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aheroinasuit · 7 months

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@ununpredictableme asked:

For the emoji drabble prompt, can I ask these for John and Harold?

🤒 Needing to be looked after

🩸 Patching up a wound

For some peculiar reason I can't post the ask.

So, this part was written when D. sent me the prompt along, long time ago, but I really thought I could continue it with amnesia + platonic... well, marriage tbh (due to amnesia & John misinterpreting the case and Harold lying to keep him safe... yeah in my mind the angst and pain continued in the form of a Shekespearean comedy of errors). I may still write it at some point so I can work around the first part of the ask. Sorry for the delay...

"John, don't let this..."

Harold cannot listen, he can only stand and watch. He watches John holding her in his arms, cradling her head, rocking her body gently on the concrete, white shirt getting red from the blood of them both. He sees the tears, the subdued sobbing.

There is nothing he can do. His machine cannot help. John's eyes shatter again. After everything, it breaks his heart to see it. He limps towards them, and it is too late for her, it is too late for the strong woman who has graced their lives, mostly John's. John is the better character judge of the two. Harold just can't do that. He makes the wrong choices. He falls down by John's side, helpless, undecided. "John." He raises his hand, a few inches away from his friend. "John." He reaches over and touches.

Wide, lost eyes turn on him, looking up. John's breathing is hard and Harold searches with his hands if some of the blood is his and not Joss’. He saw the flinch at the first bullet shot while he was standing there lacking the ability to help. John is losing blood and by the look of it, a lot of blood. He groans painfully as he tries to remove his coat and then unbuttons John’s shirt. John still clings to Joss’ unbreathing body making Harold’s attempts at caring for his wounds more difficult. Harold’s eyes itch, his body and heart ache and he can’t think of both of the people in front of him. He can’t care for Joss as he’d liked to, John is still alive and all his thoughts go to him, to his continued ability to breathe.

What if John dies? What if Harold looks away for one single second and John’s heart stops pumping blood? Fear grips his heart, a sudden pain, emotional as strong as the one shattering his body, attacks him and it’s not about his mission.

It’s not about what the future will bring if John isn’t there to support Harold. It’s a soul wrenching ache over the loss of his partner. What will he do without John? It’s strange how Grace’s face comes behind his closed eyes. He can’t understand it and he doesn’t want to. The material of his suit jacket is not the best to treat wounds, but needs must.

“Joss…”

Harold makes noises of calmness. “Please, John, don’t move.” And the green eyes close and Harold sits and waits for help to arrive. Time passes, hand pushing against John’s wound, help called and Harold finds his brain occupied. How to remove them from this, he and John should not be here, should not give their statements. He has to make them disappear. Shaw and Fusco come and take them away. Harold cannot deal with more emotions, with Lionel’s despair, with Shaw’s silent outrage and John not opening his eyes.

Lionel takes over in the crime scene and Sameen takes over John. Harold stands aside and watches her removing the bullet and cleaning, operating on John. He wonders if she’s any good, but he’s not sure. He feels as if he’s under water, ears buzzing, watching, making sure John still breathes, hooked up in machines and medicine.

“He’ll live,” Sameen says and leaves him alone. It's crowded in his loneliness, John’s breathing, and thoughts, a lot of thoughts keeping him company, dark, bleak thoughts.

He sits and waits for John to wake up. Bear finds his way close to John and puts his head down next to his hand. Waiting as well. He and Bear are waiting for their human to wake up.

John doesn't and Harold has a funeral to attend. The world is moving beneath his feet and he doesn't have the power to stop it moving. He's losing control of all of it.

And he has to find John again. Any means necessary. Including Root. The fear seizes him again, huge tendrils wrap around him... Root, it is.

The emotional fallout of these kinds of traumas can be extensive. Grief. Losing his best friend again. Strange how he didn’t think John like that before, not always. He tries not to think of him like that, but thoughts and feelings, rarely are the same, are they?

He remembers things he should have done differently. Different doesn't mean better. Not for him, not for those he gets to care about. John's trauma is life threatening. John's trauma was always death threatening and Harold, mind sound and somber, chose to overlook it, dismiss the death wish and focus on the man's integrity. He needs to find John alive, as he needs oxygen to keep breathing.

Responsibility. Survivors' responsibility... no matter what he does, how much he tries. It just isn't enough. He always loses.

Will he get John back? His John, not a shadow of the man he knows. Running in the city trying to find him, Harold sees that Lionel cares, and, strangely enough, Shaw cares too. In her own way. She knows John in a way Harold will never do. He looks at her and he likes it. It's not the same as Joss. The thought disturbs him. The comparison disturbs him.

It doesn’t matter. John will need him and Harold will be there for him.

#John Reese x Harold Finch #my writing #not a drabble #Person of Interest #Harold FInch #John Reese

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themirokai · 11 months

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For my new followers: I’ve been watching Person of Interest really slowly and posting reactions to each episode with gifs. Check out the tag #miro does poi if you’d like to see more. Or, ya know, blacklist it.

POI 03x23: Deus Ex Machina

I thought some parts of this episode worked and some did not. Gonna do some big overarching thoughts, then call out some specific moments.

I generally liked Collier as a villain. Some of that is an affinity for Leslie Odom Jr., but as I said in a prior post I also really like villains who have a point but take it too far. And I thought Odom played him really really well. The guy is crazy charismatic and brought every ounce of that to bear in this role.

So I felt a bit let down by the trial as culmination of his arc. It’s just… kind of dumb? Like did they actually believe that doing this show trial at gun point - of two political operatives and three people no one knew - was going to … what? Convince people to rise up against the government and demand greater privacy rights? Or was it to make themselves feel better about killing the people responsible for Northern Lights? It just seems pretty half-baked for a character who I felt had been previously set up to be intelligent and driven.

And I didn’t really like the reveal that Greer had been pulling the strings the whole time. It made sense for the broader Samaritan plot but it undermined everything about Collier. I think I would have preferred if they just had Decima influence how the trial went rather than have them be responsible for the entire Vigilance movement.

The trial did create the set up for Harold to be self-sacrificing. Again. Still. Some more.

So much of Harold’s actions throughout the series seem to be motivated by guilt. Actually, remorse is probably more accurate. He only thinks he’s important in terms of what he can do for others. BRB my heart is breaking.

Another thing that got my wheels turning was this part with Control where she gives her experience on 9/11 as her motivation for undertaking the surveillance program, and I’m interested in how that reads to younger people and people who aren’t American.

I was 17 on 9/11 and it isn’t much of an exaggeration to say that you could feel the country change in real time. Control’s story of having the rest of her life motivated by that day isn’t at all rare. I know several people who signed up for the military on 9/12 or shortly thereafter.

Probably most of the people using this site weren’t even born on 9/11 and I wonder if Control’s story comes off as contrived or manipulative to you. I know that for me, I do feel the remove of 22 years. I know that 9/11 jokes and memes are pretty common now. But I don’t think that was the case when this aired. I think we were still too close to it then, and Control probably came off as sympathetic or at least doing the wrong thing for the right reason. I’m not sure this part of the show has aged well. But also Camryn Manheim’s performance is fantastic.

I find it super interesting that when I try to use gif search, the majority of gifs that come up, and the first ones, are ALL Shoot. I’m not sure if that’s because there’s just more of them or if Shoot fans tag their stuff differently or what. I didn’t embed any here because this was getting lengthy, but this scene was great, they have excellent chemistry, and I generally love how their dynamic is developing.

Fusco’s arrival was fantastic because I’m always happy when he shows up but also Root … apparently sent a message on??? with??? Bear? We’re not going to interrogate the mechanics of how Root got Bear out of the library while she was going after Samaritan but I was very glad Bear was there too.

Also! Fusco still doesn’t know about the Machine!!! 🤦🏻‍♀️

Oh look, Hersh ends up being great and I’m kind of attached to him now. Of course he’s dead at the end.

Let’s talk about the Rinchiness. As always, we have John’s single-minded determination to get Harold back for the majority of the episode.

But then there is this oh so gentle and affectionate scene that I suspect lives in every Rincher’s heart.

Sigh.

And the ending. Goddamn the ending was gutting. RIP Library.

That’s a wrap on season 3! Thanks for sticking with me, y’all. Reminder that my ask box is open if you want to share your thoughts!

