#he said like every bad thing aside from actually saying slurs

[ozthearchivist]

im feelin transphobia in this Chilli’s tonight

[surgepricing]

RWBY Final Thoughts: Legacy

Very rarely would I ever consider a fandom on its own worth its own section of a Final Thoughts. ... [Basically,] they behave like a cult.

This is a repost of a post I made February 1st, 2024 on another site. At the time, it was the final post of a deep-dive recap of RWBY and the history of the show, its fandom, and its direction under Rooster Teeth.

I felt this out with some of my peers and the feedback I got in relation to posting in on Tumblr was that, well, why not? It was my main haunt to begin with, and I may as well, since Rooster Teeth is closing its doors. I'm posting this mainly as a shot in the dark just to see how it gets received. Only minor edits have been made; I'm sure there's some stuff in here that would make people mad, but that applies to pretty much anything someone could say about RWBY. Click the read more to get a glance at how my time with RWBY ultimately wrapped up.

Nine years ago today, Monty Oum died of an allergic reaction. Today is a day of mourning for fans of his work, including RWBY. There’s no sense in waiting. Let’s finish this and heal.

The Showrunners

Miles and Kerry often received the brunt of the attention when it came to RWBY. As the writers of the show, they bore responsibility for the largest chunk of why it eventually went into the shitter, and fan anger against them was almost certainly not helped by the damn near idolization heaped on them by fervent stans. They are, undoubtedly, the focal point of RWBY fans’ parasocial relationship with the show.

Of course, despite sharing about the same credits space as his partner in crime, Kerry tended to fly under the radar a lot, with it being Miles who received the brunt of the fandom’s fury with each successive volume. It’s not hard to see why; the character Miles voices has been consistently over-exposed and is in many ways an obvious creator’s pet, with denials as to this fact falling on deaf ears as Jaune’s screentime continued to balloon past its merits, whereas the character Kerry voices could just about wrangle an average of ten seconds of screentime every three years. Certainly Miles has been in trouble with fans more often than Kerry for the shit he’s said and done. The Ruby body pillow and the Tifa Lockhart ‘prostitute’ comments come to mind. Oh, and the slurs, that one too.

But perhaps the reason Miles gets so much more flak than Kerry is that Miles just...acts like an asshole a lot of the time. Even aside from above examples, Miles’ flaws come out in his writing: he’s petty, holds grudges, can’t take criticism, and just overall has way more power over the story than someone of his caliber should. He’s very poor at disguising his real feelings and often lets them bleed through, and when he actually decides to voice them on purpose, things get ugly—refer to that Cameo about Ironwood.

But as tempting as it is to treat Miles as an out-of-control cockwaffle on the rampage and Kerry as his sympathetic ineffectual shadow, the reality is that they’re co-writers, have been for ten years, and anything Miles gets away with doing is as much Kerry’s fault as his. If the Gray Haddock situation has taught us anything, it’s that more people tend to harbor blame than the one individual that makes an easy scapegoat.

Since aside from aforementioned n-word business, Miles and Kerry are almost never connected to moral outrage, this makes it easy for the stans to uphold them, since all they really have to defend them from is accusations that they didn’t honor Monty’s “vision” for the series. This is only easy because the stans are fucking insane, but that’s for later on down the page.

“Vision” is in quotes because that’s how fans treat it, we all know they don’t really care. Miles and Kerry’s vision matters, and we know that much because of Calixyn’s interview where she all but begged to be told that RWBY Volume 5 was as bad as it was because the “good bois” had control of the show ripped from them. Nope, turns out all that racism, homophobia, and plain shitty writing is all on them. But at least they’re nice!

(Miles was 26 when he said the n-word. I’m 26 now when writing this. I think it’s pretty fair to call him an asshole.)

But the truth is that it’s objectively stupid to think that the direction of RWBY hasn’t changed since Monty’s passing, it’s impossible for it not to have. There are more writers on board than before, and it’s been a long time since he was alive to contribute his thoughts. The real question is whether they at least tried, and I don’t think they did.

I mean, Shane Newville never names Miles and Kerry in his letter, but he does state several times that the choices made for the show were not only not what Monty wanted, but “straight up just shitting all over what Monty made”. I find it very difficult to believe that that insinuation, and all of the people caught up in the net it casts, wouldn’t include those two. And like it or not, but the person who is able to compile tons of clips and interviews over the years as some sort of seeming immutable proof that “CRWBY” are good-hearted people determined to preserve Monty’s vision, isn’t really looking at any more evidence than the person who’s come to the conclusion, based on what they’ve seen, that that the opposite is true. And they’re certainly looking at less evidence than the people who actually did work there around Monty, Miles, and Kerry. The facts sometimes boil down to ‘if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, and is implicated in the walls of text like a duck, it’s probably a duck’, guys.

Even in the best case scenario in which the work of Monty Oum turns out to have been treated with dignity and respect (and was just really shittily written from the beginning), the fact remains that Miles and Kerry did not put a quality product into the world. I will be very surprised if either of them manages to get a lead writing position ever again, because once the popularity of RWBY fades, so too will the goodwill they’ve somehow amassed among its fans. RWBY, much like Twilight, is inevitably going to taint the people who were in charge of writing it.

But Miles and Kerry are just two dudes. What exactly is going to happen to those fervent fans who hung on their every word and insisted they were the embodiment of everything pure and innocent? What, exactly, is going to happen to the RWBY fandom that once seemed to be unavoidably populous on the internet?

F, N, D, M

We already went over “constructive criticism” and “worldbuilding”, so let’s add another eternally-misused word to our roster. You know, something I’ve occasionally thought about in terms of online spaces is that no one knows what a “comfort show” is. It’s one of those terms that became too popular almost as soon as it was introduced, to the point that it became meaningless, much like “hyperfixation” and “anxiety”. I see people refer to RWBY as their comfort show and I’m just like...how? A comfort show is supposed to be the show that always puts you in a good headspace, a show you rest easy with because you’ve always connected with it because the love was always there. A comfort show is a show that you watch in your down moments to feel better, not a show you think is just the greatest thing ever, the bees’ knees if you will.

A comfort show is not a show you force yourself to like, it is not a show you defend at all costs, and it is not a show you only still cling to because enjoying it once coincided with a time when you felt popular and among friends. Which, increasingly, seems to have been the case for RWBY fans.

RWBY’s Fandom

Very rarely would I ever consider a fandom on its own worth its own section of a Final Thoughts. But I’m doing it now because the RWBY fandom, though now it’s a shadow of its former self, is still a sizable chunk of people and took a lot longer to die than most other fandoms.

The RWBY fandom itself was an especially big and very online fandom, and the show produced an abnormally large amount of big name fans who continued to use their own influence to push its success and keep its momentum going. As I’ve said before, the RWBY fandom is something that Rooster Teeth were able to extract an excessive amount of praise out of for minimal effort; it simply seems to be in RWBY fans’ nature to speculate and theorize and over-analyze and fill in blanks, and to perceive good writing and animation where there is none. But you know how fandom operates—the bigger its size, the more infamous it becomes.

