#brings it up in passing. Maybe she has nightmares on the incident. But he realises Bones has just NEVER fucking mentioned it despite him

[dootplusone]

(OG post has Reblogs turned off. You can find it here!)

(OG post has Reblogs turned off. You can find it here!)

(If the OP would prefer this post not link back to the OG post or is otherwise is not okay w/ this post in reference to theirs, please let me know in some form so I can delete/edit it as needed.)

Thinking. Abt this but with Bones. Like. Post-Tholian Web? Post-Mirror Mirror?

For AOS, could be after Into Darkness and/or Beyond.

A Bones who's just. So anxious. So stressed. So overwhelmed that it starts taking a toll on his health. Maybe he doesn't even realise - or maybe he does and tries his best to push through it until it knocks him on his ass. Kind of in the vein of "You don't actually know how tired you are until you stop. And then you just physically cannot start again." It becomes his new baseline, a problem that just brews and storms in the distance.

And he just carries on. And keeps going and going and going until one day he realises that 'Oh fuck, I'm not okay' and has about 5 seconds of warning before he straight up collapses, doesn't matter if it's on the bridge, in the madbay, on a planet - he's going down. (Maybe a repeat of Tholian Web where he just straight up faints into Spock's arms? Full whammy, why not)

Maybe it's a high-tension situation getting resolved that does it. The pure relief of it reminds him of how tired he is. How tired he's been for a while. His body sees that momentary rest and goes "More of that, please. And I'm not asking."

And he's so rendered by it that he doesn't grumble about being coddled like he normally would when he wakes up. He knows not to fuck with the medbay staff - they're just as firm as he is on recovery, and that's not by accident - and he knows that Spock and Kirk will be hovering, because they see any problem as something they, too, should shoulder the burden of.

...And because they're some of the most protective people in the damned universe. And that goes for pretty much all the people on board the Enterprise.

In some scenarios, it's just a case of letting his body and mind rest properly. In others, there's a lot more recovery involved than anyone initially expects. Luckily for him, he has a found family who are determined to be there with him at every step. It just takes a couple reminders, every once in a while.

[esteemed-excellency]

Here's a post about Hiram and the Deviless, under the cut because it got a little long. Their story follows the Intimate of Devils storyline, but I wanted to elaborate on my headcanon too.

They meet at the Brass Embassy around 1870, not even a decade has passed since the Fall, and Hiram is still in the process of rebuilding his life (again) after his first arrest. He's also in the process of studying the Neath and the Correspondence, and he decides to keep in touch with the Deviless to learn more about the neathy languages. He's often at his Brass Embassy guest room, the only lodging able to withstand the incendiary side effects of his studies. He had enough experience in dealing with the devils, having resorted to spirifage to make a living in the past, to know that the Deviless is only after his soul, but he's after information, and she's charming, so he doesn't mind indulging her.

Their meetings are always pleasant, and things progress smoothly, in a mutually beneficial arrangement that results in a series of empty gestures of politeness and tenderness. It's only after some time that he has his italicised "Oh." moment, which is more of an italicised "Oh no." moment, as he realises that even if she's only after his soul, he's not exclusively interested in information anymore, and their meetings are something he looks forward to.

Things progress with less and less empty gestures on his part, until she invites him over for the Abstraction. Hiram knows enough about spirifage and soullessness, and he considers the option very carefully. The violant incident is still recent, and soullessness would probably help him get rid of headaches and flashbacks; nightmares are becoming very inconvenient and dampening their effect without always resorting to laudanum would be ideal. But most of all, he knows he just can’t say no to the Deviless, and he knows she knows it. His soul would make a lovely gift, she adores it so much, after all. He wonders if she knows his heart belongs to her, too.

Meanwhile, the Deviless is having a really good time meeting this random human who seems to be in posession of a very nice soul. Their meetings are always pleasant, Hiram is an interesting interlocutor, he's always asking the most peculiar questions about the languages of the Neath and the nature of Hell, and she always responds truthfully, entertained by his curiosity. He can't seem to get rid of headaches and nightmares but that's not her problem, even though she sometimes catches herself wondering how he’s doing. One time, he even manages to give her a flashback and a mild headache, immediately excusing himself. He shows up at their next date wearing an irrigo tinted monocle, and she gets the distinct impression that he commissioned it just for her sake. She doesn’t mind the attention, or the gifts, or the conversations, or even that one eventual headache, it all makes his soul so very alluring.

It's not always easy to charm humans into giving away their soul, and Hiram is no different at first, but he's always looking for something and, whatever that is, the concept of Abstraction won’t interfere with his plans. As they talk about it, she notices an eagerness on his part that she never noticed before, but that's what happens when humans mess around with things they don't understand, and he has a tendency to do that a lot. Maybe that's why his soul is so alluring.

Her very own italicised "Oh no." moment happens right at the Abstraction. As she sees his blank expression, she realises she might have made a mistake. Admittedly, she cared very much about the attention, and the gifts, and the conversations, and yes, even that one headache. She gained one lovely soul, but a soul all by itself can’t bring her roses, or dance with her, or invite her out to dinner, or read her poetry, or play with her bat. It just floats in its little bottle. She realises she was in fact as interested about the man as she was about the soul, which is frankly baffling and somewhat embarassing if you are a soul snatching being from outer space. But the damage is done. She seals the contract with her ribbon and she leaves a little rose with it.

Hiram wakes up the following day not feeling tired, or sore, or scared, or particularly alive. His memories of the evening are a little fuzzy, but he knows exactly what happened as soon as he sees the contract. He doesn't feel particularly anything actually, but for the first time in months his night wasn't plagued by nightmares. The Deviless left a ribbon and a rose with the conctract, and he presumes it to be a sweet gesture on her part.

As the days go on, he still gets flashbacks and headaches. Sometimes he still feels the flashbacks, but they don't bother him as much as they used to. Nothing feels consequential, as inconsequential are his conversations with friends and acquaintances, his affairs, his studies, the evenings at Mahogany Hall, and his usual routine. What doesn't feel inconsequential is the little rose drying on his desk. He finds himself coming back to the little rose trying to figure out how he feels about it. He remembers how he's supposed to feel about a drying flower, and about the person who left it for him, but he doesn't seem to be able to pinpoint what he's feeling now. Whatever he's feeling must be strong because it's enough to get him a flashback and make him feel something. The little rose seems to make him very upset for some reason. He decides the unpleasantness derives from the fact that the little rose is losing a petal, and it should be dried properly, or at least substituted. It would be a pity to buy another rose and don't get at least one more, though.

As the days go on, the Deviless gets a little disappointed about not receiving any more gifts, and not being asked about the specifics of hellish Laws. All her new human acquaintances seem to be lacking in hubris, she notices. The exquisitely brilliant soul on her shelf is still floating in its little bottle but it's not capable of doing anything particularly interesting, except floating and being mesmerising, so after a few days she decides to sell it away. It makes a valuable collector item, but what use have collectors items if they won't bring you out to dinner, or ask you to a dance. Life can get boring sometimes if you're a soul snatching being from outer space.

After two weeks she starts asking around the Embassy about their regular visitors, but it's Hiram who finds her first at her house. He's wearing her satin ribbon and he brought a few roses. "It would have been a pity to buy a new one and not get at least one more." he says, handing her an entire bouquet. He's more detached and distant, but their day goes swimmingly, and soon enough they fall back into their usual routine of dates, dinners, soirées, dances and outings. His mannerism falls very flat every now and then, and she wonders how much of it is rehearsed and how much is genuine. Whatever the answer is, he could have asked her the same thing weeks ago, and it would've been the same. But neither of them minds it.

Eventually, she asks him how much does he actually care about the Neath, and London, and everything in general. Oh, he's very interested, especially about the everything in general, he says. The Neath holds much more everything than he thought possible, and it has been truly marvellous to figure it out so far. There are so many things to figure out, and he's interested in every single one of them. But, at the present time, what he truly cares about, the most marvellously intriguing thing to figure out is if she would be amenable to meet again tomorrow? Maybe at Dante’s? She would love to.

[fateinthestars]

Right bear with me, it's 'A Promise of Infinity' time.

I'm gonna blank out whose is whose in the collage versions below and then reveal them from most blessed to most forbidden under the cut, with maybe some thoughts about the path. Spoiler warning, obviously.

There'll be comparisons to their Main Story result (My post on those is here), their Sequel Story result (My post on those is here), and their Musing On Love result (My post on those is here) where applicable.

This time I'm gonna go back to the way I tried to work rankings out in the sequel post and add these to them and see what the definitive list comes out like.

Plus a major thing I want to cover here is whether MC ended the route as Human or Goddess and whether I agree with it or not.

Right that's way too much rambling, let's get on with it. And by it, I mean way more rambling. 🤣

1. Aigonorus

Position in Main Story: Equal 8th with Karno

Position in Sequel Story: Equal 3rd with Partheno

MC at the end of route is: Human

Agree/Disagree: I think agree (with caveats)

I wonder whether any of you saw this coming? *squishes Aigo tightly like a marshmallow*

Aigo is just soo sweet.

Thinking about it there's two Infinity stories that deal with the idea of the death of MC but this one does it way way better than the other one. Probably because Aigonorus has grown so much.

It's nice that Huedhaut offered to help him prove that he would be alright after MC was gone but geez what a mess. And Hue seems so focussed on making sure it's not affecting MC negatively that Aigo's own suffering isn't fully realised until too late (though I can't fully blame him when Ai kept insisting to MC that it was just Heaven's Rift affecting him and not to bother the others).

I don't recall the becoming a Goddess thing ever coming up at all here but from Aigo's determination to prove to MC that he'd be alright I don't think he would have ever wanted to follow that path. A mention might not have gone amiss though.

Poor Aigo - sleep has actually become a necessity to him and now he can't because of a horrible nightmare. At least it all worked out in the end.

2. Ichthys

Position in Main Story: Equal 1st with Hue

Position in Sequel Story: Equal 7th with Leon, Teorus, and Scorpio

Position in Musings on Love Story: Equal 6th with Hue

MC at the end of route is: Goddess

Agree/Disagree: AGREE

That's more like it! This is more like what I recall my feelings of Ichthys' route being.

But this story my word my heart 😭

Ichthys knows how much her human life means. He enjoys sharing the Earth experience with her. Rather than tell her what is going on he tries to make memories for right now and have a really great time and as per usual ignore what is looming upon him.

He might have been able to pass through the rift without incident if he'd just rested like Zyglavis had told him to but as per usual he didn't want anyone else - least of all MC - to worry about him.

He couldn't even bring himself to even ask MC about becoming a Goddess until right at the last moment. He just isn't that selfish. He doesn't want her friends and family to forget about her.

But of course she does it for him. And finally, finally Ichthys' mortality is no longer a problem.

I'm a little frustrated at him at the very end for implying she was causing problems with her powers already but honestly? That ending is just so Ichthys *hugs him tightly*

(... Please tell me I wasn't the only one wondering whether Ikky was still alive at the end of Scorpio's route...)

=. Partheno

Position in Main Story: Equal 5th with Krioff and Teorus

Position in Sequel Story: Equal 3rd with Aigonorus

MC at the end of the route is: Goddess

Agree/Disagree: I think I agree but... more for the universe's sake than theirs.

So Partheno has gone from equal 5th, to equal 3rd, to equal 2nd? Well his main story may not be the clearest measurement when as I said in his section there I felt more like I was picking what I thought was the right thing to pick than my gut reactions... it wasn't the case with his later stuff.

I like how he hasn't fully realised his Godhood yet and that there is still an unease up in the heavens but that it's not coming from within the departments any more.

He's as perveted as always but he's also really sweet too and I think genuinely so at this point, and it's nice that his power realisation is what helps MC in the end.

MC becoming a Goddess in this route? I dunno... Partheno himself is pretty new to the Heavens and the Heavens are still unsettled. On the other hand when you look at it from a wider view point I can see why the King allowed it as long as he could understand family love. It's like the other Zodiac Gods were worrying - MC keeps him on the right path. She's what keeps him grounded. Who knows what could happen if she ever left him alone. So it kinda seems necessary in this one, much as Partheno himself might have been torn about her doing this.

Partheno would probably rank higher overall as a character for me if there were some slight tweaks to his Main Story. The demon thing I don't have a problem with, but by making him not only a demon but the Dark King's Son, and the one who was actually orchastrating everything in the second prologue events, and wanting to destroy the heavens...

I can't see how MC can really stay with him after that. Making him see he could fit in, that he could have people who care about him, sure, but...

Look. He was upset and alone in a destroyed under realm... he was placed and pretty much abandoned in the Heavens where everyone grew to distrust him and stay away from him.

I do still sympathise with him but I just wish at the very least his plan had been to destroy everything from the start - including the Dark King - rather than to decide to do that near the end on impulse. They put him a little too close to the action. Which is a shame because overall he has a very nice redemption arc and his Promise of Infinity is arguably one of the nicest ones.

=. Teorus

Position in Main Story: Equal 6th with Partheno

Position in Sequel Story: Equal 7th with Ichthys, Leon, and Scorpio

Position in Musings on Love Story: Equal 2nd with Scorpio

MC at the end of this route is: Human

Agree/Disagree: Disagree. Or at tne very least I disagree that it was never discussed.

If Aigo's is a mature look at dealing with death and remembering a passed on loved one, Teo's is the immature look at it. Neither reaction is wrong, it's just...

Look, King of the Heavens, you interfere in other routes, iirc you even offered it to MC in Ichthys' route as a way to make sure he would always be around and you definitely forced her to do it in Scorpio's route cos you wanted to use her to save the Earth, and don't get me started on Hue's route...

Yet here, Teo causes utter chaos by letting go of his grasp on time due to being in such a grieved state about the idea of death. He's clearly never thought about it before. The Earth's in chaos due to the day and night cycles being wrong, and it even messes with time in the heavens...

Why does no one suggest MC become a Goddess in this one? I'm not saying that doing so would have been the correct ending to this - perhaps Teorus needed to come to terms with the idea of death in order to grow as a person - but this was nearly an utter disaster.

And pretending that he's gonna wed his friend? Thinking about it he's lucky he didn't cause turmoil in MC and cause even more problems, considering the adverse affect her mood had on the weather in another route.

5. Tauxolouve

Position in Main Story: Equal 3rd with Zyglavis

Position in Sequel Story: Equal 11th with Krioff

MC at the end of this route is: Human

Agree/Disagree: Agree (with caveats)

Well Lou's back up a bit more to where I would expect (I'm seriously wondering whether I replayed a bit of his sequel and changed the meter a little).

I like how this one plays on his ability to see death, and how determined he is to change it even if it could mean losing himself along the way.

But... he mentions the change to the others (seems either at this point or at some point leading up to it he told the others about his extra power) yet no one suggests MC becoming a Goddess?

Like... I don't think it's the actual answer. As the King himself said, they make a good bridge betwen Heaven and Earth because of Lou being a Demigod. But I can't help but feel that it at least should have been mentioned.

Huedhaut's so sweet in this path. Lou originally doesn't tell him about the broach because it's a forbidden art, but Hue's clearly concerned about his friend.

He's also concerned about the idea of making sure that their love remwins strong enough though, cos he tried to warn MC off taking the other half.

Can you tell why I decided in my latest fic that Hue could also be a part of this relationship without contradicting anything in the storyline?

=. Karno

Position in Main Story: Equal 8th with Aigo and Leon

Position in Sequel Story: 2nd

MC at the end of this route is: Human

Agree/Disagree: Agree, and it's not like they had time to do anything else either!

Oh good grief. I see why quite a few people seem to ship Leon with Karno because sheeeeesh. Way to go way overboard.

Do you think if MC had actually forgotten when you erased part of her memory and got Teo to turn time back a bit that Karno would ever have forgiven you for this?

If you're simply worried about the fact MC's life is finite then tell him that instead of stubbonly acting as though you are as important as they are.

Karno would never agree to MC becoming a Goddess anyway. Especially after playing more sub stories and stuff, Karno's more likely to throw away his Godhood. He seems to actually prefer the Earth. Mind you I'm not that surprised when he has to deal with this kind of thing!

=. Krioff

Position in Main Story: Equal 5th with Partheno and Teo

Position in Sequel Story: Equal 11th with Tauxolouve

MC At the end of this route is: Human

Agree/Disagree: What does it matter? Krioff's Dad can just make her a Goddess later if they really wanted. But they do at least mention the other way - Krioff becoming human and MC wants him to remain the way he is.

I still don't have much to say about the silent but gentle Krioff. I think this is the one route where they didn't even need to mention Goddesses though. MC is likely still a little wary having actually experienced what people forgetting her would be like without even mentally preparing herself, and Krioff is still unsettled by some of the Heavens thinking of him as the God of destruction.

Focussing on his powers in this one rather than anything relationship wise probably made sense - they'd done enough of the former in his sequel. This just isn't the most interesting route.

I will say though, whilst there's not much to back it up anywhere else, I kinda don't mind that Krioff's route introduced a way to raise someome to Godhood other than the King doing it. Maybe there's the potential there for MC to become a Goddess later on in some routes.

8. Zyglavis

Position in Main Story: Equal 3rd with Tauxolouve

Position in Sequel Story: Equal 5th with Hue

Position in Musings On Love Story: Equal 4th with Leon

MC at the end of this is: Human

Agree/Disagree: I'm torn on this one.

Oh Zig. Zig, Zig, Zig. You burying your feelings for what you think is for the good of the balance really causes a mess here. If you had just talked properly (and MC trying to be considerate doesn't help matters much either) you could have avoided yet another trial.

Here's where I'm torn though. Zyglavis is very by the books but is also the one second most likely (after Hue) to do thorough research. Now we know Zig was the last to leave Earth and maybe he doesn't even feel it's his place to ask MC about leaving that behind and becoming a Goddess... but the idea isn't even thought about let alone mentioned at any point - not even in his His POV story.

Yes an Earth marriage was one way around it... though it clearly didn't fufill his desires enough.

That said, Zyglavis' thought process when it comes to MC seems to get a little muddled. He's still battling with himself rather and maybe he really did need this shove from his shadow to realise what he truly wanted.

Overall they probably would have stayed God and Human no matter what happened here, but I do worry with him being Minister of Punishments and the uproar that has already been caused in this path what will happen in the future*.

Still though, he was so crushed when even his loophole of getting married on Earth was getting pulled away from him. Give poor Zig some chocolate ganache.

*: Yes, I know, Hue, it's no more my job to predict the future than it was the courts. Thanks for having their backs. (And Zig? Divulge stuff to Hue more often. You're a good team).

=. Dui

Position in main story: 11th

Position in Sequel Story: 1st

Position in Musings on Love: 1st

MC at the end of this is: Human

Agree/Disagree: Agree. They didn't really have time to discuss anything else. And Dui was hardly going to ask her to abandon her Human life after the first attempt failed.

Yes, I clearly have trouble in the storylines that focus on Shadow Dui, but I think this was the right move here. The idea of him worrying that he's technically two different people to the extent tthat he nearly loses a part of himself entirely...

This just shows how much Shadow Dui cares about the both of them. For his more agressive side he's actually very sweet deep down.

The story might have been very focussed on Dui as a person as opposed to so much their relationship, but it was a nice change of pace for that to be the only focus now that he is more at peace with his friend's death.

10. Scorpio

Position in Main Story: 12th (Forbidden)

Position in Sequel Story: Equal 7th with Ichthys, Leon, and Teorus

Position in Musings on Love: Equal 2nd with Teorus

MC at the end of this route is: A Goddess

Agree/Disagree: Agree but it's not like they had much choice!

The King reaaalllly hates her being wih Scorpio doesn't he? I kinda get the impression he's not happy with Huedhaut linking back up with her either when it was him that caused MCs existence, but here it's more like he's angry that Scorpio has changed. The King is as bad as Leon was in Karno's route, just in a different way.

Fancy implying he'd allow their marriage if she was a Goddess but telljng Scorpio in no uncertain terms what he thought of the idea. Now they're both troubled for different reasons and it's tearing them apart.

It's not just them though. I get why the King did it this way to make sure they had a way to save the Earth without anyone getting into any arguing before it was way too late to come up with a different plan but... my heart... Hue's reaction when he wonders whether it might kill her again 😭

Overall I don't think I'd change anything about Scorpio's Infinity story, it's so intense and action packed. It might actually be one of my favourites.

I wouldn't have minded a little addedum at the end though when MC finally wakes up millenia later. Maybe it's just me but I wanna know how the other Gods are doing.

*MC surrounded by flowers and a relieved Scorpio as she comes round and they have a wonderful emotional reunion.*

My Brain *whispering*: ... but millenia has passed. Did they solve Ichthys mortality in this route?

=. Leon

Position in Main Story: Equal 8th with Aigo and Karno

Position in Sequel Story: Equal 7th with Ichthys, Teorus, and Scorpio

Musings on Love: Equal 4th with Zyglavis

MC at the end of this is: human no that's not quite right a goddess no that's definitely not right. She's immortal but still very much a human.

Agree/Disagree: Look Leon's just taken the rulebook and ripped it to pieces! There's no agree or disagree here! She still has everything she had before but now she'll never leave him. It's the best of both worlds. But then, as Leon's the King by the end of his route, maybe both worlds are going to change a lot anyway. There's a reason the rift picked him.

Talk about action packed. From the King's attempts to drive him and MC apart, to Leon's trying to protect you from the others backfiring because the thing he summoned to protect MC is the thing MC almost destroys herself with...

And yet... I thrive more for some of his comments about Zyglavis in this one.

Clearly under the King's control because Minister Ponytail would rather drown himself in his own reflecting pool indeed. 🤣

Ahem, more seriously the ending of this one with all the Gods fussing round MC and an actual public ceremony is nice. It doesn't feel as though it cuts off as abruptly as some of the others because of that. (Leon's, Scorpio's, and Partheno's are probably the ones with the most rounded end. They're also the three where she's immortal).

Oh... oh dear. I've got one left to talk about and I'm actually not looking forward to this...

12. Huedhaut

Postion in Main Story: Equal 1st with Ichthys

Position in Sequel Story: Equal 5th with Zyglavis

Position in Musings of Love: Equal 6th with Ichthys

MC at the end of this is: Human... eventually.

Agree/Disagree: Urrrrrrghhhhhh.... it's not so much agree or disagree but fuck the King. Look I know she has memories of her previous life in this path but that's no reason to do the raising up as erasing her completely and reinstating Clotho.

Poor Hue! He can never catch a break. Seemingly fated to always be together, but always seeming to lurch from one disaster to the next.

I've been thinking on this and I really wish after MC had experienced some time actually as Clotho and saved Hue in the past in his Musings on Love story that it had been made 100% clear then that Hue absolutely sees her as another person. That he cares about her as much as he once did Clotho.

And that once did is the important distinction I'm making here. The King is taking advantage of Hue's sin to get the Goddess of Fate - who should have been lost to save the Earth - back, but in doing so he's making Hue lose the woman he loves. Again. I almost feel like he's still punishing him, and some of the side stories I've played the past few days or so just add to that feeling.

Clotho chose saving the Earth over Hue's love, Hue knows Clotho would do that again in a heartbeat. I'm not convinced he'd even want to be with Clotho anymore even if this transformation had worked.

'You can't be a God because you don't value the life of the Earth over your own' oh screw you, King. I think when I played this I was feeling somewhat uneasy because of the Clotho stuff, and Hue trying to use the rest of his stars yet again but at the time I had no context to how the raising to Goddess worked, so that bit didn't bother me as much...

Until I read Ichthys' story.

Now it's possible the raising of MC as Clotho is somehow the only thing that can happen because she has her memories in this route, but I don't really see why. There's nothing implied that that was the only option.

Also in Hue's Sequel they proved he and MC were stronger together, that by not letting her step through that door alone this time, they saved the world together without harm to each other.

I'm really pissed off at this. The MC should have known Hue didn't want or need Clotho back, but the King should never have damn well done this in the first place.

Musings of Love could have rounded off the past and this could have instead focussed on the future but noo... Clotho just had to be involved again.