#miro does poi #fewer gifs because this got so long #poi 03x23: deus ex machina #person of interest #irrelevants #rinch #long post

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whump-or-whatever · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 24

Prompts: Fight, flight or freeze - blood covered hands | “I don’t want to do this anymore” | catatonic

Tw: burns, flashbacks, self-harm (punching cement)

Fandom: Person of Interest

Context: Dakota Walker is an OC of mine in the POI universe who was rescued from a human trafficking organization by John, and then became part of the crew. They were tortured and conditioned pretty badly during their captivity.

Summary: While out on a walk with John, Harold, and Bear, Dakota sees something that triggers memories of their captivity.

• • •

They walked without any major issue for some time. As they traversed one quiet street in particular, however, a pay phone began to ring almost directly beside them. Dakota jumped quite badly, but calmed quickly once they realized what it was. John put a steadying hand on their shoulder. “You good?”

They nodded, swallowing roughly as they tried to calm their racing heart.

“Sorry, I’ve got to get this,” Harold said, and moved to pick up the phone. John faced the street, scanning the rooftops with vague interest. Dakota, meanwhile, turned to look down the alleyway they had stopped in front of, still trying to hide how shaken they were.

It was there, however, that something caught their eye. At the far end of the alley orange flames licked up out of a barrel. A person stood at the edge of it holding a stick in the flames, likely cooking something. At least this is what the common observer would have seen.

To Dakota, however, all they saw was a dark burly figure and fire.

They froze like a statue, every muscle growing painfully rigid. Their hand reached out instinctively to grasp John’s arm.

The man turned to them in surprise and confusion. They were gripping his arm so hard it was painful, and he was sure he would have bruises in the morning. “Dakota?” He asked quietly, placing his free hand over theirs.

They made no response, eyes locked off in the distance. In their mind, images flashed of a large burly man dressed in a black coat, wielding a blowtorch. The man’s gleeful laughter rang through their head, mixed with the muffled sounds of their own screams as the man had held the blowtorch to their leg. The sickening smell of burnt flesh, the tears streaming down their face, arms and legs straining against the restraints holding them to the wooden chair. The absolute agony and the confusion of slipping in and out of consciousness.

John watched Dakota as their jaw worked and their face twitched. Straining his neck, John looked back over his shoulder to see what they were looking at. As the bright glow of fire caught his eye, realization hit him like a ton of bricks, images of the healed burn on Dakota’s leg and the smaller ones strewn across their body flashing in his mind.

John softened his voice. “Hey, Dakota, look at me.”

Their grip on his arm got impossibly tighter, causing John to wince, and they made a choking noise in their throat.

Dakota felt the pain as clearly as the day it happened. They could feel their throat screamed raw, the horrendous sensation of the man blowing over the still-searing flesh after he had turned the blow-torch off, how their heart fluttered with palpitations so forcefully they thought they were going to die right then and there.

As Harold finished receiving the next number and turned back to his associates, he found a disturbing scene. Dakota staring unseeingly into the distance, gripping John’s arm like a lifeline, swaying dangerously. John leaned back trying to get their attention, clearly to no avail, worry masking his features. Finch hurried over to them. “What’s going on?”

“I think they’re having a flashback or something,” John responded, gesturing down the alley towards the fire with his head.

Harold looked and quickly came to the same conclusion John had. “Oh dear. Let’s get them out of here,” Harold suggested hurriedly.

Dakota’s mind supplied memories of attempting to walk for the first time. The first step had sent them plummeting to the ground face-first, so overwhelmed by the sheer agony of putting pressure on their leg that they weren’t able to break their fall. They remembered slamming their fist into the cement floor until their knuckles bled in an attempt to drown out the pain.

Just as John reached out to put a guiding hand on Dakota’s shoulder, their legs gave out. John grabbed them under their arms, supporting their weight. Ducking under their arm, John helped them walk over to the wall of the nearby building, sitting them down so that they faced the open street.

Dakota’a eyes were squeezed shut in a cringe of pain. Their hand reached down to clasp their leg over the burn. They alternated between holding their breath and panting in quick, shaky gasps.

“Dakota?” Harold called, but there was no change.

John took a knee beside Dakota, reaching his arm over their legs to lean on his hand. This put his face pretty much in line with theirs, but also acted as body language that screamed ‘I’m in charge.’ The man schooled his expression into the cold calculated one he often wore. When he spoke, his voice held none of the playfulness it usually did when he spoke with Dakota. Instead, he used the commanding voice of a superior officer. “Open your eyes.”

Dakota did so immediately, sucking in a sharp breath. They made direct eye contact with John, and their eyes held so much desperation that he knew that, in that moment, they would have done anything he told them to. He dreaded to even imagine what Dakota’s captors had done with that sort of power.

Their heart was still beating rapidly and their breathing was quick and shallow, but at least Dakota was now seeing the world around them and not whatever hell they had been reliving moments before.

Subconsciously, their hand slipped from where it held their healed burn, and both their hands came to rest palm down on their thighs. Since they had never been allowed to speak, the organization had trained them to place their palms that way to signal that they were prepared to listen and follow orders. Whether those orders were to clean up a mess, bring water to someone being interrogated, dig a hole for a body, shoot someone who had outlived their usefulness, sit still and act as the knife throwing target, or what have you.

“That’s good,” John praised. “Now tell me, do you remember who I am?”

Dakota’s breathing slightly increased in pace. They were being given a command that contradicted their rules.

John quickly realized that Dakota had reverted to their previous set of rules upon receiving such a direct command. He added hastily, “nod for yes, shake your head for no. Do you remember who I am?”

Dakota nodded, eager to please and happy that the command was rectified.

“Good. Do you remember who he is?” John asked, pointing at Harold.

Dakota looked at the smaller man, who stood a few feet away. They then looked back at John and nodded again.

“Very good. And do you remember who this is?” Reese asked, putting his hand out for Finch to hand him Bear’s leash.

Again, they nodded. “Perfect. Now, you’re going to stand up. We are going to walk back in the direction we came from. You are not to look down this alleyway when we pass. Understood?”

They confirmed their understanding.

“Alright, let’s go.” John said, pushing himself up. Dakota struggled to their feet, but once they were up, their eyes remained fixed firmly on the ground. The men took up either side and they set off back towards the library.

The entire walk, Dakota’s eyes remained downcast. When they finally re-entered the library, Harold heaved a sigh of relief. John let Bear off his leash before falling into a chair. Now, he had to deal with the mess he had made.

• • •

Fin

#whumptober2022 #no.24 #catatonic #person of interest #fic #burns #self harm #flashbacks #whump #conditioned whumpee #recovery whump #self harm whump #emotional whump #whump writing

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qpr-competition · 1 year

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noooo I hit submit but it was right as submissions closed!!!

If anyone did submit Harold Finch and John Reese from Person Of Interest, here's some propaganda.

They saved each other, and they keep on doing so. Finch gave Reese a job and a purpose when he was so lost, and they slowly built up this trust. Reese doesn't have many friends -- just the one really -- and when Finch is in danger by god does Reese move heaven and earth to get him back safe. Finch trusts Reese, and Finch does not trust a lot of people-- just the one really -- and when Reese is in danger Finch will be there even as the seconds tick down. They save each other and keep on saving each other. They also have a dog named Bear.

looking at the submission data, no one else seems to have submitted them, sorry

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my-head-is-an-animal · 1 year

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Happy Wednesday

Chapter 17

Harold didn’t know what else to do, there was no other option as far as he could see. He needed you.

‘Harold, what is it?’ You woke up to the sound of your phone ringing loudly. You weren’t in the mood for a late night call. You hadn’t heard from Harold in weeks, not since you left on an icy note.

‘Please,’ he was crying. ‘I need to see you. Please, can I see you?’

‘What happened?’ You said, turning the light on and sitting up.

‘Evelyn, please, I just…’ he was breathing heavily, panicking. You jumped out of bed and began shoving on whatever clothes were nearby.

‘I’m coming.’ You said. ‘Harold, I’ll be at the library in twenty minutes, can you hang on?’

‘Yes, please hurry.’ Harold cried hard before hanging up.

You raced over to the library, not caring that you hadn’t alerted your security team. Harold needed you.

You ran up the stairs, Bear met you at the top, rushing with you to find Harold holding his head in his hands at his desk. He looked a mess, his tie was laying next to his glasses in front of him, and he was shaking.

‘Harold?’ You whispered, striding over to him. You placed your hand on his shoulder gently. ‘Hey, I’m here.’ Harold reached up to hold your hand, he was sweating and cold. ‘What happened to you?’