Long since famed for being especially toxic, those who are in the know consider RWBY fans a different breed, really. They create and move narratives at high speed and act quickly to correct any perceived dissent in the ranks, casting out anyone that feels disillusionment with the product and insisting everything is peachy even as their world crumbles around them. To RWBY fans, the “CRWBY” are always separate from the “problematic” aspects of Rooster Teeth (which is basically the whole company) and it doesn’t matter how many of its flaws get highlighted; RWBY and the people that make it are always great, innocent of any harm done and fantastic, and anyone that dislikes them is a villain—even if those people were at one point part of the “CRWBY” themselves. Loyalty is everything. In other words, they behave like a cult.Those acronyms themselves have always bothered me, and I’ve grown a strong distaste for them. Originally they were just a quirk of the show; a format for team names that spawned the name of the show and eventually stopped being relevant altogether. But RWBY fans are simply unable to not use them. It’s not “the fandom” it’s “the FNDM”. They’re not “the RWBY team” or “the RWBY crew”, they’re “CRWBY”. Even people that the fans are actively trying to shame, shun, and harass don’t get to simply be people—they’re “RWDE” and, when that became an actual community of sorts unto itself, was switched to “HTDM”, short for “hatedom”. They remind me distinctly of code words that get formed and passed around in cult movements, identifying terms that quickly provide boxes to put people in and make it easier to sort loyals from disloyals. “Hatedom” itself is another one of those terms that spread and got so prolific it really doesn’t carry any meaning anymore. Real hatedoms are surprisingly rare, guys. Every fandom that becomes big enough for its respective product to become criticized eventually comes to believe it has a ‘hatedom’ because how could someone dislike something I like so much? But a hatedom on its own arises out of very specific circumstances and environments, and causes the spread of hate for a product based on broad foundations that are often unfair to the product and which creates perceptions that spread faster than the work, so that the work is often talked about in mocking reference rather than true dissatisfaction.

RWBY doesn’t have a hatedom guys, it never did. The Last of Us doesn’t have a hatedom. Fairy Tail didn’t have a hatedom. Blackpink doesn’t have a hatedom. Even Marvel doesn’t have a hatedom.

Paris Hilton had a hatedom. Nickelback had a hatedom. Hell, the website Tumblr itself had a hatedom. These were examples of people or products whose reputations spread too quickly and eventually swallowed rational perception of them, with people who have never experienced them or their work dismissing them and the fans who enjoy it wholesale.

Using the term “hatedom” is understandably common because (and in spite of the fact that) it allows for easy miscategorization. A hatedom is not composed of people that were actually exposed to the work, found it lacking, and expressed that. A hatedom does not occur in the wake of a product that was so bad it pissed off its fans and caused them to walk. People don’t hate Metroid: Other M because they can’t stand the sight of a woman being vulnerable and don’t understand challenging drama, they hate it because it was poorly written, badly designed, and tarnished a long-running and highly cherished gaming heroine’s reputation. People didn’t hate Fifty Shades of Grey because of some bias against women expressing their sexual freedom, they hated it because it was a wildly misogynistic and badly-written piece of dreck. People didn’t hate The Last of Us Part II because of homophobia and transphobia, they hated it because it was a misery fest with a tired moral theme that posited itself far more deep and compelling than it really was. And just because people with the above disingenuous views also hated these things does not discount the fact that the works got the reputations they did because they were getting back the exact amount of love and respect that was put into them.

Similarly, RWBY doesn’t have a hatedom. It does, in fact, have an ex-fandom. Those are also things you don’t see very often, but when you do, they almost always follow the same pattern, don’t they? A work which got wildly popular very quickly, took really deep nosedives afterward, and became disowned by the people that had formerly propped it up.

But that’s a discussion for later. What exactly makes RWBY’s fandom so toxic and cult-like, and why and how did it get that way? I think it’s a combination of several key factors that were baked in and collided badly.

The first was ease of access. RWBY was sold extremely well early on, and shared enough similarities with both anime and video games that it attracted many curious people from those communities. Combine that with vibrant colors, an attractive visual aesthetic, an air of badassery, and good music, and it gained a lot of loyal fans quickly—fans of anime and video games, specifically, being fans that tend to get more attached than to other mediums and are known for spending a lot on merchandise. These, in turn, morphed into nostalgic elements ripe for misremembering—people often have difficulty acknowledging that something they once liked isn’t good anymore even on its own, and I think RWBY fans in particular put way too much energy into the show to be able to admit that all the time they spent defending it (and harassing people who criticized it) was for nothing.

That skyhigh rocket to fame early on, of course, was attached to the reputation of Monty Oum, and once he died, he quickly became a martyr, which galvanized the loyalty of the show’s most toxic fans even further. To this day, talking about Monty at all, even for the right reasons, is seen as disrespectful or distasteful unless you’re trying to use him to prop up Rooster Teeth, a double standard I’ve unfortunately run into even in seeming safe spaces. I think if we’re comparing RWBY fandom to a cult, then Monty Oum and his memory can be compared to a central mythologized figure, the center around which are formed all of the pretty lies the members of the cult will tell you. Monty’s name is irreplaceably tied to RWBY, and as such, in order to defend Monty, its fans have to defend RWBY...and you can see where this leads. Attempting to talk about the mistreatment Monty and his family went through at Rooster Teeth is seen as using his name as a weapon—nevermind the fact that Rooster Teeth and their fans regularly use his name as a shield.

Of course, what this really reveals is that many such people don’t care about Monty, who he was, or who he went through, but rather his name alone. In fact, I’ve straight up seen RWBY stans say that people shouldn’t “take Monty’s name in vain”, as if Monty were in fact some sacred religious figure. It’s both bizarre and harmful.

A third factor was popularity. For a lot of the same reasons as, say, Supernatural, the perception of RWBY skews much more broadly between fan and ex-fan than that of the typical over-hyped show. The truth of the matter is that when a show gets popular, or really any work gets popular, enjoying it becomes a cliquey sort of thing. People that enjoyed being into something well-respected and widely known and basically the hottest trend are far more prone to become overly attached, put too much of themselves into it, and remain unequipped to deal with the fact of that trend’s eventual passing, especially if it’s a fall into disgrace rather than a quiet entrance into history. You can still find certain especially toxic big names from the RWBY fandom active and posting, pretending not to notice that their audience has become smaller and smaller over the years. Let’s face facts here, a lot of people that enjoy being part of the “in” crowd never manage to figure out how to accept losses and will do anything to try and regain lost popularity, or fool themselves into thinking they’re still on top of the world.

But we can reason and explain all day. Another truth of the matter is that it shouldn’t be other people’s problem that fans can’t accept reality and adjust, and that the RWBY fandom quite honestly deserves its reputation as abysmally toxic. The way terminal fans of the show have treated anyone who dissents, most prominently Shane Newville and other ex-employees, let alone other ex-fans of the show, is quite frankly disgusting. RWBY stans are difficult to look at in all of their bewildering, teeth-gnashing toxicity and forgive...so I’m not going to. People that still insist there’s nothing wrong with this show or the company making it are, as far as I’m concerned, beyond help, and are part of the problem. Many an ex-employee certainly thinks so.

In a lot of ways, you could call the fandom one of the driving forces of the show’s failure, mostly because they had an abnormally large amount of influence over the show. Pleasing the fans has always been a major goal of the RWBY team (unless you like characters Miles Luna doesn’t, I guess), but it’s almost disturbing how the Rooster Teeth strategy has been to lead them along and bat their eyelashes at every turn and how the fandom laps it up.

Of course, Rooster Teeth feeds the parasocial engine by engaging with the fans as equals, and I was given a disturbing reminder of how many of the people who worked on the show—the ones who aren’t pissed and digging themselves out of trauma ditches—behave exactly as the fans do, tweeting twenty times a day about their favorite ships and memes. By creating the perception that RWBY’s team is just like the RWBY fanbase and wants the same things they want, they tap that line of excess energy that’s kept this fandom going so long despite how far it’s fallen. It’s that “hey! my friend said my ship is going to be canon and he works on the show” feeling.

Of course, a probable reason as to why so many employees who worked on RWBY behave the way RWBY fans do is because a lot of them started out that way. As in, student hires. This has long been an open secret of Rooster Teeth’s M.O. for a while now, hiring people who look up to them and engage heavily with their content. Many an ex-animator has lambasted this tactic because it’s insidious, and purposely designed to make the incoming staff feel honored and indebted and excited so they won’t notice how they’re being fucked over. Arryn Troche, who made the ‘gays greenlighting volume 10’ tweet, rings up as a particularly eerie example considering they have the same rather-uncommon and unconventionally-spelled name as the voice actor for a ship they’re obviously very attached to. A quick search reveals them to have been a longtime fan and cosplayer for the show before being signed on as a junior animator.

