mama’s belly, whispering a ‘night-night’ to the baby they say is growing in there.

“There once was a boy who was called to war, to fight for a king in a land far from home. Though he survived many times in battle, one day, an enemy struck him, and he was hurt, something terrible. At death’s door, his friends brought him to a healer’s house, who saved his life. As he recovered, he grew to love the healer’s daughter, and she grew to love him. In time, when he was recovered, his king came calling on him again. Before he left, the boy and the healer’s daughter made a blood-oath. They drew their own blood, and held their wounds against one another. They vowed that, from that moment until they met again, the song of their blood would call out for one another, no matter how far.”

Her little hand reaches over to mama’s, pressing their palms flush. “Like this?”

“Mhm,” Mama interlaces their fingers, kissing her daughter’s knuckles. “Just like this. Every night, while he was away, all they needed to do was close their eyes, and they could feel one another’s feelings, and see through one another’s eyes.”

“Till forever?” The little girl’s eyes are growing heavy, a yawn coming in spite of her best efforts. “Mama, it’s til’ forever, right?”

Mama doesn’t answer straight away. When she does, it’s soft as a butterfly’s flight; “Till forever, until they found each other again.”

The little girl’s breathing evens out, eyes slipping shut. 

(She’s always wanting a happy ending.)

She’s twelve and using the computer unsupervised the first time she looks it up on a whim. She is meant to be researching poetry, but that quickly becomes dull. 

Instead, the rabbit hole of the web sucks her in.

According to the internet page that comes up, a Blood-Oath Soulmate is defined as a myth, steeped in legend: a couple who, when faced with separation, make a blood-oath that allows them to see, hear, and feel one another across the thousands of miles. 

The origin, exactly, is unclear. It’s a myth with several cultural variants- in her own region, Twelve, and in the northern regions of Åtta, Tio, and Tretton, the war is won, and the boy returns to the healer’s daughter. By contrast, in the southwest, they say the boy earned a glorious warrior’s death, and the girl grieves but honors his memory. In almost all the other regions, the myth is drawn out, many side-adventures and evils hinder the boy’s path home, and by the time the boy finds his way back to his love, amidst a continent of misery, they both are old and grey. It’s not clear where the myth started, some say it’s a retelling of an old Sumerian tale; others, that it comes from Viking oral lore. Some, still, argue that they all are true, that the same fate spreads itself throughout time, throughout the world, in different ways. 

All modern experts, essentially, concur on the matter of the story’s implausibility. The human body replenishes its blood count within weeks, one discussion board points out.

It was just a myth to make humans feel their love could be impermeable, or withstand the tests of distance and challenges, claims another. Or, one user with a profane avatar states, the modern meaning is just guess-work and the cultural context and any kernels of truth will forever be lost.

And everyone knows there’s no such thing as a soulmate.

Kat feels her stomach clench as she quickly exits the browser, lonely in the wake of her father’s death, and her mother’s subsequent depressive episode, and still clinging to her mother’s hushed telling of a love that is palpable down to the bone.

(She can’t decide if knowing it’s ‘just a story’ hurts or helps more. The veneer of childhood is always treasured for a reason.)

She is seventeen when it happens. 

A flash of a medical room. Harsh fluorescent lights. Thick, strong hands trying to block the light out. Starched sheets, scratching skin. A pinch of a needle and stifled shout- 

She wakes covered in sweat. 

Something is wrong, niggles at the back of her mind. Her pounding heart beats out wrong, wrong, wrong. She pushes it away, presses the thought down. She manages to lull herself back to sleep, a deep, imageless thing, but the wrongness sticks with her. 

The next night is nearly identical, except the stranger’s hands are tearing off the bedsheets. A stump of a knee rests where a leg should extend. A panicking voice, a nurse, shouts for help as the struggling and screaming begins-

“Where’s my fucking leg?!”

Kat wakes with a jolt, strangled gasps as she pushes her own blankets off, hands grasping at her limbs, the phantom terror and horror bringing bile up her throat. 

What was that?

A dreamless sleep doesn’t find her again, her eyes bruising with nights of nightmares and days of exhaustion. The hospital, the scratchy sheets, the nurses and medications and injections. 

One week, then another.

She’s in Civics class when it occurs to her. 

The blood drive, at the beginning of May. She’d turned seventeen, and finally weighed enough to donate blood.

Could it be…?

She sleeps in, one Saturday morning, when they are fitting a prosthetic on her stranger; crutches and halting steps as those beefy hands grip support bars.

“Just a step further,” a voice encourages. 

Shame and frustration, and a deep, croaking voice lashes out of the throat-

“I can’t!”

You can, you can, you can, she tries to will the stranger her confidence.

The figure stills, and for a moment, she thinks they can hear her. 

“I’m done,” they say, and in spite of the disappointment on the nurse’s face, a man in a white lab coat agrees, and helps them back into a wheelchair.

Kat feels the sinking failure, the desperate yearning to help this person, this stranger. There are only nurses and doctors, in her dreams. She knows what it means to be lonely, even when there are people around; what it means when you wake up in emotional pain, but have no one to share it with.

She wants to tell her stranger it will all be all right, but the weeks pass and she can only confide her secret to herself. They wouldn’t believe her, even if she could say it in person.

Where is your family? she tries to ask.

They never seem to hear her.

(Waking becomes harder, but she can’t confide in anyone that she wakes wishing she could live in her dreams without them thinking she’s gone mad.)

They are kneading dough, seated at a wood table in a cluttered kitchen. The prosthetic is fitting to the leg, tender today but not sore, exactly. She can smell the flour and feel the silky-smooth texture between her fingers. Smoothe jazz music is playing, from a radio over on the counter. She feels a hand squeezing her stranger’s shoulder.

“Looks good, Pete.” It’s a gruff voice, but not unkind.

“Needs to rise,” her stranger- ‘Pete’!- retorts. They don’t look up, but she can feel a flush on her ‘Pete’s’ cheeks.

“We got some coursework from the school, then.”

(She doesn’t realize this is the last she will dream of her stranger.)

The dreams evaporate, after eight weeks, as abruptly as they had begun.

In the aftermath of her first dreamless night in over a month, she wakes to the dawn breaking with no images from her stranger. 

‘Pete’. 

She tries to will herself back to sleep, compel visions back from the brink. It’s the first night she thinks to try and remember the names of the doctors and nurses, or the location of the hospital. The nametags are foggy in her memories, a nurse Jackie or Jenny and a last name they had abbreviated to, ‘A.’ 

The internet doesn’t help her any more than her own mind can. ‘An amputee named ‘Pete’ who likes to knead dough and is doing high school coursework at home’ doesn’t do much in a White Pages search. 

She writes it all down, then, each snippet and sound she can recall. She keeps the journal under her mattress, knowing her mother won’t bother, and her baby sister wouldn’t dare to look. 

Like a madwoman, she rereads her own accounts, adds notes to it every morning, hoping the dreams will start again. But every morning, the dreams seem more as if they were fantasies, and her journal reads like fiction.

A year passes. 

Her dreams now are either blank, or memories of ‘Pete’.

She could blame it on her family friend, and his stupid insistance that she attend Prom; or maybe the girlfriends she eats lunch with, who guilt her by saying that everyone needs a life outside of school, and after-school jobs.

Kat had only driven into town because she needed a damn dress. Two weeks later, and she would have been exhausted from Prom as she crossed the school stage, collecting her high school diploma.

Nothing pans out the way she imagines it will, though.

She’s alone in the car when a truck in the oncoming lane overturns at a curve in the road.

Pain bursts on her head. Flames against her skin. Crushed metal, and broken glass. In the distant fog of wailing sirens, she can hear first responders attempting to call out to her. 

The only thing she remembers seeing clearly, between the accident and the hospital, is smoke rising into a blue, cloudless sky, through a shattered windshield.

“You lost a lot of blood, Kat,” the doctor says, tone not unsympathetic. “We had to do a transfusion.”

“Oh.”

She blinks, a haze of morphling in her preventing her from fully comprehending. Some broken bones. A neck brace. Burns on her face and arms, but not as bad as they first had thought- she won’t need skin grafts.

All small mercies.

Her sister and mama are there, balloons and flowers and hugs a-plenty. Get-well-soon cards from several classmates and family friends.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” her mama murmurs, as the doctor leaves.

“Okay.”

Mama runs her fingers through Kat’s knotted hair, while her sister clings and tells her how much she loves her.

She’s not numb, not beneath the morphling. But she’s so damn tired and her skin itches under the bandages. 

(She can’t comfort her family while they try their hand at comforting her.)

She is washing her hands in the hospital room sink, when she feels a jolt, a compulsion; a chill down her spine and gooseflesh down her arms. She looks in the mirror, and feels in awe, feels a foreign elation. A burst of affection, a warmth. 

She can’t reckon with it, can’t justify it. 

It’s just… her own face. Sloppily braided dark hair. Healing stitches on her cheek, and forehead. Silver eyes, surrounded by a bruise, set in a narrow face. She gulps, leaning in closer, and trying to grasp the sensation. Out-of-body, might be the right term- dissociative, she’d read about once, for Health and Wellness. 

There’s a knock on her door, the nurse doing a check, and as Kat turns, the warmth dissipates.

The nurse comes in not long after, checks her vitals and asks a series of questions.

“My name is Katniss Everdeen.”

That warmth in her chest is back, the hair at the base of her neck stands straight.

She scrubs her hands over her face, focusing on the simple questions the nurse is asking.

“I’m eighteen years old. I’m graduating from PPH12 in Sommen in one week. I’m at Merchant Memorial Hospital.”

In the bathroom that night, she stares at her own reflection, and wonders if maybe that feeling of someone looking over her shoulder- more like looking through her eyes- if maybe….

She fogs up the mirror, and writes her room number. She stares at it, for a time, before scoffing at own ridiculousness, and wiping it away with her towel.

She only has one day left before being discharged, though she’ll miss graduation and the parties that would entail. She can’t say she is particularly disappointed; she’s never been a party person.

She’s awake when the door to her shared hospital room opens. She pays it little mind. The curtain around her bed is pulled taught, her roommate jabbering away on their phone about the food service as if this were fine dining, rather than a hospital. Kat is reading a get well card, this one signed by the whole senior class and class advisors.

There’s a thrumming in her veins, but that might be them weaning her off of the morphling.

Curtain rings scrape against metal, and she barely glances up, the nurse rounds due any minute now. Normally, though, the bubbly nurse who does the day-shift is already bustling with an overwhelming enthusiasm that makes Kat question how exhausted the nurse is at the end of the day.

Maybe it’s a different nurse or a doctor or mama, or- 

The blue eyes that are boring into hers are ones she has only seen in her dreams; she can finally see blonde curls framing them, familiar thick, strong hands brushing through the curls. 

“Pete?” she croaks, certain she’s finally lost her damn mind.

His eyes widen at the sound of his name, lips parting. 

“I found you.” 

A tone of surprise, as if he’d driven all this way, but in expectation of disappointment.

“Peeta,” he introduces himself, edging closer. His hand carefully takes hold of her own. “And… I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Katniss.”

(Her name has never been spoken as sweetly, and her heart has never felt so full.)