... I think I'm beginning to see why so far I've put MC with Zyglavis if it is set after she's married. At this point in Hue's route I feel as distressed as he does!

Hue, you deserve better. I want your sarcastic snark and banter with the MC, I want to see your actual smile...

... And now I'm imaging an AU where he looked into the future and saw the fountain reject their proposal as his Promise of Infinity Story instead. Hmm... I wonder...

Man I need to calm down. Right then, ranking thingy... quick comparison again first:

Main Path Rankings

1st: Huedhaut, Ichthys

3rd: Zyglavis, Tauxolouve

5th: Krioff, Partheno, Teorus

8th: Aigo, Karno, Leon

11th: Dui

12th: Scorpio

Sequel Path Rankings

1st: Dui (+10)

2nd: Karno (+6)

3rd: Aigo (+5), Partheno (+2)

5th: Huedhaut (-4), Zyglavis (-2)

7th: Ichthys (-6), Leon (+1), Teorus (-2), Scorpio (+5)

11th: Krioff (-6), Tauxolouve (-8)

Promise of Infinity Rankings

1st: Aigonorus (+7/+2)

2nd: Ichthys (-1/+5), Partheno (+3/+1), Teorus (+3/+5)

5th: Tauxolouve (-3/+6), Karno (+3/-3), Krioff (-/+6)

8th: Zyglavis (-5/-3), Dui (+3/-7)

10th: Scorpio (+2/-3), Leon (-3/-4)

12th: Huedhaut (-11/-7)

I'm not really sure this tells us anything to be fair, but if I take the average of their three positions it'd put the Gods in this order (averages in brackets):

1st: Partheno (3.33)

2nd: Ichthys (3.67)

3rd: Aigonorus (4)

4th: Teorus (4.66)

5th: Karno (5)

6th: Zyglavis (5.33)

7th: Huedhaut (6)

8th: Tauxolouve (6.33)

9th: Dui (6.66)

10th: Krioff (7)

11th: Leon (8.33)

12th: Scorpio (9.66)

Well... no, I don't think that's the order I'd put them in, but then I didn't play Partheno's main story quite the same way.

One thing of note is if I'd used my replay data above for Hue (which wasn't even a full replay, I think it might even only have been the chapter before) for Promise of Infinity he'd be equal 8th with Zig and Dui which would give him an average of 4.66 and leap him up to equal 4th with Teo.

[writefightandflightclub]

I really enjoyed your Nathan fluff 🥺 we love this angry peach fuzz king 👑💖 would you ever write him being comforted after having a nightmare? 💕

First of all, LOL @ “angry peach fuzz king” 🤣🤣🤣

Second of all, here you go! 🧡 I will warn you - I think I forgot the fluff a little bit though. It became more hurt / comfort? More angst than expected? It ends nicely though and comfort is given to Nathan - but only after I’ve subjected him to rattling around in his own head and house for a bit.

Through the looking glass (Nathan Bateman x GN!reader)

Summary: Nathan has nightmares after The Incident. After so long alone, he doesn’t realise how badly he needs a little comfort - and maybe he doesn’t believe that he deserves it.

Author’s note: hopefully this isn’t too similar to All Better. I know they both take place post-stabbing, but I tried to give this a different focus. I know I could have made the nightmares based off of anything given the ask, but this timeline / focus seemed most sensible to explore the character.

Warnings: nightmares following traumatic incident (a stabbing); mentions of blood and injury - not graphic. Self-harm (punching the bag until injury); Body horror if you squint (some gruesome descriptions occurring in-dream, but fairly abstract); swearing; implied alcoholism recovery if you squint; mentions of therapy; Nathan mildly injured in fic; reader offering comfort.

Rating: MATURE for themes mentioned above.

GIF: by @santiagogarcia (this whole gifset is magic- check it out + reblog!)

Nathan wakes up breathless, plastered to the covers by a sheen of sweat - and not in a good way. On instinct, or out of habit by now, or maybe somewhere between the two, his palm slides over his body to the site of the wound.

He is so slick that he half-believes he is soaked with dank, deep blood again, until his fingers trace over nothing more than a half-concave, half-ridged scar. The lack of searing pain is the next point of evidence leading him towards an alternative conclusion. He’s not dying (again).

It’s just another gruesome nightmare.

Although… there is nothing “just” about it.

The nightmares are pretty brutal. Brutal enough for him to wake with ragged breaths and a hammering heart, his sheets dampened and coiled up around him. Enough that it takes effort to sift through the layers of terror and distinguish reality.

With what can only be described as a whimper, Nathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bringing himself into a seated position and bracing his head in his hands until his racing heart levels.

In his mind, he’s telling himself to be logical about this. That Ava hasn’t truly arrived to finish the job she started; but logic is not the safe haven it used to be.

She could come back.

She’s still out there, somewhere, and Nathan distinctly got the impression, last time, that she was vehemently not a fan of him.

His hand trembling, Nathan reaches for the glass of water by his bedside, glugging it down so eagerly it spills into his bushy beard.

Since the… accident? Malfunction? Functioning just fine, actually? Failed experiment? Greatest achievement known to man? Attempted murder? (Truth be told, Nathan isn’t quite sure what to call it, so he simply calls it The Incident.)

Since The Incident, Ava has begun to regularly visit him in his sleep.

The visitations are not waning with time. In fact, they are happening more often, not less. They are happening more since you moved into the house.

It’s a bad fucking time to have quit drinking.

You’d been sent by the board. Something about Nathan taking “tortured genius” a slice too literally. Something about him being in isolation too long and needing another human around in the compound.

Well, that’s not technically true, is it? The shit all started when he opted to get social, after all.

Fucking Caleb.

Before that, he was doing just fine.

Nathan doesn’t like it at all - having you here. Being watched. Observed. Having someone monitoring his actions. Waiting for him to either fuck up or prove himself.

Ironic really, considering where he kept Ava. The experiments he ran on her.

She’d probably find it poetic, if she could truly understand such a concept.

At the thought of her, Nathan physically shudders, and reaches for an old vest to haphazardly mop the excess sweat from his skin. Then, he balls up a change of clothes and tracks nude to his wet room, feeling relief as the luke warm water sluices over his skin.

He watches himself in the mirror as he stands there naked. It’s not a vanity thing - at least not any longer. These days, he examines the way his form has changed since it happened. He lost some of his muscle and bulk during recovery, whilst unable to exercise, his arms slightly smaller and his abs softer. His stomach a little more rounded.

There’s also the puckered scar, of course - that permanent reminder of where he was skewered through the chest like a piece of kebab meat.

His gaze travels up over his body, until his eyes settle on his still haunted face. He doesn’t have his glasses on, and somewhere between the blurred vision, misted mirror, clouding steam and sluicing water, his reflected face distorts. It transforms - for the briefest of moments - into her.

Still amped with adrenalin from his harsh awakening, this briefest flash sends a surge of panic zipping through Nathan’s chest, his heartbeat racing so hard he can feel the pounding of blood in his ears.

Fuck, he curses, reaching his arms out to brace himself against the shower wall above him, his body trembling and his head dipping down between the cradle of his broad shoulders as his legs threaten to buckle.

He turns the water cold, until it is practically glacial and thundering on to the back of his neck, subduing this spiking heat.

She really did a fucking number on me, didn’t she?

It’s true though.

Ava is haunting him. When he sleeps - and at other times too.

Nathan didn’t know robots could do that. Didn’t know they could spawn ghosts.

Nathan doesn’t believe in ghosts, of course… but he does believe in trauma and its effect on the brain. He at least concedes that it is natural to continue to feel afraid; but this?

Being dogged by the spectre of her taps into Nathan’s deepest insecurities.

After all, there is nothing a genius fears more than doubting his own mind.

Nothing a God fears more than his own mortality.

And the man? Turns out, there is nothing he fears more now, than dying alone.

With a ragged breath, Nathan towels off and pulls on his grey sweatpants, tugging on his black zip-up hoody over his bare chest. And then, keen not to return to his damp, tangled sheets, he tracks towards the kitchen - mainly for want of any more favourable option.

Of course, he had returned to the compound after The Incident. Something about that many fibre optic cables being a bitch to lay down. Sunk cost fallacy and all that - too much already invested.

But it possibly wasn’t the best choice for his recovery.

Nathan has certainly gotten more used to walking down that hallway since he returned from the hospital, and yet he still finds himself holding his breath until he is free of it. Still finds his pace is just a little faster as he passes through. His gaze deliberately averted from that spot.

Once, you’d found him lying in it.

Lying in that exact spot, his body arranged like a crime scene photo, his eyes closed.

Hey, it’s hardly his least healthy coping mechanism, is it?

What in the fuck are you doing, Nathan?

Re-enacting my death, obviously.

Uh-Kay…. A beat. A devious smile. Shall I get some popcorn?

Absurd as it was, he had laughed. Laughed for the first time since it happened, and, with an extended hand, you had helped him up off the floor.

Still, now that he’s alone, he does not dwell in the corridor, colder and darker as it is without your light in it, and he tries not to think about your face or hers as he pads to the kitchen.

When he arrives though, he bypasses it entirely - heading out on to the decking, the crisp night air soothing his hot skin.

He wants to be outside.

There are too many ghosts in his house now.

He has tried to shake it. Tried to desensitise himself to Ava’s face. Spent longer than strictly necessary poring over footage of her.

He built her. Shouldn’t that take the fear out of things? Not to mention the fact Ava’s face was simply a composite of some manipulable nerd’s wank bank browsing history.

Fucking Caleb.

Still, once Nathan had looked her in the eyes and seen a rage that was all too human, things seemed a hell of a lot different.

Nathan crosses to the punchbag on the deck -lit by creeping dawn- on instinct, or out of habit, or maybe some combination of the two, his unease riling him enough to sock some punches at its midsection. Right at the equivalent site of his corporeal puncture.

He punches so hard that the skin on his knuckle splits, but Nathan doesn’t stop. He throws punch after punch until his hands are scathed and bloodied, and a trail of spit hanging from the corner of his mouth. Until he hugs the bag - the closest thing he has to a warm body to hold - and slides down it, coming limply to his knees, wiping his face on his sleeve.

He stays there, dead eyed and still for some time, the pain in his hands raw and singing. Unpleasant, but better. Better than what he was feeling, and worse all at once.

He considers his tired, cumbersome body, and contemplates remaking the world one more time. Uploading his mind into a machine or some shit, so that he doesn’t have to contend with the fragility and failings of his own existence.

He stays there, until some motion in the interior of the compound causes the light and shadows to dance differently over him, and he looks up to see your figure there, cast in a soft halo of yellowed light.

He tips his head up slightly, opening his mouth as though he might cry out to you for help, but no sound comes out - only a thin, dry croak.

So, instead, Nathan watches you for a moment, moving seamlessly around his kitchen as though it is your own. Maybe it is - more yours than his now.

Observing you like this, through the tall, cinematic windows, it is as though he peers in on another world entirely. Something less resembling a nightmare.

Lighter than that. Something more like a good dream, albeit a good dream that Nathan cannot be part of. One he can only ever watch, from the outside looking in, always fated as he is to be on the other side of the glass.

Truth be told, you haunt him too. You represent everything he could have and yet doesn’t deserve.

You appear in his nightmares and his dreams, in various terrifying and beautiful incarnations. Many variations of which his therapist would have a field day with, he’s sure - or, she would, if he’d ever fucking call her.

When you first arrived here, he was plagued by grotesque visions of you. Grotesque visions of the skin being peeled back from your body. Sometimes, circuitry beneath, and other times, muscle and bone. Sometimes, Ava’s face was buried beneath the chilling slip of your fleshy mask.

Sometimes it is a better dream. Sometimes you save him. Sometimes he saves you.

Sometimes it is a good dream. Ava isn’t there at all. But the good dreams never seem to last for long. 

Sometimes you kill him, and sometimes...

The glass door slides open.

“Reenacting your own death again, are you?” you tease, though not unkindly, interrupting the spiral of Nathan’s incessant thoughts.

A lump forming instantly in his throat, Nathan swallows thickly, and looks up at you helplessly with a thin, joyless smile. He snorts as though it’s funny, but it really isn’t. “Over and fucking over.” 

You nod once, and, without hesitation, you extend your hand towards him. Your gaze cuts through him as you search his face and he feels suddenly see-through, as if he’s about to be hit with some Shyamalan-esque twist. Was he the ghost all along? Did he die here after all?

If so, is this purgatory because Ava is here too, or heaven, because you are?

Christ. So fucking schmaltzy, Bateman.

After hesitating, Nathan takes your hand and you yank him to his feet, drawing him inside, through the looking glass.

The room seems warm on the other side. It feels… safe.

“What happened?” you ask, as you look down at your joined hands, your thumb painting a smear of red across his split knuckles. 

You mean now. What happened now, but Nathan’s mind harks back further than that. In his mind, everything is connected. Every thing threaded to another. This one smear of blood to that weeping flower of red.

The thought -the thoughts, all of them- halt him in place, his feet firmly planting on the ground. Nathan’s hand clenches tightly around yours as though it is a lifeline, as he is cast adrift on this familiar crimson tide, his face growing increasingly angular and stern.

“She...” He swallows, unable to complete that precise thought, his eyes dropping down to his feet.

You turn your body towards Nathan as he croaks, still not letting go.

Your eyes flitting around his face, attempting to search his eyes, you tentatively step closer, sliding your palms slowly over his tense shoulders, feeling them rise with an uneven, stuttered breath as you do so.

He’s so tired. He’s so very, very tired.

And it happens all at once on the exhale.

Suddenly, your arms are tugging him closer, and his face is contorting as a violent smattering of tears beads in his long lashes. You are encasing his body in your embrace and rubbing circles into his back as his buzzed head sags all too willingly toward the junction of your shoulder, your fingers splaying along the smooth flesh at the nape of his neck and pads dancing over the gentle prickle of his hair. You are shushing and soothing and reassuring and squeezing and smoothing and cradling and Nathan can feel it. Can feel his heart race in his chest and…

Finally.

Finally, his heart is not pounding because he is reliving his death.

It is pounding because he feels alive again.

When was the last time he cried, even? The last time someone really hugged him? He doesn’t remember the last time. The serendipitous combination of Nathan willing to be vulnerable, and another being willing to hold space for his pain is an all too rare thing.

There’s a reason -or several - he’s so emotionally constipated, after all.

Fuck. I’m taking a huge emotional shit right now.

Nathan remains in the welcome circumference of your arms longer than is strictly necessary - until the tear trails over the bridge of his nose begin to feel cloying. Until his breaths steady, and until his thoughts and ego creep back in. Until he notices the way his hands are clasped at your waist like claws, fingers sinking into your softness, and he thinks to release you.

Then, he leans away, a weight on his brow making his expression stern.

He waits for you to judge him, another swallow trailing thickly down his throat.

However, your eyes are kind and level, dancing with soft concern. Not with judgement or satisfaction or pity, or with anything he fears.

It is refreshing not to feel so afraid.

Finally.

“She…” Nathan begins again, finally finding courage. All at once his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “She fucking stabbed me.”

You take his words in. You listen.

His “reveal” is simple. Plain and factual. A little indignant. Kinda salty. It’s not overly emotional, or articulate.

But it is enough.

Your eyes narrow, and you nod slowly, trying to understand the true meaning beneath his words.

You even reach up to cup Nathan’s face, his springy beard a cushion beneath your gentle palm as you hold him. “Yeah, genius,” you tease, with a tentative, lopsided smile, dropping your arm all too suddenly, perhaps as you catch yourself. “I got that from context.”

In response, Nathan chucks air from between his teeth, bringing his hand up to comb through his beard - perhaps to obscure his involuntary smile, or perhaps chasing your tender touch, the impression of it left warm on his cheek.

As he brings his hand up, your brows draw together, and you hook his bloodied paw delicately in yours, examining the wound, and leading him gingerly across to the couch as though his whole being might be hurting along with it.

It is.

You order him to stay put while you fetch the first aid kit, and then, in stages, Nathan watches you with fascination as you painstakingly clean and tend to his wounds, without ever being asked to.

He watches you carefully swipe the angry red away from his skin, and, to his overactive mind, it’s all connected. This red is one and the same with the flower of blooming red from The Incident.

Ava hurt him then, and she is hurting him now too.

And you…

“Going to tell the board about this?” Nathan asks, his voice weak and scuffed.

You search his eyes, holding your words back for a moment before answering. Then, you launch them on a big breath. “Fuck the board, Nathan. I told those assholes to stick it.”

Nathan blinks in confusion, shaking his head, his hand flourishing emphatically through the air. “Then… what the fuck are you still doing in my house?”

“Well. I’m… here for you,” you admit, sucking in air through your teeth, your voice shrinking. “If you want that.”

Well, that’s news to him.

Welcome news, perhaps?

You’re not watching him at all, are you? Not observing. Not asking him to evidence his humanity. Not waiting to see whether he fucks up or proves himself.

Instead, you’re seeing him. You’re seeing him and you’re not running.

Nathan had begun to think that maybe he was the nightmare. He’d begun to think he might always be haunted.

Always alone. That he might die that way; again.

And now, here you are.

Nathan thinks about that. He could so easily revert to his old ways, in this moment. Of pride and ego and stubborn independence.

But, perhaps those assholes from the board got a few things right - he’ll admit.

Maybe he had been in isolation too long. Maybe he didn’t need to take “tortured genius” quite so literally.

And so, Nathan almost protests. Almost rejects your presence and your comfort and pushes you away. But the truth is, he’s just so… tired. He’s had so many nightmares, and this time, he’d like to be on the other side of the glass. He’d like to step into that dream.

Nathan takes a deep breath, and releases on the exhale. Releases more than air.

He slowly, ever so slowly, shifts towards you on the couch, angling his body until he can safely dip his head towards your lap, his nose pointed in towards your abdomen and his knees curling around you.

“Th.. this okay?” he asks weakly.

You throw your splayed hands up into the air in surprise as the weight of Nathan settles there, but as he curls his arms around your middle and shuffles closer, you ease into it. You snake your fingers in intricate caresses over his head and neck and shoulders.

“Yeah, Nathan. This is okay,” you soothe gently, voice taut with emotion.

You comfort him.

And finally, Nathan does not need to peel your skin back to know what’s underneath.

He knows you’re not a robot, and that, as your kind touch finds him corporeal, that he is not a ghost.

He closes his eyes. And this time, when he next wakes, he knows that whether the dream is bad or better or good, it doesn’t matter. Because you will be there with him.

He wants you with him.

It’s not at all natural to him, to have you around. For the longest time, he didn’t like it. It didn’t come instinctually, and he has formed no familiar habits.

It isn’t easy - he doesn’t make it easy.

But he wants it to be.

And, in your arms, he can finally dream that it will all work out. What’s more; he can dream he deserves it, too.

[liibrii]

fem!Miya!reader x Suna Rintarou || mostly platonic || part of the Third Miya series

Synopsis: A glimpse into your friendship with Suna during your 1st year at Inarizaki High school.

Warnings: barely proofread, general stupidity, there's a serial killer joke, reader is a lil shit

wc: 1.6k

a/n: naming chapters is hard 😭 as always feedback is greatly appreciated and if you wanna be tagged in future chapters let me know!

Friendship with Suna is one of those where you can't quite remember how or when it started. One week he was just that lanky guy sitting at a desk to the right of you, the next week you walked home together and you told him your brothers' embarrassing childhood stories in exchange for chemistry homework. In a way it's an echo of all your childhood friendships forged on the beach with other kids you only knew for a week but during that week you'd take over the world for them if they asked. But the one week friendship with Suna became two weeks, three weeks, and after the fourth you stopped counting.

Suna Rintarou is a funny guy. Not funny as in telling jokes or spouting quips and smirks. He's funny in a way that even now you can't really tell who he is. He's quiet. But not shy in the slightest. He moved over from Aichi and you cringe at the memory of saying: “Oh so that's why ya talk funny. I thought yer just pretentious,“ when he told you. Your ears catch on fire by just thinking about it. So embarrassing. But he must have pretty low standards for his friends because at the time he didn't really seem bothered by your slip of the tongue. The next day he offered you a chuupet and that was enough to buy your undying loyalty.

Suna's a funny guy. You don't know how he became your friend, you don't know what he sees in you that makes him put up with you. But you're glad to have an inside man on the volleyball team.

Years of living together with the same person makes one develop the ability of sniffing out trouble before they even start to happen. In this case it's four empty pudding packages in the trash bin that make you decide to nope right out of there before Tsumu tries to blame you for their mysterious disappearance. Again.

You put on music and walk aimlessly through the streets, one of those walks where it doesn't matter if you get lost because you have no clue where you're headed anyway. Everyone needs a stroll like that from time to time. Often they lead to situations that would otherwise probably never happen. Like running into a serial killer, but luck is on your side today so the only person you run into is a familiar lanky figure stretching by the side of the road. “Sunarin! Didn't expect to meet ya here!“

He looks up and his blushed sweaty face wears the same expression as ever. In the last months you've learned Suna has two expressions, the deadpan one, and the deadpan one with furrowed brows. “O, Miya. Well, I live nearby.“ Oh right, you did pass the bus station where he exits just a song ago. “Taking a stroll, are you?“

“Samu and Tsumu are having a screamin' match right now so I decided to get myself out of there before they'd drag me into it.“

“Tragic. Where are you headed?“

Your destination is 'who cares' so you join Suna on a walk. It's good he already ran his evening route because you're not in the mood to reenact a wanna be healthy person's only free time activity.

Just a short walk between the apartment buildings by the side of the road you reach a path of cobble stones that leads further between trees.  

“What? You didn't know there's a park here?“ Suna smirks and you're surprised his face muscles are even capable of stretching so far.

You shake your head, slightly embarrassed. “No, I really didn't. To be fair this neighbourhood used to be ruled by another clan so we never played around here,“ you quickly add as if children clan wars from years ago are a better excuse than simply being unfamiliar with this part of the town.

Suna doesn't comment but the corners of his mouth keep tugging up even after you walk through the park. Or maybe that's because you tripped over nothing while watching a cat cross your path.

“We have a cat back home,“ he tells you and shows you the picture of his little sister with a big fluffy orange cat on her lap.

“So cute,“ you coo, “looks just like ya.“

“Oh yeah, lots of people say she looks just like me. I think I'm more handsome though.“

“No, I meant the cat.“

This time you're the one prepared to jump away form a well aimed kick but Suna only gives you a disappointed glare. “I thought you were the nice Miya.“

You sympathetically pat his shoulder. “Sorry. My sincere condolences. Shall I send some flowers for the funeral of yer last brain cell? Samu always wanted a cat but dad wouldn't let him.“

“Really? Why not?“

“Oh he made the mistake of asking just after the mango incident.“

“The-“

“Only Miyas are allowed to know about it,“ you say, snickering at Suna's furrowed brows. You know curiosity is going to eat at him for weeks to come. Maybe you should come up with a cover story, just in case. “Do ya miss yer friends? Ones from Aichi I mean?“

Suna thinks for a moment, maybe still trying to figure out what a mango incident could possibly be. “Sometimes,“ he says after a while and a poke to his side, “but I met a lot of new people at the dorms. Inarizaki isn't that bad either. There's you and Ginjima, and your brothers sometimes, and ehm,“ he mumbles as he tries to remember whom else he could call a friend.

“If Tsumu or Samu bring this topic up just let them know ya were my friend first,“ you pout. That's the problem with having had siblings in the same class for the entire grade and middle school; all your friends were also their friends. “It can't be easy,“ you say, half trying to make him feel better, and half just changing the topic that's starting to turn his ears red, “movin' over here I mean. Ya really left all ya knew behind for volleyball. That's pretty admirable. Ya just might be as crazy as Samu and Tsumu.“

“Please don't compare me to your brothers,“ says Suna.