And it is the fandom who ultimately makes the legacy for any given work or body of work. So what is RWBY ultimately going to be remembered for?

Legacy

I thought about it for a little while and found five things that are most likely to be associated with RWBY in the public’s memory after its death. The first should come as no surprise to anyone.

Bumbleby

The only part of RWBY that will likely be carried on by fans who stuck with it until the end is, of course, the only part of it that mattered, to many of them. You’ll know from my earlier recaps that shipping was always a big deal in fandom, but due to key choices (or if you prefer, mistakes) made during Volumes 2 and 3, one ship grew larger and more promoted in fandom circles than any others.

This is a combination of the unique features of the RWBY fandom and their one-track mind. The fans are well-known, as I said, to fill in the blanks in a pattern that best suits their narratives, and this works out with Rooster Teeth because it means that any sudden changes in direction they make will always be excused and praised rather than critically examined. Unsurprisingly, Bumbleby’s fandom, now that their victory has been cemented, have doubled down on their narrative that this was the intended goal from the beginning, despite it being plainly obvious that early RWBY was angling for Sun Wukong as the love interest and threw the occasional bones to Blake/Yang shippers to try and play nice.

This used to be one part of the fandom, of course, but as the show continually bombed with viewers and made more and more decisions that pushed them away, all competitors were slowly filtered out as their fans left, until Bumbleby shippers were the fandom. It’s no coincidence that Blake and Yang suddenly started acting unusually touchy and sentimental in Volume Six, following on the heels of a volume of RWBY so wildly unpopular that it woke up the company execs and forced them to acknowledge that the biggest part of their fanbase was only going to remain loyal in exchange for one thing: their ship.

The sad thing is that you can tell Rooster Teeth wanted to explore other options. Volume Five features a rather sudden shift into Yang and Weiss interactions in what I remain positive to this day was an attempt to sway shippers into a potential second choice while Black Sun was still in the oven, and this really represented one of the major errors of Rooster Teeth, in that they failed to understand the audience they were trying so hard to please.

Bumbleby became what I call a “Big Red Button” ship, and it is only the second of its kind that I’ve seen. The first? Destiel.

Yes, there’s a reason I kept comparing RWBY to Supernatural whenever Blake and Yang’s relationship came up. I admit I wasn’t a part of the Supernatural craze in its heyday and have never really enjoyed the show, but I’ve watched enough of it to connect the dots from what cultural osmosis I had to the eventual downfall we saw in November of 2020.

Both Bumbleby and Destiel were held up as the gay ship that would change everything, the biggest ship in the fandom and the one that would’ve been a major push for LGBT visibility, at least during their heydays. The problem was that its fans were not really that interested in LGBT visibility and were simply obsessed with the ship itself, applying it value as a win for LGBT audiences purely to bolster its perceived importance. Fans like this were not ever going to accept any alternatives regardless of the sexual orientations or gender conventions involved. Hence, the metaphor that is “the big red button”. You have a big red button that says “canon gay ship but not the ship you want” and ask the fans you’re trying to court whether they’d press it or not. Whatever they might say out loud, you know none of them is pressing that fucking button, ever.

Both of these Big Red Button ships became what they were due to showrunners being forced into courting an audience they really didn’t care for, and how could you blame them when both were infamously very, very over-active and annoying in general. Just like with RWBY’s well-intentioned but misguided Freezerburn phase in Volume 5, Supernatural also tried to gently shut down fans who then managed to obliviously ignore any and all hints that their ship was not meant to be endgame, and I can say that because “he’s like a brother to me” in any fandom but Supernatural would’ve been a tactical nuclear strike that sent the shippers packing. Once it failed, the gay bait came out in full force. It’s well known by now that, contrary to what one would imagine, the CW was not pulling a profit off of Supernatural’s minor mainstream success pushed by a cult following, so it’s no wonder they eventually resorted to desperately baiting the one audience that was going to stick it out no matter what, provided they had the right relationship dangled in front of them. RWBY went through the same thing.

The main problem with these two ships is that for all its diehards insisted that it was all about the gay representation, their respective shows teased and baited for so long that the world outside the little bubble these shippers lived in had moved on by the time they came to fruition. Gay visibility in media these days, at least western media, is easily available, to the extent that sometimes people believe homophobia is totally over when it really, really isn’t. If you’re looking for gay representation, you can find it plenty of places, and the first place you look probably isn’t going to be Supernatural or RWBY. So the huge wave of viewers that these shippers expected upon their victories was never going to occur, which might could’ve been avoided if the writers had simply grown a pair and made moves towards canon much sooner than before the shows were on their last legs and due to be scrapped.

Or, you know, just been honest. Diversions and alternatives were never going to work. The only thing that these shippers were ever going to understand was a hard no, a “sorry, this ship isn’t going to happen”. But the execs in charge of these shows were never willing to take a hit like that, so instead they dug their own grave.

And where does that leave the shippers, those people who devoted their whole lives to these fictional characters, only to find the show that bore them into the universe dead in a ditch? Well, nowhere good. Much like Supernatural, RWBY is heavily associated with its booming period, the heavily online portion of these shippers’ lives in the early and mid-2010s when it was all the rage, and yet in modern day, it’s seen as a bad neighborhood to hang in, an abandoned mansion at the corner of the street where awful things happened. These shippers don’t have many friends except each other.

Just like RWBY, Supernatural also exists primarily as an ex-fandom now. Much of its former fanbase remember the good days fondly but make no secret that they stopped following it once the writing tanked, and this left the shippers without many allies to associate with since so many of them had been pissed off with the way their shows ultimately became the Destiel Show and the Bumbleby Show, respectively. Contrary to an unfortunately popular idea, these shows did have actual LGBT fanbases, only a lot of their LGBT fans were not on kool-aid and avoided being sucked into a trap called “if you don’t ship this, you’re homophobic”.

You will find that the Bumbleby fandom are often looked on with disdain by quite a number of viewers of RWBY who have accused them of speaking over minorities, sexual and otherwise. Many fans have noted that, aside from Blake’s bisexuality being a seemingly late addition (Arryn Zech is noted to have cast her as straight when discussing Ilia Amitola’s ill-fated crush on her as late as 2019), Blake was very swiftly removed from all faunus characters who held romantic connotations in favor of Yang, implicitly saying that Blake was better committing to a white human woman than to an ethnic faunus male. There are obvious reasons why this left a bad taste in peoples’ mouths. Not to mention, other LGBT fans that invested in the show were not exactly welcomed with open arms.

Fair Game, or as I tend to call it, Qrowver? Qrow x Clover? Yeah, that was huge in Volume 7’s airing days. It very much experienced a rapid ballooning in fans and fandom love...but we all know how that ended. Many a fan who felt heartbroken and, importantly, betrayed by Clover’s sudden and rather pointless death turned on RWBY and Rooster Teeth and accused them of gaybaiting, which is of course exactly what happened. They received no sympathy from Bumbleby shippers—because of course they wouldn’t. If Rooster Teeth would gaybait with Qrow, a popular male character, that would mean they could potentially be gaybaiting with Blake and Yang, too. That was unacceptable, and so ironically the part of the fandom that had always crowed about the importance of extending a hand to LGBT viewers turned on LGBT viewers, valiantly defending Rooster Teeth as they always had.

And because Bumbleby fans had no room in their hearts for anything about RWBY except Bumbleby, and were hostile to anyone who didn’t ship it, they ended up being their own best friends and everyone else’s bad memories. When RWBY has faded from the public’s memory and is no longer a source of active income at all (so, basically right now), one of the only relics you’ll find of this show will be the two women making out in all the fanart you’ll find on the occasional Tumblr blog.

The Bigotry

You could call this section “the Racism” since that’s the biggest part of it, but we’d be remiss in neglecting the harm done to other minorities as well. We’ll get to them in a minute, but race is the thing that’s going to pop to mind when we talk about one of the other things RWBY left behind in the common memory.