Harold turned his head a little, his cheeks wet with tears and you couldn’t help yourself. You kneeled down next to him, wiping away the wetness over his face.

‘You came.’ His voice was hoarse.

‘You asked me to.’ You smiled, sympathetically. ‘You sounded like you needed some help.’ He turned his head a little more to look at you. ‘What do you need, Harold? Just tell me and it’s yours.’

He was quiet for the longest time, something awful was going through his head, but you couldn’t tell what it was.

‘There was a bomb.’ He mustered. ‘It was strapped to John’s chest… I thought I was going to die…’ you sucked in a harsh breath, your hand still stroking his cheek. ‘All I could think about was how much I’d hurt you… I deserve to die without your forgiveness, I deserve to be punished for what I did.’

‘No, Harold,’ you shook your head, twisting his chair so that you knelt directly in front of him. ‘That is not your choice to make.’ You told him firmly. ‘You understand me, I will decide if I can forgive you, but you made a choice that was the right choice, knowing that it would mean we couldn’t be together, I’ve never blamed you for that. You don’t deserve to be punished for doing what you did to protect what we made. You don’t.’

Harold heard you, but whether he believed you was a different story. ‘I don’t deserve you anymore.’ He said, that statement hurting more than any other. ‘The only thing I want in the whole world and I don’t deserve it. I broke it, the promises I made to you, I treated them like they were nothing.’

‘You never lied to me, Harold.’ You shook your head. ‘You were always honest, and you always took care of me, you’re still taking care of me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’ You had in fact seen an increase in NYPD cars roaming around your block, likely something to do with Harold co-ordinating with Fusco and Carter.

‘I always hated your apartment.’ Harold confessed. ‘I always thought we’d get a house together, get married, and have a beautiful life together.’

‘So, did I.’ You smiled a little. ‘But life so rarely gives us what we want. It’s much more chaotic than that. All we can do is the best with what we have.’

Harold nodded. ‘You’re right. You were always right.’ Harold looked down at your face, examining every part of it, committing it to memory. ‘I’m still in love with you.’ You felt your heart cracking the same way it had been every time you spoke with Harold. You swallowed hard. ‘I don’t expect you to say it back, or even feel it, but you’re right, our best is all we can do, after that, it’s out of our hands.’

‘Yes, it is.’ You nodded.

‘I’m sorry I woke you.’ Harold frowned for a moment. ‘You must be exhausted.’

‘I am.’ You half laughed. ‘Why don’t we get some sleep? You look like you could do with some rest yourself.’

Harold’s eyes widened. ‘You mean you… in the same bed?’

You stood up straight, knowing that Harold needed this, and one night spent next to him might just be what you needed to.

‘You said you needed me,’ you could feel your adrenaline wearing off. ‘And it’s either this or the floor.’

You slid your hand into Harold’s and led him towards the bedroom he’d let you stay in while you were healing.

Harold was the perfect gentleman, despite wanting to watch you all night, he refused to turn around while you took your trousers off. You hadn’t bothered taking your oversized t-shirt off, instead shoving on a pair of sweatpants and Harold’s old brown jumper. You slid under the sheets and watched Harold exit the bathroom in his own pyjamas.

He hesitantly slid in next to you and lay flat staring at the ceiling, you watched him, still wide awake. You sighed and decided it was ridiculous to deny yourselves any longer. You moved closer to him, snuggling close to his body and wrapping your arms around him.

Harold was warm, breathing a little heavy for your liking, but he was beginning to relax and your eyes were growing heavier by the second.

‘If you’re uncomfortable at any point-‘

‘Harold.’ You mumbled into his shoulder.

‘Yes?’

‘Go to sleep.’

You woke feeling a warm body wrapped around yours, the familiar sounds of soft breathing close to your shoulder and neck, fingers interlocked with yours, legs tangled and the feeling of home seeping into your bones.

The sun was just starting to come up and you couldn’t have been asleep for very long, but the chance to feel Harold around you once more was worth remaining awake just a little longer for.

You remembered so many nights spent next to him, some of them more clearly than others. You loved the sound of Harold in a deep sleep, one that you knew he’d be well rested from, one that he sorely needed. You loved the feel of his body holding onto yours like he was scared to let go. And you adored the moments he woke, realising his position and kissed whatever skin he could reach.

Harold adjusted his position behind you, pulling you closer for a moment, his mouth grazing below your ear, sending warmth through your being, before letting go, realising where he was. He began moving back and away, but you weren’t ready.

‘Don’t.’ You whispered. ‘Please don’t let go.’

Harold didn’t move for a moment, contemplating what it meant, but eventually you felt his body settle against yours, pulling you closer once again. You found yourself pressing back against Harold, needing his body heat, needing to feel him loving you.

It was a moment, before Harold relaxed properly behind you, feeling like you really did want him to hold you. It was everything he needed.

You dozed for a while, just allowing the sun to come up before even considering getting out of bed. Harold shifted a little, before needing to lie on his back, it seemed he was in some discomfort and you suddenly remembered his injury. You turned to snuggle into his side, trying to be careful about where you put your weight.

‘Are you in pain?’ You whispered, your hand placed gently on Harold’s chest.

‘I’m used to it.’ He whispered back. You noticed his breathing was a little heavy.

‘Tell me what you need.’

Harold pulled his knees up and you shifted your lower body out of the way. ‘I’m just a little stiff.’ He moved his hips a little to try to loosen up his lower body.

‘If you need to get up…?’

Harold thought about it, before deciding it was best for him to get out of bed. You watched him struggle to stand, his hand going to his neck as he leaned against the wall for support. Your instinct was to get up and try to help.

‘No.’ Harold panted. ‘Please, I’m fine.’

You stepped back for a moment, letting him breathe through the pain, but it was too much for you to bear.

‘Harold, please let me help.’ You placed your hand on his lower back, making him flinch, but it seemed that your soft touch was exactly what he needed to feel some relief.

You listened to his breathing, assessing just how much pressure was needed and you soon felt just how stiff he really was. You massaged the tense muscle, slowly moving his shirt out of the way to massage the skin directly. The sound of relief that came from Harold was a surprise, but one that you knew he needed.

You continued to run your fingers over the scarred skin, never thinking twice about it and gently resting your head between his shoulder blades.

‘How’s that?’ You whispered.

Harold breathed out and you heard the smile he had on his face. ‘I haven’t felt such relief… ever.’

You closed your eyes, still massaging his back. ‘You need me to do your neck as well?’ You offered.

‘I don’t…’ Harold hesitated. ‘It’s okay. You’ve done enough.’ His hand came around to stop yours and you knew where this was heading.

‘Harold,’ you placed your free hand on top of his. ‘Please don’t do this.’ You begged. ‘You asked for my help, and I came. Don’t push me away now.’

Harold breathed deeply for a few minutes, thinking on what he should do.

‘I’m sorry.’ He breathed. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t do this.’

You swallowed hard and slowly took your hand away from his back. You felt disappointment fill your chest and tears fill your eyes. You felt humiliated. Harold had never done that to you before. You stepped away and Harold didn’t dare look back.

You cleared your throat, deciding enough was enough, you weren’t going to stand to be treated like this again. You went to pick up your clothes and leave, clearly you were no longer needed.

‘Wait.’ Harold stopped you. You turned reluctantly to see him leaning back against the wall, staring at you, his eyes scanning over your bare legs before shooting up to your face. He swallowed thickly. ‘I forgot something.’ You frowned, not understanding. ‘You were always more beautiful first thing in the morning than any other time of day.’ He swallowed again. ‘I always thought I imagined it, but every morning you’d get out of bed and I’d see the light surrounding you… like it is now.’

Harold’s eyes held yours, you knew what it would usually mean; whenever Harold looked at you like that before, you went back to bed and didn’t leave for an entire weekend. But this time, Harold didn’t move towards you, he wasn’t going to kiss you and you probably wouldn’t spend all day in bed.

‘I don’t know what that means anymore.’ You whispered.

Harold pushed himself off the wall, being careful not to take too many steps towards you in case you rejected him.

‘It means, I will never stop loving you,’ another sting in your chest. ‘And I think a part of you still loves me. I asked you to come here when I needed something, when I needed you, and you came without hesitation… people only do that when something still lingers between them.’ Harold’s eyes were filling with tears. ‘Last night, I thought I was going to die. I thought I would never again have the chance to prove that… we built something extraordinary and it will forever entwine us in more ways than we can conceive. I thought I would never get the chance to tell you how beautiful you are, and how I never believed myself to be worthy of you.’