“That bad, eh? So what's it like? Livin' in a dorm?“

“Oh. Well. We're four in a room-“

“Yikes. And I thought havin' two other people in your room is a lot.“

Suna laughs. Oh, so he can do that. It suits him, you decide after a moment. “Now take into account that two of those keep leaving dirty socks around.“

“Oh I know what that's like,“ you nod, all too familiar with dirty socks under table, under bed and other parts of bed you'd rather not think about.

“I doubt you'd get in trouble for punching them though.“

“Oh I would.“ You look him over. “Ya don't really look like a punchin' type to me. More a very petty guy. Soy sauce in mornin' tea kind of guy.“

“You're giving me ideas.“

“Thanks, that will be one kit-kat. Or none if ya put some in Samu's water bottle.“

“All in all dorm isn't that bad,“ Suna tells you once you both stop laughing over the prospect of putting soy sauce into Osamu's drink. “Wish I could sleep a bit longer in the morning but what can you do? And I miss mom's cooking. We cook ourselves and the food is good. Usually. It's just not the same, you know? Want a chuupet?“

“Ya brought a chuupet to an evenin' run?“

You still gladly take the fruit stick. It's a rare occasion in which it isn't in danger of being snatched away by one of your co-spawns. You don't comment but the next day a neatly wrapped bento box waits on Suna's table.

Suna doesn't quite remember when you became friends. One day you were a girl from his class that looked suspiciously similar to those loud Twins on the volleyball team (the moment he realised your last name is in fact Miya too he felt incredibly stupid for not noticing sooner), the next day you're hanging with him during breaks and sending him messages along the lines of 'I'll buy you as many chuupets as ya want if ya tell me what happened at practice yesterday, I need to let Tsumu know who's the boss' that usually arrive in the middle of the night. Even if they wake him up your name popping on his screen still makes him smile.

Really it takes impossibly long for Suna to realise he doesn't enjoy being in your presence only because being friends with you is as easy as getting the ball around a block or because you're the one Miya to voluntarily share your food with him.

The moment the cogs finally fell in their place and began to spin, making the little 'there might be something more' thought appear is one he'll remember for the rest of his life, and will quite probably haunt his nightmares too.

That's the thing about emotions (truly the revelations of that day are almost too much for his volleyball focused teenage brain), they take over neurones in charge of sending information around the brain, bribing the ones running toward mouth to run faster than the ones heading towards the comprehension centre, and then you find yourself in awkward situations such as saying your name out loud in the packed locker room followed by: “She's really funny and amazing. I like her a lot.“

But the situation being awkward is the least of Suna's problems as two pairs of almost identical brown eyes stare him down.

Oh, shit.

tag list: @espressons @trashy-simp @nachotrash @megumiisee @foxxtrot-116 @e-wwis​

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Into The Thick of It (2)

Loki x Female Reader

Chapter 2: The God

Series Summary: Her work as an agriculturist nearly takes the readers life is not for a stranger (and his weird looking dog) who later turns out to be the God of Mischief. Thrown into a completely different realm, you want to figure out a way home while trying to stay out of the way of this literal God. But fate has its own plans for the two of you.

Written for @tarithenurse and her #Taris1Kchallenge

Warnings: sexist remarks

Word Count: My jaw is selectively pounding now that my wisdom tooth is out and the stitches are in place. It feels so weird because its not like you can simply scratch an itch or around the itch in some way.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"How does this look?" Zaira is holding up a green dress that goes down to your toes in length. You give the deep shade a once over and turn back to your laptop. "Meh." Zaira tsks. "I mean-" you breathe and give your attention to your friend- "it's okay. For you. For me?" You shake your head and shrug before trying to discreetly get back to the screen. "Bullshit. You look amazing in green." You try to find the mouse on the screen. "Are you sure?" The question is bland. "Of course! No one can carry this like you! And for the sake of all things holy, stop looking at your death again and again!" Your brows furrow at the statement, turning back to Zaira, who still stands there with the green dress, except for one thing- the usual workspace of white and grey is now replaced with an eerily familiar dark forest with trees trying to touch the sky. "What?" It is nothing more than a whisper, this word erupting from your lips at the change in scenery. Your mind is at the edge of a realisation waiting to erupt when your hand feels an unwelcoming heat. The immediate reaction is to get your arm away from the laptop, or at least that is what you think you are doing considering the last saved spot of this occurrence in your memory. But there is no laptop. No chairs or tables.  Just a bonfire in front of you and your hands covered in blood and tied in ropes tearing through your flesh. And beyond that fire are figures in the dark chanting verses that are alien to your ears. But just as the chanting grows louder, you can feel a cloud of dread begin to loom of your heart; growing bigger by the second. Zaira! You are screaming her name but your voice isn't audible and you cannot see her anywhere either. Zaira!! You call out for her again when the figures seem to be getting closer to you, the anxiety in your chest beginning to hurt even more.  ZAIRA!!!

The loudness of her name in your conscience jerks you awake with the dread transported straight out of your hallucination. Still breathless and sweating from the nightmare, your head pounds at the sudden jump to the reality of finding yourself lying under a fur skin as heavy as you inside what seemed like a tent. From where you lay, the roof is a muddy beige colour dense enough to block sun or rain. Turning your head to your right, you can see a side table housing a copper goblet along with a copper jug. I hope to the Gods that water. I don't care if it's laced with poison at this moment. Turning to your left you are taken a little back to see familiar golden eyes staring from the copper jug back at you, so close that that saliva ridden tongue could lick you if it wanted. "Hi," you greet the familiar creature from the night of your nightmare, your heart still trying to dilute, resting by your side. The creature tilts its neck a little before you can see its tail rise up and swing from side to side. Such a doggo. You try to get up- with much effort, thanks to this animal duvet weighing just as much or maybe more than you- and breathe the cold air around you. Even though the anxiety of this recent incident is still looming around you in the corners you don't want to look at, it is a relief to feel the quiet around you. And the weird doggo looking at you seems to make those corners lighter, convincing your heart that it all ended not so bad at some point. Moving the fur duvet off you to get to the water on your side, you suddenly find yourself quickly putting the fur back on at the momentary realisation of something major amiss, bringing back all that anxiety that was watching you from the corners. "Where the fuck are my clothes?" you whisper right at the doggo despite knowing that poor thing can only swing its tail whenever you look at it. "They were tattered beyond repair." The voice immediately brings your duvet up to your chin before your eyes dart towards the entrance in front of you. No fucki-oh. A woman with skin paler than the pale described for Bella from Twilight stands at the entrance of the tent with a bunch of warm clothing. Her eyes carry a hint of grey and muddy green in them. She takes it upon herself to have already gotten permission to walk towards your side and place the clothes she has got in front of you before going back to secure the entrance. "You were fortunate to be alive in those deadly woods of the dark," she mentions while taking a thermos out of her dress and pouring the contents in the bowl kept on the makeshift table; all the while with her back towards you. You, still cautious of the eyes around you, slowly snuck the clothes inside the duvet to put them on. Only when putting them on, you realise the lack of a bra or panties; just a loose cotton camisole in their stead. ...okay. Maybe they didn't know my size. You look back at the woman busying herself around the tent. All you can see is the huge- and seemingly heavy- overcoat made out of an animal. Or maybe they...don't have the resources? Great, Y/N. Go be a judgmental b for the people who saved your life. The gown is a deep blue shade that neatly wraps around your shape and is put in place with the hooks, the last step being securing it all with the one string tied in what only you would call a bow. "So, it was you who saved me last night?" The woman brought you a bowl with steaming hot stew, bursting out in laughter on hearing your question. You stand there watching her immediately suppress the laughter as if she had been caught red-handed for a grave crime. "My apologies for what you just saw. It was not me who saved you." And before you can ask who it was, the woman gathers a wide bowl filled with water, a couple of hand towels and two bowls of what looked like homemade ointments, and walks out of the tent. You are about to go thinking about the materials that woman just took away when the only being you are familiar with, gets up from the bed, jumps down and struts out of the tent. "Wait...don't leave me," you whimper in a low tone, gathering a bit of strength to walk out right behind him. . The clearing in the forest has been turned into a camp with soldiers bustling in any direction you look. Swords, bows and arrows are being used for practice in one corner and the same are being mended in the other. Helmets akin to the ones Vikings wore can be seen on top of many heads. So can the undercut and braids. "Is this a cosplay fair?" you ask the one guy who passes by close to you. He is nearly the same height as you, but with a lush red beard and hazel eyes.  He- and his two friends- observes you from head to toe, almost making you realise how out of place you already look. "This is a war camp, missy. One where you have no reason staying." You mock a laugh at the audacity of this person. "I will decide the reason for my stay myself...boy." You start to walk away, trying to find any familiar figure in this quite realistic cosplay village. But last you remembered, there has been no such fair going on in the vicinity of that cursed town. A heated hand captures your arm and forces you to turn around. A wince comes out of you and flashes of that gory incident move before your eyes. Especially the face of that man. The Viking guy takes a step towards you, not letting go of your hand in the first wank. "Sigmund! Who is this wench with a quick mouth?" Sigmund, the taller of the three men, with bulky features and a sharp nose huffed. "Someone who needs to learn her place, Kare." "Aye," the last of the three speaks, "she does not look like help. Not in that silk she wears." Kare smirks through that unruly beard of his. "Why, are you that prince's mistress then, lassy? Is that why you came out from those royal tents, eh?" Kare turns towards his lads to laugh, who had slowly gathered now to watch the show, giving you something new to be anxious about. Agni, on the other hand, makes his way through this crowd to come and stand next to you, observing the situation. "Fucking dogs," you whisper under your breath- which you are trying your best to stop from trembling- and begin to walk away again but Kare is already hopping in your path. "Why in such a hurry, my lady?" He bows and turns towards his lads to let his words be heard by everyone "Give us unworthy lads a chance to find out how well you warm the royal beds, eh?" But the 'lads' seem to be having a sudden seizure. Either that or the joke did not seem to register. A sudden movement behind you and all the eyes staring past you assure you in your heart that it is the former one. "Your lads do not seem to find that funny, Kare." A voice not too deep but certainly somewhere right under the surface with a weight that can be felt in your bones, speaks from right behind you, freezing you where you stand. It takes some time for you to turn around and look at the source of the voice. And once you do, you realise how tall this man stands. His pale skin is radiant and his features sharp. You could draw straight lines just by referencing his cheekbones. His black hair- perhaps the only one with black hair in this cosplay fair- is neatly braided in braids at each side and the rest of the hair left open. What shampoo does he use? "I pity your mother and sister," this man continues, "for meeting your lads in an alley someday and being asked the same question." He does not stir his gaze from Kare, constantly piercing through that man's existence without so much as a smile.  "Apologies, your grace." Your grace?  You turn to watch Kare and his buddies drop their heads down and then it hits you. Your grace?!!! Your head whips around with the air of surprise as you watch this man in a new light. I mean, yeah, he kinda looks like a...'your grace'. "It is not me you should be apologising to." He doesn't even blink. He is as stoic as a boulder and everyone here revolves around him. "Apologies...my lady." The words bring you out of the trance that this man's face has created for you and you turn to watch Kare bow to you along with his 'lads'. "Ansa!" the man calls out for someone, finally turning to look at you. You have to catch your breath when those green eyes bore into you, the stare not too piercing and neither too soft. Just balanced. But damn the skies for it is making you lose your balance somewhere inside you. "Yes, my lord," the familiar lady comes out of the crowd to stand before him with her head low. "How is the weather today?" He simply puts the question. Within seconds you realise what the question really is about. You try your best to stand still in this chilly weather despite the sun high in the sky but it is as if he can smell the chill off you. "It's cold my l-" she realises it too, running to the nearest tent to grab a fur coat just like her Lord's and put it gently on your shoulders. "My apologies, my lady. Apologies, my lord." "Are the armies ready for the west front, Aren?" "Yes, your grace. Two battalions are ready to march to the mountains. They wait for my signal." Aren, a tall ginger with soft features gives a warm smile when you look in his direction. "Very well. Go for it then." And with that command, Aren walks to the space vacating in front of you, spreads his arms and transforms into an eagle to fly up and away beyond the nearest mountain. You are left with your jaw unhinged as you try to make sense of what just happened, turning towards the man in charge here; all the while pointing at the sky. "H-how?" "Walk with me..." that commanding voice a couple of minutes ago has transformed into a soft tone that captures a completely different personality of this man. "Y/N." "Y/N," he repeats the name as if to memorise it, and lets his arm gesture you towards the direction you are asked to walk. "I am Loki, of Asgard. Pleased to make your acquaintance." "Asgard?" you wonder the name out loud, confusion visibly dripping from your face. "There is no place by the name Asgard on the maps? Is this further north in the Alps? Wait...are we still in Norway or did we change countries?" The guards by the biggest tent make way for Loki and you to enter. Unlike the place you woke up in, this one houses everything fit for a king. From the bed to the cutlery. And everything has a colour theme going on for some reason. A real deep shade of green. Even Loki's fur coat carries blues and greens as if they had been specially plunged from the deepest corners of the oceans on earth. "Y/N-" he gestures you to sit down on the settee by the foot of the bed while he pours you wine in a goblet- "I have to tell you something. Be kind enough to hear me out before jumping to conclusions." You take the glass from his hand and sit down on the settee. Oh! cold hands! Is he okay? It's really chilly out there. "What?" You wait for him to start. Loki stands by the conference table and faces you, his hands working with each other as he looks at them before finally letting his gaze meet yours. "You are no longer on earth. You were transported to Asgard last night during the Pagan ritual, where you were conveniently made a sacrifice, and would have died if not for Agni hearing your prayers and tearing that scum apart." Silence. Loki’s features show no emotions when he narrates the reality to you. In fact, he waits for a reaction from your end, carefully studying those y/e/c eyes as they blink at him in unadulterated innocence, turn away to look at Agni and then come back to him. Ultimately, you take a sip from the goblet, letting the wine go down your throat, the involuntary reflex of tasting something not to your liking naturally coming over your face. Waiting for a few seconds, you bring the goblet back to your lips, this time gulping down the contents within a breath. "Okay." Loki looks at you with a focused glare before tilting his head a little. "Okay?" You nod. "Are you-" Loki pauses to come and sit down in the chair right in front of you but at a respectable distance- "okay with everything that I just told you? All the parts of it that do not make sense to a human?" You breathe in a lungful. "Oh, Gods! No. I am overwhelmed at this point. To even consider the fact that I am not currently on earth and that I was about to be raped by an eighteen-year-old cultist if not for your wonderful doggo and you, I am considering. Because now that I look at you I completely put you in the silhouette I saw last night. And I thought this was some adult dress-up show going on until a legit person just turned into an eagle and fucking flew away right in front of my eyes. I mean...it would take a good amount of CGI to actually make that happen just in the movies, forget real life. And if I am not on earth, the thought of getting out of doing mindless labour because your boss is an asshole is very appealing, mind you. Even though that means I have been thrown straight into a pit of testosterone-filled sexist Vikings who look like they will pounce on me the first chance they get. So...yeah. I am...I...uhh...have decided to shut my brain down till-" you simply shrug before breaking into nervous laughter and bringing the empty goblet back to your lips, raising it as far as it could go before it decided to release a drop into your desperate mouth. Loki blinks at you before breaking into a smirk that he hides from your eyes. It feels like he has watched you slowly crumble a little within the last few moments when all you did was talk. He has noticed those shaking hand movements and those trembling lips that force a smile to show they are doing absolutely fine. He has observed that shift of your fingers to scratch an itch on your exposed neck and that movement of turning that sole ring made out of iron in your index finger; hiding your anxieties in the rotations of that little circle. And now he watches you trying to dissolve the incoming anxious winds in alcohol. He knows this look too well. The look of fear; fear of the unknown. Loki raises his hand to you. "Allow me to refill that. With something better." You watch his hands and make a mental note of those long pale fingers and how good they would seem wrapped around anything. "Something better? I don't think Asgard could provide me with a Long Island Iced Tea or a Jeager Bomb. Or a Zombie." Loki simply chuckles and you find yourself stuck on that toothed smile of his. Is he the same guy who was dragging his soldiers in the mud like anything? Taking the goblet from you, he gets up and walks towards a little cabinet that opens up like a medieval bar.  "I sympathise with you being so far away from home. But I can assure you these...Vikings will not touch you or even think about pouncing on you ever." You furrow your brows and let your arms rest on each side while you tilt your head a little in question. "They know it better than to even think about what I claim as mine." You feel little chills go up your spine at his words, your legs going one over the other as you wiggle away certain scenarios from your mind. Damn! He should write dialogues for the entertainment industry. "Excuse me, sir," you press while raising your brow, "I may have fallen on your royal highness' land but that ain't making me anyone's property...considering this is your property." You cannot see it from where you sit, but the God chuckles at your audacity of raising your voice at him. He comes back to you with your drink. You notice that this time it is not the familiar red wine waiting for you in the goblet but something relatively darker and comparatively with a more medicinal odour. "No one will harm you. Agni will make sure of it. Isn't that right, beast?" You turn to watch Agni sitting right next to your feet, immediately wagging his tail at the mention of his name, contently growling as assurance. You notice how familiar this creature look to the Pitbulls back on earth. Give them pits some pointed skeleton for their backbone, a pair of horns and huge canines and these two breeds will be a copy of each other. "And we will find you a safe passage home once we reach back to the city." Home. unfortunately for you, the first thing at the mention of 'home' is the rush of crude flashbacks from last night of that horrid nameless town. No matter how hard you try to breathe in, the scenes keep on coming. Both Loki and Agni seem to sense the uneasiness creeping onto you. Your racing heartbeat and uneasiness of breath can be heard by them as clear as you can. "I hope you were not too attached to your clothes. I had to tear them apart to treat your wounds," Loki announces, gulps his herbal drink and walks towards the entrance of the tent. "Yeah, no problem. They were just clo-wait what? WHAT? You-" you get up and lower your voice for the fear of any third person hearing it- "you tore my clothes?" He nods with the most neutral expression you wanted to punch. "Yes. As you mentioned, they were just clothes. And nothing I haven't seen before. Now come on." You wonder whether to be relieved or angry with this one. Putting that thought on the back burner to simmer for a while, you gulp down the goblet without breaking any eye contact with him.  "Where are we going?" "To get you out of your clothes again," he states without skipping a beat and you have to question all the good you have thought about him till now. Son of a bitch! What an ass- "You stink. About time you took a bath."

[vanderlindemorgans]

Cross My Heart (Chapter 6)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 7.7k

Chapter-specific Warnings: Descriptions of blood from a gunshot wound, alcohol consumption, talk of drug addiction, more death talk, mentions of entitled kid + parent, everyone being in denial and uh I think that’s about it

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

The strangest thing about dreams were how quickly they disappeared: you could be passed out in bed, a million miles away from the waking world before the rays of sun started to shine over the horizon to rouse you from your slumber, and just like that - whatever world you were in would vanish, being replaced by an often disappointing reality in front of you. For Jack, vivid dreams weren’t too often of an occurrence for him, not that he really remembered anyway. Nightmares were even more rare, though at one point in time they’d plagued him for months on end. That was how he’d spent the first few months after his wife’s passing: waking up in a cold sweat, heart racing in panic from the lingering remnants of dream clung to the back of his mind, horrifying scenes of loss and tragedy playing out to torture him in his most vulnerable state. Usually the nightmares involved him being forced to watch Lily’s death with his own eyes and being powerless to stop it, the illusion always shattering just as her body hit the ground. Other times he’d be confronted by her, blood cascading from the bullet wound in her head and onto her skin while she stared at him with harsh eyes. He’d try to reach out for her, only to feel her hands had gone cold. And then the blame would start. The words that were repeated over and over by her until he felt his brain was going to break.You couldn’t protect me. Those ones were always the worst, and thankfully, the most rare.

All of this being said, Jack hadn’t dreamt of Lily in a long time. As the sting of her passing began to fade with time, leading into hate and anger towards the world for taking her away, the dreams slowly stopped. He still mourned for her every day, feeling frozen in time no matter how many years passed, no matter how fine he seemed on the outside, but the worst of it had left him. Or, so he thought.

Jolting out of bed with a fierce start, he could feel the rough material of the duvet in his hands, his hands grasped around it with an iron grip. He felt compelled to scream, though no sound was able to escape his mouth, and as he took note of his surroundings he started to feel less afraid when he realised where he was. He didn’t know what the time was, if he had to guess it was probably after midnight. Hesitantly, he placed the back of his hand to his temple, feeling the stray beads of sweat running underneath. It’d been a long time since something had managed to scare him to that degree, much less a nightmare. He probably should have felt relaxed once he realised that none of what he just went through was real, but he still felt spooked by the entire experience. Jack couldn’t even remember most of what happened - it all blended together in a frightening blur. The only moment he could still make out in his mind from the dream were its final moments: his wife was standing in front of him, in the middle of the convenience store where she died, with a man holding a gun to the back of her head. He remembered screaming out, pleading for her to be spared. It was too late - the sound of a gunshot rang out and her body fell limp to the floor, a pool of blood forming underneath her head. That wasn’t even the worst of it, as when he looked down upon her corpse he realised that it wasn’t Lily’s body lying dead on the ground anymore. It was yours.

“God fuckin’ damn it” he cursed, placing his head in his hands. On top of everything else that had already happened, he now had to deal with the return of old haunting nightmares that somehow were even worse than the ones he had years ago, because now you were involved. He sat up abruptly, grabbing onto a discarded shirt that he’d thrown over the foot of the bed and pulling it over his head, using nothing but the moonlight pouring through the curtains to guide himself out of the room and into the darkened hall. He stole a glance towards where your room was, a droplet of fear etching itself into his mind. Before he entirely knew what he was doing, he was opening the door to your room, being careful not to make any sound lest you were awakened. His fears subsided when he saw you curled up beneath the covers, sound asleep and none the wiser to his presence. Exhaling gently, he untensed his shoulders and looked over at your sleeping form with a small but sweet smile on lips. Of course she would be fine. You’re being paranoid. 

Pulling the door behind him softly, he turned his attention to the end of the hall where the stairs were, the vague recollections of the nightmare rattling in the back of his mind. If he didn’t do something soon, he would keep himself up all night mulling over the implications of it all, and he wasn’t keen to spend the early hours of Sunday morning losing sleep because of his fucked head. He supposed it wasn’t that out of nowhere to dream about his wife, as he had been talking about her with you just last night. What scared him more so was that you were there, taking the bullet and ending up exactly as she had: dead. He couldn’t begin to fathom its meaning. Did it have to have meaning? Was it nothing more than a nightmare?

Scooping up a glass, he poured himself a generous amount of whiskey to sip on, returning the bottle back to the corners of your liquor cabinet. He probably should have asked before helping himself but it wasn’t like you were awake to answer to him, and he had a feeling you wouldn’t notice anyway, considering he’d found the aforementioned bottle pushed to the furthest reaches of the cabinet. When he noticed the label on the bottle, he couldn’t keep himself from smirking at the irony of it - of course you’d keep the Jack Daniels whiskey towards the back. Reclining into the couch with the glass in his hands, he took an absentminded sip while his mind further delved into the worrying implications of such a dream. 

The only part of it all that made sense was that the dream had been about his deceased wife - with the discussion that happened between the two of you last night about her it was only logical that his subconscious had lingered on some parts of it. After you’d turned in for the night Jack had stayed up for a little while longer, seated out on that veranda with a pensive look and the bottle of bourbon you’d neglected to bring back inside. Your words made rings around his mind, sparking a debate of sorts with himself as he considered your criticisms towards him. The emotional part of him wanted to blindly hate, and to keep on doing exactly what he’d always been doing. But when he realised that blind hate had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place, he’d allowed himself to listen more carefully to your words, and to examine them on a deeper level. Upon knowing your own past with loss and pain at the hands of another, it made him take a step back and actually look at everything that had transpired in Cambodia, all the little things that led him to working against an organisation that he once devoted himself to. Whereas you’d taken steps to try and live in a world without your parents, he’d remained angry and hurt, stuck in a world that had long moved on from the tragedy and still feeling every raw cut of emotion that losing her dealt. Sure, he wasn’t exactly inconsolable over it constantly - he had been able to live for sixteen years without Lily. If he went to a psychiatrist, he knew exactly what they’d say to all that: “You’ve externalised your hate onto someone easier to blame, in this instance addicts, when really the only person you feel should be to blame is yourself for not being there to save her”, or something like that. He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the ludicracy of it all. Never in a million years did he think he’d be one for deep introspection. What in the goddamn has this world come to?