One of the longest-running subplots that RWBY ever went through with was the racism subplot. Its basis is one of the things that so severely dates RWBY: creating an in-universe stand-in for people of color through the existence of people with animal traits was something you would absolutely not get away with after 2020, and even by 2016 was something liable to be seen as tacky. Nonetheless, RWBY openly used the faunus as stand-ins for black Americans and the struggles they faced in a white world.

Except that the company, based in Texas and headed largely by white staff, did not feel the importance of that. What slowly started out as a main character’s attempt to redeem an organization she felt had been driven too far and was no longer her home was slowly transformed into a means by which some incredibly racist people could spout off about what they felt were the real issues to be talked about, which were the condemnation they felt was deserved by activists that turned to violence, labeled, a little too quickly, as terrorists.

The 2010s saw a shift in social values, and much as with gay audiences and gay characters, black audiences and black characters—as well as other racial minorities—were experiencing something of a renaissance, with efforts to put the voices of these people into the public’s feeds. It wasn’t just George Floyd in 2020—the unexpected and frankly traumatic reign of Donald Trump as president of the United States galvanized the divide in America and social awareness became a bigger thing than ever, and since Trump was a flagrantly racist person with racist beliefs who enacted racist policies and was uplifted by racist Americans, people pushed back as they felt their lives and existences being threatened by a racist establishment...an establishment which Rooster Teeth came down on the side of very firmly.

No quarter is given to the fictional stand-ins. Sienna Khan’s policies are never examined in-depth, and the only close looks we get at the sorts of activism the White Fang does are at Adam, who is obviously condemned by the narrative and made into everything but a mustache-twirler, with delusional and frankly baffling beliefs of faunus superiority spelled out at length. No matter what concessions Rooster Teeth might’ve tried to make with Sienna’s beliefs before they stuck a sword in her, the fact of the matter is that their beliefs came through in the voices of Ghira and Blake, who made it very clear that the individual motives and experiences of people like Ilia, Corsac, Fennec, Yuma, and the rest simply don’t matter in the face of what they’d been driven to do by them. The whole ‘blacks can be racist’ tone of the final scenes involved in this subplot are both miles removed from the more cautious and neutral tone of early RWBY, and also just a very alarming red flag overall.

I went over this in my Volume 5 Final Thoughts: the shoddiness of the volume does not lie solely with the animation department. Miles and Kerry are known to have had generally sole control of the show up until Volume 7—but we also know that they didn’t have to, if they were writing anything company execs felt wasn’t to their tastes. The sudden twisting of Adam into a homicidal incel ex-boyfriend, along with his mutation into a faunus supremacist, when he was the face of the faunus movement as a whole, along with Sun’s blatant ill will towards the White Fang when he’d previously been willing to give them a chance on Blake’s word, all imply that Miles and Kerry endorsed the worst possible interpretations of racial activists and felt free to condemn them and place responsibility onto the faunus—and by extension, the real-life minorities they represented—to take a stand against the bad seeds within their causes, and the fact no one stopped them from airing this implies the higher-ups felt the same way.

People didn’t just leave RWBY after Volume 5 because of some really badly animated fights—they left because they’d felt too much of the authors’ racism coming through in the narrative and couldn’t comfortably continue watching. Every member of the faunus that had “bad” views was either killed (Adam, Sienna, Fennec), arrested (Corsac, Yuma), or “redeemed” by choosing to fight the first two (Ilia). All of these combined factors, with no room for charitable interpretations…not a good look.

And once Adam was defeated in Volume 5, and the White Fang reformed, that was the last anyone saw of that subplot, which had taken five years to wrap up and somehow still ended too early. Miles and Kerry had washed their hands of it, and references to Blake’s place in society were sparing from then on. This subplot’s inescapable presence throughout the show, combined with how it was dropped out of existence, left no room for redemption, either. No one was going back and saying “maybe this looks really, really bad”.

And so, that’s what a lot of people carried with them as their final and most relevant memories of RWBY: it’s astounding levels of racism. This is a bitter subject for many an ex-RWBY fan, many of whom aren’t white and, even among those that are, it’s simply inexcusable. Meet someone on social media who talks about RWBY at all, and isn’t one of the Bumbleby stans we’ve already discussed? You will find some mention or other of RWBY’s racist elements somewhere within their sphere. And so, that becomes a part of RWBY’s legacy, as a feature of the show that was simply too big to ignore and too poorly-handled to forgive. People don’t get over this shit, man.

This is of course not to mention the well deserved shitty reputation RWBY has for its other bigoted elements, as well. Bumbleby, as we’ve discussed, encompassed pretty much every RWBY stan left standing by 2020, but that left quite a few ex-fans that were fed up with the company’s obvious ploys when it came to sexuality and gender. Remember when I talked about Qrowver up above? Its ballooning and immediate fall from grace was a much-condensed version of RWBY as a whole, and pretty much featured as Rooster Teeth blowing their last remaining patience from LGBT fans to smithereens. The fact of the matter is that when you get down to it, every RWBY volume after Volume 4 was not a good time to be a minority. If you were gay, the show seemed to either ignore or despise you—between the background gays that warranted mockery, the mixed reception Ilia generated, and the outrage that finally boiled over when Clover bit it, part of RWBY’s legacy is how utterly unpleasant it has been for LGBT fans who expected and deserved better.

And so despite entering the scene in 2013 as a supposedly progressive show all for being led by four women, the show died known as a low-effort half-baked cringefest whose politics were always on display and always several years behind the trend.

The Good Days

Of course, another major part of RWBY’s legacy is the early days when everyone actually liked it. This is, again, something the show creators brought on themselves and something fans assisted with. I did mention the nostalgia for the Good Ol’ Days as a significant part of the RWBY fandom’s more cult-like elements, after all. The fact of the matter is, on some level, everyone knows that RWBY has spent several years going downhill. The ex-fans lament this fact, and the diehard stans insist that it’s all just as good as it used to be, primarily by doing what they do quite a lot, and linking completely coincidental elements back to things characters said or did in previous volumes as some sort of evidence that this has been the plan all along.

I’ve run polls on this matter before; even though I’ve recapped Volumes 1-3 thoroughly and shone lights on some pretty significant flaws, you ask anyone what they think the best volume of RWBY was and they’re gonna tell you Volume 3. Yes, even with all of the stalking incel Adam and the deaths of Penny and Pyrrha. It’s the last time RWBY felt cohesive and even though some obvious derailing was in effect, and Shane Newville has openly said that the behind-the-scenes matters were pretty ugly, it’s still the golden child. Shane’s only one person, and it’d be a while before RWBY scandals would become consistent and begin to overshadow the show as a whole.

The RWBY team themselves have certainly nurtured that very much on purpose. That tactic started with them, of course. Many elements that were either unpopular or predicted to ruffle feathers were stated to have originated in earlier volumes, even in situations where this wouldn’t have made sense or where it’s an obvious lie—such as Maria Calavera. They know full well their seasons post-Volume 3 were unpopular and receiving blowback, and tried to minimize it by linking them to more well-respected seasons. Suffice to say that this simply didn’t work. But it does make people remember those earlier volumes. Because so many ex-fans lost their energy for RWBY after its most active period, much of the hype from the hype era is all that you’ll see when you encounter one. Nostalgia wins out in the end, and at least RWBY can say that, as a show, it had enough of a headstart to leave an impression that lasted in a positive way. Although that’s only one side of the coin...

The Scandals

Let’s face facts here, the biggest part of RWBY’s legacy, period, is that it fucking died. It didn’t die instantly, but rather took hit after hit, blow after blow, and slowly had its image tarnished alongside that of the company, which failed to contain repeated scandals as ex-employee after ex-employee after ex-employee spoke out about the abysmal ways they’d been treated.