You let a tear fall down your cheek, not having the energy to wipe it away anymore, you never did these days.

‘You asked me once,’ Harold continued. ‘Why I always gave you options, why I always told you that saying no was okay… I didn’t lie to you, but I’m not sure I ever realised the whole truth. I was giving you the option to walk away. To find someone like Alec to be with, because I knew that the time I got with you was everything I’d always wanted. And nothing lasts forever, so if you decided it was over, I convinced myself that I would be okay with that. I think at one time, I may have even believed it enough that it could be true… but then you agreed to marry me, and everything changed.’

You couldn’t stop your tears flooding from your face, but Harold kept going.

‘When you said yes, I knew that no matter what happened, I would spend the rest of my life with you in one way or another. I knew that I’d set myself up for heartbreak, because the second you decided you wanted to leave, I wouldn’t be able to handle it.’

‘So, making me believe you were dead was the solution?’ You said through stuttered breath.

‘It was a unique situation,’ Harold knew that was the wrong way to say it. ‘I always thought you could do better. I thought if I left, you would move on and live out your dreams and find someone who could give you more than I could.’

You sniffed, shaking your head. ‘And what about now?’

‘Now?’ Harold repeated. ‘Now, I see the truth, which was that it wasn’t my choice.’ He took another tentative step towards you. ‘I forgot to give you the option to stay with me, to help me after the accident… to care for me. If I had, I might have felt relief much sooner in my life.’

You nodded. ‘I would have made you get surgery.’

‘I know.’ Harold gave a brief smile. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you. It seems such a small thing to say given how you feel, but it’s true. I understand if you blame me for what happened, and if you decide to remain upset with me… I will understand that as well, but you should know something.’ Harold took the last step towards you, his body heat touching your skin. ‘There is nothing in this world that will change the way I feel for you, and there is nothing anyone can do that will hurt me more than the pain of knowing I hurt you for a second time.’ You frowned, asking the question. ‘If I had died last night, there would be no way for you to tell if it was real or not. Given the way I know you still feel about me, you may have believed it to be another fake and gone looking for me, which would have resulted in one of two things happening: either you would fail and realise you were chasing a ghost, or you would simply continue on. Lingering.’ Harold’s face contorted with pain once more. ‘I can’t do that to you again.’

You just stood crying in front of Harold, not knowing why you couldn’t stop and hoping he could take away the pain.

‘You’re right.’ You whispered, your breathing still heavy. ‘I do blame you for what happened.’ Harold didn’t seem anymore hurt or surprised. ‘But I am trying so hard not to, because I know the truth as well. None of this is your fault alone. We both made the machine what it is, and it saves a lot of people. It does it’s job and we couldn’t ask for more than that. It’s one of the reasons I’m so glad we put it out of reach.’ It was Harold’s turn to frown, making your mouth flicker a smile. ‘If I could get access to the machine, I would have done so much damage. I would have not only found you, but I would have gone looking for the people who killed Nathan.’ Harold kept his frown, not sure whether to believe you. ‘I’d never felt anger like it, and I don’t know what I would have done if I found the ones responsible.’

Harold instinctively lifted his hand to wipe your cheeks and for a fraction of a second you froze. You weren’t ready to be touched just yet. And Harold noticed.

‘I’m sorry.’ He breathed, slowly taking his hand away.

‘It’s okay.’ You shook your head. ‘You didn’t do that to me.’

‘No, but I did other things that were just as bad.’ Harold admitted.

You both stayed quiet for a while, just watching each other, awkwardly figuring out whether you should move away, but nothing seemed to be the right choice.

‘I miss waking up next to you.’ Harold suddenly said. ‘I miss making you laugh.’ He swallowed thickly. ‘Thank you for coming, for being with me a while. I know it must have been hard for you.’

You gave a brief smile. ‘That’s the thing. I actually found it the easiest thing I’ve done in a long time.’ There was a flicker of hope that drifted over Harold’s face, but you didn’t want him to hold too tightly to it. ‘I don’t know whether that was to do with yours or my needs, Harold. I may have been selfish.’

‘You know I never minded that.’ He said like instinct. ‘I always wanted you to have exactly what you wanted and never feel bad about asking for it.’

You nodded, another smile emerging on your face. ‘Yeah, and there was a lot I wanted from you. I wonder now if I didn’t give enough back.’

Harold shook his head to stop your train of thought. ‘Just being with me and being happy was all I ever asked for from you. That was more than enough for me.’ He could still see the doubt in your eyes. ‘That picture of us in your office, I remember that night vividly. It was a charity event that Nathan invited us to, it was the last time you wore that dress that you weren’t sure about.’

You started to remember what he was talking about. ‘It wasn’t that I wasn’t sure about it, it was just that I didn’t feel like myself at those things and the dress was… revealing.’

You both chuckled, quietly. ‘It was.’ Harold nodded. ‘But, for me, it was a blessing to know that everyone who looked at you in that dress might have been able to see a fraction of your beauty the way I see it. To understand just how important you are to the world and how lucky I was to be standing with you.’

Four years ago.

‘Are you sure the dress is still fine?’ You asked, adjusting your green dress in the hotel room mirror so that it covered your chest appropriately. ‘I feel like I might be wearing it in a little too much.’

Harold sighed coming up behind you, his hands wrapping around your waist as he spoke low against your neck. ‘You’re beautiful, the dress has nothing to do with it, but feel free to take it off.’

He made you giggle, before kissing below your ear and grabbing his jacket. Harold always had a way to make you smile when you felt insecure about yourself, or when you needed a distraction from what was going on around you. He was always there and you hoped he would be for a long time to come.

You went down to the function where Nathan was waiting to greet you. He pecked your cheek and shook Harold’s hand, you even danced together at one point, Harold watching on and feeling the familiar pang of jealousy that it wasn’t him holding you.

He sat at the table in the corner and just watched as you laughed at something Nathan said. Harold couldn’t express how much he adored you and Nathan getting along, he was worried you wouldn’t and at that point he wouldn’t have known what to do.

Harold finally got the chance to dance with you, but before you could get onto the dancefloor, Nathan insisted on a photo. Harold was nervous, he wasn’t one for public photos, but you seemed okay with it.

‘Just relax.’ You chuckled, your hand going to his chest, keeping his focus on you.

Harold’s hand immediately went around your waist, the other sliding into his trouser pocket and he was suddenly captivated by your expression. It was the same one that told him you loved every part of who he was, no matter what that was. The one that told him you only ever wanted to kiss him for the rest of your life.

Barely six months into your relationship and all Harold could do was think how you were the one for him. No questions.

‘Go dance.’ Nathan cheered, neither of you noticing that he’d even taken the picture, but Harold was grateful for the relief.

You swayed together on the dance floor, Harold couldn’t get enough of feeling your body close, feeling your soft hand placed in his, whispering low and making you giggle at small things that neither of you would ever remember.

‘Thank you for this, Harold.’ You said, tears in the corners of your eyes from laughing so much.

‘You’re welcome, but the night isn’t over yet.’ He flirted.

It made you laugh again, but you shook your head. ‘I don’t just mean tonight, I mean the last few months, taking me to events and… making me happy.’

It warmed Harold’s whole being to hear you say it. ‘It’s been a privilege.’ Harold told you. ‘Truly.’

You stayed dancing together for a little while longer, but when the opportunity arose, Harold suggested you go somewhere more private, like your hotel room.

‘Tell me what you want.’ You whispered against Harold’s lips as you entered the room, your arms around his shoulders, his around your waist.

‘To see you smile, hear you laugh.’ Harold smiled.

‘That’s not what I meant.’ You hummed, feeling his body pressing a little more into you.

‘I know what you meant.’ Harold pressed a soft kiss to your lips. ‘The answer is the same either way. I just want you to smile.’

Harold was an enigma, one you were sure would always hold some mystery for you, you were never really sure if he meant what he said or just giving you what he thought you wanted.

(Chapter link)

#harold finch x reader #harold finch fanfic #harold finch #finch x reader #person of interest

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realhankmccoy · 1 year

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youtube

I wonder if this is intentional double entendre...

Since I'm slobbering all over Michael Bolton's totem pole, why would people expect me to be the one to get out my decoder ring and slobber all over some experimental bourgeois style of writing? I'm clearly not that sort of person at heart. I'm the kind of person who listens to Bolton singing 'Georgia...' and wonders if he can push himself to get into that or not.