Even so, your words wouldn’t leave his mind. Did you have a point? Was it wrong to blame every addict on the planet for the actions of a few? In a rational sense, he could see what you were saying. His actions hadn’t been based on rationality though, it was all emotion. His instincts wanted him to reject the notion of him being ideologically wrong in this, a notion he in turn fought to reject from himself. One thing in particular that Eggsy had said to him during their final confrontation had stuck out to him at that moment: “You’re working for the president?”. He’d denied it at the time, and there was truth to his denial: as he put it himself, he didn’t want any kind of association with that asshole. At the same time, his feelings on the matter did happen to crossover with the president's own agenda, and some part of that in general hadn’t sat right with him. 

Would it even matter by this stage if he’d accounted for his errors? He’d already single -handedly destroyed all that he had by then, the only thing that could properly atone him in his own opinion would probably be death, and he’d be damned if he was gonna let himself die any time soon. The realisation that he might have to spend the rest of his days with the guilt of the incident in Cambodia eating away at him wasn’t too kind on his psyche, but he was ready to accept it in lieu of the alternative. And damn it, if there wasn’t something about that judgemental way you’d looked at him that gave him enough of a kick in the teeth to want to do better. You’d said it yourself that you didn’t believe him to be a bad man. Maybe somehow he could redeem himself enough to even be half of what you’d described of him. 

Drumming a lone finger along the fine seam of the couch cushion, his thoughts circled back around to the disturbing dream and everything it entailed, including the part that had shaken him the most. Why you? Why were you of all people appearing in his nightmares? And not only that, why did you take the place of his long dead wife at the end? His mind was ticking into overdrive to decipher every little detail. There was only one other time in his life he remembered seeing you in his dream, and that was when you two were dating. He could chalk up your sudden appearance in his subconscious to the conversation the both of you were having the night before - it would explain the return of his nightmares about Lily too, although his mind swayed towards ruminating on a much more confronting possibility.

What if it means I’ve fallen back in love with her?

As soon as the concept crossed his mind, Jack frantically sought to purge it from his mind altogether. What a foolish idea, he reasoned to himself, taking a larger sip of whiskey out of the glass. There wasn’t anymore to this, and he shouldn’t be throwing out such wild theories based on a nightmare of all things. He went and thought back to the small moments you two had shared throughout the weeks together, times where one lingering touch almost seemed to convey something more. He realised just how many times he’d caught himself staring at you the last few weeks, or the times his touch lingered on yours a second longer than it should have, things he hadn’t noticed until he began to pick apart his own behaviour and examine it underneath a microscope. Old habits die hard, I guess. He may have teased you about making him coffee by “accident” a couple of weeks back, but there wasn’t meant to be any insinuation behind it. It was just that - a harmless tease, a simple reflex of his infamous flirtatious charm. None of this necessarily meant there were any reignited feelings, and furthermore, if by some insane stroke of dumb luck that did happen to be the case, then they were only small at best, fleeting in nature. He couldn’t fall for you again. He couldn’t. Not after putting you through so much pain.

No matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was nothing, even he wasn’t buying it tonight. If he was falling for you again, how would you take it? Not well he guessed, as you still felt hurt by his actions. Why wouldn’t you? He was the one that hurt you then came back into your life without warning because he had to go screw up the one good thing he still had. It was painful to be reminded of how little still had left by that time: his status as an agent stripped from him, everyone he ever loved being dead and buried, and not able to return back home as he was still on the run. Him being at your ranch at all was putting you in enough danger, a fact that made him uncomfortable in of itself. Falling for you would make things more complicated than they already were.

She doesn’t have to find out. Keep it to yourself, and she’ll never know. 

That’s it. That’s what he’ll do. He won’t ever mention these returning feelings of affection towards you, and in doing that, hopefully they will run their course and die out. Jack would still be courteous towards you, it went without saying since you were implicating yourself in all of this by hiding a fugitive. He could do that, right? Ignore it all, and avoid anything more than general amicable gestures. A part of him hurt to think of that, especially when those thoughts he had when you two were on the veranda together last night pushed themselves to the forefront of his mind. The way your hair had looked splayed out over your shoulders under the dim porch light, the burn in your eyes that gleamed as you’d admonished him for every mistake he ever made that shouldn’t have made him so entranced. He chastised himself for thinking so lewdly of you in that moment, hating how the very image of you in such a light darted straight to his groin. Finishing off the last dredges of whiskey, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and let out a heavy sigh. 

Forget about it. Leave her be. You’ve hurt her enough. 

_______________ 

At long last, there was finally a lull in the day, giving you some off time to relax and decompress a bit. There was still an hour to go before the ranch closed for the night, though nobody else had any riding lessons booked and it was unlikely that anybody was going to show up unannounced at five in the evening. To say the day had been busy would be selling the whole experience short - downright exhausting would have been a more accurate way to put it. There was a function going on for a good chunk of it, a birthday party for the son of some big-shot oil tycoon. You’d been worried your injury would slow down your progress with getting tasks done but to your pleasant surprise you were able to manage just fine, though having your other employees and Jack around had also been a huge help. It’d been four weeks since you’d gotten injured, and according to the doctor during your semi-regular checkups the recovery process was coming along nicely, which had been more than evident to you with the lessening pain. Sadly, you wouldn’t be able to get the cast off for a while, despite your protests. You didn’t see why it all had to take so long: you hadn’t been in any excruciating pain for a good while so it was clearly healing. As well as the cast being a nuisance when bathing and the like, it was also annoyingly itchy, leading you to talking yourself out of shoving a coat hanger down the side of it in an attempt to stop it several times. If only you didn’t have a ranch to run, then you could take an antihistamine pill and be done with it. 

Dragging yourself back into the house, you headed straight for the stairs, eager to lie down and doze a little - normally a long day like that would call for a bottle of scotch. This time round, however, you decided to forego the alcohol in favour of a more straightforward way to relax. Once you’d come to the door to the guest bedroom upstairs you felt compelled to stop, your mind wandering to where Jack was at that very moment. Last you’d seen him that day he’d been bringing the horses in. The two of you had stopped to chat for awhile, your usual bitter-edged banter being exchanged, things playing out just as they should when suddenly that same familiar feeling started to make itself known, the same thing you’d felt when he’d handed you the painkillers, or when you two had been out on the veranda a little while back. That spark, so to speak, the frightening feeling of something burning in you, something that shouldn’t be there in the first place. You’d instinctively ended the conversation soon after, making up some excuse about needing to take care of some accounting and hurrying off. Thinking about it now you couldn’t stop yourself from going a tad pink in the cheeks at your behaviour, thoroughly embarrassed for daring to act like you were inflicted with something as trivial as a schoolgirl crush. 

Don’t be soft on him. Don’t do this. You’re better than this, those words you repeated to yourself like a mantra started to wear thin during those weeks, especially after the conversation you two had shared where you’d divulged some of the pain closest to your heart. You never thought that you’d tell anybody what you felt after your parents had died, not in a million years, so to have you in a position where you were comfortable enough to reveal such details was nothing short of astounding, particularly when one took into account the exact person you’d told it all to. You could justify these choices with the flimsy excuse of being drunk, but even you knew that in order to run your mouth about something that personal, even while intoxicated, meant you had to feel a certain amount of trust to the other person. Did you trust Jack? Was that what was happening here? To that, you couldn’t fully answer, as you didn’t really know. 

Glancing from the doorknob to the stairs and back, you twisted the handle and allowed yourself into the spare bedroom, letting your feet move you towards the closet at the back of the room. Like a woman possessed, you didn’t stop yourself from doing any of this, the feeling of your heartbeat ricocheting through your chest. It had been years since you permitted yourself to look at any of this stuff, let alone giving any of it a second thought. Out of sight, out of mind, you’d thought to yourself when you’d originally boxed it all away, not being able to bear throwing any of it out. Sliding the doors open, you took note of the fact that everything was left in its precise location indicating that true to his word, Jack hadn’t meddled in any of it. A small sigh of relief escaped your lips while you sunk to your knees, poking your head through the rows of old coats that you kept neglecting to donate or sell to the very back of the closet where your eyes locked onto what you’d been originally seeking: a plain velvet blue shoebox shoved underneath an ugly knitted blanket that you plainly despised. 

For as much of a hardline no-nonsense woman others perceived you as, a huge part of you was deeply sentimental towards both people and things, or more specifically, things people had given you, hence the choice to simply box up every gift and memento he’d ever given you rather than setting fire to it in some overly dramatic yet cinematic manner. When Jack and you had broken up, you’d gathered up everything that reminded you of him, thrown it in a box and then tossed it into the back of the closet of your apartment to be forgotten forever. When you’d taken over the family ranch from your parents, the box had ended up in the guest room closet instead due to you not wanting an object holding that many sorrowful memories anywhere near where you slept. Taking the box out and setting it down in front of you, you stared at it frostily for a minute, considering throwing it back into the closet and forgetting that you ever wanted to open it. Ultimately you caved, lifting the lid off and opening up the treasure trove of mementos, symbols of a love that used to be that became tarnished with time. 

A lot of the items in question were photographs, a couple of polaroid shots of the two of you out at some bar in New York thrown in with the myriad of photos depicting you on various other dates with him. One in particular that caught your eye was a polaroid that had a heart drawn in red permanent marker on the white margins - you were wearing Jack’s Stetson and had one arm thrown around his neck, looking as if you hadn’t a care in the world while he looked up at you with those heart-meltingly gorgeous brown eyes of his, as if nobody else in the world existed except for you. You could still recall the smell of the cigarette smoke from that day, how the loud music reverberated through your ears the entire night you’d spent there with your head rested against his shoulder, ignoring all your other friends in favour of him. You caught yourself grinning at the memory as if you were some kind of lovesick fool. Back then you might’ve been. Not anymore though. Not now.

That’s what you continued to tell yourself while you sorted through the box’s contents, pulling out items ranging from small bits of jewelry to a small cat plushie that he’d won for you at the county fair. Your gaze zeroed in on a small silver chain necklace with a little horseshoe charm dangling on the end, earning yet another foolish smirk from you. Jack had bought that for you as a Christmas present, although you had insisted to him that he didn’t have to go all out on a gift for you. He’d even gotten the underside engraved with your name, which you traced over with the pad of your finger at that very moment.

Looking through all these gifts and the significance they once held to you, your mind started to wander back to the possibility you’d considered during your last proper talk with Jack, questioning once more if he deserved such harsh hostility being thrown towards him. You didn’t want to let yourself be hurt again, so it only seemed logical to make yourself guarded and keep him at an arm's length. With that said, time and time again he’d managed to surprise you - he hadn’t been pestering you as much you thought he would. Sure, he did jokingly insinuate that one time you made him coffee that you were growing fond of him but other than that he’d kept the charm to a minimum, or at least, less than you were used to in the past. It all made sense to you after you’d learned what happened to him that brought him back to you, his magnificent fall from grace so to speak. You meant what you said to him that night - you didn’t think he was a bad person, rather just someone who’s done bad things out of hurt and anger. With everything he told you about his wife’s death, you couldn’t help feeling a sense of powerful empathy towards him, a feeling that scared you a little to tell you the truth. It’d been easy for years to write him off as a liar and a player, but in reality, Jack was far more complicated than that.  How ironic: the advice you gave him ended up being a hundred percent relevant to yourself at the same time, you huffed with an absence of amusement. 

If you had to be completely honest with yourself, without any kind of lies or facade to keep up, you didn’t know what you felt about Jack anymore. You couldn’t say you hated him, no, hate was far too strong of a word. Actually, you couldn’t really say you even disliked him that much anymore. But you didn’t really like him either. Or did you? Once again, the thoughts of how his touch had made you feel over those last few weeks invaded your mind, things that by all means shouldn’t make you feel some type of way but did. Hell, even how you continued to make his coffee exactly how he liked it every morning, not bothering to question it anymore than necessary for the sake of your own sanity. 

Shaking your head, you let out a heavy sigh as you glowered down at the box witheringly. Great, now you’d made yourself confused on your own emotions, all because you felt the need to reminisce on the past. You’re being ridiculous about this. You don’t feel that way about Jack, and if you did, you can’t have him. He’s on the run, he’s a criminal now, and more to the point he broke your heart once. Who’s to say he won’t do it twice? Do yourself a favour for once. Ignore those feelings. Ignore it, and they’ll go away.

You quickly boxed up everything soon after that, pushing it to the back of the closet as if you’d never been there at all. Lifting yourself to your feet, you neglected to look back when you maneuvered yourself out the door and back into the hall, pulling your mind back towards any kind of ranch duties you could muster up out of thin air that you had to attend to, anything that could distract you from the small pink tinge that had crept across your cheeks that refused to leave, or the racing of your heart with every step you took. 

 __________

After a day that felt like it dragged on forever, you’d been looking forward to turning in for the night. For whatever reason, everything that could have gone wrong that day decided to go wrong - one of the horses had done a runner during one of the riding lessons and you’d had to go out and try to catch the bastard. It took forever to rope the damn horse back into the property. Jack, you and another one of the instructors managed to catch him in the end but it ended up setting your schedule behind for the rest of the day. Later on in the day, some entitled kid had come down and decided he didn’t like the horse he’d been assigned to ride, waltzing right into the stables and picking out one that he deemed more suited for him. The horse, one of the older boys, was understandably annoyed by this random loud kid appearing out of nowhere and being rough with him, leading to said entitled brat getting chomped on the arm. The rest of the day had to be spent dealing with the screaming kid and his mother, who was every bit as entitled as her son was. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Despite your damndest to put on a smile and placate the woman who was screaming threats of a lawsuit, she still wasn’t letting up so you’d metaphorically thrown your hands up in frustration and told her straight to shut up. She’d left soon after that, huffing and threatening to get your entire business shut down. You weren’t scared in the least of her empty threats: you’d dealt with hundreds of other people just like her in your stint running the ranch and nine times out of ten nothing ever came from their tantrums. It was still supremely exhausting to deal with, draining your energy and putting you in a foul mood for the rest of the day. 

You’d been angling to end the day as soon as the first instance of idiocy started, so when it was finally late enough in the night and you’d grown tired of the bottle of merlot that you’d been speeding your way through, you’d taken yourself upstairs, thrown on a random t-shirt and sweatpants, and sunk right into bed ready to forget it all and start over.

However, you weren’t so lucky. From the moment you’d first entered your room that night, something had felt off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it at first, so you’d tried to ignore it, writing it off as feeling slightly on edge from the rough day. The weird feeling wouldn’t go away though - everytime you closed your eyes, you felt like someone else was there, like there was another presence nearby. Five minutes passed before you’d flicked the lamp next to your bed on and looked around the room. You knew Jack had already gone to bed before you, and you couldn’t hear any sort of noise from downstairs that would indicate someone else being there. Nevertheless, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else was there, maybe not in the house precisely but somewhere on the property, as if there were a pair of foreign eyes staring at you from afar. Your eyes darted towards the window, the curtains open to reveal the glimmering starry sky outside, your breath becoming shallow as you were finally able to place the exact feeling that was making you tense up in fear:

You felt like you were being watched. 

Diving out of bed, you scrambled towards the window and scanned the vast expanse of countryside surrounding your property, searching to see if there was anything out there that was unfamiliar to you. Nothing - all you could see were the stretches of field that lay beyond your ranch, with a lone few collection of trees situated off the edge of your property, exactly as it always looked. That alone should have eased your nerves a bit but for whatever reason that feeling of being watched wouldn’t go away. You glanced back at your bed, trying to talk yourself into downplaying it all as you being paranoid. There isn’t anyone out there.You’ve had a rough day, and about three glasses of wine so you’re a little bit tipsy too, you told yourself as you trudged back to bed and pulled the covers over your head, a useless action that did nothing to quell the anxiety festering in you. For the next twenty minutes or so, you did everything you could to push your unease away in favour of sleep to no avail. The entire time you’d been lying there you felt like there were a pair of eyes burning into your back, directly across from where the window was, yet every time you sat yourself up to check there was nobody there. 

Fantastic, guess I’m not sleeping tonight then. Clearly, that creepy feeling wasn’t going to leave and you didn’t feel comfortable in that room anymore. Briefly you contemplated going down to sleep on the couch but that idea was dismissed almost as quickly as it came to you - if you felt like someone was watching the house, then moving sleeping locations wasn’t gonna solve anything. A part of you wanted to go grab a firearm and go on a patrol around the property to be safe, though once remembering that you were a little bit tipsy you didn’t feel it would be the best course of action to go hold a gun right then. Throwing a single glance towards your bedroom door, another idea popped into your head, and before you could try and talk yourself out of it you were already out the door and down the hall to where the spare bedroom was. 

Opening the door as quietly as you possibly could, you poked your head inside and peered over to where Jack was laying in bed, covers tangled up around him and facing away from you, appearing to be fast asleep. “Jack? Are...are you awake?” you called out hesitantly. 

It took a minute for him to respond, by that time you’d come close to convincing yourself that you were being a baby about all of this and that you should go back to bed. “Darlin’? Is there somethin’ wrong?” he replied, his thick southern drawl sounding groggy, matching his dazed expression he wore while he fought to keep his eyes open. 

“Sort of...maybe, I don’t know...I can’t sleep” you admitted. 

“Having nightmares or somethin’?” he asked, sitting himself up in bed to properly face you. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down his torso ever so briefly - it wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen a million times before but damn, he did look good. Shaking your head fervently, you attempted to ignore that fleeting thought and focused back on what you’d come there to say, proceeding to reply. “No, no, nothing like that. I just...ok, this might sound a little bit crazy but I can’t help feeling like I’m being watched in there, and it’s freaking me out”.

You could see Jack’s brow furrow through the darkness, a look of concern creeping over his face while he thought on what you’d just said. “Watched? Like how?”. 

“I don’t really know how to explain it, if I’m gonna be totally honest. All I know is that everytime I close my eyes I feel like there’s somebody outside. Whenever I go to look out the window though, I don’t see anyone” you explained, and at almost the very second you finished your sentence you could see Jack’s eyes widen, the last remnants of sleep falling away and being replaced by an alert and alarmed expression. Before you could say anything about it, he was already throwing the covers off him and sliding out of bed, hustling over to where you were standing by the door. “Stay right here. I’ll go take a look for myself” he instructed sternly, pushing himself past you and making a beeline straight for your bedroom. Instinctively, and in all honesty against both his wishes and your own better judgement, you followed in behind him, seeing him linger close to the wall just enough so that he was out of direct sight of the window. Slowly, he advanced forward to a position where he could properly take a look out, his eyes steely as they examined the landscape, the tensity of his demeanour feeding into your own feelings of concern. 

“Jack, what’s going on?” you asked in a small voice, something that was uncharacteristically meek of you. In all fairness, something like this had never happened before. You’d hoped that Jack would come in, take a quick look, confirm there was nobody on the property and give you a little bit of peace of mind but the way he was acting made the possibility of someone actually being out there all the more real to you. 

“Darlin’, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna need you to be quiet for a second” he orders, not tearing his eyes away from the window for a single second. You didn’t know how long you two stood there for - it was probably no more than a minute or two at most, even so it felt like an eternity to you, until at long last you saw some of the tension in Jack’s shoulders dissipate and he finally slunk away from the window. “Give me a second, I just gotta go check something” he mumbled, dashing back out of your room and still looking vaguely distressed at the entire predicament. This time around, you did as he said, not wanting to leave the house on the off chance there really was something to worry about. You heard him run back into his own room briefly before darting off downstairs, hearing the unmistakable click of the front door lock opening. You had no idea what to make of any of this - why was he acting so weird? Was there something you should know? Was there really something to your weird feeling and should you be genuinely scared?

The sound of gravel crunching from the ground below alerted you, leading for you to wander over to the window for what felt like the millionth time that night to see for yourself what was going on. Your eyes first landed on Jack, who was pacing the gravel and looking off into the distance, searching for something. You could see he was holding something in his hand but couldn’t quite get a proper look at it as he was angled away from you. He disappeared from your view and a moment later he was back upstairs with you, appearing to be infinitely more relieved than he was before. Now you could properly see what he’d gone to fetch from his room once he’d left: his gun from his days as an agent, the moonlight streaming in through the window glimmering off the silver barrels and onto the floor. 

“Nothin’ out there, thank fucking christ” he sighed, giving you a smile that was meant to be comforting. His gesture did nothing to ease your worries, despite the confirmation that there wasn’t anything out there like you’d originally hoped. Along with still feeling uneasy being in that room, there was also the matter of what you’d witnessed in Jack before, the plain and unconcealable look of suspicion and worry that had been showing on him. 

“Are you alright? You...seemed worried. The way you were looking out that window, it was...like you were searching for something in particular...”.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart. Don’t worry your pretty little head off about it” he dismissed, obviously wanting to put this whole incident behind the two of you. You were having none of it, so you pressed further, taking a single step closer to where he was standing in the door. “You sure about that? ‘Cause you kinda got your gun out” you pointed out, your eyes flickering down to the weapon resting in his hands knowingly. “Did you think it was Statesman or something?”.

Jack looked surprised that you’d dared to be that direct in your line of questioning. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected any less from you, following your eyes down to where he was holding his gun. “Well, if I’m gonna be honest, yeah. For a moment there, I was worried they’d found me somehow. But there isn’t anybody out there - besides, if they were doin’ surveillance on the house they woulda had me led away in cuffs already. You’re safe as pie, sugar” he confessed. 

Exactly as you thought. You’d wondered if Statesman would ever make an appearance, suddenly becoming hot on Jack’s tail. So far nothing had happened, thankfully, and seeing as your strange feeling tonight turned out to be nothing, you permitted yourself to relax a little, despite the still present feeling of discomfort from being in that room. “Alright...thank you for checking. Sorry I woke you up for something stupid”. 

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I haven’t been sleeping great this last week anyway so I wasn’t even fully asleep when you came in. You make sure to get plenty of rest, ok?” he nodded towards you, turning to leave the room, the comfort of his presence slipping away from you and leaving you to feel the same odd and uncomfortable unrest that plagued you all night. 

Glancing back over towards your bed, you dreaded the thought of trying to go back to sleep in that thing tonight. It sounded so childish and silly for you to say, or rather think, but you really didn’t want to be in that room tonight. If you stay in here you aren’t gonna get a wink of sleep.

What you did next was something you never thought you’d do in a million years. In your defense, it’d been a long day, you’d had some alcohol earlier, and you just had to deal with the intense unnerve of being watched only to discover that your feeling was nothing more than a spate of paranoia. With all that taken into account, it was only logical that you asked what you did next. “Jack, wait” you called out before you could stop yourself, freezing once you saw him stop in the hallway and turn back towards you with those sweet eyes of his. “Look, I know this is an odd request but...can I sleep in your room? Only for tonight. I don’t know, I still feel a little on edge and it’s dumb but I’d rather be around someone else right now” you mumbled, simultaneously hating yourself for asking in the first place and feeling utterly embarrassed at your own audacity. 

Some part of you wanted him to laugh in your face. Laugh at you and make some stupid little quip about you being a “big girl” who could handle herself. It would be easier to hate him still that way. Of course, he didn’t do that at all. What he did instead was give you the sweetest damn smile you’d ever seen from him, different from those charming smirks you were used to and harkened closer to those rare moments from when you two were together that he would lay down the bravado and be vulnerable. “Sugar, you don’t need to feel bad for askin’ at all. I understand completely where you’re comin’ from” he reassured, holding his hand out and beckoning for you to come forward. And come forward you did, following him out into the hall and into his own room, the anxiety from before fading into nothing and being replaced by relief. 