[between-the-alchemist-and-god]

Dear Victor, Please Answer (Ernest study)

[click here to read on AO3]

Summary: On a cold winter night, as a snowstorm buffers at his windows, Ernest attempts to draft a letter to his late brother Victor Frankenstein.

Notes: CW // allusions to death, mention of incest (Victor and Elizabeth, but they don't have feelings for each other it's just their wedding), allusions to chronic illness.

Word Count: 2499-2511 depending if you ask Google Docs or AO3

Story after the cut

~~~

Dear Victor,

Ernest’s hands paused, twirling his quill between his fingers as he contemplated that phrase. Some of the ink bled onto his fingertips.

Dear Victor. Two words with the world as their shadow. How many times had Elizabeth written them? Henry? How often had Ernest wished to dip a pen into the ink and hash out those letters?

Would this be the last of them?

Ernest looked up from the paper, ripping his mind from the ancient memories unlocked between the familiar strokes of his pen. The window before his desk glimmered with ice. The panes had frozen with intricate designs of frost, like someone had traced their finger over the mountain silhouetted by the setting sun in the distance.

Winter had fallen so quickly. Ernest hardly had enough time to dust off his thicker coats before the mornings had grown later and the daytime shorter. A storm strong enough to blanket the entire house in white was coming soon, he was sure of it.

Ernest could never properly enjoy winter. His father used to preach about how he was “too frail for the cold but too stubborn for the fire.”

While other kids of his class and age would go about their days with more layers, drenching themselves in snow, Ernest’s winter was often spent huddled under blankets or trying not to singe himself as he embraced the fireplace in the hall.

This year, he didn’t even have the comfort of a home.

He had a house, mind. A large house at that. A house full of so many rooms and so many ghosts that he should be dead before he salts it all.

But ghosts weren't much company anyway.

The thing about houses and ghosts is that they don't do much but sit there and rot. Just last week the roof had begun to creak in an alarming fashion, and Ernest was sure some rodents had found their way from outside into the walls.

These developments had not worried him in the autumn as the season passed by, like a cow trudging up a hill to snowy days and freezing nights. But as winter took hold of the land and grew colder, so did the rooms, and so did Ernest. Where he was lethargic and blissful in the summer, this winter reality struck him awake with icy winds.

Ernest stared at the window. It was closed, but a deep chill still lay deep in his chest, regardless of whether the wind pushed at the walls or not.

His eyes shifted downward to the floral patterns etched into the window frame. Perched atop the wood stood a small carving of a dove, its dusty body curving toward the heavens, beseeching its maker for unknowable desires with rounded eyes.

Ernest eyed it for a moment.

His mother had loved doves in the way that all compassionate people did, for their symbolism and their association with large, over-romanticized events. Her dresses, her accessories, and even her make up all held that same disposition as a dove about to take flight, an olive branch in its beak.

Caroline had believed in that branch—that simple twig carved from nature and hearts willing to change. Her dying wish rested on that simple twig.

It was a dying wish never to be: Her wish for her eldest children to marry.

Ernest sighed, eyes shifting back to his paper.

Caroline had put her everything into that poor, rotten, old twig. She did not notice the apathetic glances from Victor and Elizabeth nor the way they never spoke of it except at her prodding. And on her deathbed, her head stuffed with fever, Caroline had held out that wretched stick with such compassion. Such ignorance.

Up until her last breath, Caroline had held that branch tightly, hoping someone would take it.

If Ernest had been by her bedside as she fought for breath—if she had entrusted him with her woes—if any of them had only known of the cursed disease of fate running through his cursed family, Ernest would have taken it. He would have taken the branch before it could be snatched by the cold winds outside. He should have taken it.

His breath hitched, but his eyes did not water. Ernest clasped his hands around his pen to stop them shaking.

Victor should have taken it. He should have honestly taken that final offering, not picked it up like some wretched apple meant for the ground and smiled up at their mother, as if the twig hadn't stabbed him in the heart repeatedly since the day Caroline brought home his sister and expected all of them—him, Victor, Elizabeth, and Henry—to play nicely together like perfect little children.

If they had ever truly been kids to begin with, considering the mental anguish all of them had endured, ingrained into their very personalities and strong enough to drive all of them into madness—for regret, for ambition, for recognition, or for love.

Caroline thought Victor had accepted her offer, and this knowledge had brought her peace in her final moments. It kept her from this sickness of mortal minds.

She thought wrong.

Dear Victor, the paper taunted Ernest as he finally loosened his grip on the pen. Dear Victor.

Would things have changed if that branch had been anything but selfish? Passed from one soul-seeking hand to the next? Or was it converted, the moment it contorted along the family tree, to a broken bridge hanging between the romantic apathy of cousins?

Ernest finally moved his hand, and onto the paper the ink bled these words:

Dear Victor,

I never asked you, busy as you were in grief and study, just how Mother was in her final moments. Was she scared? Did she accept her illness with grace as I never could? Did she ever blame me for my absence? I do not expect an answer, but if you should find a way to give one, I will wait. If afterlife does truly exist I trust your first (and most likely final) apology for mortal affairs be to our mother instead of me.

Ernest lifted the tip of his pen and rested his elbow on the desk, rereading his words.

He remembered how that wish had ended, when Victor and Elizabeth had endeavored to go through with it. He had been present for the wedding ceremony of his brother and adopted sister, as well as the preparation and the tragedy thereafter.

William never saw such white as Ernest did that day. He never had the chance.

More ink bled onto his hand as the quill rolled between Ernest’s fingers. He pressed it deeper into the paper and carved the message:

Victor, Mother did not deserve all that we gave her. Nor did she deserve her death, just as our brother and sister did not deserve theirs.

Nevertheless, they are dead, and I can ask only the afterlife how they fare.

His hands shook and the nib of the pen bent oddly, threatening to break, as Ernest pressed it deeper into the paper.

A question. He could write a question, surely. Just one thing to ask his brother, and then he would know.

He hashed out the words:

Is William there with you now, or have you two been separated for your mortal paths? How about Elizabeth? Have you yet reunited with Henry?

Do you think I could see you all again some day?

At this final sentence, Ernest inhaled sharply. His hands lifted from the page like it had become the surface of a heated stove, and he grasped at the edge of the paper, fumbling with the corner. He glared at the ink-blotted message a moment longer, then ripped it from the wooden surface with an audible cut of air.

He crumpled the paper in his hand and yanked open a thin drawer which usually sunk deep into the desk’s rim. From the drawer he produced another piece of paper which he slid into the last one’s place.

It laid quietly on the desk, waiting.

Ernest pulled his quill where he had dropped it and dipped the tip into the inkwell once more.

The wind outside rose in volume as Ernest stared at the new canvas. The sound was a scream in the ghost-riddled yard of the house, and for just a moment, Ernest wondered to himself how many of his resting siblings had screamed that same scream in their final moments.

With a shiver, Ernest stared deeper into the grooves of the paper, urging himself to move the pen. When no such movement came, he sighed and slouched lower into the chair.

Is this how Henry felt, slaving at a desk covered in paperwork and a half-written poem hidden beneath it? Ernest remembered how Henry had often appeared in his room on summer days, driven in by the heat and a desire to get away from that horrid desk of work.

Henry spent most days in the Frankenstein house, in part for the company and in part to evade his father. When Victor and Elizabeth were unavailable to tempt him toward more exciting adventures, Henry would grab a paper and a pen, sit at the foot of Ernest’s bed, and write poetry. His voice was calming.

“I must not go bland,” Henry would say as he produced from his person a copy of Swift or some other poet's work (Ernest could never figure out where he stored them in a jacket so thin), “for my father thinks it best I abandon writing all together! Can you believe that, Ernest? Abandon poetry for whatever ‘business’ he wishes me to attend.” At this he made a displeased noise that held a few seconds too many, along with a pout up to the Heavens.

Ernest laughed at the theatrics. Until those laughs turned into wheezes. Then wheezes into gasps. And then he coughed until the mirth finally disappeared under the need for air.

As usual.

“He sets me up with lessons and work all day,” Henry continued when Ernest had finally caught his breath, glancing at him cautiously every now and again, “like I am some mule to carry his business for him.” Now he leaned closer, his tie of bright hair falling from the perch on his shoulder and mussing his bangs.

Ernest would pitch closer, too, so he could hear the words whispered to him.

“But I always manage to sneak a few plays in with me. The secret is to keep them under the jacket and say how cold it is every few minutes. Oh!” Pulling back, Henry reached for his paper and began to scribble. “That’s a good theme for something, don't you think?” He smiled at Ernest.

Even if given a thousand years, Ernest thought he could never forget Henry’s smile. Henry smiled with his whole body, like he had a candle stuck inside of him and transparent skin; he always smiled like he completely meant it. Ernest admired him for that.

Victor had, too. Sometimes Ernest suspected that Victor wished to be more like Henry.

But Henry and Victor would never be alike, for Henry would rather have his own blood spilled upon the ground again than be tarnished with what vile substance staining Victor's hands. If that substance had not been Henry’s blood in the first place.

In truth, Ernest knew what killed Henry had not been his brother. In that same vein, however, he knew Victor had a trail behind him. Sometime between Caroline’s sickness and William’s murder, Victor had walked along a path of red, blazing with a human desire to see the fundamentals of the world break.

Victor had always been ambitious like that. He always sought what he wanted, and very often received it—at least, in some sense.

Sometimes Ernest wished he had inherited such a trait as well.

He stared back down at the paper.

Ernest pondered at his desk for a moment, the winter storm making the walls whine around him.

His back straightened with resolve.

Maybe, he thought to himself, maybe I could try.

And so he began to write.

What Ernest realized in that moment was that he didn't want answers. He had never wanted an answer, even before Clerval disappeared, before the wedding, before Ernest and William’s game had led both his brother and his friend to their deaths, and even before Victor had left for that cursed school.

Ernest did not care why Victor had left them for a school so far away. He could live without knowing who had really framed Justine. He never even had to ask his mother just how it felt in her sickbed if fate forbade it.

No, Ernest didn't want answers. What good would an explanation do in this empty house in the middle of winter? No letter he could write would ever answer all—or even any—of his questions.

What Ernest really wanted—needed to do, before this storm caved the roof of his psyche and he descended into that madness rooted within his blood—was trust himself.

Trust himself enough not to make the same mistakes as his mother.

To be there when someone else meets their maker; to never again lose sight of anything of worth in his life.

To enjoy life and poetry as he never could as a child.

To hoist himself out of bed, not because he is sick, but because he has rested with a reason to go outside.

But Ernest could live without all those. They were meaningless sentiments for a grieving man. He did not need to fix all of his mistakes, nor did he have to prove to himself that his life could, indeed, go on.

The only thing Ernest needed in order to finally rest without fidgeting all night in his bed, or to stop those recordings of old conversations and faces from flashing in his mind, was to trust himself.

More specifically, trust himself to let go of misplaced sympathy.