I mean, kids, I learned how to sing to the Purple and Core albums by Stone Temple Pilots. I learned how to read through a pile of Stephen King. It is pretty clear I am lower middle class from Marshall... how would I ever have the energy to make it through Gravity's Rainbow or Mason & Dixon by Pynchon? I didn't. I was like, well good for you looks pretty impressive, if this were more readable I'd prob finish it, damn, I'm really a bit ashamed of myself for failing but I can always come back to it...

Michael Bolton and iced coffees tho, wow, I mean so much wow goes on in my mind. If you hand me that Panda Bear album I'm just gonna say well is there a single on it? If you want to discuss Mount Eerie, I'll tell you that truth be told, I liked their album somewhat and saw it live but I couldn't name any of their songs. I mean, what do you expect? If you want to arrest somebody's attention, you do it with a Krispie Kreme. I'm only human -- do you kids have any idea how much I love my Macca's? Do ya? Do you think Harold Bloom or Camille Paglia or Northrop Frye would lovingly spend hours trying to decipher your stylings if they were homosexuals?

I don't get into Krispie Kream really tho, sorry. That's just... I dunno. Sometimes those long johns from gas stations? I like sugar, but not too much sugar.

I sure wouldn't expect some gay dude with daddy issues to decipher all my stuff. In fact, when whatshisface couldn't decipher my experimental stuff, I thought this was entirely forgivable.

That is because, however, I've never had a lot of respect for the experimental stylings of anyone and have always had to work to make myself appreciate them. Oh, how proud I was of myself at the age of 21 when I was appreciating Burroughs, knowing what work it can be to go through all those cut-up novels and such.

Did I ever really figure out what was going on very well? Fuck no, I did not. It's a great big white world and I can only decode so much. I am not a master decoder of singular prose stylings. That's not what I do.

Deffo don't ever look to me if you're looking for somebody who is going to process ANYTHING stylistically experimental very well or with a lot of patience. My brain just doesn't work that way. I'm the same way when I watch fashion shows on the runway and everything looks like an alien from outer space composed it.

What do I think? I think, well, that's probably really interesting and I should appreciate it, but this seems like a transmission from an alien from outer space and the bourgeoisie are so weird and I'm tired and I'm bored.

That's the kind of person I am. If you can get me up to the same level as the bourgeoisie who can watch those runway shows with excitement and enthusiasm and attention to the characters, please do. I'm open-minded. Same with on writing.

... but I am the sort of guy who walks to Circle K and Jack In the Box astride some dangerous highway for relief. This is the sort of guy I am, ok. Should I be more? Sure. Do I feel guilt for not being more? You bet. But you're gonna have to help me fix it cuz I can't fix myself.

... and pragmatically, learning how to watch those runway shows or appreciate those experimental singular writing styles properly is not on the top 10 list of 'Hank's shortcomings that need to be corrected' in my assessment of the situation.

I mean should they be? Should that be the highest priority, and why?

I think a place to live and maybe some sort of employment and some sort of more tangible purpose in life is what I need. Those are 3 things in the top 10 right now.

#Youtube

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piratefalls · 2 years

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“Find the Word” WIP Game

@ereborne tagged me to find “branch”, “silver”, “thoughtful”, and “please”

i won’t tag anybody, but if you want to, my words are: hungry, laugh, yellow, bottom

i’ll probably have to pull from a few different fics that will likely never be finished because my brain is stupid.

under a cut because i hate long posts. includes woke up married buddie, buddie velocipastor au, and an unfinished person of interest fic.

branch (from woke up married buddie)

Buck forgets about their agreement to be professional almost immediately.

Only moments after he’d walked back into the building the alarm had sounded and they were off to a call at an auto shop. Hen and Chim pepper Eddie with questions almost the whole way to the scene: in what branch did he serve, where’s he from, what made him choose fighting fires over anything else. Eddie seems to take it all in stride, and Buck is torn between feeling endeared to him and incredibly annoyed with how quickly his previously AWOL husband is being welcomed into the fold, so he does what he always does. He pokes the bear.

silver (also woke up married, unfinished scene)

They’re in the gym the next morning. Buck hates seeing Eddie all sweaty and disheveled. Buck wants to sink his fingers into Eddie’s hair, pull hard until all he has is miles of unmarked skin before him. But he can’t, because they aren’t really together, are probably going to talk tonight about the best way to end this thing.

[Of course, there’s the bomb in some guy’s leg.]

He knows about Eddie’s service from before, knows about the bullet wounds, the silvery scars that mark his shoulder, his thigh. He’s kissed those scars, reverent, pride welling in his chest, but the way Eddie talks about being familiar with this kind of ordnance is, well… It’s hot. Buck thinks he may be developing a competency kink.

As they’re gearing up, Bobby tells him that they usually wouldn’t send spouses into a dangerous situation together, and Buck laughs. “We’re not spouses, Bobby. Just married. There’s a big difference.”

thoughtful (nothing with that word, so i’m going with ‘thought’ because this velocipastor buddie au will probably never see the light of day)

In the predawn light Buck and Eddie find themselves wrapped around each other in Buck’s bed, safely tucked away in the loft Eddie’s going to ask him to move out of one of these days, when a thought strikes him.

“Hey, Buck.” A grunt. “What did they call sunrise in prehistoric times?”

“I don’t know, Eddie,” Buck replies, voice flat. “What did they call it?”

Eddie grins into Buck’s shoulder. “Megalo-dawn.”

Buck shoves him off the bed.

Worth it.

please (from my unfinished post-series person of interest/rinch fic i started many, many years ago)

Finch exhales, deep and long. “If you think I wished for your return solely because you are an exceptional field agent then I’m afraid that the failure lies solely with me.”

“Harold, you didn’t --”

“I am not what anyone would call good with my feelings, and I am even worse at expressing them when it is most needed. I have missed having you out in the field, I won’t deny it, but more important than that is the fact that you are my friend, and you have become… very important to me.”

That last part is said so quietly that Reese isn’t sure he hears it. “I’m… important, to you.”

Finch sighs, but the corner of his mouth is ticking up, and something in John’s chest settles into place. “You will always be welcome here, John, whether you are working for me or not. And while Ms. Shaw has been doing an admirable job in your absence, she doesn’t seem to share your affinity for taking out criminals at the knees.”

At that, John laughs, full and loud, and Finch finally smiles. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“Passionately,” he replies, taking another sip of his tea. “Please, Mr. Reese. It’s been awfully boring without you.”

John grins to himself. “Are you begging, Finch?”

“Hardly,” he scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “I simply wanted to make you aware of exactly how much your presence has been missed.”

#about me #my fics #my works in progress #and by progress i mean my fics doomed to languish on gdocs forever

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fuckyeahilike · 2 years

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Criminologist David Wilson Reviews Serial Killers From Movies & TV | Vanity Fair

What's interesting about this series (Mindhunter) is that it's also about that other trope that we see in a lot of Hollywood movies, that people like me (criminologists and profilers) would try and enter the mind of a serial killer. I am not interested in what motivates a serial killer. I am much more interested in who it is the serial killer is able to kill. If we concentrated our attention on the groups that serial killers constantly target, we would do a lot more to reduce the incidence of serial murder in our culture, as opposed to any number of offender profilers who claim that they can enter the mind of a serial killer.

If you really want to do something to reduce the incidence of serial murder in our culture, let's

1 - Challenge homophobia;

2 - Have a grownup debate about how we police those young men and young women who sell sexual services;

3 - and above all, let's try to work out why the elderly are so vulnerable in our culture because they don't have a voice and have no power.

A life of crime: Professor David Wilson - trying to understand why serial killers kill

I always say, don't try to understand the phenomenon of serial killing from the perspective of the motivation of the serial killer, try and understand the phenomenon from who it is the serial killer is able to kill.

"Overwhelmingly, they only kill from within five groups of people: the elderly, prostitutes, gay men, children and the group I call 'runaways and throwaways', kids leaving home. I always say to my students, look at access and opportunity first and worry about motivation last of all."

Certainly, this bears out in the history of British serial killing, from Jack the Ripper to the Moors murderers, Denis Nilsen to Ipswich murderer Steve Wright. Harold Shipman, the Manchester GP, known in the tabloids as "Dr Death", killed more than 200 elderly people by administering lethal doses of drugs while visiting them in their homes.