RWBY is Rooster Teeth’s biggest IP by far and, really, their only one worth talking about. Every other show was either eclipsed by it or unofficially canceled after bad reception. So when Rooster Teeth suffered the consequences of their actions, so did RWBY. It really can’t be overstated how the last few years of RWBY’s existence have been absolutely bombarded by a barrage of terrible Glassdoor reviews and bombshell exposure letters. Fans managed to stay strong through the first few rumblings of ill will, but after Volume 5 shook the fandom loose, discontent entered enough of the fandom sphere to be normalized, and once that happened, it was all downhill. Once people were actually allowed to talk about not liking Rooster Teeth’s content, they sure as hell weren’t going to be dissuaded from talking about not liking Rooster Teeth as a company or its practices.

Separating the art from the artist is a very difficult thing to do and only really appropriate in certain situations. Don’t fall for any kool-aid, guys, it doesn’t make you more mature or ‘above all the drama’ to actively ignore the damage done to real people in the process of getting fictional content out into the world.

If you’re still able to enjoy the Harry Potter books and look back on the good times they gave you in fondness, then fine. If you actually purchased and played the Hogwarts Legacy game programmed by antisemites and which puts money in the pocket of the transphobic owner of the franchise, then yeah, people will be right to give you shit for it. There’s a difference between quietly enjoying a product in a manner that doesn’t hurt anybody, and actively ignoring the people hurt to make that product while feigning concern. The gap in the fandom widened as the repeated leaks and scandals continuously ate away at the protective bubble around Rooster Teeth and it became clear that whatever fans might bleat, Rooster Teeth wasn’t going to ‘learn their lesson and do better’. The habitual cycle of using whatever recent scandal had occurred to cast disappointment and anger on a particular figure and uplift the rest of “CRWBY” (see also: the Gray Haddock issue) gave diminishing returns as the bombs kept dropping. This is part of why RWBY has such an ex-fandom, because if they aren’t enjoying the product and people were hurt to make it, why stay?

Crunching employees so hard they struggle to sleep and suffer debilitating health issues? Writing the n-word on a white board knowing a black employee will see it? Goading someone into trying to kill themselves? Calling an LGBT employee a slur and then making up a public-friendly nickname in place of that slur just to get away with continuing to call her that? Laying off people without warning or a means of letting them stay afloat until another job is found? Not paying or crediting employees and cultivating an environment where those in charge do what they want and those in the public eye reap all the benefit while those without a consistent spotlight get treated like dirt?

Just some of the things I thought up off the top of my head. There’s plenty more in the details. And you can’t blame Fullscreen, you can’t blame Warner, you can’t just write it off as something that happens at animation studios, because it isn’t. Yeah, the work environment in general for animation studios in America is lacking because, ya know, late-stage capitalism hellscape, but that’s dismissive of the point. Rooster Teeth are a bad company and hurt their employees and lie when called on it. It’s impossible to separate RWBY from Rooster Teeth (despite stubborn stans’ best attempts, which themselves have been called out by these same ex-employees) and because of that, RWBY’s legacy is one of corporate abuse and utterly vile behavior towards people that just wanted to make something cool.

People have refused to associate with the show over these things and honestly, they’re right to. RWBY’s ultimate legacy, if we’re honest, is the show that became a shadow of its former self, still trying to dazzle with reminders of its former glory and promises of gay relationships, all while trying to squeeze money out of both the employees who made it and the fans who upheld it. It’s the show that cost hundreds of people their physical and mental health and didn’t even have anything to show for it at the end of the day. It will live on in history as the most bitter of pills to swallow, that something you once liked and wanted to succeed can and will be ruthlessly twisted for profit margins and might actively hate you on the side. And speaking of…

Monty Oum

The biggest travesty of RWBY’s legacy is that Monty Oum is ultimately only the smallest part of it. He’s there, but barely—he’s a name in the credits that quite frankly is only there to keep up the facade of loyalty, when the show had stopped being Monty’s show before he even died and by now can be safely said to resemble nothing he would’ve made.

It’s a shame that for all that Monty was held up as a genius of his craft and a genuinely good man who inspired so many people, all he’s going to be remembered for is...this. A show people only attach his name to in an effort to insist it’s actually worth sticking by. Yes, Monty did other things, had other works, but none of them ever achieved even a fraction of the fame and respect that RWBY had from its first baby steps in 2013.

Maybe this could’ve been avoided if the real carriers of Monty’s legacy—Sheena, his wife, and Shane, his pupil—hadn’t been cast off as they had.

Shane seems to have found a new life and is working with Dillon Gu on animation, but I think we’ve all noticed his name hasn’t gone mainstream yet. I’ve tried to get in touch with him; from what I’ve gleaned, I frankly just advise leaving him alone. He wants to move on and I don’t think the RWBY fandom, which was so awful to him for telling the truth, is ever going to be a place he can feel welcome.

Sheena has mostly been quiet and done her own thing, cosplaying and watching anime and hopefully enjoying herself, although I notice posts on her Twitter feed from last year calling for a New Deal in the animation sector and castigating corporate abuses.

She also plays Hades, a much better product than RWBY with more love put into it and much better LGBT representation, which means her taste is excellent. She has a site now that you can go to, and the about section doesn’t mention Monty, her late husband, at all, for obvious reasons: Sheena doesn’t want to be connected to RWBY. Though, there is something there that’s noteworthy, in the last paragraph:

Still desiring a social element to her career, the animator turned professional cosplayer also has a history in the live stream world. Past broadcasts have included creating costume pieces, playing games with community members and subscribers, RPGs and more. No matter the project, peers or problem, Sheena strives to keep moving forward.

That powerful phrase we all associate with Monty.

It’s a shame that this show had to be Monty’s legacy, and that years off from now, his name isn’t going to mean anything to the public because the project he was passionate about and died making outlived him and his passion. It feels like his legacy was stolen, and his own part in the show’s legacy is held up purely as a pedestal on which the show should rightfully shine.

Every time I think about Monty, I think about how much I don’t want that to be me. For all the years I’ve spent here, with my graphics certifications being wasted since I earned them while I slave away in retail, I wonder if I’m the lucky one. If I were to enter the workforce and do what I loved, would it be worth it in the end? Would what happened to Monty and Sheena and Shane happen to me? Not sure I wanna know.

Snipped here.

[hoonhrt]

ENHYPEN WHEN THEY’RE SICK

: pairing — sick boyfriend! enhypen x reader

: genre — so soft :( (maybe angsty??)

: warnings —  mentions of vomiting and being ill 

: a/n — i started school again after my break so i’ve been so caught up trying to focus on it :(

･:*:･ﾟ☆ heeseung

he’d be coughing and sniffling the night before and when you ask him he is feeling sick he’d very dramatically say:

“absolutely not! i have like the strongest immune system ever baby i cant believe you’d question MY immune system”

he woke up the next morning with a full blown fever.

HED BE SO WHINY :((

wants you to lay next to you all day long csuse he claims you are his “human furnace”

croaks from your shared bedroom when you get up to get medicine and some hot soup

only agrees to take the medicine if you feed him

once he does take the medicine, he sits there with his mouth open so you can feed him his food

you just stare at him the whole time like 😐😐 am i taking care of my boyfriend or a child 😐😐

he’s staring at you like 🥺🥺🥺 cause he’s so thankful to have you in his life

he squirms into your arms and hides his face in the crook of your neck, already feeling better as you play with his hair

leaves little kisses on your neck as his way to thank you for taking care of him

･:*:･ﾟ☆ jay

tries to convince you he is okay #1

“no angel! i’m okay it’s nothing okay i’m fine psshhh no worries”

doesn’t work as you woke up from his loud coughs in the middle of the night :(

he is very stubborn and continues you to insist that he is okay and that he can take care of himself (he just doesn’t wanna burden you)

everytime you say you’re gonna go do something for him he tries to protest saying he is fine but than starts coughing up a storm

spends the whole day with a pout on his face cause he doesn’t want you to waste your day taking care of him

sucks to be him tho cause you’ll do anything for mr. jay park!

i remember someone said that when jay is feeling ill, his emotions tend to exaggerate

like he’ll feel pain in his throat but will claim his entire body hurts and he cannot move a muscle... (it’s okay it’s just the sickness getting to him)

all he wants to do is cuddle next to you and sleep

like he’ll ask for massages or even random things like piece of cake from the bakery downstairs and you go do it cause your poor boy is feeling down and you wanna see him happy :((

pays you back by buying you new things and spending all that lost time doing anything you want to do (even if it means watching a movie he despises)

･:*:･ﾟ☆ jake

NAAAUUURRR i’m gonna cry just thinking about sick little jake

his eyes are wide and glossy the whole time and his lips are pursed out into a little pout

baby hates being sick cause then he can’t go out and do fun things with you!