With a long inhale, which made his eyes water as he released it, Ernest put the quill tip back to the paper. The lines were messier this time, margins less defined and letters spilling into each other.

But beyond that disorganization the paper read:

Dear Victor,

You were a brother and friend. I looked up to you. I looked up to your wit and your drive—that same wit and drive which drove you so mad that I still feel the bitterness of your delusions in my morning drink.

I hope your death was quick and fair to you, because I know that is all that you wanted upon your deathbed, unlike our mother who wished only for you and our sister to live on without her.

I wish I could ask for a final word to William, but I know you shall not see each other. Your egotism has surely damned you. So instead I ask one thing of you— Say hello to Zeus’ eagle for me.

Your brother and legacy,

Ernest

The snowstorm wailed.

[wordsandshawn]

Breakup Letter

This is based on a request where y/n is blackmailed to break up with Shawn, so of course there’s angst. Hope you enjoy!

|| message me || masterlist ||

Word count: 3.4k

~

Tears fall from your eyes because of the heartbreak making a home in your chest. As you take pen to paper, it feels so wrong and the opposite of what you really want. It makes you feel like a horrible person, but you feel so trapped and you don’t know what else to do. This is for the best, you keep reminding yourself, but it still doesn’t change the sinking feeling in your stomach and the ache in your chest. Your heart hurts so much at the thought of not being with Shawn anymore. It hurts so much that you feel physically sick.

Shawn is so proud of the reputation he has created. Not only is he proud of it, but it also serves as the foundation to his career. Part of his appeal is how clean cut and genuine he is. He was young when he was discovered, and his past is relatively unproblematic. He is notoriously a nice guy, and from personal experience, you can attest to the fact that he deserves every bit of the reputation he has acquired.

Although you’ve been dating Shawn for nearly nine months, he’s also in the middle of a publicity relationship with a singer that is supposed to promote both of their careers. Ever since the beginning of your relationship, you and Shawn agreed to keep it private. At first, it seemed like the best idea. Then the publicity relationship came up, and after discussing it at length, both you and Shawn agreed that it was just another part of his career. You felt confident in your relationship and you truly viewed the fake relationship as part of his job.

After he started the publicity relationship about two months ago, it became even more important that you kept your relationship a secret. If Shawn was caught with you, there would be repercussions that could affect his reputation and career.

Earlier today, you received a text message that made your world stop and left you feeling like you had no choice, leading you to writing the letter, packing up your stuff, and walking out of the condo you shared with Shawn in Toronto.

Break up with him or these will be sent to TMZ and everyone will know he’s a cheater and a liar.

Reading the words made your heart nearly stop, even before you viewed the attached pictures. Your hand holding your phone was shaking so much, you couldn’t see anything clearly, but you didn’t have to. As terrifying as it was to receive that threat, your immediate reaction was to tell Shawn. You were confident that he would know how to handle it, that you would figure it out together and things would be okay. You didn’t think you would ever oblige to this outrageous demand.

However, as you clicked off of the message, starting to open facetime to call Shawn, a second text appeared. And don’t even think of telling him this is the reason. If you tell him instead of breaking up, his career will be ruined. These photos aren’t the only thing we have on him.

After reading the second message, you didn’t immediately click facetime. Instead, you let the words sink in. You read and reread the messages, trying to wrack your brain for what to do next as everything suddenly felt like it was falling apart.

An hour later, the letter is completely written, and most of your items are out of his condo. You leave the breakup note on his kitchen counter along with your keys and take your bags, showing up on your best friend’s doorstep.

She ushers you in as the tears roll down your face. She’s asking questions, none of which you answer. Taking your bags and putting them aside, she walks you over to the couch, making sure you sit down before going to the kitchen to make tea. You take this time to respond to the person who sent you those earlier messages, I did it. Now delete those pictures.

You pray that this will be enough to assure those photos are never released and Shawn’s career survives unscathed. Shawn won’t receive the letter until he returns to Toronto tomorrow, a homecoming that you had both been looking forward to since the day he left a week ago, but now his return will only mean him reading the letter and everything changing. Suddenly, you’re dreading tomorrow instead of looking forward to it.

That evening, you share the briefest possible explanation with Tiana, your best friend. You tell her that things weren’t working out between you and Shawn, and that you had decided you needed to take a break from the relationship, to move out. She’s blindsided by this information because she thought everything was going well between the two of you and she can’t believe you would decide to move out so quickly. You lie, telling her that things hadn’t been good and that you and Shawn weren’t seeing eye to eye anymore.

The next afternoon, you’re still on the couch, having barely moved in twenty-four hours. You can tell Tiana is worried, but she doesn’t say anything, knowing that you’re getting over a breakup and you’re allowed to mope.

The doorbell rings, and you immediately tear your gaze away from the tv to meet your best friend’s eyes. She looks confused at first, but you scamper off the couch and into the hallway where you’ll be hidden from view if she opens the door. You don’t say a word, but you know it’s Shawn on the other side of the door because his flight has landed, and he probably made it back to the condo, meaning he saw the note. You expected that Shawn would show up here once he read the note and realized you were gone. You had turned off your phone because you couldn’t take the thought of seeing any messages from him, and you didn’t trust yourself not to reply and run back to him.

Although you can’t see, you hear the door open, and then Shawn’s voice. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “I know she’s here. Please let me talk to her.”

“Who?” Tiana replies, playing dumb.

“Y/n. I know she’s here. Please just let me see her.” He pleads.

“No. She wants space, Shawn. Just go home.” She responds, coldly. Tiana is one of the kindest, sweetest people you know, but she knows how to act tough when she has to, something you’ve always admired about her.

“She can have space. She can have all the space she needs, but it can’t end, not like this. I just need to talk to her. Just for two minutes,” The last word falls from his lips in an almost desperate whisper, “Please.”

His last plea almost breaks your resolve, but you remind yourself that this is for the best. You remind yourself that this has to be how things go, and you remain hidden, even as your heart breaks at the sound of his voice, at the way he sounds so broken.  

“Go home Shawn.”

“Y/n,” Shawn shouts loudly, knowing you’re in the apartment and you can probably hear him. “Please, y/n, please talk to me.” Is the last thing you hear before the door closes. Seconds later, you’re face to face with your best friend and you collapse into her as the tears fall again.

She guides you back to the couch where she sits down next to you, trying to understand what is going on and what you are going to do next. “You sure you don’t want to just talk to him?” She questions softly.

You shake your head, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Did he do something? You can tell me. Did he cheat? Did he mess up?” She asks.

You shake your head again. He did nothing wrong. Well nothing except maybe accepting advice from his PR team, but you can’t exactly fault him for that. It’s part of his job, to listen to them. They’re supposed to have his best interest at heart. They’re supposed to be in control of catapulting his career to the next level, of curating the reputation, the character of Shawn that sells the most. That’s their job.  

“Y/n,” She says with a sigh, “What’s so bad that you can’t just talk to him? When has there ever been something you couldn’t talk to Shawn about?”

“I can’t talk to him about this.” You finally manage to say.

“What about me? Can you talk to me about it?” She questions, and you can tell she’s starting to feel worried. Even she can sense that this is more than just a regular break up. When you shake your head, and then pull away from her, she senses that you’re not ready to talk about it. The truth is, you’re not sure you’ll ever be ready to talk about it. Although she wants to push you for more information, she doesn’t. She simply rubs your back and lets you cry until you’ve run out of tears and fall asleep on her couch.

The next few days pass in a blur of tears. You manage to pull yourself together enough to show up to work each day, but that takes everything you have in you, so by the time you get back to Tiana’s apartment, you’re exhausted and end up falling asleep super early only to wake up about an hour later and spend the rest of the night tossing and turning.

You block Shawn’s phone number and delete all your social media apps. If you didn’t need your phone for work, you probably would have turned it off and put it in a drawer somewhere. You know that Shawn has been contacting Tiana almost nonstop, so you can only imagine your phone is flooded with messages from him. You know it isn’t fair to him to end the relationship like this and he probably hates you for it, but it is the only way to keep Shawn safe and give him a chance to be happy in the future.

Shawn’s happiness is what means the most to you, so if you have to leave his life in order for his hopes and dreams to come true, that’s what you’ll do, no matter how much it hurts you. That’s what you do for someone you love more than anything.

It’s been another long day at work, and you can’t wait to get home just so you can fall asleep. Anything that allows you not to feel the deep ache in your chest has quickly become your favorite past times, which basically means alcohol and sleep.

As you’re walking to your car, you see someone out of the corner of your eye. At first, you don’t think anything of it, assuming its someone else walking to their car after work to. However, when that person continues to follow you, your pace quickens, fear rising within you.

You’re almost to your car when you her your name called out in a familiar voice. You spin around just to come face to face with Shawn. “Are you stalking me?” You question. The pull you feel in your heart is so strong it takes all your energy to not run into his arms. You’ve missed him so much. All you want is for him to wrap his arms around you and tell you he loves you and everything is going to be okay.

“No, maybe.” He says, stopping a foot away from you and running his fingers through his hair. He looks hurt, and you can’t blame him.

“Shawn, you can’t be here.” You say, looking around, worried about being seen. He has to know that it’s risky to his publicity relationship. Even when you were together, you never stood around talking in a public parking lot. Truthfully, you never had to.

“You won’t answer my calls. Tiana won’t let me in. What else was I supposed to do?” He questions, sounding desperate.

“We can’t be seen together,” You say, almost frantically, still glancing around. You’re worried about Shawn’s publicity relationship if you’re spotted, but more than that, you’re worried about the threat in the text message, the even bigger threat to Shawn if you didn’t do what they said.

Shawn steps closer to you, “What’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?” Shawn is probably the only boy in the world who could get broken up with and then show up at your workplace to ask if you’re okay. That’s one of the reasons you love him so much, one of the reasons you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to stop loving him, no matter what happens.

“Nothing happened, Shawn.” You lie.

He steps closer, his pull on you only getting stronger with the closer proximity.

Knowing you can’t be this close to him without completely breaking down, you shove him. You take two of your hands, press them flat against his chest and push him back. He takes a step back, caught off guard.

“I don’t want to be with you.” Saying those words and pushing him away hurt you more than everything so far. Writing a letter and ignoring his phone calls is one thing but lying through your teeth is a completely different kind of pain.