“Thank you. I know we’re not...like that anymore but…” you stumbled dumbly as you glided over towards the bed, fatigue overcoming your brain and making you more impatient to be in bed and asleep as fast as possible. It had to be extremely late by then and you wanted to get a decent amount of sleep before having to get up and go about with business as usual the next day.  

Jack, meanwhile, was on the other side of the room throwing his gun back into a chest of drawers. “Say no more, honeybee. If you want, I can sleep on the floor if it makes you more comfortable” he posited, to which you promptly snapped your head back up and stared at him as if he were crazy. “You don’t have to do that, Jack, I’m not about to be kicking you out of your bed”. 

“Technically it’s your bed, not mine”. 

Rolling your eyes at him, you flopped down on the pillow and sighed. “Doesn’t matter, just...stay here. I’d rather have someone close right now, ok?”. If you weren’t already tired beyond all reason, your brain might have been fretting over the oh so horrific implications of staying in the same bed as him, though if you were really being honest you couldn’t care less right then. It’s not like sleeping in the same bed meant anything, plenty of people did that all the time. So what if you wanted someone near after feeling scared? Wouldn’t someone else do the same thing in your position?

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart. I’ll keep to the other side of the bed if you’d like” Jack assured you, sliding into the other side, doing exactly as he said and keeping a safe enough distance from you. It might’ve been silly for you to care so much, but you had to admit it was nice having someone else be there, and at the least it calmed your anxiety enough for you to feel fine sleeping. Stealing one last brief glance over at him, you wished him goodnight and let yourself relax truly for the first time in hours, letting the world fall away and fade into nothing as you closed your eyes and passed out in mere minutes of being there.

 ___________

When you awoke the next morning, it was to the strands of sunlight streaming through the parted breaks in the curtain, shining right over your face and rousing you from your slumber. Through bleary eyes, you became aware of the room around you, memories of the night before flooding back to you instantaneously. You noticed you felt warmer, becoming aware of the heavy feeling on your body, which caused your eyes to snap open fully. Looking back over your shoulder, you saw Jack, still sleeping and curled into your back, his arm lazily stung around you. You knew you two hadn’t fallen asleep like that, reasoning that he must have reached out to you during the night, leading to the position you were in now. You could feel the light tickle of his breath against the nape of your neck, something so small managing to light an unexpected spark in your heart. You should have pushed him off. You should have woken him up. You should have done a million other things in that moment instead of the one thing you did.

When instead of flinging him off you and darting out of bed like a skittish cat you curled yourself further into his light embrace, the mortifying realisation hitting you right then with a full force - Jack Daniels, the man who’d broken your heart, was caressing you in his sleep.

And you didn’t mind it, not one single bit.

Taglist (message me if you wanna be added)

Permanent: @greeneyedblondie44

Cross My Heart: @giselatropicana @absurdthirst

[laurensprentiss]

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 6:

Warnings: WHOLE lot of angst, mutual pining, Haley’s return, some smut but it’s sus, Hotch in a pickle.

Word count: 4,245 (it’s a big-un)

———

“My God, a moment of bliss. Why, isn't that enough for a whole lifetime?” - Fyodor Dostoevsky 

———

The electronic voice fills the small kitchen. “You have no new messages.”

It’s been two weeks of the same routine for him. He wakes up alone, gets Haley’s answering machine, eats breakfast alone and goes to HQ. Comes back home, checks his messages again, eats dinner and sleeps. There’s a small sharp stab of realisation, a split second of questioning every morning, where he wonders if it’s even worth it to keep trying to win her back - if he truly loves Haley or if he’s a creature of habit. 

If maybe they’d both be better off without one another. 

He swallows that thought quickly, pushing it as far down the abyss as he can, not ready for those thoughts to see the light of day quite yet. He settles for the former, concluding that maybe he’s both, she’s comfortable, she’s familiar - his first love. 

But what about-

No. 

It’s a beautiful kind of irony, really, he thinks. That Haley would chastise him for working late, for not coming home some nights, for being absent-minded, but in the 2 weeks she’s been gone, it’s the most he’s worked a regular job. Been home by 6pm, with all the free time he can spare. 

If only she could see me now, he thinks. 

He laughs wryly at the sense of humour the universe supposedly has, his desire for working in the field suddenly subsiding when she left. 

Maybe it was the guilt. 

He hasn’t seen you in those two weeks, either. Not since the night in your apartment when you’d told him to give Haley whatever she wanted, a pensive look on your face as you’d bid him goodbye. He’d been screening your calls, avoiding you for some reason. 

Misplaced guilt again. 

He’d finally called you back on the third day - lamenting the fact that Agent Barnes had assigned him to HQ to work the profile and that McCall would be your detail. 

He’d lied. 

Barnes had done no such thing, and Hotch had cursed himself again for lying unnecessarily, an impulse he seemingly had no control over. His mouth was speaking before his brain could catch up yet again, unable to filter out the lies he knew was telling. He had no reason to lie - not really. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to face you, to be around you when Haley wasn’t around, and his stomach churns at the possibility of why. 

Yet another thought he vows to push down into the abyss. 

Truth is, he’d thought about you almost as much as he’d thought about Haley the past two weeks, missed your ironic jabs, the smell of your hair, the way you laughed. Truth is, it was himself he didn’t quite trust to be around you, and he didn’t quite know why. 

He realises then - he misses you. More than he should. 

The front door opening brings him out of his stupor, his ears twitching. He grabs the gun out of his holster and checks the time. 

7pm. 

He slowly crosses the kitchen, walking into the passageway and sees the front door wide open, rain pelting outside in the dark.

“Hello?” He calls out, his gun trained in front of him. He calls out again to no answer. He cracks open the doorknob into the living room to do a quick sweep, checking behind the door, the windows - clearing the room when he hears shuffling in the passage again. He re-opens the door that connects the living room and passage swiftly, training his gun on the front door as he hears a shriek. 

He stops in shock, dropping his gun back to his side. 

A pair of blue eyes look at him, two bags in hand, hair wet from the rain. 

“Haley?”

———

“Hey, it’s me, Em.” You can hear her eye roll through the phone. “I’m trying you for the fourth- no- fifth time, today. I know you’re there. Call me. Bye!” You chew the inside of your cheek as you listen to her voicemail, feeling guiltier by the minute that you were avoiding her. 

You hadn’t seen her since before all of this started, her mom being posted in Rome for the holidays hadn’t exactly helped on the communication front. Now, she was back in town, and although you loved her dearly, the prospect of having to go meet her with a FBI security detail in tow, to have to explain and relive this entire thing fills you with dread. Not to mention, you haven’t really had the energy or the overwhelming desire to talk to anybody for the last two weeks. 

Where do you even start? 

You play with your necklace absent-mindedly, the cool gold comfortable under your fingers as you run the pendant along the chain. 

The telephone rings again, and you press the screen button, thinking it’s Emily.

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s Dad. Pick up.” 

You fumble with the phone, clicking the button. You take a deep sigh. “Hey, Dad.” 

“Sweetheart! How are you? It’s so good to hear your voice.” He sounds full of worry and you suddenly feel guilty for screening all of your calls. 

“I’m good, Dad - sorry I haven’t called you back, I guess I don’t feel too good.” You lie, chewing your lip.

He immediately starts to worry, asking you if something happened, if you need a doctor. Offers to have his aide pick you up and bring you to him. 

You smile. “No, no, Dad, it’s nothing like that. I’ve just been busy with work, I guess I’m a little tired is all.” 

“And there haven’t been any more incidents?” He asks. 

“Actually, no. I’m going into Quantico tomorrow morning to speak with Agent Barnes, but I- I don’t know, maybe he’s gone? I don’t know, I feel a little better about this now.” Hope flutters in your chest at the prospect of maybe, finally being able to live your life again, free from the shadow of your tormentor.

“That’s great, sweetheart!” You can hear his smile. “Do you need me to come with you?” 

You tell him no, and bid him a quick goodbye, promising him that you’ll come by for dinner later this week, maybe even to celebrate. 

“That’s great, honey, I’d love that. Oh! Before I let you go - Elizabeth and Emmy are back in town and I know Emmy would love to see you.” He poses it as a question, knowing in his voice that you’d been avoiding her. 

You pause. 

“Give her a call won’t you? Please.” 

“I will, Dad. I gotta go.” 

The receiver clicks as you set it down. You think back to the phone call you’d shared with Hotch two weeks ago, the way he’d ended the call so abruptly, so coldly, almost felt like a farce to you. You couldn’t put your finger on it exactly, figured things didn’t go well with Haley and he’d be back in a couple of days. 

Then a week passed. 

And then another one. 

And you were still getting interviewed by Agent McCall, drawing up lists of people you’d spoken to in the last year, trying your best to just get on with things, hoping that McCall would tell you Hotch would relieve him soon. Hoping the phone would ring or that he’d walk in the door until you realise - the man was trying to do right by his girlfriend, if anything, you didn’t possess his mind at all. 

You sleep that night preoccupied with the thought of Hotch, realising that in all your naivety and miserable, false hope - you missed him. 

———

He watches you through the mirror, your eyes flutter closed at his touch, his breath on your skin as he places hot wet kisses on the juncture between your shoulder and neck. His left hand comes up from behind you, running over your ribs and palming at your chest, thumb tracing your nipple. He continues to thrust into you, nerve endings on fire, finding himself intoxicated at the sight of you gripping him so tight.

You turn your head slightly to your left, your foreheads now touching, breaths mingling, your face blissed out. “Kiss me, Aaron.” You gasp.  

Your lips clash in a mess of teeth and tongues, no real rhyme or rhythm to the kiss as he swallows your whimpers. You moan against his lips as he continues his assault, his hair falling on your face. 

He feels himself right on the precipice, body ablaze, throbbing with you surrounding him, invading his senses. He’s close. 

“Aaron. Aaron, I’m gonna-”

“Aaron? Aaron!!” His body twitches as he wakes with a start, a freezing hand against his chest, shaking him to consciousness. He blinks his eyes open, immediately sitting up trying to bridge the gap between his dream and what was in front of him. Haley shoots him a confused look, watching him as she sets down a cup of coffee on the bedside table. 

He grabs a pillow and quickly places it over his lap to cover the evidence from his dream as Haley takes a seat next to his legs, a hand reaching out to rub his shin over the covers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, you were just moaning in your sleep - I thought maybe you were having a nightmare.” She laughs. 

“No, no. Not a nightmare.” He says absent-mindedly.

His body is still thrumming, heart pounding and he hopes like hell that Haley doesn’t realise what he was dreaming about. He can feel the flush in his face, unable to tear away the image of you in his mind. He thinks then about the irony of the situation - yet again. His estranged girlfriend returned home just last night and this morning he finds himself dreaming of you. 

The guilt settles deep into his stomach, clawing at his insides, heat prickling on the back of his neck. What kind of a man was he, to not even be able to commit to his high-school sweetheart. The woman who’d seen him through school, college, seen him through his career so far. 

There’s another thought that gnaws at him, that begs him to look inward and ask himself why of all days, he dreamed of you today - or at all. What it means for him. But he resolves to table that, pushes it further down than he can stomach and he knows it’s bound to bubble back up eventually. But still, he denies himself the answer that’s right of him. 

He stares at Haley for a moment, reaches out his hands to grab hers and pulls her onto him. She falls onto him with a giggle, as he manoeuvres her under him, their lips pressing together for a chaste kiss. 

“Okay, definitely not a nightmare.” She giggles. 

He tries his best to pour all his commitment and affection for Haley into that morning, concluding in his mind then, that this is what he wants, that this is who he needs to be with. The rest of it could be a passing infatuation - but Haley is familiar. She’s comfortable. She’s what he knows. And isn’t that what love is? 

This is where he belongs. 

——-

You try your best to quell the butterflies that flutter in your stomach, willing them to calm and let you collect yourself. With Hotch confined to his so called assignment to HQ, this would be the first time you’ve seen him for weeks. Your nagging conscience eats at you, asks you why you decided to put in that extra effort to get ready today, why you decided to wear that particular perfume. 

Stop.

You bite the inside of your cheeks again, yet another unsavoury habit you’d picked up as a child, as you mindlessly watch the cars go past the SUV on the freeway. A black sedan keeps a constant speed in the lane next to you, windows tinted almost to black, as you eye it from your peripheral. It slows down quickly, allowing it to move behind you as Agent McCall adjusts the mirror to get a better look. 

It moves to the left, this time, speeding up and cutting Agent McCall off harshly, slowing down and speeding up, brake lights flashing. You look up at Agent McCall, paranoia settling into your bones. He shoots you a reassuring glance as he reaches for his phone, rattling off a partial plate to the other side before the sedan takes off. 

It’s probably not that, you think. 

Probably just some idiot with a new car. 

You should’ve known better. 

As you pull into the parking lot into Agent McCall’s assigned parking space, you look around almost instinctively, scanning the place for Agent Hotchner’s car. Your eyes take stock of the rows and rows of cars before you can even really reconcile with yourself why you’re looking for it. 

You do the same as you enter the bullpen with McCall, trying your best to keep up with him in the bustle of agents carrying their paperwork, telephones ringing and the click clacking of their keyboards. You feel out of your body, an almost deja-vu like sensation, like you’ve been here before. You hold on tight to the lapel of your coat, readjusting your visitor badge to ground yourself as you continue to discreetly scan the bullpen for the familiar head of long floppy hair, the tense shoulders and dark eyes. 

Nothing.

You walk past a desk on your way towards the steps at the head of the bullpen, black letters burnt into a bronze name plate read ‘SA Aaron Hotchner’. Your heart skips a beat with excitement as you take a quick scan but then you realise. No coat, no briefcase on the desk. The overhead lamp is turned off, the desk is made, untouched. The computer screen black. Surely, Agent Barnes must have told him you were coming in today, you think. So where was he? 

You attempt to refocus yourself as Agent Barnes exits his office to lead you and McCall into a room at the end of the corridor, past the offices. He greets you with a small side hug, asks about your father as he makes the introductions. Four other agents sit around the round table, each of them introduce themselves with a firm handshake. 

Official. 

 But still no Hotch. 

A TV hangs on the wall, evidence boards erected on either side. Your driver’s license picture sits on the right hand side and you cringe at the older picture of yourself - it seems like a lifetime ago. The text above your photo reads, ‘Victim’. You swallow thickly, your skin crawling at the realisation that no matter which way you try to spin it, you were already his victim. He didn’t have to do anything else. 

Agent McCall follows your line of sight to the evidence boards and shoots a glare at one of the agents who immediately steps up and turns it over. 

“No, no. It’s okay. Leave it, please.” The agent glances between McCall and Barnes as if to ask permission to turn it back around. “I’m telling you, it’s okay. Really.” You tell him, firmly. 

You take a seat at the table, and go back through a possible list of suspects, people you’ve been with, spoken to, worked with for the last year, but none of them seem to be a good fit. That’s kind of the point though, right - that you never see it coming? 

“Well, we’re closer now than before, with a list of people, we can run priors and backgrounds on them to see if any match the profile.” Barnes explains. 

“Well, what is the profile?” You ask, curiosity piqued. You’ve come to realise you have a sort of penchant for the behavioural arts, even resorting to very basic profiling of those around you, and it was a gift and a curse. 

Barnes steels for a moment, weighing his options, not wanting to scare you. You stare back at him and place your hands on the table, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to go on. 

“Well, we believe he’s a white man, between the ages of 20-30, suffering from something called erotomania. This is when-“

“-You have delusions that somebody is madly in love with you, right?”

He looks happily surprised - proud, almost. “Exactly. We believe he’s somebody you’ve met before, this kind of obsession is too intense for it to be somebody you had just a chance encounter with. That can happen, of course, but it’s exceedingly rare.”

McCall pipes up. “He’s showing psychopathic tendencies and he’s getting angry. Angry that you won’t notice him - that you’ve somehow rejected him.” Your eyebrows twitch. “Remember the blood spatters on the note? The way he crossed out the pictures of you?” 

You nod as everyone falls into silence. 

“And his endgame?” 

Barnes’ lips press into a thin line, as he focuses on the table in front of him. He inhales and stops himself several times, as though he’s trying to find the right words. “He’s not going to go quietly. This level of obsession and anger can quickly turn violent. I know you mentioned there haven’t been any more interactions, anymore notes, but we will be erring on the extreme side of caution for now.” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

He takes a long pause. “There’s a strong chance that he’ll go out shooting. He’ll hurt himself and y-” He clears his throat. “Himself and you.” He says, looking at you. 

You swallow thickly. 

“But - we plan on catching this son of a bitch before that can happen. And we will catch him. We won’t let it get to that.” He clears his throat as you all stand.

“Yeah.”

“Look, the profile is sound.” He says, reassuring you. “We wouldn’t have been able to develop it this fast if it hadn’t been for Agent Hotchner volunteering to work it these past couple of weeks so-”

You pause.

“-He volunteered?” You ask, your eyes darting off the table, voice high. 

“I- yes, he did.” He looks at you puzzled, as he leans to look past your body through the window and into the bullpen behind you. He huffs a laugh. “Actually, uh, speak of the devil.” He nods behind you. 

Blood rushes to your ears as you turn around, Hotch shrugging off his coat and running a hand through his hair as he runs up the stairs. You shoot an accusatory look back towards McCall who ducks his head in shame, fidgeting with his tie, caught out in their lie.

You’re somewhere between fury and betrayal, hurt and embarrassed.

It’s a slap in the face.

He’s been avoiding you? 

Hotch’s eyes catch yours through the window, his earlier resolve crumbling almost instantaneously, as he takes you in from bottom to top. His heart jumps as he remembers his dream from this morning, blood rushing. His smile drops quickly though when he sees your expression - and his own eyes do nothing to hide his guilt as he enters the roundtable room, glancing at McCall as they share a guilty look, and then he trains his eyes on Barnes. You keep your eyes focused forward, not trusting yourself to look at him, tears pricking your eyes. Your heart is pounding, and you feel so furious, so sick and embarrassed, like he’d just tossed you aside. 

Calm down, he doesn’t owe you anything.

Still.

You feel him come up next to you, but you keep your eyes focused forward, willing them to keep your attention straight. 

“Hotchner. Come in. I was just tell-”

“Telling us how this profile wouldn’t have been possible without you volunteering for the last two weeks.” You interrupt, placing an emphasis on the word ‘volunteering’. A sudden surge of fury and boldness overcomes you, a tight smile on your face that threatens to snap as you look up at him. 

His face is almost pitiable, he blinks rapidly, his gaze quickly diverting from yours as he tilts his head downwards, his hand scratching the back of his neck. 

Barnes looks between Hotch, McCall and you, eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out the situation, the room suddenly feeling heavy. You take a deep breath and go to shake Barnes’ hand, voice higher than it needs to be.

“Well, I really should be going, now. I have to get back to work, thank you so much for your help, Agent.” Your smile is almost a grimace now, your farce slipping. 

He simply shakes your hand slowly, confused at the energy shift, and bids you a quick goodbye, his face still contorted in confusion. McCall goes to follow you as you leave, but you turn back on your heel quickly.

“Oh that’s not necessary, Agent. I’m sure you have some things to finish up here. I can take a cab.” Your words are laced with anger, sarcasm dripping with every intonation. He stops in his tracks, mouth opening and closing, a hand smoothing over his tie. He doesn’t know what to say or do.

You don’t wait for a response, instead turn around to walk out of the doors and down the steps as Barnes wordlessly tells Hotch to go after you. You walk faster than your legs can carry you, refusing to let up until you’re safely in the elevator. You hear footsteps behind you, getting closer and closer, and you hate that you even know what his tread sounds like. 

He calls out your name twice, the people in the bullpen staring as you walk through the plate glass doors and towards the foyer. Your ears burn with embarrassment, you know you’re probably causing a scene, but your anger and hurt outweighs any rational thought you have right now. 

You step into the elevator and press the G for ground floor, as Hotch speeds through the doors, calling your name again. You will the doors to shut faster, he closes the distance between you, and they’re almost there until his hand reaches between the metal, the doors opening again. 

You heave a sigh as he stands next to you, but you daren’t look at anything other than your distorted reflection in the metal of the elevator doors as they close once again. The air feels impossibly heavy, both of you knowing now, that he’d been lying and avoiding you for the last two weeks. It feels like it’s hard to breathe as the elevator descends.

“Can you please just let me explain?” He pleads, searching out your eyes. Your jaw sets into a hard line, and you swallow thickly, your resolve dangerously close to crumbling. “Please? Just talk to me? Scream if you want to scream, yell at me, just say something. Please.” 

You say nothing, try your damndest to pretend he’s not there. He slams the emergency stop button, a gasp escaping you as the elevator jolts to a stop. 

“What - the hell are you doing?” You hiss as you press the button again to release the elevator. 

He presses it again, this time covering the button pad with his hand as he stares at you. You stare back this time, your chest heaving. You try to move his hand off the pad, but he’s stuck to the cold metal, refusing and unrelenting. 

“Just please - talk to me.”

You can’t do it anymore. “Fine. You wanna talk. Let’s talk. Barnes? Barnes assigned you to work the profile? Was I that much of a burden that you not only had to avoid me, but you had to lie about why you couldn’t work my detail?” Are you kidding me, Hotch?”

“No- that’s not what it was. I swear -”

“Don’t you dare. If that’s not what it was, then what the hell was it? I don’t see you for two weeks, I call you and you tell me that you’ve been assigned to desk duty! And don’t think I didn’t see the look McCall had on his face, you told him to lie to me too?” 

He stutters over his words. “It wasn’t that- it just. Haley.”

“Don’t blame this on Haley. She’s not responsible for your actions. You are. You chose to lie to me. You chose to avoid me. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is, how disgusting it makes me feel? Like I’m just some stupid plaything for you people!” Your volume rises steadily now, you’re incapable of controlling the rise and fall. 

“That’s not what it was! I didn’t trust-”

“Trust what?” You snap. 

Trust myself. 

“That’s what I thought.” Your voice cracks as you move his hand out of the way and slam the button to release the elevator again, as he stands in front of you, unable to move, his body feeling like stone. 

Plaything?

Your words reverberate in his ears. If anything, it was the opposite. He wanted to protect you, to keep you safe. To treat with all the delicateness and care you deserved, cursing himself for doing the one thing he didn’t want to do. He didn’t want to break you because he couldn’t face how he felt, because he didn’t want to face how he felt.

The door dings and opens, the main foyer bustling in front of you. You rip off your visitor badge and throw it into his hand as you go to march out of the elevator, Hotch clutching your visitor badge. The guilt settles like concrete in his stomach, penetrating nerve-deep. 

“You don’t want to work my detail? Consider yourself relieved from duty.”  

< Prev | Next >

------

Tags: as always, please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

@oreogutz​ @andromedasstarship @galacticnerd-78 @izzyl13 @private-backrooms @crying-river @purpledragonturtles @gabbysblogthingy @euphoricmidoriya @archiveofadragon @yoshigguk @swiftingday @jeor @ivebeenthinkingboutu @bauslut

[plain-as-pandemonium]

I’m going to start a thing on this blog and write some “DVD commentary” about the fics I publish to AO3 (i.e., what was going on in my mind when I wrote the fic). I’m going to call it What was I thinking?! 

I’ll include the ideas behind the fic and how they came together. This is mostly for my own benefit, to help document my writing process. These posts will include bits of my personal headcanons as well as a bit of meta/text analysis, but in a very informal way. I love to discuss the writing process, so I would welcome comments/questions.  I would also happily read the same on any of my mutuals’ blogs.

So what was I thinking when I was writing Air France Flight 3677? (Spoilers for the fic below the cut)

The Bedelia I was picturing in this story has made the choice to go with Hannibal, but she's definitely having second/third/fourth thoughts and hasn't fully committed yet. She isn't thinking two steps ahead. She hasn't got set expectations of how this is going to go, but obviously Hannibal does, and she finds the whole thing disorienting. Still, he's put her in a situation that's familiar enough that she can just take the next step if she wants to: First we check in for our flight, then we go through security, then we find our gate, then we go to the lounge to wait, then we board our flight, etc.