DEMENDS cuddles and kisses.

like i think he’ll cry if you leave his side

even if it’s for his own benefit, he clings to you like a little koala

lowkey a little dramatic, acts like his dying

“baby i think this is my last day... pls tell layla i love her” and you’re like What About Me.

you pour him the liquid medicine on to a spoon and give it to him yourself

gets so giddy and smiles at you like a goof afterwards

you bring the back of your palm to his forehead and go “you’re so hot omg”,,, he proceeds to say “i know i am babe you don’t have to tell me twice 😏” BOOYYY

treats you like a little teddy bear and holds you super super close to his body!!

pays you back by taking care of you the later week when you’re sick

･:*:･ﾟ☆ sunghoon

the only one actually capable of taking care of himself 

he just seems very normal when he is sick 

like he can definitely be on his own 

lowkey doesn’t want you around so you dont get sick 

but you are very stubborn and you stay there to take care of him 

which he appreciates cause he likes being coddled a little bit hehe 

it honestly just feels like a regular, stay at home day with him aside from the fact he is violently coughs every 30 minuets next to you 

the only thing he wants from you is that you let him lay on your lap and you play with his hair 

which you do ofc and he is just simply so happy from that 

falls asleep in your lap cause its so therapeutic

“mmmm feel so nice honey” he slurs very sleepily 

nuzzles his face into your stomach, searching for warmth :((( 

you press little kisses around his face while he sleeps and he starts to blush but you can’t tell cause you think its just his face burning up from being sick (thank god it would’ve embarrassed him so bad if you found out it was from little kisses)    

brings you flowers and gives you endless amount of cuddles as his way to thank you :(( 

･:*:･ﾟ☆ sunoo

boyfriend or child you can’t tell #2

will WHINE SO LOUD if you try to leave his side 

“Y/NNNNN NOOOOO you can’t go~ its so cold~ im gonna freeze to death if you go~” “sunoo i need to get you medici-” “NOOOOOOO” 

REFUSES to take his medicine 

will turn his head the other way with a pout on his face and stubbornly shake his head 

you have to pursued him with food and kisses in order for him to actually take it 

takes the medicine but gags while taking it 

“wheres my cuddles huh 😐” 

so so so clingy :( he is pretty much on your entire lap with his head laid across your shoulder and his arms wrapped around your neck 

sunoo wouldn’t be very sleepy but he would be very quiet (which makes you sad cause youre sunny is always so talkative), so he spends this time listening to you and all the things you wanna talk about 

you guys watch movies together the whole day 

wants you to leave kisses on his cheeks cause it makes him feel better 

he pouts at you while you laugh at him when you feed him snacks 

buys you all the snacks you could dream of when he is feeling better <33 

･:*:･ﾟ☆ jungwon 

tries to convince you he is fine #2

but wakes you up in the middle of night cause he threw up :(( 

he gets teary eyed cause he doesn’t wanna burden you but at the same time it hurts so bad 

whimpers so much :(( 

he wants to be held so much, he is attached to you the entire time 

you wipe his face with cold towels to bring down his high body temperature down and push back his bangs with so much care and love 

“thank you y/n” he speaks so softly before letting out a huge sniffle 

jungwon falls in love with you so much more

like he didnt think he could but some how you have managed to make him fall in love with you again 

really likes it when you pet his head and massage his temples 

he clings to you so much that he just follows you around like a little puppy 

you guys watch romance movies together to distract him from the pain 

will never give you a hard time like if you ask him to sit up and drink his water or take his medicine he’ll do it right away no questions asked 

mainly cause he wants to get better quickly so he can spend more time with you doing more interesting things 

thanks you by taking on a cute little picnic date the week after :( 

･:*:･ﾟ☆ ni-ki

sleep. all he will do is sleep. 

he doesnt care about anything else except for that fact that he wants to sleep 

sprawls his entire body on top of yours 

he literally traps your body so you cant get out 

you have to physically push him off of you which isnt a problem cause he is in such a deep sleep 

and when he wakes up and you ARENT by his side, he gets very whiny 

“Y/NNNN why’d you leave me ☹️” 

very grumpy 

you laugh at this which makes him even more grumpy 

how cute 

ni-ki is honestly very frustrated that 1) he can’t go to practice and dance with his cheery personality and 2) he can’t kiss you!!!! (this is what is the most important to him) 

so he just whines all day 

whines when you tell him you have to take medicine 

whines when you try to get him to sit up and eat 

whines when you aren’t cuddling him 

so pls cuddle the poor boy <//3 

LOVES BACK RUBS 

your cool hand against his warm back makes him sigh out loud 

pays you back be giving you endless hugs, kisses and letting you win in games <//3 

[cinnamonest]

Since people actually liked it here's the continuation of the modern Xiao camgirl!darling post I cut from the original, as promised, most if it's under a cut. Here’s the original post. I didn’t think people would actually like the camgirl concept so I thought I was rambling too much and cut this part out lol but here it is now!

Tws: derogatory language/female slurs, mentions of reader being a cheater, reader is promiscuous, murder, incel-y mentality (our modern boy would be a 4chan user, look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong) and mentions of upsetting realistic things, this one's darker than the first part. If you're bothered by other modern stuff for being too realistic best avoid this too probably, involuntary pornography ---------- Coming up on one year since you gained your most loyal subscriber, you get a rather... Unsettling request. He has something he would like this month, in fact, he adds a few hundred to the regular amount (he's been saving up just for this) and asks for just the answer to one simple question. What's your name?

Your real name, he clarifies. He doesn't need a last name, nothing like that. It would just... Make him feel closer to you. He avoids using the term "anniversary," even though that's what comes to mind. He also doesn't tell you that he already knows, that this is just a test of your honesty. For someone who's so cautious, you would think you would think to give a fake name whenever you go to coffee shops for them to yell out, or change it on the packages you get. You hesitate. And it would be easy to give him a fake one, yet, you don't really think about it too much, you kinda think about that as an afterthought, what you should have done, but your very real name is typed out and sent before you really process it, and you feel a sort of unease, but it's already sent. No big deal. He can't do much with just your first name, right? If your name is common, you feel pretty safe, but even if it's a rarer one, surely there are other people with it, right? He's happy though. Kinda surprised, really, that you didn't lie to him. Maybe you trust him?