“I don’t believe you.” He says so forcefully it catches you off guard. Truthfully, you’ve hurt him so much, and you don’t understand why he won’t just give up on you. What you’ve done is unforgivable, and he doesn’t deserve any of it. But somehow, he knows that this is more than you just deciding to hurt him and walk away without even talking to him or trying to fix things. He knows you so well that he knows you wouldn’t do this to him. A part of you is grateful that he doesn’t believe this act you’re putting up, but the other part of you wishes he would just let it go, hate you for a while, and then move on and be happy. That’s all you want for him.

You take a deep breath as tears flood your eyes. “I can’t,” You whisper.

“Meet me at the condo, please. Just talk to me. I can fix it. I know I can, but I just need you to tell me what’s going on with you.”

Shawn presses your elevator key card into your hand, the key card you had left on the counter next to the condo key and the note.

“Please.” He breathes, before turning and walking back to his car, knowing how risky it is to stand around in this parking any longer. You get into your car, and double check the parking lot one more time, making sure that no one spotted the two of you together, and then you sit there in the parking lot and cry.

You saw Shawn’s car leave shortly after you got into your car. He couldn’t stay, but you know that he’s going back to his condo to wait for you. After sitting in your car until you run out of tears, you turn your car on and drive out of the parking lot. You thought you hadn’t made a decision, but when you park your car in the designated stall next to Shawn’s car in the condo’s underground lot, you realize the decision was made the second Shawn pressed the key card into your hand. As much as you wanted to stay away to protect him, it was breaking you, and knowing that he wasn’t willing to give up on you so easily made you realize that you weren’t able to give up on him like that either.

You barely knock twice before the door swings open, revealing Shawn. “You came,” He whispers in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” The words fall from your lips just like your resolve to keep this a secret from him.

“Please, just tell me what’s going on.” He pleads, stepping back and letting you enter the condo before closing the door behind you.

You turn to face him, taking a deep breath, and it feels like everything crumbles around you. You watch this beautiful boy, the boy you love more than you’ve ever loved anyone before, and you remember the threat. Fear rises within you again. As much as you want to fall into his arms, you’re scared. Finally, you say, “Your music has to come first. Your career comes first, and I just can’t be the person you need right now.”

“That’s bullshit, and I think you know it. My music has never come before you. Music, that’s my job, but you—you’re my life, y/n. You’re never not the person I need, right now, and always.” That sentence causes you to stop in your tracks. Everything freezes for a moment as you simply stare at Shawn. “I’d give up music in a second if that meant you’d move back home with me and I could wake up next to you every day.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to give it up.” You whisper, hesitantly looking up at him.

“I know, but I’m telling you I would. If I had to choose, I’d choose you every time.” He says sincerely.

You sigh, closing your eyes then taking a deep breath. When you open your eyes again, you say, “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“You’re really freaking me out. Please, just tell me what is going on. Y/n, you can tell me anything, you know that right?” Shawn says, taking your hand in his. Now that you’re alone in his apartment, you can’t think of a single reason not to let him touch you.

You pull your phone from your pocket and unlock it, opening the text from the unfamiliar number and showing it to Shawn. He reads the text and you watch his expression turn to anger. You expected him to be afraid, just like you were when you read it, but he’s not.

After a few seconds, some of the anger melts away, and Shawn says, “That’s it? That’s why you broke up with me?”

You nod, “I’m sorry Shawn. I’m so sorry. I was scared. I am scared about what is going to happen to you.” You ramble, but Shawn just shakes his head, stepping closer to you. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

“Y/n, love, nothing’s going to happen. I’ll call Andrew, we’ll get the number traced, it’s okay.” He reassures you.

“But Shawn, they said they had stuff on you, stuff that could ruin your career.”

“How bad could it be?” He questions, sounding so carefree, almost like he’s not feeling the weight of the situation.

“I don’t know, that’s why it’s scary. I mean, how did they get those pictures of us? We’re so careful.” You say, inwardly chastising yourself just thinking about it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Shawn says, trying to get you to stop thinking and stop freaking out, even just for a moment. “It’s okay. I know you were scared, but I’m not letting us end this relationship because someone on the other side of a screen told us to.”

“I’m sorry.” You say again, hiding your face against his chest.

“I know you are,” He says softly, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” He pauses, just holding you in his arms as you treasure the feeling of being close to him that you so desperately craved for so long.

“But don’t ever do that again, Y/n. Next time you want to break up with me, at least talk to me about it first.”

He tries to lighten his tone, so it comes off as a joke, but you hear that sense of fear in his voice, the feeling of fear of losing you. You know because you feel the exact same way. Even though you were the one who initiation the breakup, and even though you knew exactly why you had to do it, to protect Shawn, you don’t ever want to have to go through that again.

“I promise I won’t ever do that again,” You respond, meaning every word of that promise.

“Good.” He says, a small smile forming on his face before letting you out of his grasp. You meet his gaze as he says, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

[mgg-theprettiestboy]

cross my heart (pt. 2)

spencer reid x oc

cross my heart masterlist

word count: 2118

It was a week later that Spencer bumped into her again.

He had just gotten back from a four day case in New Mexico, and had hardly slept during the case, so he slept on the flight home. And when they landed at night, he was fully awake, despite it being 10pm. So, after hours of restlessness, he decided to go to his favourite little corner of the world.

This time, there was no chaos. There was no yelling, or cursing, or collapsing of books. There was the faint sound of music, and an overwhelming smell of coffee, and that ‘new book smell’, despite the fact that most of the books were in fact, rather old.

And the sight of Raye sitting cross legged on one of the sofas, reading. It wasn’t a Narnia book this time, but she looked just as invested in it.

“Reid, hey,” Tamara said, her voice strained. He dragged his eyes over to her, moving closer to the counter. It was only then that he saw her eyes were red and puffy, and she wasn’t making direct contact. He didn’t want to pry or overstep, but he was tired and he usually didn’t have a filter anyways, and concern drove his actions, “hey, are you okay?”

Tamara huffed a laugh, her eyes darting to Raye, before back to the doctor, “had a fight with my girlfriend. It happens, don’t worry. What can I get for you?”

It didn’t take a profiler to tell that she didn’t want to talk about it, so Spencer just ordered a coffee. Whilst she made it, he wandered over to the bookshelf to pick out a book. He had read them all already, but would happily reread them again. Tamara kept the book collection flawless, it was mostly classic literature, and older books, all of which Spencer would read. He didn’t think he would like there it as much, if it was all bad sci-fi and cheesy romances.

He glanced back to Raye, trying to sneak a peak at the title of her book. He was surprised to see her looking at him. They both looked away bashfully, Spencer trying to fumble with a book to make himself look busy, as Raye buried her face in her book, literally this time.

She thought he was kinda cute, obviously. Who didn’t? He had the kind of hair she wanted to rake her hands through, and these puppy dog eyes. Not to mention the fact that he was heads taller than her. He was wearing a purple dress shirt and tie, but last time she saw him, he had a cardigan on. And she couldn't help but notice the converse on his feet. That made her smile.

Plus, he had this wholesome vibe. He was always nothing but polite, and had such a kind face. Raye could bet he was a momma’s boy.

“Do you have any recommendations?” His voice broke her out of her trance, her eyes meeting his, “huh?”

“I trust your taste. Is that Austen?” Spencer said, tipping his head at the book she held, “between C. S. Lewis and Jane Austen, I think your opinions on books are solid, from my observations so far. So, do you have any recommendations?” As previous mentioned, Spencer had read all the books before. He didn't know why he was asking her. Actually, yes he did, he was just to embarrassed to admit it to himself.

“Have you ever read any Arthur Conan Doyle? Sherlock is one of my favourite characters to exist, like, ever. Movies and shows don't do him justice,” Raye said with a soft smile, her hand trailing up and down the spine go her book, as if it were a cat or something else comforting, “I think there’s a copy of The Hounds Of Baskerville on the shelf.”

Spencer didn’t even know he was smiling, until he realised it was border-lining a grin. He turned back to the shelf, scouring over the titles to find the one he suggested. All the while, Raye was trying to stomp at the butterflies in her stomach. She would squish them with her bare hands if she had to.

“Thanks for the recommendation,” he said once he found the book, turning to her, “I’ll be sure to give you my thoughts once I’m done.”

“Please, do. But if they're anything but positive, then I don't think we’ll be good friends,” she said with a smile. Spencer returned it, nodding at her before going to read a book that he had read 65 times already. But who was counting?

-

They continued doing this for weeks to come. If Spencer came back to the cafe at a ridiculous hour, she would be there. 96.4% of visits resulted in him seeing her. And he would give his thoughts on a book she had recommended, or vice versa, as he would begin to recommend books to her as well. 

They would never share a table, though. Never have a full, proper conversation. Spencer couldn’t figure out if he was being a chicken, or if he was picking up the right signals; that Raye didn't want to talk to him. She would always indulge his thoughts on literature, but as soon as the conversation would steer elsewhere, she would shy away. She wouldn't even look at him. Maybe she was shy? Nervous? Spencer understood that more than anyone. Still, he was nothing if not a gentleman, and never pushed any further.

But he figured that if he didn't push, he would never get anywhere with her. And did he want to get somewhere? He didn't know. But part of him was curious, part of him wanted to know more about her, more than just what she thought about writings. Was that odd? The last time he felt like this was with... was with Maeve. But this felt different. 

And he wanted to know more about her.

-

It had been three days since he saw her, and he was already getting antsy. It was a paperwork day for him, so he had no excuse to be awake, other than he was restless at the thought of her, alone, sitting in the cafe, completely absorbed in a good book, and content with a hot chocolate.

And his imagination was nothing if not accurate. She was reading Bronte this time, and an empty hot chocolate sat on the table beside her. She didn't seem as stressed, like she was last week, when reading Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. She seemed relaxed, and completely and utterly satisfied. A good book can work wonders, Spencer thought. 

Tamara wasn't working, which made this a little easier for him. One less set of watching eyes. Spencer ordered a cappuccino and hot chocolate, trying to steady his shaky hands as he brought the cups to her table. He couldn't even think of what to say, so he just simply sat the hot chocolate on her table.

“I didn't order-? Oh, Spencer, hello,” Raye relaxed at seeing him, before her brows furrowed in confusion, “what's this?”

“An apology hot chocolate, for my most recent recommendation. I know you didn't enjoy Frankenstein that much, I watched you as you read it,” he said, and she sighed, “was it that obvious?” “It was, yeah. Not a fan of the genre, I get it,” he said with a laugh, making her smile, “well, thank you. I owe you a coffee then.”

“No, don't be ridiculous, you don’t owe me anything. Except maybe another recommendation,” he said, a hint of teasing in his voice making her smile, “uh. okay. I think I can do that. The Da Vinci Code.”

He gave her a deadpanned look, making her throw her head back and laugh, “c’mon, we agreed to read whatever the other one suggested, regardless.”

“I saw the movie. Seriously?” He grimaced, and she giggled. He was quick to stop grimacing.

“I think you’ll enjoy it, really. Besides, the only make a movie if the book is popular. And books are popular, ‘cause they’re good,” she retorted. He nodded slowly in thought, “you pose a good point... fine. I’ll read it.”