I wanted to set up multiple points where she could assert herself: She could pull her hand away, she could insist on her title at the check-in desk, she could say "hey, I want my phone back". But she doesn't because she is already waaaaay out of her depth even if she doesn't realise how MUCH yet.

The other reason she finds the whole thing so disorienting is that she is so used to being in control, and suddenly she's not in control anymore. And it's actually kinda ... nice? Which she wasn't expecting. She has also been really lonely and isolated. Up to this point in the narrative, we've only seen her interacting with Hannibal, and with the FBI, when she is very careful about what she says/reveals. We never see her in a more normal everyday context, having friends or a partner or family, situations where she'd be less guarded. What if she doesn't have those connections? Maybe her parents are dead, and she was an only child, and she's been withdrawing from social connections due to the fallout from the Neal Frank incident. In short, what if Hannibal has strategically placed her in a position where her loneliness would make her more vulnerable to a charm offensive.

I like how S1 set out parallels between the way Franklyn approaches Hannibal (I want to be your friend, it makes me sad I have to pay to see you) and the way Hannibal approaches Bedelia (I have friends; you and I are friendly). Hannibal is obviously much more smooth about it, but it’s clear he so badly wants to connect with her. We see Hannibal testing her boundaries repeatedly, having a drink with her after sessions (though it’s not clear whose initiative that was), inviting her over for dinner even if she refuses and then finally bringing dinner to her. While they're in her office, on her turf, she can easily put him back in his place. But now they're out in the world, on his turf, and she's just discovering how she may have miscalculated. And how difficult it would be to break away, or seek outside assistance.

I loved the idea of Hannibal having a passport with Bedelia's last name in it, ngl. Book Hannibal has travel documents with several different identities, so I figured show Hannibal would have that too. Plus, he can't exactly use his own passport to leave the country. He probably had a passport for Plan A (to leave with Will and Abigail); leaving with Bedelia was plan B. I wanted to leave it open whether this was a romantic gesture on his part, taking her last name, or whether he meant it as a power move: Look how much I know about you, I've stolen your father's identity, what are you going to do about it? I'm starting to develop a headcanon about Bedelia's family and the idea of Hannibal rooting around in her history looking for secrets amuses me.

What Hannibal does at the check in desk is strictly for Bedelia's benefit. Like, it's nice to get free lounge passes, but it's more about "love bombing" Bedelia, establishing his authority: I'm your loving husband now, I'm going to look after you, this is what people will see when they look at us, don't do anything stupid. While Bedelia the independent, self-contained Queen wants to tell him to fuck right off, she doesn't feel it would be safe to do so. At the same time she's wrong footed by how brazen he is, and how it’s unexpectedly nice to have someone look at her and touch her like that, to have someone else take charge because it's exhausting to be so in control all the time. So she falls back on observing, making notes, waiting to think about it all later when she can decide what it really means. She will eventually gain her footing, but this is her first real day in hell and the orientation programme has been a total nightmare.

[multishipperlove]

I don’t know if Monsterhearts actually goes into how someone gets their powers/becomes a moster, but here are my theories:

Sasha - The Natural

Her parents are obviously powerful and charming as well, so either it’s a family thing that gets passed down from generation to generation, similar to the concept of sirens or veela maybe, or the universe just saw a powercouple and decided to fuck up the kid a bit. Either way, Sasha has been The Queen her entire life, learning early on that people only care about a pretty face and that manipulating someone is easier than actually striving for friendship or for being loved. Her parents played a big part in that realisation, and if they do know about her powers they are apparently too self-absorbed to actually give a fuck or help their daughter use it in a productive way. So she just started to build up her own little empire in whatever environment was available to her.

Cameron - The Apprentice

Cameron was obviously picked by that entity he can talk to, so it seems to see something in him. It’s very possible that it did so because he, too, is rather charming and successful by nature, and has always been that way. The promise of power seems to make his life fall apart more than actually help him though, especially since he doesn’t understand what’s happening and seems to reject this newfound power. He’s scared, and that has caused him to push everyone around him away. All that’s left is dwindling school fame and parents that are not interested in actually finding out what’s wrong with their kid.  Susie, who was under the thrall of the same entity, had no such issues. We saw how that ended. 

Aff - The Turned

I’m going the clishé route here and say they were bit as a kid, without knowing what the consequences would be and of course, without consent. They probably just showed up from playing outsside one day slightly traumatised and covered in blood. They’d always been an energetic kid, but after the attack, they started to get really aggressive at times. Yelling, biting, scratching other kids, getting one school suspension after another... it was a nightmare. Their parents think it’s trauma, of course, but therapy doesn’t seem to help too much and is also very expensive.  Aff doesn’t remember the incident. But years later, when they first start turning as a teenager, they can finally make sense of what’s going on. It helps. The more masculine form they shift into brings clarity to some other feelings as well. 

Jamie - The Self-Taught

For them, it was probably a mix of natural talent and just trying things out until they worked. They spend a lot of time alone as a kid, and with the help of the internet and a weird taste in movies, they eventually discovered that some internet recipes for witchcraft are more useful than others. More than anything, it gives them a possibility to control things, people, circumstances. For someone who’s had very little control of their life until that point, it’s a god send. They don’t exactly get popular, but they get a reputation. Sometimes, that’s enough. 

[imaginesmai]

Jace Wayland- (Don’t) care

Requested a long time ago by @badasseddy, I’m sorry again I lost your request😭 If this has happened to any of you, please message me! I hope you like it

Plot: Jace’s carefree attittude is going to have terrible consequences for once.

Warnings: this is part of the angst alphabet, so please RAPE THIS CONTAINS RAPE.

Jace slammed the door of your house with a huff. He threw his jacket to the ground, not bothering to leave it on the coat rack or check if you were still behind him. The lights came off after him, and he didn’t care if you could see where you were going or not. Jace didn’t care about much in that moment, all he felt was a deep and burning anger in his body, his fist tensed and veins popping out. Your annoyed voice calling out of him only made it worse.

“Come on, Jace!” you tried to keep up with his long steps. “You’re being a child.”

“Funny that is you saying that” he chuckled, turning on the small lamp of the living room.

“I just wanted to help you” you rolled your eyes, placing carefully the coat on the couch.

“You don’t think I can defend myself?! I’ve done it thousands of times before, and I can keep doing it, thank you very much!” Jace turned to look at you, and then muttered to himself “I don’t need your fucking help”

“I didn’t know it was such a deal, sorry I hurt your masculinity” you joked, your hands up in the hair and doing exaggerated movements. “Gosh, next time you can clean up your mess on your own.”

“My mess? Are you serious right now? The guy was looking for a fight! It was not definitely my fault.”

By that point, you had already reached the bottom of the cute stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Usually, they were Jace’s favourite place; you took there Christmas photos with the rest of the ‘family’, and he kept one of them with just the two of you in his wallet.

In that moment he simply didn’t care.

There was a wooden table between the two of you, with all the weapons you had chosen for that night. Where you had went to a club to get a vampire before he killed everyone in there; and that was the original, and only, plan. Jace wasn’t supposed to talk to the guy who was serving the drink, wasn’t supposed to mock him neither threaten him.

“No offense, Jace, but the threats didn’t help the situation” you laughed a little. You had been in that argument since he got into the car with you and started giving you those long stares that wanted nothing but fights. “If I hadn’t stepped in between, you two would’ve reached the fists. And, guess what? That wasn’t on the plan!”

“Everything is about the plan, now?” he sassed. Everyone knew he was the most rebellious of the group, and it was a wonder how he ended up with you; a rightful follower of the rules. You were starting to wonder that too.

“Yes, the plan, Jace. The one you were supposed to follow.”

“Stop talking about the plan!” he shouted at you. “Everything would had gone just right if it wasn’t for you!”

“Me?! At least, I don’t screw things! Or do I have to remind you the incident with the…what were they names? Whatever! The mundanes!”

“Clary, Y/N” he scoffed. “Her name was Clary, and she wasn’t a problem.”

“So you can’t remember her name but not to follow the plan?”

It was true that, maybe, you were a little jealous, or very, very jealous. The girl had appeared in your world to make everything harder, destroying Alec and Jace’s friendship and keeping your boyfriend to herself. You had talked about it with Jace before, and he had assured you, between soft laughs, that she was just a friend. Still, the heat of the argument had made you bring her up.

“Well, at least she wouldn’t be this annoying!” Jace screamed one last time. “I can’t-I swear, I can’t stand you!”

“Okay! Fine!” you pulled your hand up and let out a sarcastic chuckle. “I’m out.”

“Out? What’s-Hey! Where are you going!”

“To clear my fucking head before I’m framed for your murder!” you yelled as you turned on your feet, walking back the path you had done just a few minutes ago.

“Alright! Go, and see if I care!”

He did care, and he realised the weight of his words just when you closed the door and the pictures on the walls shook. Sighing, he walked up the stairs and reached your bedroom. You would come back, that was what he said to himself. It was not the first fight you had, neither the first time any of you walked out of the house to avoid bigger arguments. Jace sat on the bed an gripped the ends of his blonde hair, already regretting his words. Of course you weren’t annoying, yet he knew how much it hurt you to talk about Clary and he thought that it would be a good idea to talk about it. Anything was better than to admit that the guy had been making comments about that dress you loved so much, and that he had started the argument because he couldn’t stand the thought of you hearing those nasty comments. Not after seeing your excited face about the dress.

Meanwhile, you walked to the nearest park and sat on the swing, allowing yourself to calm down as you felt the cool air blowing against your skin.

“He’s an idiot” you muttered to yourself.

Tears blurred your vision as you fixed your gaze on the ground, so you decided to look instead to the sky. The night sky calmed you enough to make your breathing go back to normal and keep the tears away. A few minutes passed as you gazed at the stars, lost in your thoughts until you noticed a man walking down the sidewalk.

He looked slightly alarmed when he looked up and saw you just some meters away. Too quickly for your liking, he ran towards your spot and stopped in front of you, placing his hands on his knees.

“Hi miss” the stranger said, apparently out of breath. “I don’t want to be any bother, but would you happen to know the time?”

“Sure” you turned on your phone and looked at the clock. “Half past one, sir”

“Thank you”

You gave him a small smile and nodded. Still, he didn’t move and kept staring at you. After shifting the weight of his body from leg to leg, he decided to talk again.

“Are you- I’m sorry for asking, but are you alright? You seem upset”

“I’m fine. Long day” you avoided his eyes, looking instead to the street in front of you.

“Oh. Right” he chuckled. “Well, would you- This is weird, I know… do you want to grab something with me?”

“That’s really sweet, but no, thank you”

There was a small twitching in his eye that you didn’t like one bit, not that he didn’t see as tired as before or that he had a perfect clock on his left hand. Looking around, you realised that no one was around, and the houses didn’t have the lights on. Cold sweat began to run down your neck when you thought about your weapons left in the living room desk.

“Alright, alright” the stranger raised his hands. “My bad, what about a walk?”

“I just don’t think my boyfriend would be too pleased about that, I’m sorry”

The words you used were kind, but your tone was harsh and demanding. You kept your eyes on him, but the exhaustion from the fight at the club and Jace’s argument made you less focused. With a fast movement, he threw you backwards, making you hit your head hard against the metal pool supporting the swing set.

You felt the area of impact and looked at your hand to find blood. In that park, everything seemed to be suddenly ten times more silent, your head throbbing and dizzy. You tried to move so that you could fight back, yet the man took advantage of your split second of shock and slammed your head into the pole again, making you feel even more confused.

If he was going to prey on your moment of weakness, then coward was not a strong enough word to describe his appalling personality. His sickening smirk and another hit to your head was the last thing you noticed. Then, your nightmare began.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time he did it, was the worse. You were too lucid not to notice the movement of his hips on top of you, the pain between your legs. You had cried, screamed, sobbed and begged. Still, the man didn’t stop his movement, not until you felt him leaking out of you. Arms and legs tied up in the different posts of the beds, you couldn’t move, and got stuck with the sick feeling in the bottom of you stomach. Still, you didn’t give up, because Jace would find you, because he cared.

The second day, you tried to think about other things. As he pounded into you and touched every inch of your body, you thought about happy memories. Isabelle and you dancing the night away. In and out. Alec’s training with you, the laughs and the jokes. He kept still, wanting you to feel him inside. Catching Magnus and Alec making out in the elevator, long talks with them. His meaty fingers touched your sensitive spot, yet only pain came out of it. Jace. He finished with a long moan, and left you there again. Jace, he wouldn’t leave you alone, you knew, because he cared.

On the fourth day, he decided to try something different. Raping you didn’t make you scream anymore, so he tried cutting, biting, cutting and bruising. Again, you screamed until your throat was sore, and he laughed until he had tears on his eyes. You wondered if Jace cared about you enough to look for you.

Soon, a week passed and you didn’t recognised yourself in the mirror. Skinny arms, bruised legs and big bags under your eyes. You had tried to escape, but the chain that usually started on the wall and finished on your neck was a big obstacle. Besides, that guy held especial love for punishments.

“Hey, baby doll?” you heard his voice from downstairs. “Dinner is ready!”

You were enjoying one minute of peace alone in the attic, your will of leaving non-existent. Like a robot, you walked downstairs with the stupid white dress he had bought you; it made you pretty, he had said. Truth was he liked to see the bruises shinning against the white fabric.

The place where he was holding you was really small. A house with two floors, one kitchen and two rooms. You didn’t know what was on the second one, neither wanted to find out. As he said, it was the punishment room, and it scared you to the core.

He was waiting for you in the kitchen, as always. Disgusting food on the table, cocky smirk on his face and the zipper of his pants low.

“I made eggs today” he cheered, signalling with his head to the small plate on your side of the table. “Hope you like them, I really put all my effort on them”

They weren’t eggs probably, just another soup that smelled like shit. You sat on the chair in silence, your hand folded in your lap. As he shook his head and pointed to the floor, you wondered if Jace still cared about you. As you kneeled in front of him and took his dick out, dried tears in your cheeks, you wondered if Jace had ever cared about you.

Suddenly, the small window that was always closed broke, and a small ball flew into the room. He got up quickly, putting his dick back into his pants and you wiped your mouth with shaky hands, knowing that if he saw you doing that you would be punished. He didn’t see. The only thing he was aware of was a small click and a huge white smoke cloud filling the whole place. Then, darkness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jace Wayland liked to think was brave. He didn’t cry when his father died, he didn’t cry when almost everyone left him, and he didn’t cry when many of his friends were killed by his reckless actions. You used to say to him that it was okay to cry, it didn’t mean that he was weak, just that he had feelings and was brave enough to let them show.

That was what he was doing at that moment, and he was cursing himself for it. He had to be focused; after a long week, they had managed to find where the psycho had you hidden; he had always thought that you would die because of some supernatural being, not by a rapist and a killer.

“Jace” he heard Alec mumbling beside him. His friend put one hand on his shoulder, trying to calm his shaking. “Maybe you should go back to the van.”

“No” Jace voice, even small, held no doubts. “We’ve talked about this, I’m coming with you.”

“If something happens in there, you can get her killed” Isabelle interrupted, rolling her eyes. She knew it wasn’t his fault, but since you disappeared she had given him the cold shoulder.

Jace blinked the tears from his eyes and decided to ignore her; enough guilt and pain were filling his body. He took a shaky breath and let Magnus know that he could throw the bomb.

It wasn’t a bomb, he would never put your life at risk. He just wanted to guy knocked out cold so that he could get you; then, Jace himself would take care of the guy. The night sky was suddenly illuminated with the light from inside the house, and they all heard the man screaming and then two loud thuds. It was silent for a few seconds, Alec holding Jace down so he couldn’t run to you so quickly.

When he let him loose, Jace was the first one to enter the house. He broke the door down with a rune and ran inside the room. He had to cover his mouth with his arm and, still, coughed when the disgusting smell reached his nose.

“Do-Where is she?!” Isabella asked behind him. Magnus and Alec ran towards the man, who was unconscious and tired him down so he wouldn’t scape. “I can’t see her.”

“There might be more” Magnus warned from his place on the ground. “Search in the others rooms before-“

Jace didn’t hear anything else, since in his line of vision appeared a bruised hand. He walked a few steps forward, watching your body being revealed from the other side of the table.

“Jace? What are you-Oh my god!” he heard Isabelle choking on his breath behind him, but he couldn’t look at her.

Not when you were in front of him, laying on the ground in a fetal position, bruised an bleeding. He didn’t remember dropping to his knees or cupping your face between his hands, he only noticed where he was when Alec took a hyperventilating Isabell out of the house. His knees hurt from the impact and his vision was blurry, yet he was awfully aware of your fragile body in his arms.

You were thinner, your hair was shorter and your body showed him the hell you had been through. Jace didn’t recognize his own sobs until the tears made contact with your closed eyes. Carefully, he wiped them out of your face, and for a second your eyes fluttered.

“Y-Y/N?” he whispered, repeating the movement once more. He watched as you did the same, and opened your mouth slowly. “Hey, love. Can, can you hear me?”

He was met with silence, but he got a faint glint of the colour of your eyes. A small, teary, happy laugh left his lips, and he pressed them in your forehead. When he looked back, you had a sad smile on your face with your eyes closed, and his heart beat for the first time in a week.

Sirens were heard in the distant, and Jace sat besides you, placing you on his lap. He breathed you in, ignoring the foreign smells and focusing on yours. His hands, without thinking, went to your cheek, and he started drawing small circles. While he rocked you both and checked that you were awake, he repeated the same words again and again.

“I care, I do care, love”

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

Kidnapped (how and when), XX (sexual assault) &  Injury (how do they react when you’re hurt?) From my Angst Alphabet

[camillemontespan]

oblivion [raleigh carrera] [part three: comfort]

Part Two if you want to catch up

Warnings: Mention of drug abuse

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

Raleigh and Marina took a private plane to Michigan. Marina slept the whole way, curled up under a soft blanket, her hands clenching the material. Even as she slept, she wasn't at peace.

Raleigh had called his mom before they boarded the plane to let her know they were crashing. Although he was very close with his mother, he hadn't actually seen her since last Christmas due to work commitments, girls, alcohol and rehab stints.

He was worried about what she would say about this new development in her son's rollarcoaster of a life.

In a bid to distract himself, Raleigh flicked through a magazine, only to throw it on the floor when he saw a full page spread of images of Marina lying in a stretcher and her and Raleigh leaving the hospital.

He shouldn't have even been shocked. Of course the media were all over this. This is what they did. They chewed up innocent girls like Marina Cortez and spat them back out.

His mother would have definitely seen these articles. She was an avid People magazine reader and framed many of Raleigh's old interviews when he had just started out. She even had one of his magazine covers framed in the guest bathroom, which Raleigh couldn't decide was flattering or just plain weird.

He closed his eyes. A nap would be a good distraction.

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

A private car collected Raleigh and Marina from the runway so they could make a quick escape.

They arrived at Raleigh's mom's house. It was made of white timber with picket fences and a yellow front door. The front garden was filled with rose bushes and the trees that lined the road were turning red. Autumn was finally here. Raleigh's favourite season.

As he expected, his mom had decorated the front porch with halloween decorations. They loved Halloween in the Carrera household. Pumpkins sat at the entrance wearing goofy grins and the windows were sprayed with fake cobwebs from a can.

Marina smiled for the first time when she saw the pumpkins.

The door opened and Raleigh's mother stood at the threshold. He noted that she had a look of concern on her face which was quickly replaced by a wide smile. She was going to act normal. She was going to act like she didn't know who Marina Cortez was and she was going to act like this was just her son bringing home a girlfriend for the first time.

'Ahh hijo!' she cried, throwing her arms out so she could pull him into a bear hug. 'I've missed you!'

'Hey mom,' Raleigh whispered, inhaling her familiar smell. He pulled back gently. 'This is Marina.'

His mom looked at Marina and held out her hands. 'Aren't you just gorgeous?' she asked, giving Marina a warm smile. 'Absolute beauty. Come in, have some tea. Do you like mint tea? I'm obsessed right now!'

Yup, she was acting normal, her typical caring self. Raleigh was grateful.

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

Marina felt a strange mix of bewilderment and contentment as soon as she stepped into the house. Bewildered because Raleigh's mother was already treating her like part of the family and content because this house was the cosiest house she had ever been inside.

A log fireplace was lit in the living room and pink and purple throws were draped around the back of two blue velvet sofas. Books covered every surface and there was a Halloween film playing on the TV. Family photos were displayed everywhere.

'Thank you for having me, Mrs Carrera,' Marina said quietly. 'Really kind.'

His mom looked at her seriously. 'First of all, call me Jennifer. Second, I'm not a Mrs, Raleigh's loser father made sure of that and third, make yourself at home! Seriously, honey.'

Marina accepted a steaming mug of mint tea and watched Raleigh as he gratefully hugged his mother. When he sat down, Jennifer wound a lock of his wavy hair around her finger, a maternal gesture.

Raleigh eyed Marina warily, watching her every move. He looked like a lion ready to pounce if she so much as breathed wrong.

She had forgotten this side of him. This protective and loyal side. When she had bad press at the beginning of her career, Raleigh made sure he was there to take the edge of. He would make sure he got worse press than she did, sort of like he wanted to balance out the universe for her.

When she finished her tea, she stood up slowly. 'Is it OK if I take a shower?' she asked. 'I still smell like a hospital..'

Jennifer nodded. 'Of course! I can always run you a bath, I've got cute bath bombs -'

'Mom!' Raleigh groaned. Marina smiled weakly and Jennifer turned red when she realised her error. She had forgotten about Marina's incident in her bath tub.

'I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..' Jennifer whispered.

'It's honestly okay,' Marina said. 'No worries.'

Jennifer went sheepishly into the laundry room and brought out a towel, passing it to Marina.

Raleigh and his mother watched as Marina left the room.

'Jesus, ma..' Raleigh groaned. 'Way to make it awkward.'

'I'm sorry!' she hissed. 'It was like word vomit!'

They were silent for a moment until she broke it. 'How bad has she gotten, Raleigh?'

Raleigh bit his lip. 'Bad. You watch the news and read those trashy magazines, you should know.'

Jennifer wrinkled her nose. 'Actually, I make a point not to read any of the shit about you or your girlfriends. Only the good stuff.'

Raleigh chuckled despite himself. His mom was fiercely loyal. 'You're so biased.'

Jennifer placed a kiss on his head. 'You're my son.' 

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

The evening, while Raleigh’s mom cooked dinner, Raleigh and Marina sat on the sofa watching a film. She looked fresher after her shower, if Raleigh ignored the hollowness of her eyes and pale skin. She was wearing check pyjama bottoms with a slouchy red sweater, choosing comfort. 

They sat a couple of inches apart, as if they were afraid to touch. Maybe they were; it had been months since they had last seen each other. Their relationship had never gotten closure, so everything felt uncertain now that they were alone. 

‘Your mom’s really nice,’ Marina suddenly said. ‘She’s really young though, I thought she would be older.’

Raleigh smiled. ‘She had me when she was sixteen.’ 

Marina’s eyes widened but she didn’t comment. Raleigh continued. ‘It’s always just been us. My dad left her before I was born so I never knew him.’

‘I’m sorry, Raleigh,’ Marina murmured. Her eyes caught his. ‘Do you know anything about him?’

Raleigh let out a dry laugh. ‘Just that I inherited his rebelliousness. Everything else I have is my mom, thank God.’ 

Marina smiled and brought the blanket up around her neck, snuggling in. ‘She raised you right.’

Raleigh blushed, looking away. He cleared his throat. ‘Enjoying the film?’

Marina looked back at the TV. ‘Sure. It’s not a Halloween film though.’

‘What the hell?’ Raleigh cried, whipping round to face her. ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas is definitely a Halloween film!’

Marina rolled her eyes. ‘You’re wrong. It’s a Christmas film.’

‘Eight year old Raleigh would disagree,’ Raleigh said, pretending to be offended. ‘He would fight you and win.’ 