You're not stupid, you know something is wrong, you're becoming paranoid. And you connect the weird feeling to him, bc he goes radio silence for several days leading up to finally taking you. This dude who used to respond to any messages you sent within 10 seconds suddenly... It's like he disappeared? He hasn't responded to anything you send him ever since you said your name. You send him messages saying you haven't heard from him in a while and you're worried... The way you word it makes it sound like you're worried about him, but you both know that's not what you really mean. You're hesitant and suspicious of every guy you meet. You buy pepper spray and start carrying some around, you nearly spray a poor guy who you thought was trailing you, turns out he just lives in your building. He makes note of it. He watched you buy it, and is quick to realize you always hold it in the same hand. That must be your dominant hand, that's an important mental note for the future, since you're more likely to try to attack him with that hand. He'll remember. He has a note in his phone with information like that. Height, weight, birthday, social security number, parents' names, school she graduated from. All in little bullet points. He adds dominant hand to the list. He's not worried at all really. Already watched you struggle to carry packages he could lift with one hand, your strength doesn't cross his mind as a threat. At first he just doesn't know what to say, and that's why he stops responding, he feels too awkward but... He starts to enjoy the weird feeling of power the whole situation is giving him. You're worried, you're constantly paranoid, and it's because of him. Now you finally understand the same feeling you inflict on him, how you consume his thoughts every waking moment of every day. It used to irritate him that you held so much power over him, while he meant nothing to you. Now, the tables have turned. You're forced to have him constantly in your mind, whether you like it or not, just like you are in his. It's giving you what you deserve. It gives him a feeling of significance. He matters, even if it's not in a good way. And he keeps telling himself that once he's all you have, he'll matter even more. He's smart enough to realize that if you're paranoid, you might have mentioned him by username to someone else, so to ensure he knows what to do from this point, he has to sneak into your apartment at night as you sleep. It's so unbearably tempting, you have no idea -- you're right there and so vulnerable. He has to hold himself back because he knows that if he so much as touched you, he couldn't hold back. But it's torture, standing there so close, watching your chest rise and fall as he fiddles with the phone. Even when he unlocks it with your thumb, he tries to hold the phone from an angle to do so, even if the skin of his hand grazes yours, it would be too much. You have a lot of contacts across your messages and a bunch of different apps. You have one guy in your online chat you've exchanged far more messages with than anyone else! Hundreds upon hundreds of messages, and huge paypal cash drops, who the hell is -- oh, wait, that's him. Nevermind. But, to his pleasant surprise, he's the only one of your... customers that you regularly talk to, the rest just have a few paypal notifications or clarifications on your policies, but no actual conversations like you have with him. Of course, that's literally part of your deal, he's literally paying for it, but it makes him happy nonetheless. But as he goes through your personal messages, he finds that you are... in no shortage of options. Like, holy shit. It was kind of expected. You *are* really pretty, that's how you have so many followers after all, but this is a lot. So many contacts named some variation of "DO NOT ANSWER!!!" or "creepy guy that forced me to give him my number at the club", etc etc. Plenty of unsaved numbers texting you to never get a response. You've ghosted enough dudes to make your place haunted. It's... kinda awful, really. It also kinda hurts his heart a bit more than he expected. You have so, so, so many options, even without the cam thing, he's more insignificant than he even realized. ...Well, for now, at least. He'll be significant to you soon enough. And then you seem to have a sort of "boyfriend of the month" deal going on, aside from that. Plenty of male-name contacts whose last exchange is a "don't talk to me again!" message from you, plenty of messages corresponding to the same time as those to your girl friends about how you can't find a good guy and every relationship ends badly. How unfortunate. See, it's because you choose bad guys. You probably go for dicks and not.... well, he can't exactly pull the "nice guys like me" mentality, he doesn't delude himself into thinking he is one. He's lucid enough to realize that most nice guys would not be sneaking into your house and standing over your sleeping body to stalk your phone as they make plans to kidnap you. He knows he would probably fall under the classification of a creepy guy. He's just too far gone to care. Still, he would be so much better to you, he tells himself, not a cheater or a player like you complain about. To say he resents those kinds of guys -- ones that can do the unthinkable and actually talk to girls, let alone successfully, only to be assholes, and yet girls like you still go for them -- is an understatement. You're basically just a slut, you probably ignore all the guys that would be nice to you, just like all those internet forums he reads talk about. Typical.