Raye grinned in victory, before sitting up to rummage through her bag, “believe it or not, Tam doesn't actually have a copy of it in the shop, so I brought my copy from home. And whenever you're finished with it, just throw it on a shelf in here. Someone else can enjoy it, or I’ll find it again.”

Spencer took the book she handed him, smiling softly at seeing the worn edges and turned corners, “I’ll make sure to get it home safely, don't worry.”

There was a beat of silence, and before she could say anything, he spoke, “is it okay if I sit here?” “With me?” She asked, as if she was unsure of what he was asking. He replied, “with you.”

She nibbled at her bottom lip, but was quick to nod. Baby steps, Spencer thought. He sat down, sitting his cappuccino and newest read on the table, before smiling at seeing the book she held, “Vilette, huh?”

She smiled, holding the book close to her chest, “I’m a sucker for a good romance novel. Have you read it?”

“Years ago. I’ve already expressed my distaste for the romantics, but that is a classic,” he said, lifting his coffee to take a drink, “did you know that Charlotte Bronte’s first book was rejected by every publisher in England? They didn't approve of women authors. when she wrote to the poet Robert Southey, he replied saying that ‘literature cannot be the business of a woman’s life, and it ought not to be’.”

“Sexism’s a bitch,” Raye said with a sigh, resting her head in her hand as she looked Spencer over once, “how do you know so much? Every time you talk, its like you’ve memorised a million facts to support your own argument.”

He squirmed slightly in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck, “I, uh, I have an eidetic memory.”

“Whats that?” Raye asked. And for once, Spencer didn't hear any sort of confusion or disinterest in the question. She was curious.

Spencer stuttered, before he began to explain, “eidetic memory is a memory that retains everything you read. So everything I read, I remember. And I read a lot.”

“I watched you read one day, and I couldn't believe it. You finished a novel in like four minutes. That’s insane,” she said, and he blushed slightly, “I can read just over 20,000 words a minute.”

“Holy shit. That’s everything I’ve ever wanted! You–you can just binge read books in seconds, and then never forget them! You can memorise every amazing detail,” she exclaimed excitedly, before slumping back in her seat, “man, I’m jealous of you.”

He chuckled, “it does have its advantages, I’ll admit.”

She tilted her head, and Reid couldn’t help but compare her to a confused puppy in that moment, “are there disadvantages?”

He shrugged slightly, breaking eye contact to look at his hands, “sometimes I begin to ramble, because I just... I know a lot about something, and then I get excited because I think that people are like me, that they want to learn more about the world. They usually don’t. And then I feel so–“

“Then they’re assholes,” Raye interupted, and Spencer looked back to her. There was a slight redness to her cheeks now, “if someone shoots you down while you’re talking about something you’re passionate about, then they’re an asshole.”

He smiled softly, glancing down to his book bashfully, “thats nice of you to say.”

“Well, it’s the truth. I don't like bullies,” she said firmly, “and I think you're cool. And I think the things you know are cool too.”

He laughed softly, smiling down at his book. He felt all warm at her words, but was still to embarrassed to look back up at him.

“I like peonies,” Raye said randomly, before shaking her head as she realised how strange that sounded, “do you know any facts about peonies?”

Spencer looked up to her, before nodding slowly, “peonies represent wealth and honour. They’re the flower you traditionally receive on your twelfth wedding anniversary, did you know they’re native to...”

Spencer rambled on about peonies for another ten minutes, and talked about more and more flowers for the rest of the night. Raye clung onto his every word, smiling and nodding enthusiastically, responding when she could. And it was genuine. Spencer knew when someone was feigning interest, but not her. And for a brief moment, he let himself hope, that maybe, just maybe, she might want to know more about him too.

-

NEXT CHAPTER

yes, raye brought the book with her to the cafe, in the hopes that she would run into spencer and give it to him :)

taglist: @slutforthegubes @pinkdiamond1016 @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @fallinallinmendes @beyonces-breastmilk @spencerlikesapplejuice @pastathighs @gcblers @hushfakebitches @ijustcomeheretoread @thelovelyrose @leam-2001 @madison-malfoy @averyhotchner @haylaansmi

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #246: GATHERINGS

August, 1984

Family feud! Guest-starring SERSI of the Eternals!

She comes!

A portent of times to come! I hear a faint rumbling of leather jackets from distant years...

Also, hey! She-Hulk! I missed you!

The Avengers have been through the Secret Wars and participated in the Wraith War! What’s next for our band of heroes?

Maybe parties? The cover makes it look like a party is going on before some Kirby-looking guys crashed.

But also? Vision’s vague scheming to raise the Avengers’ profile continues as he and Scarlet Witch take a trip to visit President Reagan and First Lady Reagan at the White House.

Weird thing is that we don’t get an unobscructed view of Reagan’s face. He’s either back to the ‘camera’ or cropped on the panel border. Weird, since this wasn’t a problem last time he appeared in this book. Y’know, the time some plant people tried to hold him for ransom? That time?

President Didn’t-Pay-for-the-Likeness-Rights thanks Vision for taking time to personally brief him on all the biz the Avengers have been up to.

President Reagan: “I wish we could talk like this more often! The National Security Council keeps me posted on your missions, but there’s nothing like getting the news firsthand.”

Vision: “I quite agree, Mr. President. In fact, I have a few suggestions for making the lines of communication between Avengers Mansion and the White House more... shall we say... direct?”

He suggests they speak in private which Reagan gladly agrees to, shooing Scarlet Witch and Mrs. Reagan out. To Scarlet Witch’s surprise because he sprang the trip on Washington on her and now he’s sprung this on her.

Also, every time Vision meets someone in private and the conversation takes place off-panel, they suddenly come around to his point of view so.... uh...

Well, I’m sure it’s fine.

Meanwhile, we get back to Captain Monica Marvel Rambeau’s subplot. Remember how she worried after getting back from Secret Wars that she had no explanation to give her family for being missing for several days? And was thinking of telling them about her secret superhero thing?

Well, she calls home to New Orleans and her presumably firefighter dad answers. I presume he’s a firefighter because there’s a firefighter hat and coat hanging up prominently in the background. We call that environmental storytelling.

Monica’s mom isn’t home so Monica asks for her parents to call her back when they’re both available.

Monica: “In a way, I’m glad momma wasn’t home. That gives me more time to figure out how I’m going to tell them that their ‘little girl’ is leading a double life... as an Avenger called Captain Marvel!”

... Geez, her costume looks so weird when there’s nobody in it.

Monica ponders just bringing it up casually by RECAPPING HER ENTIRE BACKSTORY! Which, in fairness, would be an appropriate way to handle it. But she decides that just going ‘yeah I was helping old family friend Professor LeClare investigate a secret lab on an oil platform, punched a machine, got powers, and then joined the Avengers’ would sound crazy and that there must be a better way to tell them.

I say, take it slow and ramp up. Start from ‘I have superpowers’, do a little pew pew flashlight beam and let their questions guide your explanation.

Meanwhile again but elsewhere, Wasp van Dyne is just chilling at Avengers Mansion, bumming herself out rereading the World According to Garp, and receiving a phone call from West Avengers Chairman Hawkeye.

He tells her that he found a great HQ for the new West Coast Avengers, some old silent film star’s home, and he’s overseeing renovations now.

This ongoing Hawkeye real estate subplot is to get you excited for the upcoming West Coast Avengers series. Are you?

I dread it.

Anyway, Starfox comes in after the phone call and recognizes that Janet is in a Mood. A very bored mood. A post-chairperson funk.

Wasp: “It’s just that Wanda and the Vision are in Washington... Hawkeye and his new wife are setting up a new team in California... Cap and Thor are away on missions of their own... Everybody’s doing something! Everybody but me! It’s funny, after all we’ve been through lately, especially with that horrible Magneto, you’d think I’d appreciate a little leisure time. But instead, I’m bored out of my mind!”

Magneto kissing her really teed her off if that’s what she’s focusing on from the whole Secret Wars thing and not having died.

Starfox has just the answer for Wasp’s post-Magneto-kissing blues though.

PARTY.

He was on his way to a great party and Wasp can be his plus one!

Meanwhile, on the Washington to New York plane, Vision and Scarlet Witch.

She’s confused why they didn’t just take the Quinjets that they have instead of flying on a commercial airline but Vision says that getting out among the people is just good public relations.

I mean, he’s not wrong. But also flying in public, in your costumes, seems like it runs the risk of aggroing a supervillain attack.

It doesn’t happen but I wouldn’t have been surprised if it did.

The flight attendant asks Vision if he drinks before course correcting into asking him if he wants a drink.

I don’t know what’s more amazing here. Wanda going ‘he never has coffee at home’ like that coffee ad that Airplane spoofed.

Or Vision patting himself on the back for connecting to the common man with his drink order.

Simply superb.

Back at the casa Rambeau, Maria Rambeau returns and then returns Monica’s call. Monica says she’s going to come over for dinner and then a panel later, she’s knocking on the door.

Her parents are confused because it’s a twenty-minute drive between Monica’s house and theirs but that’s just part of what Monica wants to explain to them.

I see Monica decided to just jump into her explanation.

Back in New York, Janet frets over whether she’s dressed right for the party but Starfox just dismisses that as one of Earth’s weird mores. Why, he only wears the one outfit and that’s just gonna have to be good enough.

They arrive at the party and it seems to be a hobnobbin’ sort of event, with people discussing court settlements and acting. Also, She-Hulk is there. Hi, She-Hulk!

Glad Stern found another excuse to include you after Byrne stole you away to the land of the Fantastic.

She-Hulk says she met the host at an exotic bakery shop just last week and that’s how she scored the invite.

I wonder what made these baked goods so exotic. And I’m wondering if it wasn’t actually erotic. Do I think that She-Hulk would purchase a butt cake? Yes, yes I do.

She asks Starfox how he knows the host and, well, he doesn’t. He heard about the party and decided to invite himself (and Wasp) along. I.e. crash.

But the host...

ITS SHE!

SERSI!

SHE COMES!

But the host, Sylvia Sersi, isn’t too bothered by the pair of party-crashing Avengers and has She-Hulk introduce them.

Starfox is enchanted to meet Sersi and she likewise but they’d best not be too enchanted to meet each other because I’m pretty sure they’re not too distant relations.

Mentor founded the Titan colony of the Eternals and the Eternals have all been around a while so there’s not that many branches between Starfox and Sersi, I don’t think.

Anyyyyyway.

A drunk man pauses before a mirror to tidy up his tie and gets a startle when a Watcher-looking guy that isn’t the Watcher because he has hair appears in the mirror instead of his own face.

When Sersi comes over to investigate she tells him he must have imagined it and sends the guy away for some air but then interrogates the mirror face man and calls him Domo.

Domo, in the mirror: “We need you here in Olympia! Everyone is needed for the final decision!”

Sersi: “I told you before, I don’t care! Go ahead and make your big decision! It won’t affect me, because I intend to go right on doing as I please!”

Then she turns the mirror into a picture of penguins??

Her powers are great indeed.

Although her investment in the community is less so.

Whatever this mysterious decision everyone is voting on, it is clearly less important than this rockin’ party. This party has a She-Hulk!

Back over at the Rambeaus, Monica decides to just rip off the band-aid and tell her parents that she’s Captain Marvel. They find it hard to believe so she just pulls out her costume and lightspeeds into it.

Harder to hold doubts when your daughter glows with an awesome power.

Frank Rambeau: “It’s true... my little girl’s an Avenger. Hey, that means... you’ve met Captain America!”

Frank jumping right to the important points.

Thankfully, Monica’s parents are very supportive. And actually like the Avengers. You have cool parents, Monica.