Bible John's victims were vulnerable because they were contravening the social mores of the day – young married women going out alone to the Barrowlands Over-25s night. This inhibited witnesses from coming forward, and in case of Pat Docker, sent the police on a false trail: she had lied to her family, saying she was going to another, more upmarket, dance hall.

"We, the public, create the conditions in which serial killers operate," says Wilson. "Our moralising about women who sell sexual services creates the circumstances which can be exploited by people who want to do those women harm. Our homophobia creates the circumstances in which gay men are the regular targets of serial killers. Our public policy which renders the elderly voiceless and isolated creates the circumstances that people like Shipman can exploit.

"What I try and do within the true crime genre is to say, OK, people are fascinated by offender profiling and serial killers. Let's harness that fascination to good public policy outcomes."

#David Wilson #videos #femicide #misogyny #feminism #homophobia #movies

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preacherboyd · 2 years

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Person of Interest | 1x01 Pilot

#harold finch #john reese #rinch #person of interest #poi #poi 1x01 #poiedit #tor gifs #i haven't seen the finale yet but #the perfect ending for this show for me #would be the two of them dying together :)#very full circle #very romantic #(i mean ideally i would want them to retire with bear somewhere warm but asldkfjhasdf when do shows ever have happy endings??)

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isagrimorie · 2 years

Note

For the ask prompts, 11 for mayhem twins (platonic) or shoot if you feel like it? Have a nice evening 🍀

Hi!

for this ask meme:

AO3

11: Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!” (John & Root)

The plan was Root would be running this mission with Shaw, and she'd said so but Root had thoroughly annoyed Shaw during breakfast-- Root didn't know stealing the last bit of pancake was that big a sin.

But this is how it shook out when Harold was handing out missions Shaw somehow finagled the solo recon work.

"Sweetie, I made this plan for us."

"Should have thought about that before you pulled that stunt earlier," her eyes twinkled with mischief then her focus shifted behind Root. "Good luck, Reese."

And so here Root was, trudging miserably in the snow with the big lug.

"What's the matter, Root, not having fun?" Reese asked.

Root scowled, "You weren't exactly my first choice, John."

"It's mutual."

The Machine had given them intel about a militia about to deliver high-powered rifles and steal the hardware for themselves. It's exactly the kind of mission Root knew Shaw enjoyed.

Despite the change of partners the mission had gone smoothly, Reese was great at what he does and together with Root's Machine guided covering fire they were able to shut down the sale. Reese and Root took the money and the guns and then sent a flare right where the Machine told Root some ATF agents were just driving around.

"You don't seem to be your chipper self," Reese said, breaking his silence. They were each lugging around a heavy bag of both money and guns. They were a few more feet away from their cars and all Root wanted to do was get out of this cold.

Root turned to look. "Why do you care?"

Reese lifted one shoulder, "I don't. You're just usually more talkative than this." He suddenly cocked his head to the side, listening. The Machine informed Root Shaw was talking to Reese.

Normally she would have chimed in with a cheeky "Hello, sweetie." but she was still feeling a little surly and she was too cold for New York winters in the middle of nowhere and really all Root wanted to do was return to the subway and curl up with hot cup of coffee and stare at a code she's been working on in her down--

The only warning Root got was a chirp and suddenly something hit her shoulder.

She turned around, incredulous. "Did you just--" but Root saw a snowball on Reese's hand. "Don’t you dare throw that snowba-- god dammit!"

The next snowball hit her shoulder it was soft and squishy and cold. Root could only stare at Reese, "What was that about?"

There was a twinkle of amusement in Reese's eyes. "Shaw said, 'hey'."

"Shaw told you to throw snow at me."

"No, I told you him to shoot you in the leg to get you out of the funk you're in" Shaw's voice came through her comms. Despite the cold, Root suddenly felt something warm settle in her chest. They crossed into the sector where the network reached their comm and Root hadn't noticed.

Root smiled despite herself, "Aww… you care."

Shaw made a disagreeing sound. "Just get yourselves to base. Someone needs to babysit Bear."

"Of course, we'll make it for... Bear."

Another voice entered the conversation. "Safe travels, John, Miss Groves."

Reese moved closer to Root, she looked up and saw the slight quirk of his lips that could be a smile.

"C'mon, I heard the Number gave Shaw some steaks."

Root was suddenly struck with a fondness for Reese and was almost moved to say so but instead said, "The Machine said that with your height and density you'll freeze in three hours without any heat."

"Okay."

Root shrugged, "Just remember that in the future, the Machine thinks you need it."

He did smile then, "Copy that."

#answered #taramacgay #fic meme #person of interest #john reese #somewhere in season 4 but #shaw was kidnapped after winter #sameen shaw #harold finch #sam groves #otp: root and shaw #you can't take the sky from me #mayhem twins

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themirokai · 1 year

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POI 03x18: Allegiance

Avid followers of Miro Does POI (please know that I cherish each of you) will have noticed that I didn’t do a post for 03x17: Root Path. Aaand that’s because I don’t have much to say about it. I’m not crazy about the Root & The Machine thing. Idk. I love Amy Acker (and my god is she adorable) and she’s a great actress but this isn’t doing it for me. It’s getting pretty far from the original dynamic of the show that I fell in love with and pushing the technology magical realism aspects that I’m less into. I’m pretty sure the show is going more in this direction, and that bums me out a bit.

Anyway, now on to Allegiance which I mostly liked! I’m not finding the gifs I want through gif search, so we’re going to have a bunch of links to gif posts (thanks to @managerie76 ‘s superb archive) since I want to be more respectful of the gif makers’ hard work.

A moment of appreciation for Harold’s great outfit. Love the color.

The opening had wonderful Bear content. Harold, put the treats in a cabinet!

There was this great moment of Shaw and John talking about food. I adore when the show gives us quiet moments like this of the characters just relating to each other. Also I’m having fic thoughts about John cooking and Shaw critiquing him.

John jumps out of a 3rd(4th???) story window and LITERALLY shrugs it off and walks away??? I’m willing to suspend a lot of disbelief for this show, but this is pushing it.

John! Patting! Harold’s! Chest! Excuse me while I have the vapors. It’s so damn affectionate. Bless the gif maker of that post for the slowed down close up.

In the safe house Shaw says “my boys” keep booze around and I really love that she calls them that.

Ok, a quibble: if they were going to the UN to save Maria, couldn’t they just have called her and said “We got Omar! Stand down!”? Obviously we want the big set piece but it seems like it could have been better justified.

I did not like Root taking Bear!!! Idk it just feels like a violation to me.

But the Fusco and Shaw dynamic was fantastic throughout and especially at the end.

So yeah I liked this one.

#miro does poi #person of interest #poi 03x18: allegiance #irrelevants #rinch

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rinchfest · 3 years

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Announcing Rinch Fest 2021, a ship week for Harold Finch/John Reese from Person of Interest! This is a low-pressure event meant to encourage the creation of more fanworks for Finch/Reese. Fic, art, gifs, vids, podfic, you name it—all are welcome, as long as they’re Rinch-centric.

Posting for the first Rinch Fest will run from September 24 through September 30, 2021.

PROMPTS:

Day One Fix-it • Tropes • Setting/Genre-Change AU • Hugs

Day Two Angst • Wedding/Engagement • Retirement • Clothes

Day Three Food/Drinks/Cooking • Pets/Animals • Fluff • Established Relationship

Day Four Domesticity • Dark • The Machine • Getting Together

Day Five Reese Whump • Pining • Babies/Kids • Crossover

Day Six Finch Whump • NSFW/Kink • Canon-divergence AU • Casefic

Day Seven Free-for-All/Catch-Up Day

Keep reading for the FAQ!

Who's running this? @argylepiratewd

Why not call it Rinch Week? It started out as Rinch Fest on The Rinch Loft on Discord, and that's what stuck.

Plus, Rinch Fest and Reese & Finch share the same initials.

What’s allowed? Complete fanworks focusing on Harold Finch and John Reese in a romantic relationship with each other. Fic, art, vids, remixes, sequels, you name it! No length requirements, no style requirements, all ratings allowed—do what you want!

Anything not allowed? Works where Finch/Reese is not the primary romantic relationship (additional ships are fine), works that are incomplete at the time of posting, and remixes or other transformative works for other people's fanworks that are done without the original creator’s permission. Anything else is fair game, as long as it’s labeled.

Also, don’t be a jerk.