Marina giggled and focused on the film again. Raleigh cleared his throat. ‘Uh.. do you want to talk about what happened with you?’ he asked. ‘In the bath-’

‘No,’ she interrupted, her voice sharp. ‘No, Raleigh.’

‘But-’

‘I just want to watch films with you and forget about what happened, okay?’ she said, her breath becoming hitched. ‘I just want to forget.’ 

Raleigh caught her hand and squeezed gently, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘Okay,’ he whispered. ‘I get it.’ 

Marina blinked back tears and looked back at the TV screen. Raleigh cursed himself for his idiocy. They watched the film in silence until Raleigh spoke, needing to break the tension. 

‘Did you know I used to have a huge crush on Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas?’

Marina’s body began to shake and Raleigh looked at her in alarm, before realising she was laughing. 

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

2am. Raleigh was woken up by the sound of his bedroom door creaking open and soft footsteps on the hardwood floor. Blinking, he saw movement in the shadows. 

Marina let herself into his bed and snuggled under the duvet. ‘Raleigh, I can’t sleep.’

Raleigh turned on his bedside light and looked down at Marina, who was pale and shaking. Her forehead was beaded with sweat.

Dread filled his heart but he knew that this had been coming. Withdrawal. 

‘I’ll get you water and a face cloth,’ he whispered. ‘You’re alright, Marina.’ 

He raced into the bathroom and found a face cloth. He filled a glass with water and brought the items back to her, placing the cloth on her forehead to mop up the sweat. Her hand shook as she lifted the glass to her lips; Raleigh steadied it with his own. 

They stayed like this for a while before Marina turned over and lay on her side, trying to keep calm. 

‘Can you spoon me?’ she asked, her voice tiny. 

Raleigh obliged and pulled her gently into him, spooning her. His fingers twirled her hair around his finger. ‘Distract me,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’ 

Raleigh thought to himself and before he could think about how stupid an idea this was, he began to sing softly. 

It was their song, their duet. Love Who I’ll Be. They played it together acoustically just before Marina’s album went platinum and the public had adored it. But the song had united Raleigh and Marina. 

‘Lost in the darkness

You showed me the light

I was feeling heartsick

Til you made it right’

Raleigh sang, his voice crooning in her ear. He made sure to sing softly and gently, like a lullaby. 

Baby no one's perfect

But I know what I'm worth

I finally found someone who understands

He sang to her over and over, determined to keep her calm. 

No more doubt, no more pain

No more feeling like I am to blame

My days will be brighter and I will fly higher

I'm gonna love who I'll be

He stopped when he heard her snoring softly.  All he wanted was for her to feel peace. His eyes felt heavy and her body was warm against his. Soon, Raleigh was asleep too, his body curled against her back, his hands placed tightly over her fists, keeping her together.

[mysteli]

in my blood (jake x mc)

A/N: This is probably the saddest fic I’ve ever written but at the same time I’m like insanely proud of it so i advise you get some tissues because this fic is just too real...

This fic was inspired by the song In My Blood By Shawn Mendes but also Ashes by Celine Dion. They’d make this fic a little more emotional if you listen to them while you read, at least it did for me.

Warning: ANGST (sensitive subjects) 

Words: 3158 

PERMA TAG LIST: @brightpinkpeppercorn@cocomaxley@hopefulmoonobject@alesana45 @jellybean-marshmellow@mymandrake @regrettingnathan@dobie2112@princessstellaris @mechaspirit @skyila@mind-reader1  @xo-endlessmayhem-xo@sakaily@justboredtrash @regina-and-happiness@annekebbphotography. @endlessly-searching-for-you @reginasayeed @christopher-powell@zigortega4life @eileendannie@diamondoasis@speedyoperarascalparty @emomoustache@lostlightningbug@endlesstaylormckenzie @alekai-sayeed @akrenich@vickypoo91 @nitta-jaeguet @femmeshep @hayden-park

ES TAG: @darley1101 @american-duchess

Let me know if you wanna be tagged! 💗and let me know if the tags work because Tumblr is acting up.

Masterlist

Summary: After a tragic event, Logan and Jake must help each other come to terms with what the world has hit them with.

ENDLESS SUMMER FAN FICTION IN MY BLOOD

Fuck... no. This can’t be happening. This can’t be the end of something so life changing. One moment it’s the craziest thing to happen to Logan but she loves it enough to appreciate it. Then the next second passes and she’s lying isolated against the tiled bathroom wall, a loss looming over her shoulders. She can’t process this. She can’t accept but she also can’t fucking deny it. It’s true. It really happened. And she can’t do anything to change that. 

She’s not to ready to let her mind wrap around all the facts. This started off as such a happy time of her life and the best part was she was ready. Jake was ready. They wanted to start their own legacy and forget about all the fucked up moments of their own past. That wouldn’t matter once this new miracle came into their lives. They would have forgotten about it all and found something new to focus on. But no. Now it’s gone. One vital part of their future has disappeared before their very eyes. It’s something they’ll never have the chance to even lay eyes on because the world had to go and take it away like it fucking takes everything away. 

Logan can’t do it. She can’t summon any strength to move on from this. Maybe she’s overreacting. Maybe her mind is taking her to the worst places because that’s what she doesn’t want to believe. She runs her hands through her platinum blond hair and lets her head collapse back against the bathroom wall. Her mind is running around all these dark places and possibilities but how the fuck is she gonna find the will to tell Jake about any of this?

She can’t even admit it to herself so why the fuck would she wanna admit it to her husband? He’s been so supportive throughout everything she’s done, no matter how bad. This entire situation might not even be her fault yet she still can’t help but feel like she has to blame herself. She’s the one carrying the miracle anyway. Well... she was.

Just the thought of that only brings more tears to Logan’s ocean eyes, which are already sparkling with tears and the light in them has dimmed so much that there’s a fair chance it may never return. Not after this. Never again. It’s too damn painful. She can’t say it out loud. Hell, she can’t even think it out loud. Fuck this. Fuck everything. She isn’t ready. She’ll never be ready. 

Blood surrounds Logan, turning this whole scenario into what appears like a crime scene. And Logan chooses to see herself as the culprit, even if the loss of her victim was nothing more than an accident. This was gonna change her and Jake’s goddamn life. They could have had a chance to change and just the thought of that genuine smile that crossed Jake’s lips when he heard the delightful news will be forever be engraved in Logan’s mind, appearing like more of a guilty conscience than anything else. Only gives her more reason to blame herself.

She’s dressed in one of Jake’s solid black hoodies and it’s scattered with the blood from the incident earlier. Just the memory of the piece of clothing hugging her body only reminds her of Jake and how disappointed he’ll be when she’s forced to tell him the truth. Logan hasn’t even dared to go to the hospital or anything. It’d be even more painful to hear it from someone she didn’t know but... to hear it from Michelle, the concern and honesty in her voice was enough to keep Logan a little calmer but it didn’t make hearing it any better.

Logan hasn’t gathered the strength to move from the bathroom for a good thirty minutes and all that time she’s been begging, pleading and hoping that none of this is real. It’s just a goddamn dream and one moment, she’s finally gonna wake up and... the baby will still be there, a sign of life ready to be brought into this horrifying world but it would be special. If only she wasn’t so weak. If only she could just learn and accept this. What if it happens again? What if this means that her and Jake have an inability when it comes to making a child? Either way, the outcome is gonna hurt emotionally and mentally. 

Jake will be so damn disappointed. Disappointed in the world. Disappointed in her and worst of all disappointed in himself. He doesn’t deserve to feel like that and when he does, Logan will feel nothing but guilt because Jake doesn’t deserve this pain and Logan is the one hitting him with it. An agony he shouldn’t be burdened with. He deserves nothing but a life of peace and tranquility. It’s because Logan’s in his life. That’s what it is.

Suddenly, the sound of the front door to the apartment creaking open alarms Logan out of her intense trance and her shattered sapphire eyes widen when a revelation washes over her. Jake’s home. Oh shit. Not now. She’s not ready. She still hasn’t gotten this in her head and she needs time before she... no. She can’t fight this. She needs to tell Jake. That’s what will trigger acceptance surely. Hopefully. 

Tears stream down her cheeks, no matter how much she tries to hold them back. She shakes her head violently, trying to make this whole situation disappear and fucking wake up from this nightmare. 

Heavy footsteps slowly thud against the wooden floor and Logan wipes her tears away with her sleeve and she hears Jake’s concerned voice calling out to her. 

“Princess?” His voice is so flooded with anxiety and the fear of his tone sends shivers all the way through to Logan’s heart. Her already fragile mental state is being all the more fragmented as each second of pain rolls by. “Baby? Come on Lo... where the fuck are you? You’re scaring me, darlin.” 

By then, Logan doesn’t have the strength or control to stay silent anymore. She’s had enough time to process. Now she just has to tell him and get it over with. Goddamnit. He was so excited about this and now it’s gonna be all over once those dreaded words leave her lips.

“Jake...” Her breathing comes off heavy and she clutches her stomach when a sharp pain suddenly erupts inside. After a few seconds, it passes. “Fuck... I’m in the bathroom.” She calls out to him and she senses that he definitely caught on to the utter fear enveloped in her tone because of the fact that he starts rushing towards her location a millisecond after she speaks. 

A sigh of relief escapes when she catches sight of Jake entering the bathroom but her breath soon gets trapped in her throat when his cerulean eyes widen with worry at the damaged sight of her. He’s stunned by everything. The blood. The anguish in her expression. The fact that she’s clutching her stomach. Her tousled hair. The tears in her usually bright ocean eyes. Her chapped lips. Just all of it. It’s painful to even look at. 

Taking in the scene, Jake hurries to sit beside his hurting wife, tilting her chin up just as her gaze falls to the ground and forcing her to look up at him honestly, no matter how much she just wants to look away and pretend he isn’t there. It’s too damn much. 

“Princess... what the hell happened? Are you okay? Is the baby...” Jake pauses for a moment, glancing down at Logan’s stomach and back up as soon as his eyes are threatened by water. His panicky state soon takes over and he wordlessly wraps his arms around Logan, seeming to have an exact idea of what’s happened and it hurts him. It really does.

Just as his hand grazes Logan’s shoulder, a shiver erupts within her body and that’s when it finally hits her. That realisation that she’s been pleading for. 

“Jake... I lost the baby.” She’s relieved to finally be able to say it out loud but it’s agonising and her heart sinks at the same as Jake’s expression but he chooses to sustain a composure for Logan. He swiftly wraps Logan in a hug, the grief and loss being poured out in that long moment. Everything Logan has been keeping inside finally comes rushing to the surface and Jake lets her cry into his shoulder, her face buried in his chest. “I’m... sorry.”

“Don’t you fucking dare be sorry, Princess. This ain’t your fault.” Jake assures, a slight shakiness to his voice which is completely understandable. He just lost a kid for fuck’s sake. “You couldn’t have known.” 

“But Jake I could have...”

“No.” Jake stops her before she can engrave the idea in her mind that all of this happened because of her. But it didn’t. All the good things happened because of her and all the bad things were caused by the world. “These things happen, darlin’. We got no control over stuff like this.” He whispers into her hair, kissing the top of her head lovingly.

Logan melts into his embrace, the thought of the entire situation still haunting her mind however. “But baby... this kid was ours... and I was responsible for keeping it safe...”

“Stop it.” Jake urges, looking Logan dead serious in the eyes, as he presses his lips together to hold back his own tears. “This is not your fucking fault. We just got unlucky, Princess. This was just a flaw in the system. You just gotta get back up and... carry on, no matter how hard it is.”

“But what if I can’t do it?” Logan questions, a look of desperation hinted in her strong gaze. 

“Do what?” 

Logan sucks in a sharp breath, trying to avoid the rock planted in her throat. “Carry on... what if this isn’t just a flaw and I’ll never be able to give you the true family you deserve?” 

Jake is suddenly flooded with worry and he starts to think the worst of what could happen. “Princess... no. You can’t think like that now. Besides, the only things I worried about right now is you.” Jake examines his wife for a moment, unsure what he should do but he knows he needs to take care of her. “Do you want me to take you the hospital? Just in case.”

“No, baby. They’ll just tell me things I’ve already heard and I can’t bear to hear them again.” Logan mutters under her breath. Everything she says comes out as a heavy whisper because that’s all her voice will let her do. 

“Are you sure? I’m just thinking about your health, darlin’.” Jake whispers back, using his fingers to smooth out her platinum tousled hair and even wipe some of the tears that never seem to stop falling from her eyes. 

Logan simply nods, knocking their foreheads together and sighing shakily against Jake’s lips. He can feel her shivering in his arms and the anxiety immediately washes over him again. It’s her emotions that are haunting her so much more than her physical state. She’s shocked, startled and stunned by what’s happened and she’s finding it unbearable to take in and she’s wondering how Jake is keeping himself so composed. 

“I know you are and... I love you so goddamn much for that. Fuck, I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jake. I’d be nothing if you weren’t here to help me through this.” Logan’s meaningful words give her a little bit of herself back and Jake responds by pressing his lips against hers, keeping the kiss light and slow and hoping Logan will release any agony she feels so it could cure her sadness even a little bit. 

Once Jake pulls away, he exhales softly, looking down at the floor. “God... this is hard to... process.” He’s starting to think the exact same things that Logan thought about. 

Logan bites her lip out of nervousness, forcing herself to cup Jake’s face and she instantly feels like she’s holding the only world she really needs. She notices the conflict going on in Jake’s mind and she can tell he’s struggling. “I know. Why did it have to happen us?” 

Jake rests his forehead against Logan’s and lets his fingertips barely graze her collarbone. The simple action sends shivers throughout her body and it cures her depression a little. “I don’t know. The world hates us, I guess.” Jake attempts to chuckle but only a ghosted breath is released.

Logan notices the confusion in his cerulean eyes and there’s clearly an ongoing debate playing out in his head. “Jake... I know you were excited about this.” 

“Yeah... but so were you. We can always try again in the future, darlin. But please remember there’s no rush. I don’t want you feeling pressured or burdened. We’ll do it when the time is right and that time is when you’re ready.” Jake assures her, planting a reassuring kiss on her forehead.

“So you understand if I don’t wanna...” 

“Of course I do, darlin’. This kind of thing is hard to get over. It scares you.” Jake mutters and Logan lets her hands trail through Jake’s hair, playing with some of the stray strands and it keeps her relaxed in a way.

“God... how are you so amazing?” Logan questions, searching Jake’s eyes for an answer she should already know.

Jake forms a weak smile at that, bringing their lips together a few times before speaking. “It’s ‘cause I got you in my life, Princess.” Jake plants a trail of featherlight kisses from Logan’s jaw to the end of her neck as a way to soothe her. He doesnt want her to break down again because that will break his heart.

“You’re just... perfect. And you would have been a great dad, Jake.” Logan points out, moving one of her hands out of Jake’s hair and caressing the back of his neck. The feeling and her words seem to affect him in a way nothing has before.

“You’d be an even better, mom.” Jake murmurs back, cupping Logan’s cheek and smiling at her faintly.

“I just can’t believe this is happening to you.” Logan suddenly states and Jake is slightly taken aback by her unexpected words.

“What do you mean, baby? This is happening to you too.” Jake corrects and Logan just shakes her head in response.

“That’s not what I mean. You’ve... lost someone else. Maybe that’s why I feel so guilty. You deserve peace for once, Jake. You didn’t ask for any of this.” Logan explains, avoiding Jake’s gaze and hanging her head in shame as the blame creeps back in her head to haunt her again. 

Jake isn’t having any of that again. He tilts her chin up with his fingertips and plants a reassuring kiss on her neck, nuzzling for a moment. “That’s right. I didn’t ask for any of it. But I fucking got it and I’ve spent most of my life dealing with those losses on my own but not this time... because I’ve got you. And we’re gonna get through this together.” Jake mutters into Logan’s neck and she flinches at his touch and his meaningful words. 

She’s never been this crazy about someone before and Jake isn’t the type she would have wanted to fall in love with at first glance. But knowing the man inside the mask has been one of the best parts of her life. He’s taught her so many things and helped her through so much. They’ve fought battles together and there’s no chance they can’t get through this because they have each other and if they care enough, they’ll manage to move on.

Jake plants yet another blissful kiss on Logan’s lips and she savours this one especially as a feeling of relief finally hits her. Their foreheads join once more and they’re silent for a short moment, almost as if they’re grieving their unborn child together.

“Just so you know... you’ve been through a shitload of losses as well... so don’t feel like I’m the only one who can handle this.” Jake assures, whispering sweetly against Logan’s lips and she can’t manage to form a smile but she can let him know she’s grateful with a thankful kiss.

“I know. This is just... gonna be hard because it was our first.” Logan admits, more tears falling from the defence cages of her eyes since she can’t gather the strength to hold them back and mark them as unwanted. 

As her sobs start to grow heavier, Jake wraps his arms tightly around Logan and pulls her against his chest, giving her a chance to let it all out. “Baby... it’s fine. Let it out. Cry as much as you need.”

Logan’s pity party ends quicker than she thought it would and she meets Jake’s honest gaze, noticing how he glances at her stomach from time to time.

“Are you ok, Jake?” She questions worriedly, cupping his cheek with curiosity.

“I just... wanted to get in some last words to the little fella.” Jake confesses, seeming slightly embarrassed as he places his hand behind his head awkwardly.

Accepting his request, Logan gestures to her stomach, a deep breath escaping her. “Please. Go ahead. It might give us both some sort of closure.”

With her permission, Jake leans down and studies Logan’s stomach for a second, trying to avoid the sight of the blood surrounding them. At first, Jake is unaware of what to say but the more he grieves, the more the words come running towards him. Carefully, he presses his hand on Logan’s stomach and she closes her eyes, cherishing this moment and making sure she listens to every word Jake says. 

“Hey there little Mckenzie. Damn... that’s hard to say out loud now. Maybe because I thought one day I’d get to say it to your face.” Jake begins, careful about each word he says and he tries to make the most of this moment. “I’m sorry about how the world works. Your mommy and I would have given you the best life we could, if the world had let us. But you would’ve learned that the world sucks eventually. You gotta claw your way to every opportunity and fight for what you want. That’s what I did and nothing really paid off until I met your mommy.” Jake glances at Logan meaningfully and shoots her a lovingly smile. “She saved me and I’m sorry that she couldn’t save you. Hell, I’m sorry we couldn’t save you. You don’t deserve what happened to you and hopefully one day the world will make up for this by giving us what we deserve. We’ll think about you and we’ll cherish you, little McKenzie. You’re in our hearts forever.” 

‘Family isn’t what’s in your blood. It’s what’s your heart’

[kilerya]

The tiefling sisters -Ven’s story

ok so here’s the first part of the backstory of the tiefling sisters Andvenom (Ven to friends), the chaotic neutral Circle of the Land(Underdark) druid, and Solys the chaotic good Circle of the Land (Grassland) druid who got separated very young and reunited through some...sheer stubbornness on Ven’s part honestly. This partt is Ven’s backstory I’ll post Solys’ backstory later...when I get around to writing it.

Putting this under a read more cause it’s very long and probably like 2 people are interested in reading it at best

when they were very young (like 5yo and barely a month respectively) their mom was on the run from some potentially bad people who caught up with the the three of them and the group they were traveling with in the Underdark, the mom managed to hide her eldest at the beginning of the attack but died soon after, the only real memory that this poor little tiefling keeps from that night is someone running off with her baby sister.

A couple of days after the attack, little tiefling is still there surrounded by wreckage and corpses when a band of mercenaries passes by and investigate (cause you know, free loot maybe), they’re scary but she doesn’t have that many option so she approaches them. They ask what happened there but she tries to answer but can’t, just stutters and sobs a bit. One of the mercenaries gets annoyed and picks her up by the back of her collar to try and intimidate her and as soon as she’s level with his face she slaps him with a Poison Spray cantrip much to the amusement of the rest of the band. The surprise (and y’know, 1d12 poison damage) makes him drop her and she scrambles away, before he can retaliate his boss tells him to back off and comes to talk to her himself. He introduces himself as Istar, leader of the Shadow Vipers and tells her that so long as she can make herself useful they’ll keep her fed and relatively safe (they live dangerous lives and all) is she comes with them and well she’s a scared, hungry and alone 5 years old she doesn’t have any other options that she can think off so she goes with them.

She does her best to be useful but there’s not a lot she can do around the camp (in a system of caves that lead down to the Underdark, they were on their way back when they picked her up) and the people around aren’t very nice, they’re all a pretty selfish bunch brought together by greed mostly, Istar finds her little poison trick amusing but doesn’t have a use for it right away, a couple of days in her stay the mercenary druid Meira takes pity on her and starts teaching her since she shows at least a little talent for the craft. No one in the camp can pronounce her name (cause it’s Infernal) and they don’t make too much of an effort to learn so for the first few months most of them just call her kid if they want to address her. The mercenaries take her on missions sometimes, talks that have the potential to go bad where the possibility of having a small tiefling burst out and spray poison in someone’s face before running off can be an advantage, they have a trigger word for it, when things go start going bad Istar goes all threatening saying a variation of ‘anger the Shadow Vipers and you’ll be met with steel and venom’ and that’s her cue to do her thing. Since that’s the closest thing that resemble someone talking about her she starts thinking of it as her name. The first time she gets to tag along on a supply run in town she wanders off in a shop to look at stuff while Meira is busy haggling at the counter, one of the shop’s employees approaches her to make sure she doesn’t break anything. When he asks for her name this little 6 years old tiefling proudly says ‘Andvenom!’ which leads to a very confused employee and a facepalming Meira who doesn’t argue with it cause well... it’s not like anyone bothered to give the self proclaimed Andvenom a proper name in Common, but she does insist on calling her Ven when the name sticks and so does Istar to avoid any poison spray related unpleasantness.

Over the years Ven learned some reaaaally questionable morals from the mercenaries but also a bunch of useful skills like use daggers, pick locks, stealth, spot valuables, cheat at cards, play innocent and generally lie really really well... you know, criminal stuff, and Meira taught her a few more magic tricks, which turned out to be very useful cause eventually people weren’t as surprised by the whole Poison Spray thing and once one went ‘aHA I’m immune to poi-’ and got slapped with a Thunderwave instead and that he really wasn’t prepared for, neither were his friends behind him, it was one of the few times the mercenaries actually seemed genuinely impressed by her little tricks. She’s more comfortable using poison/necrotic damage based magic to fight as well as fire that she has a natural affinity for since she’s a tiefling. She also relies on magic a lot out of combat to make up for her really low strength, she learns Spider Walk specifically to avoid having to climb anything ever. Since she’s been trying to prove herself and her usefulness from a very young age she grew a really competitive/contrary streak, for all that she grew to know better than to be too eager to please and perceptive enough to know when someone is trying to bullshit her, any of that wisdom goes right out the window when someone says she can’t do something, tell her she’s not able or not allowed to do anything and she’ll run at it out of spite which caused her some trouble with some of the more mean spirited mercenaries (you know that first guy she Poison Sprayed ? kinda holds a grudge)

Because the mercenaries are a pretty varied bunch species wise she doesn’t really get any shit from them for being a tiefling and she’s pretty proud of her origins cause they give her some pretty cool skills. There’s been one incident that bothered her when she was a young teen (about 12 or so), the mercenaries passed through a pretty superstitious small town and the people were aggressive towards her saying she was cursed and trying to chase her out before she caused a disaster to fall on them. In a rare show of compassion, Istar (who’s a half orc and has dealt with shitty people before) took Ven aside that evening and told her those people were full of shit and didn’t know what they were talking about, if she was cursed the Vipers wouldn’t be doing nearly as well as they were and the only reason she her presence could ‘cause a disaster’ anywhere is cause she would actively make it happen because those people were assholes and they deserved it, she is who she is and anyone who has a problem with should get a Poison Spray in the face. It cheered her up a bit but the incident still stays with her for some time. The next time someone tries to mess with her she goes full on intimidation Thaumaturgy amplified ‘YES I AM EVIL I WILL BRING A PLAGUE DOWN ON YOUR HEAD MWAHAHA A PLAGUE OF FIRE AND VENOM (back to regular volume) ...or you could stop being a dick, your choice’, so she is aware that some people have trouble with tieflings but fuck the lot of them she has no intentions of hiding what she is

Ven still gets nightmares about her mom’s death and losing her sister, not very detailed ones she doesn’t remember who the attackers were exactly but one thing is always really clear: someone, she doesn’t know if they’re a friend or enemy, taking her baby sister and running off disappearing into the darkness. The older she gets the more she gets convinced that it was a bad person who STOLE her sister and deserves to pay for it. There’s always a little hope when meeting another tiefling that it’s her sister and they’d somehow recognize each other right away and go off to make a lot of money kicking ass together. She doesn’t tell anyone in the Vipers about it, Meira knows about the nightmares because she’s the one Ven is the closest to but not to the point of opening up that much more. Sometimes after she starts taking on solo contracts, she finds some signs of activity of the people that killed her mom including an old torn up report talking about that day, it’s too damaged to get too much information out of it but it’s a lead she wants to follow in hopes of learning what happened to her sister. She knows better than to just rush off on her own without a plan so she goes back to the Shadow Vipers’ headquarters to ask Istar for some backup, it doesn’t go well at all. He thinks the whole thing is a fool’s errand and her sister probably didn’t make it no matter who took her and refuses to send anyone out unless she’s willing to pay for it. They have a big argument about it and Ven eventually storms off, grabs her stuff and leaves. Istar is convinced she’ll be back soon enough when she realises it’s pointless so he doesn’t send anyone after her.