Frank Rambeau: “Monica, I don’t know what to say! The Avengers are heroes... like Cap and the Black Panther and Thor... They’re like a legend! To think that you’re one of them -- !”

Maria Rambeau: “We’re very, very proud of you, dear... Prouder than we ever thought possible!”

Very cool parents.

Meanwhile, back at the party, mirror spooked guy (apparently Harry) goes out for air like Sersi suggested and then sees something else which spooks him even harder!

He runs from the party babbling about seeing things or not seeing things and not sticking around to sort out which.

Then a bunch of goons crash the party by flying through the terrace doors.

Look at these total goons.

Starfox steps forward and tries to defuse the situation both by words

Starfox: “Easy, my friends! I’m sure you don’t want to hurt anyone!”

And by shooting pleasure beams from his mind.

Predictably, his pleasure beam, besides being creepy, can’t be allowed to be too effective.

If it actually worked we wouldn’t have conflict and plot.

So like the Hulk in Incredible Hulk #300, these dudes called Delphans just slap Starfox out of the way.

Then superhero number two steps up.

One of the Delphans say that they need to get “that witch” before she can cause them any grief and She-Hulk was in proximity and assumes they meant her and takes exception to that.

She-Hulk: “‘Witch’, huh? You wouldn’t mean me, would you? That’s a bad choice of words, but you’re right about one thing... I can give plenty of grief!”

The Delphan just immediately hits her with an energy pole which just pisses off She-Hulk and ruins her party dress. Thankfully she had the unstable molecules FF costume on underneath.

She dresses in layers.

Delphan: “You’re still standing? But that photon-burst would have stunned the mighty Karkas!”

She-Hulk: “You stupid jerk! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find nice things in my size?!”

She-Hulk and Starfox start beating on the Delphans but its Sersi’s party and she can shoot eye beams if she wants to, eye beams if she wants to.

Sersi: “I should have known Domo would send you Delphans after me! Well, it won’t work! You’re not taking me away without a fight!”

Not just eyebeams but apparently a piggifying beam!

A singing piggifying beam!

Oh, sure, the Delphan says that its a transmutive ability but I know whats what.

Her name is Sersi, which is like Cerci, and she can shoot pig beams at people, especially Greek soldiers.

Unfortunately, like other witches before her, she needs some wrist range of movement to do her business and grabbing her by the arms will just nullify her.

Sigh.

If only he didn’t have armored outpanties, she could kick him in the business.

But fortunately, Wasp “can blow up a small house” van Dyne won’t be stopped by armored outerwear and shoots the Delphan grabbing Sersi right in the butt.

That is, Wasp shoots him in the butt, not that he’s grabbing Sersi in the butt.

Meanwhile, over in the Vision and Scarlet Witch subplot, their plane lands at LaGuardia and they’re instantly accosted by journalists who wants Vision’s take on rumors that the president is going to make chairmanship of the Avengers a cabinet-level post.

Vision coyly tells them that he and the president discussed many things but he’s not at liberty to confirm anything.

Hmm.

Then Vision excuses himself, saying that he and Wanda have to get back to Avengers Mansion.

Scarlet Witch: “We certainly do!” And when we get there, we are going to have a little talk!

Seems Wanda is annoyed at all this being left out of the loop.

Back at the A-plot, where A stands for Avengers go to a party and then get into a fight, Sersi gets fed up with these shenanigans and threatens to turn the Delphans into worms but she gets grabbed by the wrists again, this time by power-dampening chonky handcuffs, and dragged away by the Delphans to their spaceship that was hovering right outside the party.

Starfox and Wasp fly out in pursuit, with non-flying She-Hulk complaining about being left behind.

Wasp: “After them, Starfox! We mustn’t let them get away!”

Starfox: “I quite agree! Hostesses such as Ms. Sersi are all too rare!”

Wasp: “No kidding! Once we rescue her, I want to find out how she does that trick with her eyes!”

... Really.

The eyes specifically? Not the singing pig beam?

Huh. To each their own.

The ship takes off shortly after Wasp and Starfox stow aboard and the two heroes resume beating Delphan ass to try to save Sersi.

Lead Delphan: “We have the advantage in number, but they’re still making us look like idiots! We can’t let them beat us now! Have to initiate transport... while there’s still a chance!”

The ship then disappears with a FWOF!

And reappears above the mountains of Northern Greece.

Apparently, Eternal transportation is like the kind in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy because Starfox and Wasp are discombobulated and nauseated by the transport.

The Lead Delphan seizes the opportunity while the bull is hot and pulls the lever to make the ship just completely disassemble.

The Delphans take advantage of the heroes startlement to beat the shit out of Starfox in midair.

Clever. But rude.

Sometime later, Starfox comes to in Olympia to discover that he and Wasp are completely surrounded and in the shit.

Domo: “Citizens of Olympia!! At last, we all stand together... reunited with our Polar and Pacific cousins! Our destiny beckons! But before the ritual may begin, we must first deal with these two... who have intruded into the affairs of the Eternals!”

Hey, dick! They don’t come to a party you’re crashing and slap the host!

But I guess we’re going to meet all the Eternals next time.

What a fun coincidence that I’m hitting this point of the story when the Eternals movie is just a few months away.

Follow @essential-avengers​ because one day I’ll read comics about Sersi wearing a leather jacket. Like and reblog for the same reason or for different reasons.

[godoflobsters]

Hand in Unlovable Hand Pt. 1

It is said that history is written by the victors, and the tales of the Great Celestial War are no different. But sometimes, there are things that even those on the losing side would never dare to utter again. These memories that shatter one like glass, best suited only for the lonely nights in the bottom of bottles of Ambrosia and Demonus, hide deep within the hearts of the two angels that started it all.

Author’s Note: So when I was rereading some of the later chapters I came across a really tiny detail that made me think up a whole new theory on just how the Celestial War started so, like any sane person, I started writing a whole ass multi chapter fic for it! Enjoy!

Lucifer’s head ached as he poured over the piles of paperwork littering his desk, shining with a kaleidoscope of colors as the Celestial sunlight poured in from the stained glass above him. It had been a week since his last meeting with the young Devildom Prince and as he skimmed over the newest proposition that had been excitedly shoved into his hands moments before he had taken flight back to his home, he was starting to feel as if he was finally in over his head.

If he had known just what he was getting himself into when he was invited to his first meeting with the Prince, he would have pushed the responsibility off on Simeon...he was always better at this whole diplomacy thing. Lucifer was created to revel in his Father’s glory and to smite all of those who would seek to taint such glory with their darkness. And yet...he had broken bread with the future king of the darkness. Wretched creatures that he had been told were capable of only evil spoke of only peace and diplomacy. The prince of lies had taken a vow of honesty. They had treated him with kindness and respect despite his combatant attitude.

There was no way that these demons were doing this for peace, prosperity, or whatever they liked to go on about, they had to have some sort of angle. For centuries he hyper-analyzed every interaction that he had with the Prince, keeping a carefully guarded wall of pride slammed down between them all the while, and yet...he found nothing but sincere love for his people and his realm. And yearning to make his father proud of him. Maybe that was why Lucifer had started to let his walls down around him.

It started small, finally accepting the cups of tea that Diavolo’s butler insisted on providing every single time that he came down to Hell. Diavolo taught him the delicacy that was a princess’s poisoned apple, almost better than anything he’d eaten in the celestial realm. Eventually they would swap bottles of ambrosia for bottles of demonus, drinking together deep into the night to where Lucifer would complete his duties the next morning with a pounding in his head. Sometimes, when even his favorite little siblings were set on getting on his very last nerve, he would make the trip down to the Devildom unprompted just to sit in the privacy of the Demon Lord’s Castle, nursing a cup of his new favorite blend of tea and listening to Diavolo chatter about the newest goings on of his realm. Now, he sat cooped up in his office on his day off, sifting through Diavolo’s proposed plans for making his dreams of peace into a reality.

His plans started at home, restrictions on travel to the Human Realm and improvements to infrastructure. Then he moved on to the creation of a school (or perhaps a reeducation center of sorts would be a better term for it?) that would teach the demons about the culture and history of the other realms in addition to their own, with an emphasis on magic, arts, and cultures, rather than the battle strategies and war tactics that his father had always favored instilling in his subjects. He proposed allowing his people a few centuries of learning and growing accustomed to their new way of life before moving to the next step in his plan...an exchange program.

Lucifer was so engrossed in studying Diavolo’s plans, that the soft sound of footsteps on the marble floor behind him went completely unnoticed until warm hands cupped his chin, tipping his head back just far enough for soft lips to place a chaste kiss to his forehead.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards into a soft smirk when his eyes met the soft gold of Michael’s gaze.

“Yes, I am,” he leaned forward and pressed another chaste kiss to his lips, his long braids spilling over Lucifer’s shoulders and pooling onto the papers before them, “aren’t you supposed to not be working right now?”

“Touché,” he muttered, bringing his hand to the back of Michael’s head to bring him back down to his mouth.

Michael’s laugh rang out warm and sweet as honey as he put a finger up to Lucifer’s lips, “What are you working on Starlight?” He opted to lean over his shoulder, skimming over the papers before him. “...the Devildom?” He snatched the paper off of the table, spinning out of Lucifer’s grasp and pouring over the sheet in his hands. “Once a satisfactory level of education and understanding has been reached among Devildom citizens, afew chosen citizens of each of the realms will be brought to live together for a year as a part of the cultural exchange program…” He turns back around, brows pinching together in confusion. “Lucifer… what is this?”

“The Demon Prince has devised a plan of action for his interrealm peace initiative,” he calmly snatched the paper out of Michael’s hands, shuffling it back into the pile of paperwork on his desk, “during our last meeting he sent me back with the first drafts for his plans so I've been looking through them since I have time to do so today.” He turned, arms crossed over his chest and an eyebrow cocked up at the Seraph. “Don't act so shocked, Michael. I know that I've discussed this with you before.”

“Yes, I know,” he brought his hands up to rest on his upper arms, drawing small circles into Lucifer’s pale skin with his thumbs, “you told all of us about the demons’ plans. Father explicitly stated that he wants us to take no part in that foolish plan.” His grip tightened, face hardening into a stern glare as his golden eyes met the depths of Lucifer’s ruby gaze. “Why do you continue to pursue this?”

“You are the one who pushed this off on me in the first place and yet now you berate me for following through with the tasks that I've been given,” his jaw clenches as a familiar anger began to smoulder under his skin. “I take pride in my work.”

“Pride is a sin Lucifer!” He pulled back, massaging his temples as he paced around the room. “You, of all people, have to see that he is just using you. You have seen what the Demon King is capable of, there is no way that his spawn is truly aspiring for peace of all things. Father has been telling you this for centuries and you keep going back at that demon’s every beck and call!”

“Father has hardly told us anything in millenia,” he snapped, grabbing Michael by the arm and yanking him to stand before him, looking him in the eyes. Lucifer’s head ached, like someone was standing behind his eyes, beating and screaming, in a voice that wasn't his own, to get out.

“I've never noticed it before,” he pulled back, trying to wrench himself from the grip that Lucifer kept on his arm, “but your eyes look almost exactly like Father’s when you're angry.”

Michael’s words were quiet, but the effect they had on Lucifer was powerful. As the image of their father’s cold green eyes flashed through his mind, Lucifer’s grip on his arm eased and he took a long deep breath to settle himself.