What about [insert controversial topic here]? Can I make something with x?/OMG someone made something with x! Anything else is fair game, as long as it’s labeled. This includes works featuring tropes and kinks that you may not like or approve of. As long as it’s warned for, it’s fine and allowed.

Please warn for the usual AO3 warnings (Major Character Death, Graphic Violence, Rape/Non-Con, and Underage) and any subjects others may find deeply unpleasant, and clearly label any NSFW works.

What about poly? Gen? Poly and gen are wonderful, but this is a (shippy) Finch/Reese event. Sorry.

What do I do with x prompt?/Can I do [insert concept here]? Anything goes! Seriously, however you want to interpret a prompt is fine. Retirement could be happy retirement for the guys, it could be John still grappling with the CIA’s version, or something else. Pets/Animals could be Bear or a new pet, John petting Harold's hair or belly or booty, someone turning into an animal, or something else. Kids could be human children (born or unborn) or goat children. Dark could be dark concepts or literal darkness or something else. Your choice!

Do I have to make something for every prompt? No! You can if you want, but it’s not required. Feel free to skip days, combine prompts, create multiple fills for each day, anything! This is as flexible as it gets.

If it fits multiple prompts, when do I post it? Whatever day works best for you!

What if I want to do something NSFW for another prompt? Do I have to wait until Day Six to post it? Nope!

What about a multi-chapter/piece thing where each chapter fulfills one day’s prompt? When do I post that? Post an update each relevant day until you’re done! (Just make sure you can finish it by the end of the event.)

What if it doesn't fit a prompt? That's what Day 7 is for! :D

What if I need to post my fill(s) on a different day? Life happens. The AO3 collection is set to Unrevealed, so I can reveal early submissions on the right day, but if that doesn't work for you, I'm sure we can work something out.

Can I work on a previously-posted WIP? As long as it’s finished when you make your post for the event, sure! If you're just updating a WIP without finishing it, no.

Can I start working now? Absolutely! That's why I'm announcing it now—so there's plenty of time for people to make things.

Can I talk about/share previews of what I’m working on? Sure!

Wait, there's a Rinch Discord server? Do I have to join to do this? Of course not. We’d love to have you at The Rinch Loft, and it’s a fun place to hang out, but Rinch Fest is for anyone into Rinch.

If I want the Discord link… Send in an Ask, message @argylepiratewd, or ask around. It’s open to anyone who likes Rinch or Person of Interest. I’m happy to give it out to anyone who wants it.

Where do I post? On Tumblr, post to your blog and use the #rinchfest21 or #rinchweek21 tags. You are They are being watched. 👁 And maybe add @rinchfest in your post to be sure. Tumblr is as hungry as Bear and Shaw.

Submissions are also open.

On AO3, there’s a Rinch Fest 2021 collection here.

Do I have to have a Tumblr? AO3? As long as you’re on some kind of platform and can get a link to the work to me somehow so I can share it with the world, you’re welcome to play.

On October 1st, I'll make a round-up post full of links to all the shiny things people made. If I know you made it, it'll go in!

What time zone? The daily prompt posts will be going up at 12 am Central Time, but as long as it's the relevant day for your fill somewhere in the world, go ahead and throw it in!

(And if you want to sneak in some Day 7 things a little after, as long as they get posted before the Master Post goes up... 😉)

How do I post? There's an early posting guide here! Those instructions should be mostly applicable if you posting on the day that goes with your chosen prompt as well—just adjust them as needed.

Sounds fun! How do I sign up? No signups! Just post your stuff somewhere on the right day(s), and you’re in!

#rinch #harold finch #john reese #person of interest #poi #rinchfest21 #rinchweek21

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whump-or-whatever · 1 year

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Whumptober Day 31

Prompts: A light at the end of the tunnel - comfort | bedside vigil | “you can rest now”

Fandom: Person of Interest

Summary: Dakota and Harold have a misunderstanding.

• • •

Nearly two hours had passed since Harold had last seen Dakota. The man was so immersed in his work that he didn’t notice they had returned until they set a book down gently on the table beside him. No sooner had the book left their fingertips than they knelt down on the ground, head bowed, hands flat on their thighs.

Harold’s brow furrowed in confusion. Picking up the book, he noticed a few small dents on the cover which he suspected were teeth marks. His suspicions were confirmed as he flipped it over and found a spot of slobber on the back.

Just then, Bear came trotting in with a chew toy in his mouth, tail wagging happily.

Looking back at Dakota, Harold noticed their shoulders trembling. Realization struck through him and his blood ran cold. Harold had jokingly asked them to make sure Bear didn’t chew up any books. They had taken this as a serious command. Now, they perceived the damage to the book as failure to follow orders. They were waiting to be punished.

“Thank you, Dakota,” Harold said carefully.

Ever so slowly, Dakota raised their head, eyes wide, to look at Harold. He gave them a small smile in return. “Remember what John said, we will not punish you. Were it not for your swift intervention, Bear would surely have destroyed the entire book.”

Dakota looked confused, as if they weren’t quite sure what to do with themself. It broke Harold’s heart to see just how lost they were, and for a moment he mentally cursed the machine for giving them Dakota’s number so late.

With pain in his heart, Harold reached out to the still-kneeling figure. Dakota stiffened minutely, eyeing Harold cautiously. Harold moved slowly, placing his hand in their hair. “You did a good job, Dakota.”

With his words, the tension seemed to flow out of Dakota like water. Their eyes fell closed and they looked more peaceful than Harold had seen them even in sleep. He continued to run his hand through their hair, and Dakota leaned their head against the side of Harold’s leg, nuzzling against him encouragingly.

This was rather foreign to Harold, but it seemed to calm Dakota, which he was glad for. “Would you like to stay like this while I work?” Harold asked awkwardly.

Dakota nodded against his leg. They felt like they were floating. It had been so long since they had received comfort from someone that hadn’t hurt them.

“Very well,” Harold said. “But please make sure to re-adjust your position if you feel any discomfort. And please let me know when you want me to stop.”

Dakota nodded again, pressing their head up into Harold’s hand. Harold smiled sadly and continued threading his fingers through their hair soothingly. With his other hand he continued researching the number John was out tailing.

• • •

An hour and a half later, John returned to the library to find Dakota asleep sitting on the floor, head leaned against Harold’s leg. The taller man raised an eyebrow at his employer humorously. “Rough day?”

Harold looked down at Dakota. “You might say that.” He picked up the book and handed it to John, who accepted it with a furrowed brow. As he turned it over in his hands, however, his face softened in realization.

Harold pursed his lips. “They brought me the book and then they knelt down and they were… they were shaking and… I think they were waiting to be punished.”

John nodded. “Well, it seems like you handled it. All’s well that ends well.”

Dakota stirred, humming contentedly and nuzzling against Harold’s leg. Harold placed his hand on their head once more and leaned down slightly. “Dakota, John is back. Why don’t you get up and stretch your legs?”

Dakota opened their eyes blearily and stood up slowly, stretching. John smiled at them, “good morning sleepyhead.”

A small smile crossed their face. They patted their leg and Bear came running from around the corner, allowing Dakota to give him scratch on the head.

• • •

Fin

#whumptober2022 #no.31 #comfort #person of interest #fic #conditioning #kneeling #conditioned whumpee #kneeling whump #whump #silent whumpee #whump writing

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flaminpumpkin · 3 years

Text

Happy birthday, Jordan

It wasn’t even 4am when Hal woke up to the gentle green glow of his ring announcing a new message from the Corps. They really couldn’t leave him alone, even on his birthday now, could they?

He had half a mind to pretend not to notice and go back to sleep. His last mission had been short but exhausting, leaving him completely drained. His dark circles had dark circles at this point, even though he had slept basically all day the day before, waking up only to go to the bathroom and eat half an apple and a toast.

Unfortunately for him – and fortunately for the Corps – Hal Jordan was a devoted man and an Honor Lantern so he kind of had to.

With a loud groan, he straightened a bit so he could prop his chin in his hand, not moving from his position on the bed where he was sprawled on his stomach, pillow still half under him. He had been Earth-side for barely two days, if they were expecting from him to look decent, they could fuck right off.

But when he ordered his ring to open the message, he was greeted by a short and simple: Happy birthday, Hal! Just this. It made him smile (and also breathe a bit more easily, he really didn’t want to go back to space this quickly.)