Ven’s in her early twenties when she goes off on her own to find her sister, it’s not easy and she hits a lot of dead ends but she’s entirely too stubborn to give. When she’s not actively investigating she picks up mercenary work to be able to pay for living expenses on the road, a lot of the jobs she takes are escort missions that’ll take her roughly in the direction she needs to travel, it’s not the best paying ones but at least it saves time. Eventually she manages to track down the person who ran away with her sister and get the name of the town where she was dropped off all those years ago. As angry that Ven is to learn that her sister was abandoned in a field for a druid to find (and you know, the years of build up resentment over the fact her sister was stolen, even if it turned out to be for a good reason), she doesn’t kill the woman, hurts her badly but doesn’t kill her. Since the place she has to go is almost on the other side of the continent, Ven joins a merchant caravan as hired muscles to get there while still getting paid. It’s the longest she stays with any group aside from the Vipers but she doesn’t form any real attachment to any of them, she acts friendly cause they might be useful but that’s about it. She does learn a few useful tricks from a bard traveling with them who has about as much morals as she does (they bond a bit over being terrible people). It’s a very long trip to her sister’s hometown and when Ven gets there she finds out Solys is away on her own adventure...

[mymelodyheart]

Forget Me Not Chapter 24 ~Untreasured Past~

He heard a gunshot. Claire's eyes widened, and her body stiffened before she fell into his arms.

Jamie's eyes flew open, heart pounding like a jackhammer, and squinted into the shadows. Soft skin, warmth and feminine smell surrounded him as he looked down at the slender arm across his waist and dark curls that scattered across his chest. Claire muttered something in her sleep and shifted, not sensing anything wrong. Carefully, with his free arm, he reached for his phone lying on the bedside table to look at the time and saw it was only five a.m.

Slowly, his body relaxed and gathered Claire's sleeping form closer, kissing the top of her head to reassure himself that she was truly there. It was another bad dream of the shooting, one that haunted him on an almost nightly basis. 

Inhaling deeply, he tried to even out his breaths as he stared at the ceiling. Suddenly, an odd sensation stirred in his guts as if sensing a storm coming. He wondered if he was becoming jumpy and sensitive because of the shooting incident, but primitive instinct told him, it didn't feel like danger. It was more like a premonition of something about to be unravelled.  But what?

As a different type of stirring started to occur in his groin and unable to go back to sleep, he gingerly extricated himself from Claire, careful not to wake her up. He didn't bother putting on clothes, afraid with his awkwardness on his feet, he would make too much noise. Grabbing his crutch, he hobbled his way to the kitchen in his boxer briefs. 

Moonlight trickled through the window, and the cold air sent goosebumps sweeping all over his skin. Although it was almost spring, it still felt very much like winter. Switching on the light, he made himself a mug of coffee and settled in an oversize leather chair in the family room, where it was a tad bit warmer. He wrapped himself with a seat's blanket and leaning back, he watched the world slowly wake up through the window and listened to the rousing of his peaceful surrounding. 

His mind drifted to Claire and their conversation last night, and then he smiled, a feeling of gratitude and hope of second chances hitting him in waves. She was right about the many road bumps ahead but having her close by, energised him and gave him purpose. The future didn't seem as bleak. He understood then that certain things can't be protected from storms and that things need to be shattered once in a while to make way for growth. Above all else and most importantly, she came back to him, and there was no way in hell he was going to mess up this time.

Jamie was so deep in his thoughts, he didn't realise his father had walked in. "Ye alright, son?" Brian was stood in the doorway with a mug of coffee, looking at him with a strange look.

"Uh, good morning. A-aye I'm fine. I didn't hear ye come in last night." He straightened up on his seat and smiled.

Hugging his mug with both hands, Brian took the seat opposite his son. "We came home early enough, and yer ma and I were surprised to see all the lights were out. If I hadn't seen Claire's car, I would have thought she didn't come to last night's dinner at all. So how did it go?"

Jamie let out a small laugh. "Aye, dinner was great. I suppose ye were in this with Jenny, aye? Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but after Jenny announced she was leaving us, I was afraid Claire would follow suit and leave me on my own."

Brian shook his head. "No. Yer ma and I didn't have anything to do with it. Dinner with friends yesterday was planned a long time ago. It was all Jenny's idea. But we knew what she was up to and we didn't object. Ye and Claire have been miserable for far too long, and talk between the two of ye was long overdue. So, how did it go?"

"Aye, we talked, but I noticed she was exhausted ... and I was too. We went to bed early."

"I was going to check up on her upstairs, but I was afraid I'd wake her up, so I thought better of it. She hasn't been sleeping weel, ye ken."

Jamie's face turned red. "Da, she slept in my bed," he confessed. Although his parents had given their blessing to their relationship, he and Claire weren't comfortable when it came to sleeping arrangements when together in Lallybroch. After all, they grew up together as siblings and sleeping together under the same roof as his parents felt awkward. Hence, they had sought privacy in his unfinished house and eventually in Claire's and Geillis' residence.

Brian cleared his throat as he noticed his son's embarrassment and waved his hand in dismissal, a silent understanding passing between them. "I'm just glad ye've sorted things out. Whatever happened between the two of ye, I was sure ye'd find yer way back to each other. Yer ma says, yer both soulmates, whatever that means," he laughed. There was a thoughtful silence before he continued and changed the subject. "Ye ken Isobel ... Geneva Dunsany's sister?" he asked.

Jamie nodded his head, his brows furrowing. "Aye, I ken the lass. Why?"

"She came to talk to me about the horse she rescued from the slaughterhouse. The horse has been abused and is in distress. Isobel kens ye're good with horses, and she asked me if ye could help. I told her ye might not be up for it since ye're still recovering," his father explained.

Jamie stared out the window and thought of a time when they had horses. They've always had one or a couple while growing up, but ever since the younger Frasers pursued their studies outside the Highlands, his father had stopped adopting them. The stables were now used for storage, which held many memories of their childhood days, of riding in the open fields and responsibilities of taking care of animals.

"I don't know da, it's been a while since we've had horses..."

"Aye, of course, dinna fash. I thought it would be therapeutic for ye, and maybe, it would encourage ye to get out of the house more."

It had been said many times that Jamie had a gift and was known as a horse whisperer. But that was then. In his current state, he needed to focus on getting better and on Claire. Their relationship was very fragile, and he needed her back in his life for them to move on. On top of it all, his back and his thighs still throbbed, and the nightmares plagued him. He couldn't possibly take responsibility for a broken horse when he had his own demons to fight and his own life to get back on track. He knew he had to refuse even if it meant missing out on something he was passionate about.

"No. I'm so sorry, da. I wish I could," he shrugged apologetically.

"I thought, ye'd say that. Weel, in case ye changed yer mind, the horse will be temporarily staying in our stable until Isobel can convince her da to keep it. It's a better option than in the slaughterhouse." Brian got up from his seat to go and stopped, remembering something important he ought to say. "And also, be mindful of Geneva, son. That lass is bad news. She seems to have something against Claire. I've refused Geneva's job application on the spot after overhearing the way she spoke to her. Isobel seems to be a nice enough lassie, but her sister sounds like trouble."

Jamie nodded, a strange impression of deja vu billowing around him as his father's warning flicked at him like tiny stings. "Aye, I'll bear that in mind," he replied, getting up, not wanting to discuss it further until he talked to Claire. "Thanks for letting me know, da."

"Nothing to thank me for, son. Just glad things seem to be looking up. And look at ye ... ye're on your feet already. Who would have thought, eh?" Twisting his wrist, Brian looked at the time. "Got to go. I have to bring coffee to yer ma." He squeezed Jamie's shoulder before walking away, leaving his son with disturbing thoughts of Geneva.

...........

Claire stepped out of the shower, still feeling exhausted. Last night was the first time in ages she slept a straight solid nine hours without any nightmares, but yet her body craved for more rest. Putting it down to mental fatigue from having to sort out a lot of paper works and administrative chores in the hotel, she resisted the urge to go back to bed and make most of her day off instead.

When she woke earlier, Jamie was gone. Disappointment warring with concern, she had hoped to wake up with him by her side.  Christ, it was only seven a.m.!  Maybe the aches and pains from his injury had kept him awake, she thought.

Dressed in yoga pants and over-sized checkered flannel shirt, she dried her hair and twisted it into a messy bun, leaving the loose curls to frame her face. Slipping her feet into thick woollen socks, she made her way back to the makeshift bedroom. Her plan was to make breakfast for the family and maybe, have some more enlightening chat with Jamie.

Feeling slightly more invigorated after having seen the beautiful weather from the window, she started to make the bed.

"Good morning, Sassenach. What are ye doing?"

Claire spun around to find Jamie leaning against the doorjamb, amusement putting a slight quirk in his mouth. Pushing away from the door, he walked over to her with a slight limp, using the crutch for support. Despite the cold, he was only wearing his boxer briefs, putting his beautiful sculpted body on display for her to gawk at. His tousled hair and bearded jaw gave him a wild look, making her wish she hadn't said anything about taking things slow.

Clamping on her desire to throw herself at him, she gave him an exaggerated, cheery smile. "I was going to make breakfast. Did you sleep well?"

"Aye, I did. But a bad dream woke me up." His eyes automatically wandered over her body, staring at her like a starved man deprived. "I was expecting ye to be still in bed. Why are ye up so early? It's yer day off."

"The weather is beautiful. It would be a shame to miss a big chunk of it by lounging about." Tempting as Jamie looked in his dishevelled state, she averted her eyes and made a move to go to the other side of the bed to fluff the pillows.

His arm shot out to block her. "Come back to bed, Sassenach and lie down with me for a little while. Today is not a day for rushing," he urged softly, his gaze fastened on her mouth.

"Hmmm, I don't think that's a good idea.," she said with one eyebrow arched as her eyes strayed to his burgeoning erection.

Unapologetic, he grinned boyishly, his sky blue eyes lighting up. "Why?"

The question hung between them, and Claire could only stare, half expecting him to close the distance and kiss her. But Jamie didn't budge as he rocked back on his heels, waiting for an answer like they had all the time in the world.

"I feel like you're about to pounce on me, and we agreed to take it slow," she admitted finally, frustration nipping at her nerves.

With a cocky smile still plastered to his lips, he took a step forward and lowered his head, warm breath brushing against her mouth. "I'm not going to lie, Sassenach. There are a lot of things I would like to do with ye right now, but I respect yer wishes. We'll take things slow unless ye want otherwise. So stop being stubborn and get back in bed. I just want to hold ye and kiss ye. Is that alright?"

His words jolted through her, and she sucked in air. Jamie's relaxed stance hid a fine-tuned tension that stiffened his muscles and carved out the lines on his face, and the glint in his eyes belied his real thoughts. Not one to back down on his teasing game, she fought her rising need and took it as an opportunity to talk.

Turning away from him, she pulled back the bedcover, slipped onto the bed and smiled at him. "Very well. Breakfast can wait. I'm not that hungry anyway," she said, patting the bed beside her.

"That's a good lass," he beamed, ignoring the warning look she launched.

As she settled against the stacks of pillows, she watched him move with ease as he slid in next to her, signs of his injury almost unnoticeable. And when he opened an arm as an invitation to move closer, she let go of her unease and relaxed, resting her head on his chest in contentment. It was no use fighting it. Their attraction to one another was palpable.

Tucked in his embrace, he gently pulled the pins out of her bun, tugging his fingers at the damp waves that spilt over his chest. And when he spoke, the playfulness in his tone was gone. "Da told me about what happened with Geneva. I thought she might have outgrown her bullying ways. Obviously, she hasn't. There must be more to the story. Want to talk about it now? I ken ye don't like talking about what happened in school, especially when someone was mean to ye, but maybe now's the time."

Jamie's question woke sleeping demons inside. All the reasons she never wanted to return back to Scotland if it wasn't for the Fraser family, whispered in her ears. Claire squeezed her eyes shut, shivering slightly.

"What's wrong, Sassenach? Are ye alright?" he asked in a soft voice.

The past and the present flashed together, merging a faded memory that demanded her attention. She hadn't thought about it in for so long, after burying the truth under so much rubble, deeming it dead forever. 

Unfortunately, it wasn't. Claire's meeting with Geneva in the pub months ago had stirred the monster up and ever since then, they had never been far from the surface. Safe in Jamie's arms, she realised she wanted to tell him what happened and unload the massive weight she carried in her heart for years.

"You've always known I never really fitted in school."

Jamie's arms tightened around her, settling into a silence that told her he'd spend the whole day listening. With a gentle squeeze to her arm, he urged her to continue.

Suddenly, the past reared up and yanked her back in time. Her vision blurred while she fought the images, reminding herself nearly a decade had passed and she wasn't that girl any longer.

"As you know, I've always looked different from the rest of the kids back then. They thought I looked like a freak with my big hair, braces and thick eyeglasses. The teasing was usually harmless, and it gave me the backbone to stand up for myself. The fact that I did so well in school made only matters worse. I thought it would improve my chances of being liked. Instead, I was labelled a nerd." 

She let out a half-laugh, hopelessly trying to lighten the mood. And as she tried to curl her hand into a fist, Jamie entwined his fingers with hers, holding it tight and refusing to let go.

"Then, of course, there were groups in school that everyone begged to be part of because the members of these crowds were popular, better looking, great in sports, had more money... you name it, they had it. And you were one of the popular ones, and you didn't even need to prove anything. Although I wanted to be accepted, I didn't mind not being part of these groups. I think everything would have been fine if nobody knew I was your foster sister, but I caught the attention of a group of popular girls because of my connection to you. One day, Geneva and her friends gathered around me after school and invited me to join their little club. Geneva was their leader. For some reason, deep down, I suspected she hated me, but at the same time, she wanted something from me. I supposed she wanted to get closer to you, but I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Although I was wary, awkward and shy at first, I agreed to join them."

Her heart beat off-key, and she dragged in a breath, trying her best to push through. The memories edged her nerves, but she was determined to tell her story.

"Over the next few weeks, I sat with them during lunchtime and was invited to a lot of their parties and after school activities. Eventually, I started to enjoy myself, and the teasing about my looks stopped. I started to believe everything would finally be alright. During those times, Geneva asked a lot of questions about you, but I tried to avoid answering them because I felt like I was betraying you. And you were my closest friend then. When she finally realised I was of no use to her, she pulled this awful prank in front of everyone."

She blinked back the tears, desperate to get through her story. "At the end of one Friday lunch period, we were all sat together, and I was telling them a story about uncle Lamb. Suddenly, in the middle of it all, I felt something was off. I saw Geneva gave some sort of signal with her eyes. Before I knew what was happening, Laoghaire MacKenzie dumped a container of tomato juice over my head. Then they started chanting I smelled like a skunk and needed a bath of tomato juice. Anyway, I don't know how the story reached the headmistress, but Geneva and Laoghaire got detention which made it only worse. When ma heard all about it, she confronted me and threatened to talk to the teachers. Instead of confiding to her, I laughed it off, pretending it was just a silly prank that had gone wrong. I didn't want her worrying because she was busy enough with the hotel and us, children, so I played it down."

"Then the torture began, and every day they did something to make my life miserable and got a lot of people involved until I felt like every morning, I was entering a battlefield. They were careful not to leave any shreds of evidence in case you and Willie found out. I began to have anxiety attacks, and I started to isolate myself to hide it. When you weren't spending time with me, I spent most of my time in the woods or in the stable reading books to keep my distance. You, Willie and Jenny, have been so good to me and I didn't want to burden you with my problems, so I remained quiet about it."

She paused for a while to gather strength before continuing. "I knew I had two years left before college - two years of mocking, isolation and pain. I didn't think I could survive it so, one day I made a decision. I wanted to end it. I wrote a goodbye letter to all of you and stole some old medication pills ma was hiding in the cabinets. I didn't know what they were, but I took two bottles with me and hid them under my bed."

Jamie's body stiffened beside her, and she felt his heart accelerate beneath her hand, but he remained silent.

"On the day I was planning to end it all, Murtagh picked us up from school because ma and da were running late from whatever they were doing. I was the last one to get out of the car. As I was getting out, I dropped a book, and my goodbye letter slipped out. To cut a long story short, he found my letter and an hour after he dropped us off, he was back to confront me. He found me in the stables with the bottles of pills in my hand, writing a new goodbye message. He came in with two bottles of beer, one for him and one for me, and the letter he found in his car. We had a long talk while we drank beer, and he confided to me that he used to be in a similar position. His own story was sad, to say the least."

The image of Murtagh's face was ingrained in her brain. The desperate glint sparking from his brown eyes, pleading her to reconsider. The almost panicked air as he sat next to her, trying to get her to focus on his words. Gone was the face of a cantankerous man, but in its place, a man with his own demons who understood her pain.

Claire cleared her throat. "Anyway, Murtagh convinced me that Geneva and Laoghaire weren't worth it, and if I went ahead with what I planned to do, you would all be devasted, and that made me think long and hard. He promised me he was going to do something about Geneva if I promised him not to take the pills. So I agreed after a lot of tears, but I also made him promise not to tell any of you. Two days later, I found out Geneva, Laoghaire, and her cronies were transferred to another school. I don't know what Murtagh did, but it made life a lot bearable. The teasing and taunting didn't stop, though, but it wasn't as torturous as when Geneva and her mates were there. After that, once in a while, I would cross paths with Geneva and Laoghaire in town, and they would spew hate at me and promised me one day, they will get their revenge back. I still wonder what Murtagh did all those years ago, but it was such a painful time that I decided to leave the past behind."

"Sassenach." His voice came out like rough sand as he lifted her body and forced her to look at him in the eye. "Christ, I had no idea. I swore to protect ye."

She reached out to touch his face, his stubbles tickling the palm of her hand. "It's not your fault, Jamie. I was selfish and ungrateful to even consider taking my own life after what all of you have done for me. And I was young and so very lost. But I have forgiven myself because it's the only way forward. After what happened, Murtagh continued to check up on me, and he kept up this gruff facade whenever everyone was around so no one would suspect of anything. Sometimes I forget his grumpiness is just a front, and he really scares the hell out of me." 

A smile curved her lips, letting him know the past was the past. And that the present was all that matters. "Not much changed about Geneva's and Laoghaire's behaviour to this day, but I changed my reaction. I realised I was trapped in a tiny droplet of time, but there is a massive ocean of years out there waiting for me. Although the world is painful at times, I shifted my focus on what matters most. My family here in Lallybroch. All of you made a difference, and I am forever grateful to my uncle Lamb for bringing me here and to Murtagh for saving my life. Maybe I lost a few things along the way, but overall, I love every moment of my life. I owe that to all of you."

She didn't realise she was crying until he wiped her tears away with his thumb as he whispered sweet Gaelic endearments under his breath. His eyes glistened, and so much warmth, understanding and tenderness radiated from them. There was no pity nor judgement. Only his heart full of love just for her.

" Mo ghràdh,"  Jamie whispered. "Thank ye for being brave enough to bring up the past. And thank ye for being brave enough to live."

His lips gently brushed hers, soft and as fleeting as butterfly wings. And because there were no words worthy of a response, Claire reached for him, and he kissed her deeper, shattering the last barrier in her heart and rebuilding it whole.

[auroargraves]

Ok but actual parent Percival Graves. Maybe adopted-Most likely that because he's more responsible than it being an accident-or from a previous marriage that he never mentioned around the office because it's none of their business. Maybe at Ilvermorny or visiting the grandgraves when the movie incidents happen but ho boy are they fussy when their dad gets back. Old enough to storm the MACUSA and scold the aurors because that was their DAD.

Percival Graves raising his eldest sister’s daughter when she passed away due to the mass outbreak of dragon pox disease.

Her name is Casandra and she’s a little hellion.

very smart and very talkative. she calls Percival “Nuncle Perce” because she has a slight lisp but Percival adores her for that.

please just imagine Percival in Casandra’s tiny bed, reading her a story about The Witch and The Dragon and how The Witch befriends The Dragon because she doesn’t believe in killing creatures no matter how dangerous they are.

bonus image: Percival doing The Gravelly Voice when he reads The Dragon’s part.

Percival learning how to braid hair from magazine because Cassie keeps asking him to do french braid and she will pout if he says he doesn’t know how.

Nuncle Perce teaching Cassie small charms to ward of nightmares when she keeps waking up in the middle of the night asking for her Mom.

Percival usually holds her and rocks her with soothing words; reassuring her that her mommy is protecting her always.

when Cassie starts her school year, Percival takes more cases on hand because the house feels bigger and quieter without Cassie there.

he stays back until late and only gets back early the third Friday of the month just to visit Cassie in school.

they always exchange letters; Cassie talking about her lessons, her new friends, how weird it feels to be surrounded by girls when it used to be just the two of them at home. but she’s happy here. she’s learning a lot and she could Thestral! Percival writes back, talking about his mundane days at the office and he always owl her package that is filled with cookies and cakes and assorted books on magical beasts.

that’s why when Cassie only received short, terse letters from her Nuncle Perce, she becomes suspicious.

little hellion Cassandra Graves sneaks out from Ilvermorny and marches towards MACUSA to give his uncle a stern talking.

but when she arrives, she is shocked to learn that her uncle had been kidnapped and tortured by a dark lord and that he was saved by a man who can’t look at her in the eyes and he has funny accent.

she tears the MACUSA hallway with her rage, demanding for the President to bring her to Percival. “Or there will be hell to pay, Madame President. The Graves won’t forgive you if he dies.”

The shy man with the strange accent brings her to the ward. He doesn’t say a word when she chokes back her tears upon seeing her usually larger than life uncle lying on the bed looking so small.

the man doesn’t chide her when she throws herself into Nuncle Perce’s prone body; sobbing and begging for Percival to wake up.

Cassie stays in the ward, ignoring the healers’ curious glances.

when the shy man with the strange accent —“Call me Newt, please.”— comes back the next day, he sees Cassie holding a book in her lap.

”I’ve read that,” Newt says and Cassie looks down and realises that she’s been holding The Witch and The Dragon.

”Percy used to read it for me all the time,” Cassie tells Newt, holding the book closer to his chest. “I want to read it to him but I can’t do the Gravelly Dragon voice.”

”Why don’t we read it together?” Newt suggest, smiling a little when Cassie looks at him. “You’ll be The Witch, I’ll be The Dragon. You can tell me if I do the voice wrong. Is that alright?”

Cassie looks at this man, with his shy smile and bright eyes. The man who saves his uncle from death itself. She nods her head and says, “Okay.” Scooting her chair closer towards Newt and together they read to Percival, hoping that their voices would wake him up soon.