“Almost everything that we know about the demons isn't true Michael. I don't want to say that Father has been lying to us, but after everything that I’ve seen…” He trailed off, unable to meet Michael’s eyes. “I just think that this program that Diavolo is planning could be a good thing for all of the realms.”

“Lucifer,” he paused before letting out a long sigh. He took his hand into his own before pulling off his Ring of Wisdom and slipping it onto his finger. “Now, more than ever, you need the wisdom to make these difficult decisions,” he leans in and presses a kiss to Lucifer’s temple, “I know that you will choose what is best for us, my Morningstar. I love you.”

“I…” trying desperately to push down the rising unease in his gut, he pulls off his own Ring of light and slides it into Michael’s finger, “I love you too.”

But nowadays, he wasn't so sure anymore.

[josy1986]

Pitch Perfect: Till Death do us Part: Chapter 2

Alright, as promised, the second chapter of TDDUP. There will be a third one.

@pitchslapped @rejection-isnt-failure 

Chloe!

Beca bolted upright, eyes wide in terror and fear. Her chest rising and falling quickly, her heart francicially beating inside her chest. She looked around the room she was in. Eyes scanning every object, her brain not realizing where she was while her body was still in full blown panic mode.

Beca looked down, reality slowly sinking in when she noticed her own sleeping clothes. Her shaking hand moved to her chest, slowly she touched the fabric, letting the palm of her hand slide smoothly over it. Trying to figure out if this was real or not.

“Where..-” She touched her face with her free hand, only then realizing that she was crying. Feeling the salty liquid on her face, wiping it away with the palm of her hand. “What..” She couldn’t even form sentences properly, her head still in disarray while figuring out what exactly happened. The emotions of the last few days surely had gotten the better of her.

Or did it?

Last thing Beca remembered was the peaceful expression on her friend's face.

Her dead friend.

Chloe had died. In her arms. 

The funny thing was, Beca didn’t remember how she got back home..

The DJ looked around the room, pesky tears still sliding down her cheeks which she continued to wipe away with both hands now. “What the hell.. What’s happening..” She sniffled, mumbling to herself. The fact that she was back home finally dawned down on her while she scanned her surroundings.

Slowly but surely, her heart settled back down to a normal rhythm. Her breathing finally slowed down and evened out. She couldn’t believe her own eyes and her hands touched the covers that she’d been sleeping under until some minutes ago. She could feel the soft fabric under the palm of her hand. After grabbing a fistful, she brought the covers up to her face, taking in a deep breath through her nose. The familiar scent of their laundry detergent and fabric softener filled her nostrils. It mixed with the fruity scent of Chloe’s perfume that she could still very much smell too.

Beca stiffened, her eyes shot open wide as she looked about for her phone. Fumbling with the small device and cursing under her breath when she dropped it, she checked the date once she snatched it off of the floor.

Her heart sank and her blood froze, eyes wide in horror when she looked at the date on the screen. It was the day of Chloe’s accident.

“But- this doesn’t.. How.. what…” She dropped her phone, hands buried in her hair before she let go. “Shit.. Chloe?!” She screamed, sliding off of the bed and looking around frantically. Her heart rate once again through the roof while she searched around the tiny apartment. Chloe was nowhere to be found.

She stopped for a moment, forcing herself to think while both hands rested on the cold counter in the kitchen.

Think, Mitchel! Calm the fuck down and think! She willed herself to take slow, deep breaths. Her eyes closed as she let memories slowly sink back in from a week ago.

Back then she too woke up, alone. It had felt off and weird but she remembered finding a note.

Her eyes shot back open and looked at the coffee machine that stood on the corner of their shared kitchen.

There was a small note right next to the machine and the black liquid seemed to be boiling hot. Clearly freshly made. Beca snatched the note, reading the lines frantically.

Hey Becs, Sorry I wasn't there when you woke up! But I know it’s your day off and I know how much you enjoy sleeping in! Made you a fresh pot of coffee for when you wake up. Love, Chloe xxx

PS: phone is busted, left it at home, see you tonight! xxx

She reread the lines a few more times before putting the small piece of paper down. She’d totally forgotten about Chloe’s busted phone and realized that Chloe must’ve known Beca’s number by heart. Beca was called later that day by an unknown number, which turned out to be the hospital.

Beca checked the time, 8:15. She had 15 minutes to stop Chloe to get on that bus and prevent the horrible outcome that would happen otherwise.

Never in her life did Beca move as quickly as she did now. She grabbed her hoodie, her keys, her phone and put on her shoes so fast it would make a professional athlete jealous.

She nearly fell down several flights of stairs while making her way down, running onto the streets of Brooklyn after she made it into the hallway. Her breathing already quickened while she looked left and right, remembering that she once walked Chloe to her bus stop, Beca headed right.

Running like a life was depending on it, which it did. 

Beca usually hated the fact she was so much smaller than most people but today, today she finally managed to use it to her advantage. Moving through the masses of people much easier while she rushed herself through the crowds.

She quickly checked her watch. Fuck.. five minutes left.. And she picked up her pace, even while her lungs already burned. She could hardly breathe and the pain in her chest increased but thanks to the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she pushed through. She had to, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if Chloe died.

Again.

Conitnue reading at the links below!

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13791687/7/Pitch-Perfect-Bechloe-moments-and-more https://archiveofourown.org/works/28674369/chapters/71360370

[densi-mber]

Crush

A/N: This takes places in the semi-near future. For today’s prompt: Kensi or Deeks as a teacher. This fic represents what happens when my mind runs wild with an idea.

***

“Hey, can I call you back in about an hour and a half?” Deeks asked as he jogged down a flight of stairs to the third floor. “I have office hours starting in a few minutes.”

“Sure. Good luck with the gremlins,” Kensi answered. He rolled his eyes, nodding to a passing professor.

“Kens, they’re in they’re 20’s. You have to stop calling my students things like gremlins and children.”

He walked into the small office where he spent his time when he wasn’t teaching Contract Law to thirty or so L1 students. He dropped his bag by the desk, and slipped his jacket off, rolling his sleeves up a few times so he wouldn’t end up getting ink or chalk on the fabric. His dry cleaning bills had definitely increased since he started wearing dress shirts and ties again.

A little less than a year before, when he’d be aimlessly looking for a job, one of his former classmates had suggested teaching until he found something more permanent. Deeks had balked at the idea initially, but eventually given when it became clear that he needed to work and his other options were unavailable.

He’d never anticipated how much he would enjoy it. Now he taught three classes throughout the week at Loyola Law school as an adjunct professor. It was strangely satisfying to have a hand in teaching the next batch of lawyers.

“All I’m saying is that they look a lot younger that I did at that age.” Deeks snorted at Kensi’s completely inaccurate observation as he wrote a few notes on the blackboard that took up most of the back wall.

“You were just a baby when I met you,” he teased.

“Yet you still married me,” Kensi pointed out.

“Ooh, touché.” He heard a noise behind him and glanced over his shoulder. “Oops, gotta go. See you at dinner.” Deeks hung up, turning around completely to face one of his students, Mallory Baten.

She was lingering in the doorway and if Deeks didn’t know better, he would have thought she was hesitating. But that didn’t align with the young woman he knew. Mallory was one of the most outspoken and confident students in the class. She also had a biting sense of humor that Deeks found hilarious.

“Hey Mallory, what can I do for you?” he asked, gesturing for her to take a seat. Again she hesitated a little before pulling up one of the metal chairs situated opposite his desk.

“I had a few questions about Monday’s lecture, Mr. Deeks,” she said, pulling out a thick, color coded binder. The sight of it always reminded him of his own college experience and made him slightly nauseous. He did not miss the stress of studying and exams.

Deeks dragged his chair over with his foot and sat down with his forearms braced against the back, waiting for her to continue.

Brushing her light blond hair back from her neck, Mallory flipped to a page from the last class notes. Deeks instantly recognized her small, neat handwriting covering the majority of the paper.

“So, I was rereading the section on unjust enrichment and I wondered if you could clarify the concept. The text book had some examples, but I thought it was a little lacking,” she said, pointing to her notes.

Deeks tilted his head, quickly scanned her notes and nodded. It was a fairly simple concept, but Mallory tended to be exceedingly thorough. She was one of five or six students who regularly attended his office hours.

“Ok, so unjust enrichment essentially says that if I provide you with a service or product, I deserve compensation. Even if you end a contract early or have an issue with how I provided the service, you still need to provide compensation for those services or produces you received,” he explained.

“Even if the services or products weren’t satisfactory?” she asked, writing something in the corner of the page.

“Well, that would fall under a different part of contract law and would be considered a breach of contract. Assuming there was a legitimate contract to begin with. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, it does, Mr. Deeks.”

“Awesome, I’ll see you on Wednesday,” Deeks said, grabbing a stack of homework assignments that needed grading from the end of his desk while Mallory packed up her binder.

“Actually, I have one more question,” Mallory said. He glanced up, mildly surprised to find her standing over her desk. “Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?”

Deeks froze, sure he’d heard her wrong.

“Do I-what are you asking me?”

“I’m asking you to go out to dinner. On a date.” Her cheeks were a little flushed, but her gaze didn’t waver.

“You know, I’m married, right?” he asked a little desperately. He saw Mallory’s eyes flick to his ring and then back to his face, and she nodded.

“I know.”

“And I’m your teacher.”

“You’re also really hot,” she said bluntly and he felt his cheeks fill with heat. “Plus you’re funny, caring, and my god, your muscles are incredible. Sometimes I come to office hours just to watch the you move.”

Mallory seemed past the point of embarrassment, but he wished a hole would open up in the floor. Or he could throw himself out a window. Unfortunately, his office didn’t have one so he’d have to actually face this. It didn’t help that Mallory was now openly checking him out.

Suppressing a groan, he turned in a half circle, pinching the bridge of his nose as tried to figure out what to say. The continuing ed classes he’d taken hadn’t prepared him for this possibility at all.

“Mart-Mr. Deeks, are you ok?” He almost laughed at the question.

He turned back around to face Mallory again, balancing a on hand on his hip. She looked a little more uncertain again and was watching him avidly.

“Well, this is, uh, wow.” He cleared his throat noisily and tried again. “While this is incredibly, um, flattering, I think we both know that nothing is going to happen between us. For a multitude of reasons,” he said as gently as he could.

“We could still just go out for dinner,” she suggested hopefully. “As friends.”

“No, we can’t,” Deeks said firmly. “Now we should go talk to the dean about getting you transferred to another class section for the remainder of the semester.”

***

“Hey baby,” Kensi greeted him at home later that day, punctuating it with a kiss. “How was work?”

“An unmitigated disaster,” he sighed. He dropped his bag by the door, and flopped onto the couch. Kensi sat next to him and grabbed his hand with a look of concern.

“What happened? Everything seemed fine when I talked to you earlier today.” Deeks groaned, silently reliving the last few hours.

“One of my students hit on me today.” If he’d expected Kensi to react with outrage, he was about to be disappointed. She visibly relaxed beside him, smacking his arm with the back of her hand.

“Why didn’t you lead with that? You had me really worried,” she said, shaking her head at his apparent lack of consideration.

“The fact that a 23 year old asked me out to dinner doesn’t bother you at all?” Deeks asked. Kensi shrugged.