Then his ring pinged again and there was a little hologram of his fellow Green Lanterns. He could see Kilowog and Tomar, Jess and Simon. John and Kyle, the younger man grinning like a five year old as he held a notepad with a caricature of Hal drawn on it and come on Kyle, my head is not that big. There was also Guy. Who was… Hal sighed, shaking his head. Guy was harboring a shit eating grin while flipping him off. Typical.

Before going back to sleep, he sent back a simple thank you note to all of them and then, for good measure, he sent another one to Guy with a hologram of himself flipping the bird.

He swore he could hear him laugh all the way to earth. That asshole.

* * *

The second time he woke up, around three o’clock in the afternoon, Hal felt a lot less like a zombie. He probably still had a few hours of sleep to catch up on but it was nothing he couldn’t survive without. He had to be up in a couple of hours for monitor duty anyway, so might as well wake up a bit earlier and enjoy some peace before going back to work.

There was a little cardboard box on his kitchen counter when he emerged from the shower, with a fancy little ribbon and a card. He didn’t even need to open the card to know who it was.

Firstly, because Carol was the only one, with Barry, who had a spare key to his apartment in case he had an emergency call from the Corps and, secondly, because it just had her name written all over it. He recognized the design on the box being from that fancy French bakery close to her apartment and knew that when he would open it, he’d find a generous slice of their famous lemon meringue pie.

He ate it in silence with some coffee, responding to the different birthday wishes he had received. Some were from Tom and a bunch of coworkers. There were also several audio messages from his nephew and niece trying to figure out how to work around the feature until their parents probably had had enough and had decided to take family photos instead. Six in total, all of them blurry. But at least Hal could somehow guess what was written on the sign his niece was holding. It made him laugh and he decided to call his brother, just to tease him.

They ended up talking for a while. It felt good, this small bit of normalcy.

* * *

Hal was on his way for the monitor room, two cups of coffee in hands, when he heard someone call his name. Ah. He had hoped no one would catch him before monitor duty. He was already on the brink of running late and god knew Batman disliked lateness. But hey, after all it was his birthday.

“Hal! Hang on!”

He turned around just when Clark arrived at his level. The other man was smiling widely at him, holding a small plate with a cupcake on it in his big hands and looking like an oversized golden retriever puppy.

“Lois made enough cupcakes for an army because she was bored at home yesterday – I’m starting to think that forced leave really wasn’t our boss’ greatest idea but anyway. She told me to bring it here for everyone,” he said before Hal could even ask anything. “There’s a whole plate in the lounge but with Barry around I thought I’d give you one for your birthday before he wolfs them down.”

He snorted at that because, honestly, that was fair. Because of his powers, Barry was basically a walking stomach and everybody knew he had a giant sweet tooth.

“Thanks, Clark.”

“You’re welcome. And happy birthday!” he said, floating away.

Hal had given up on trying to balance the plate and his two cups in his hands, using a construct instead, when Dinah pounced on him, quickly followed by Oliver and Barry. She was the first one to hug him, kissing his cheek gently.

“Happy birthday, hot stuff.”

“Thanks, Di.”

“Hal, my man! Happy birthday!” Oliver shouted before squishing Hal’s cheek between two big, callous hands, not even waiting for Dinah to be out of his arms.

In retrospect, he should have expected it – it was Oliver after all, the guy didn’t know what “inhibition” meant – but, he couldn’t stop his eyes from going wide as saucers as the blond placed a resounding kiss right on his lips.

“So? How’s that for a birthday present?” he asked, smug, earning himself an eye roll from both Barry and Dinah.

“That was my present?”

“Yes. Wonderful isn’t?”

“Truly. I’m delighted. Such a generous present.”

“I’m a generous man.”

“So charitable.”

All eyes turned on Barry.

“Was that sarcasm, Bear?”

The speedster fixed Oliver with a blank stare. He looked even more exasperated than usual, which made Hal snicker. People assumed way too often that Barry was a goody two shoes but Hal had witnessed firsthand how quick witted he really was. “A snarky little shit” Oliver had called him once. And he was right.

“Happy birthday, Harold,” Barry said after a few seconds of silent judgement, opening his arms to embrace Hal.

He returned the hug good heartedly.

“Bear, you can’t wish me happy birthday and then call me Harold. That’s not legal, buddy.”

“Just say thank you.”

Hal simply squeezed him one last time before letting him go, winking at the group as he started to walk down the corridor again.

“Gotta go. Don’t want Bats to be mad at me on my birthday.”

“Like that would bother you!”

“Well yes, actually,” he almost said but he didn’t want to spend the next thirty minutes explaining to Oliver why so he pretended he hadn’t heard.

Truth was, Hal and Bruce were friends. Good friends, even. Recently, the pilot had even caught himself hoping for them to become more than that. They still had disagreements of course, they were both stubborn but they were past that now. Most of the time, it felt more like some weird kind of aggressive flirting than a real fight.

Hal enjoyed the other man’s company, especially now that he was comfortable enough with him to talk about more personal matters, like his family and boy did Bruce had things to say about the weird little clique that was his family. The fond look on his face just made it all the more worth it.

He cherished those hours spent together on the Watchtower, sometimes wishing they could do this outside of their hero work. Maybe he could pretend to need help on the Javelin’s new update to see him. She needed one and the only other person who knew her as well as Hal did was Bruce. He could buy him dinner too.

Sounds like a plan, he thought, entering the monitor room.

Bruce was already there, of course. His cowl was pulled back like every time when they were paired up, his hair looking ridiculously good even mussed. The man was always so effortlessly pretty, it was revolting.

“You’re late, Jordan.”

He didn’t even glance in Hal’s direction but it wasn’t like he needed to check that it was him.

“Better late than never, Spooks.”

That earned him a huff and then he saw Bruce slide a cup of coffee towards him on the desk.

Oh.

“It’s probably cold now.”

Lukewarm was probably more accurate – Hal wasn’t that late. But he refrained from mentioning it to the other man, instead grabbing the two still steaming cups from his tray construct and handing his to Bruce.

“I thought about preparing some too, so lucky us, I guess.”

He smirked at the Bat, oddly proud when Bruce smiled back, even just slightly.

“Miss Lane’s?” Bruce asked, nodding in direction of his construct while taking a sip of his coffee.

Hal looked back at the still floating, green glowing tray and reached out to retrieve the plate Clark had given him.

“Yep. Wanna share? It was your birthday yesterday after all. And happy belated birthday. By the way.”

It wasn’t lost on Hal that he had completely forgotten to even text him for his birthday but, like he had said, better late than never. He knew it probably hadn’t bothered Bruce, maybe hadn’t even registered with him that Hal hadn’t said anything but it sure did bother the pilot that he had forgotten. Bruce smiled again anyway, something small and secretive. Something just for him to see. Hal could feel an unusual blush creep up his cheeks.

“No, thank you,” Bruce said, turning back towards the screens in front of them, the cup Hal had given him cradled in his gauntleted hands. “Clark actually flew all the way to Gotham yesterday to bring us some. I left it for the kids. Too sweet.”

Hal had to laugh at that.

“Says the guy who takes his coffee with a metric ass load of sugar and cream in it.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

Bruce side-eyed him, half hiding a smirk behind the rim of his cup and Hal laughed again.

They focused on the monitors after that, a companionable silence between them, and Hal regretted not sleeping those two extra hours earlier. He could feel the bone deep tiredness take over him after a mere half an hour, his body sagging in his chair and relaxing into it despite his best efforts to stay alert.

He was nodding off, barely even conscious anymore, when he felt Bruce take his cup from his lax fingers.

“Idiot,” he heard him whisper and Hal wanted to retort something but he was too far gone to even form a coherent thought at this point.

Then he felt fingers graze his forehead, brushing away wild strands of hair, followed by a pair of slightly chapped lips pressing there. He automatically leaned into the gentle touch, sighing long and deep. The lips stayed there a second longer, lingering and warming up his skin, his whole body.

Hal wanted to wake up, to say something cheeky or, even better, just kiss Bruce. Properly. On the lips. Like he had been longing to do. But all he managed was a weak little whine as he turned his head towards the other man.

“Happy birthday, Jordan,” was the last thing he heard before drifting off completely.

(A few seconds later. Training room. Watchtower.

“Hey, Ollie?”

“What is it, Barry?”

“I think I just saw Bruce kiss Hal.”

“WHAT?!”)

#happy birthday Hal!#batlantern #hal jordan #green lantern #clemwrites

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