“I figured it was only a matter of time.” Deeks gave her a look and she rolled her eyes at him. “For someone who claims to be a reformed lady’s man, you are ridiculously oblivious when someone is flirting with you. Half the women in your class have a crush on you.”

“No they don’t.” Kensi actually laughed at his protest, patting his arm with false sympathy.

“Uh, yeah they do, babe. Every time I’ve visited you at work, there are no less than three students staring at you at any time. Sometimes even a couple teachers,” she said, clearly enjoying this more than she had any right to.

“Ugh, now I’m going to be thinking about these kids checking me out during class,” he groaned. “This sucks.”

“You’re not even a little bit flattered?” she asked with mild surprised. He shrugged. Maybe he would have been at one time, but now it just seemed weird and a little creepy.

“I might be if I wasn’t old enough to be their father.” Kensi squinted at him and he clarified, “If I had them really young.”

“I’m sure they don’t think of you in a fatherly way.” Deeks made a face at that and gave a full-body shudder.

“Well, thanks for that horrible thought,” he said dryly. “And here I just thought they all loved my teaching.”

“Well, I’m sure they appreciate that too.” Kensi smirked at him as he pouted, running her fingers through his hair. “It’s all your own fault, you know.”

“How is this my fault? I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“You can’t walk around all day in tight shirts and pants with your sleeves rolled up and not expect to get noticed,” she said, leaning in and gliding her nose across his jaw. She inhaled deeply. “You look good enough to eat.” As she spoke, her hand drifted up his bare forearm to cup his bicep. It was a fairly innocent touch, but he still felt a shiver work its way up his spine.

“Is that an offer?” he asked, thoughts of Mallory quickly leaving his mind. Kensi walked her fingers up his arm and across his chest, pausing at his collar. She fiddled with the button on his collar and then slowly tugged his tie free.

“It’s a promise,” she said, the husky note in her voice incredibly sexy. Deeks settled his hands on her hips as she rose up on her knees and straddled his thighs. Smiling down at him, she brushed her hair back, the glossy strands dancing around her shoulder, and slipped the top button free on his shirt. Then she looked up, her expression playful, and added, “For later.”

“That’s cruel,” he complained. “Especially when I’ve had such a terrible day. It was mortifying.”

“So how much did you freak out when she asked you out?” she asked slyly.

“I handled it with all the finesse and professionalism that you would expect from a former criminal defendant, detective, and federal liaison,” Deeks said with mock solemnity and Kensi raised an eyebrow at him.

“Really?” Her voice was filled with disbelief.

“Yeah, no, I kept hoping a freak tornado or earthquake would come along and put me out of my misery.”

“So, I don’t have to worry about you running off with any promising young law students?” Deeks rolled his eyes at Kensi’s question. He thought she was mostly joking, but just in case, he cupped her jaw between his palms, cradling the back of her head and firmly kissed her. She made a noise of surprise in the back of her throat that quickly turned to satisfaction.

“Never. They’ll just have to find another incredibly attractive, middle aged teacher to chase after.” He kissed her again. When they pulled back, Kensi was smirking at him as she fiddled with his collar.

“You’re an idiot, but I love you anyway,” she said, pulling him back down to her.

***

A/N: I know nothing about law, other than what I googled.

[swiss-cheeze]

Bad Day, Good Week || Aaron Hotchner

Requested: YES/NO

Gender: none, no pronouns from my reread.

Description: a bad day turns into a good end of the week

———

Mornings are never your thing, maybe Spencer or Emily but definitely not yours, this morning was normal though. There was a new case, you got briefed by Hotch and were on the plane within the hour to be given duties for touchdown. Normal procedure.

“Reid and Prentiss, I want you guys to go to the previous crime scenes, see what anyone missed. JJ I want you to contact any living people in the victims names; get in touch with Garcia and see what you can find. Morgan and Rossi I want you to go to the morgue, see what's on the body and any lab results. The rest of us will set up at the station.” Hotch had said, it was simple and easy, everyone knew what to do and by the time the plane landed everyone got into their own cars with their partners and headed to their place, you took the road with Hotch at the wheel headed to the station to start some sort of profile and talk theories.

---

“We are looking for a white male, 30 to 40 as well as possibly a woman aged 20 to 30” Hotch started the profile.

“And a woman?” one of the officers asked.

“Possibly,” Reid started as he used his hands to talk, “these murders can be committed by one person but it is also more likely to be an easier clean up with two people, the way these ‘scenes’ have been set out almost allude to a pairing, a very dangerous pairing who share the same fantasy that still hasn't been finished”

“The woman will be petite, small, she's agile but has power,” Derek started, “she handles the killing because it's the easiest job, the man handles the load and then the woman cleans up”

“We know this because he is an ego boosting son of a bitch, he has the sense that the man does the work and the woman stays quiet, this adds to the woman having power however she is also submissive to him as she knows the brute force this man can really give” you stated, “this man he…” you paused, “he may remind you of someone, someone you may know that is confident and outgoing, powerful and uses his status as a place in your life” this made the officers look around confused, including your team.

“(L/n),” Hotch started.

“He may even be known to you, he may even be in this room, he likes to get in on the action, know all the ins and outs of the procedure” you said, the cops in the room looked at each other with a fierce gaze.

BANG

Someone had hit one of the wood tables, this has happened 3 times today previously. That broke the last straw.

“ALRIGHT YOU SON OF A BITCH,” you yelled walking to the man responsible of the table banging from the whole day, “i've just about lost my goddamn temper with you, SOME OF US COME FROM A BACKGROUND WHERE THAT NOISE SETS OFF OUR FIGHT OR FLIGHT AND THIS RIGHT NOW IS MY FIGHT-” just as you grabbed the man's collar Hotch's voice rang out, dark, deep, cold.

“(L/n), outside. Now” Hotch walked out as you let go of the man and pushed him slightly, the man whistled lowly.

“Puppy has an owner,” the man said with a chuckle, before you could turn around and lay a fist on the man both Derek and Spencer stepped in front of you.

“Back off” Spencer spoke harshly.

“And what’re you going to do twig?” the cop asked as he pushed Spencer's shoulder. Before the man could blink Derek had the man's hands behind his back and bent harshly over the nearest surface.

“You are under arrest for putting your hands on a federal agent, if that shoulder push wasn't enough I'll find something” Derek said harshly into the man's ear before bringing him upright forcefully and walking off to a holding cell, along the way Spencer gave you a tight lipped smile. You nodded in thanks before walking off to Hotch and outside the station.

“Hotch-”

“You can lose your job,” Hotch started, “you just threatened a police officer in a state that isn't our own, you had no right-”

“Hotch he’s had it out for me since we got here!” you exclaimed, “banging on tables to see my reaction! Purposely spilled his coffee on my chest! HE JUST CALLED ME A DOG SIR!”

“(L/N) THAT IS ENOUGH,” Hotch bore his eyes into yours with a fury that was so soft you almost thought he was saddened, “you do not yell at your superior like that to get your point across, if you told me these things earlier i would have gotten him taken out of the case and onto a road patrol,” you both knew what was coming next, “you are too invested into this case (L/n)” you sighed softly and looked at the ground, a pregnant pause came over the two of you.

“Kylie Fish,” you said softly, “that's the woman,”

“Why are you so sure?” Hotch responded.

“I figured it out when i went to the previous crime scene yesterday, she left a note she knew only I would find,” Hotch looked at you with a waiting gaze as you bit your lip, “she was my best friend in middle school, she always had this vision of being the best of the best, the best stage actor, the best mathematician; anything she wanted to be the best at. She even said she would kill for it.”

“We’ll look into it” Hotch said, “we’ve given the profile later than we normally would, i want you to go to the hotel and have the rest of the night off, come back in tomorrow fresh faced,” you opened your mouth to ask Hotch something but he seemed to read your mind, “i’ll talk to his supervisor, you don't need to apologise to him or anyone else (L/n)” and then he left, you nodded as you stood outside now alone, that was before someone else walked out. You looked up and saw Derek.

“How are you doing?” Derek asked as the man crossed his arms.

“Hotch wants me to go home for the night, come back fresh faced tomorrow” you said with a sigh.

“Well he's in holding, the officer I mean, Spence gave him a pretty good speaking'' Derek cocked a smile at that, so did you.

“Tell him thanks, I’m gonna go back inside and grab my stuff” you said, you gave Derek a soft smile before walking back into the station, avoiding everyone's gaze, grabbing your stuff from its previous setup and heading towards the door. You made a mental note to thank Spencer back in the hotel rooms later.

---

Walking back into the police station the next day there was a thick and heavy tension in the room from all of the officers. Walking into the conference room you saw everyone already walking around doing their jobs and working on the case, you gave a soft smile to everyone as you walked in holding 7 hot drinks before handing them out to the respective owners. The phone gave a shrill ring as Hotch pressed the answer button and Garcia started talking.

“(L/n) was right my little princess, our woman unsub is Kylie Fish, has a husband and they recently bought a large plot of land and they both match our profile; Kylie doesn't have a job, her husband, Gale, has a high end masculine type job however he isn't in law enforcement”

“Great job Garcia, send the address” Hotch said before hanging up on the girl before looking to you, “(Y/n) i want you to be the one who enters the place first, you know Kylie better than the rest of us maybe you can coax a confession” you nodded before everyone started heading off towards the address given from Garcia.

---

Time passed and you apprehended both Kylie and her husband as the killers with evidence against them, you got a confession from Kylie as well as her showing where the bodies were. Everyone started packing up the room and soon filtered out, leaving you and Hotch alone to finish everything else.

“Thank you for your help today (Y/n),” Hotch said as he placed some files into a box labeled ‘KYLIE FISH’ as well as the date. You smiled.

“That's twice you’ve said my first name today sir” you mentioned with a knowing grin. Hotch seemed to tense up for a moment.

“I apologise” Hotch dismissed.

“Aaron,” you said with a grin as you looked at your superior for his reaction, he stiffened as he looked at you, “it isn't exactly professional but I have seen the way you've looked at me before, you breath in when i walk past you and try to keep me from harm besides when it is needed,” while talking you stepped towards Hotch as he kept eye contact with you.

“You’re one of our best profilers (L/n)” Hotch said, trying to change the subject.

“So is Reid, and Morgan, and Prentiss, and-” you mentioned your teammates knowing it would cause a reaction.

“Okay i get it, where are you going with this?” Hotch sighed as he already knew where this was going, you smiled sweetly as you took Hotch's larger hand in yours and intertwined your fingers together before leaning up and giving Hotch a peck on the lips, his eyes closed momentarily in the sweet bliss. The kiss ended almost before it even started as you stood to your normal height and both you and Hotch looked at each other with a new emotion.

“Dinner?” you asked with a smile.

“When we get back to Quantico I want you to leave your paperwork at your desk for tomorrow and come home with me tonight. I've already got dinner for two set out,” Hotch's eyes seemed to widen for a moment at the mention of his dinner.

“For two? Already set up?” you asked with a knowing grin, “so where are you planning to ask me out today or?”

“Something like that maybe,” Hotch said with a quirk of his lip, “obviously you don't have to if this is too fast or you want to think abou-” before Hotch could finish his sentence of rejection you placed your lips against his again soft but harsh at the same time, promising. Hotch's arms wrapped around your waist as he tilted his head slightly and brought you closer, your arms wrapping around his neck and twirling into his hair. It seemed right, and perfect.

Maybe it was a good morning if this was how the week ended.