Well, those forums also make fun of guys like him who pay for girls like you, but he can't blame them. It *is* kinda pathetic. There is one dude you talk to, though, now. Current boyfriend of the month, from the looks of it. You have a little heart emoji next to the name. He knows it's kinda pathetic that something so simple and insignificant sets him off, but it does, makes him pout and grind his teeth and curl his other hand into a fist. It's so unfair. Some dude you barely know gets to fuck you, and you haven't even known him nearly as long as you've known him! He doubts this dude -- hell, any of your boyfriends -- has put in the same amount of money that he has into you. They fuck you practically for free. And that, unfortunately for you, only solidifies his decision. If you're fucking some dude for a month because they buy you dinner every now and then, if we're going by that scale, then you owe him quite a good deal of pussy. Any hesitancy or guilt he had about the whole thing is gone. And he's a little mad. Keeps grumbling to himself that you're just a loose whore, fucking so many people and putting yourself out there on the internet. He wonders if they even know about what you do. Probably not, you probably don't tell them. Yeah, that sounds like what you'd do. Really, you're kinda lucky that someone like him is so willing to commit to you, since you are a slut. You don't deserve it, but he loves you anyway. And you'll probably have the nerve to be ungrateful for it too. Sigh. On the bright side, by some miracle, it would appear that you have not told any real-life people about him, you haven't sent out any hey if I disappear you should probably look into this creep type of messages. But he can't afford to have you doing so in between now and when you move in with him, so, he decides he has to act within the next 24 hours. While he's here, though, he decides to do a quick sweep of your place. Makes note of what snacks and drinks you like, what brand of toothpaste and shampoo and the like you use, so he can buy some for you. Maybe you'll adjust better if you have some of your favorite things. And then, after days of silence, he sends you a message, says it's fine, his internet went out for a few days. He means it to reassure you, but somehow it makes you feel more uneasy. He has everything planned out, or so he thinks. But you deviate from your usual schedule. When you leave work or class, you don't go home, you go somewhere else, first. How strange. Maybe picking up groceries? He follows from a distance. No, looks like you're going out to eat...? Maybe you're meeting friends or family or -- no that's a guy. Fuck. You must have planned this just earlier today, since there were no messages on your phone. It makes a bitter feeling rise in his gut. He hates that he can't get close enough to listen to your conversation. Well, he hates the whole thing, sits there and seethes the whole time. Watches you through the windows in the parking lot, thankfully you chose to sit outside. Feels his eye twitch and his hand clench every time you smile and laugh. It takes way too long. The fact that you split the bill feels like a punch to the stomach too. Shouldn't you be used to taking guys' money? Oh, and what's this...? This guy isn't the picture on boyfriend-of-the-month's contact. Well, well, well. You really are a whore. See, it's a very good thing he's taking you off the market. You're probably a reckless heartbreaker too. He's doing all the other men of the world a favor by taking on such a burden as you. And it makes him feel far more justified in keeping you locked away, since he has every reason to believe, now, that you'd run off and fuck someone else if given the chance. Halfway through, the guy briefly gets up and runs to the bathroom or something. While he's gone, he sees your face fall a bit. And then he sees you look around. You turn your head from one side to the other. Your eyes scan the area. You shuffle uncomfortably and you bite your lip and your eyebrows furrow. You're scared. You feel like -- no, you know you're being watched and it scares you. That makes him a little happy, for some reason. He wouldn't be sure what to do if you went home with the guy, but thankfully you don't. No big deal, this was just a bump in the road, he still beats you back to your building and he still goes through with the original plan. Even better, now that it's even darker outside. If anything, now he's got extra aggression and testosterone in his blood, running over the events in his head and going through some... very forceful and violent fantasies. The message he sent had you uneasy, and it's also how you immediately know what's going on when it does finally happen. You keep telling yourself you're being unnecessarily paranoid, that it's nothing, maybe that guy actually got his life together or got a girlfriend or something. Things like... What you fear, don't happen in real life, that's stuff that only happens in movies and stuff. You keep calling it that or it in your head. That won't happen to you. It's not going to happen. The series of events that play out in your head, scenarios you try to push out of your mind. Sure, in the movies it always takes place in the stairwell, but that's fiction, so you go up the apartment stairwell as always. You're not gonna let a bunch of B-grade old films scare you. And it's always some dude standing and waiting, but that nice young boy that you've never seen before is just leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone, he only glances up for a second as you pass by, he's not a threat, you're being paranoid. You flash a smile and a little wave as you walk by, he doesn't return either, just looks back down at his phone. See? This guy doesn't even care, you're being paranoid for nothing, you tell yourself. But as you make the turn to go up the next set of stairs you hear the click of a phone being put on the lockscreen, a few metallic footsteps ringing out in the open hall and echoing, coming up right behind you, but for that split second you expect a tap on the shoulder, maybe he has a question, it's not like movies, it's not like movies, you're not gonna get a cloth shoved over your face and--- Well, it's not exactly like the movies. You were prepared, but it all happens in one motion - one hand grabs the hand with the spray and twists it, making you drop it, the other wraps some material over your mouth. You were prepared enough that you don't gasp in surprise, you hold your breath and thrash, but it doesn't make any difference, you wiggle and writhe for a few moments but can't even begin to break free, eventually succumb to the lack of oxygen and take a deep breath. It takes a few seconds to settle in, it's not so immediate. You instinctively panic and thrash again, but he has a complete iron grip. The dizziness takes a second to set in. He huffs a bit in frustration and says stop moving, it's fine. It's definitely not, but it occurs to you that that's not something a kidnapper looking for any potential vulnerable girl says. It's a poor attempt at comfort. It's someone specifically looking for you. And if that wasn't enough, he says your name. Your very real name. Maybe it was a mistake to tell him after all. But the worst part of it all is that there's not a single doubt in your mind, even in your panic you have the realization, it's definitely him and this is literally exactly what you were afraid of. And it's the last thing that goes through your head. And once he's got you out cold he just takes a sigh of relief. He may have been very neutral faced to you, but in reality he was incredibly nervous. He hasn't exactly made or used chloroform before, our boy is operating on YouTube tutorials here. He's got adrenaline pumping through his veins and carries you with his arms trembling. He's on autopilot carrying you out, but his mind is also consumed by holy fuck I'm touching her she smells so nice she's so warm her face is so close I'm actually touching her-- you get the idea. He feels bad about taping your hands and feet together and putting you in the trunk of his car, kinda. It feels too much like what a really bad person would do to a girl they didn't care about, like he's a trafficker or a murderer or a criminal or something, but that's not true at all. Sure, he's still mad at you for being a whore and all that, but it feels improper, he just has no choice. It's late at night, but he can't risk getting pulled or being at a stoplight and someone seeing an unconscious girl in his backseat, so, trunk it is. But once he's home, to his tiny little downtown apartment (he'll probably be able to move into a better place soon, since he's not paying you tons of money anymore), he takes a quick check to make sure the coast is clear, and drags you out, up the stairs, all the way into his apartment, sets you down on the bed, where you'll be staying. He even washed the sheets and cleaned the place up a bit for your arrival. You probably would not like to see what this place looked like before the five trash bags worth of cleaning was done. He'll probably be more motivated in the future, though, since now he won't be so depressed all the time. And then the adrenaline of the fear of being seen is over, and that's when it sets in that this is real. It's very, very hard to hold back. You're real, in the flesh, he can reach out and touch you with his hands! It feels like a dream. And he realizes he can take this opportunity to do things he would be far, far too embarrassed to do when you're awake. He takes a few minutes to do just that, cautiously reaches out to poke your face, and then run a hand down your neck, your skin is so soft! Your hair smells so nice, he lays down beside you and runs his fingers over it. Puts hands on your body and just lays there in awe of the fact that you're real. He's pretty certain he's never actually touched a human female before now. Everything about you feels soft. Weirdly feminine, which is something very foreign and confusing to him. And he kinda uh... Loses it. Goes buckwild with just taking in every aspect of you. Again, since you're unconscious he can be gross and entirely shameless about it. Peels your clothes off and runs his hands and mouth over every inch of flesh, takes the tape off your lips and presses his tongue into your limp mouth until he's forced to let go to breathe, fingers you and tonguefucks you and sucks on your nipples and your neck. Lays pressed against you and just breathes in your scent. It takes every ounce of self control he has not to fuck you already. But he does jerk off a few times. That way he'll last longer, so it's a win-win. And then... you twitch. Tape goes back over your mouth. And then, you twitch again. And this time, you make a little "mm!" under the tape, you start trembling and he sees you try to pull your hands apart. You whimper. It sounds scared and distressed. He feels kinda bad, but it also makes him hard, and that outweighs any guilt by far. Besides, it's what you deserve after what you did earlier. You tortured him mentally, it's only fair. On the good side of things, you suppose, you don't have to worry about the usual fears one would have over such a situation - you're fairly certain he's not going to kill you, nor sell you. In fact, the bed you wake up on is pretty soft. You're naked and the tape is uncomfortable, but... At least he was considerate enough to give you a blanket. He does care about you, after all. First thing he says is asking if you're awake. Can you hear me? You hesitate a moment, and then you nod. He's a bit new to this whole abduction thing. He wants to make sure he didn't pull a muscle or something with the tape. So... Do you hurt anywhere? Does your head hurt? Oh, right, the tape. He's not stupid either. You have to promise you're not going to scream. In fact, he's angry enough about earlier that he gets a bit meaner than he originally told himself he'd be. If you scream, I'll make you regret it. Understand? You nod, so he takes it off, holding it close in preparation in case you were lying, but you don't actually answer him, you're silent again for a minute, then just ask a question of your own. You're that guy, right? He's silent for a few seconds, there's no need for any clarification. Finally just says yeah. You just breathe again. Silently. Finally you summon the courage to ask him what he wants with you. And why are you doing this to me? And his answer is fairly simple. What do you think? You don't say anything for a minute, and neither does he. He's not good with words, and you don't really have ones for this situation. It occurs to you that offering to pay him to let you go is probably not the solution. After all, this is the guy that's dumped unimaginable amounts of money onto you, you couldn't even come close to paying him back. You figure maybe, after he gets what he wants... well, you get the courage to ask.  Is there anything... that I can do o-or... anything that will make you... are you gonna let me go, after you....? And the answer is, again, simple, but the one you did not want to hear. No. He's a blunt boy, so he doesn't beat around the bush, but he doesn't torment you by keeping anything from you. In fact, he's already rehearsed this speech a few hundred times in his head. He just wanted to make sure he's very clear so there's no misunderstanding, and while he likes some discomfort in a vengeful sort of way, he doesn't want you to be too freaked out to where you have a panic attack. He says he's just going to... keep you here. He has the things you'll need. He got your purse with your keys, so he'll even run to your apartment after this to go get some of your stuff. You don't need to tell him which number, he adds, he already knows which apartment you're in. He needs you here, he says. And he makes sure to add that it's your fault. If you were never out there selling yourself in the first place, this never would have happened. If you're good, he can make things a bit better for you. But you need to go ahead and accept that you're going to be staying and that no amount of begging or offers is going to convince him to let you go. He can be nice to you, he promises. A better boyfriend than the others. You just have to be a good girlfriend -- you know, obedient and sweet and do what he says. Just like you always were when you talked to him. Just keep being sweet like that and doing the things he tells you to do. You would argue that the terms boyfriend and girlfriend are not appropriate descriptors of the sort of relationship he's creating, but you keep that thought to yourself. Instead, you ask, How long are you going to keep me here? Which is a dumb question, since he's pretty sure he already made that clear. Forever. -----

There's a double homicide in the area. Takes place on the same night, and the same diameter of knife is used, so police believe maybe the two incidents are connected. Especially because they do have something in common, one girl. She was romantically involved with both of them. The girl in question's apartment has been vacated, very suddenly, and the girl has disappeared without a trace, taking things with her from the looks of it, so police believe she may be responsible, but other than that, they have no leads. A few weeks later, a video circulates all over the internet. Some famous camgirl finally started making porn, apparently. Just one video, but the description (which was totally written by her, it has to be since it's written in first person right?) says something about how she decided to quit camming, so this video marks the end of her career. She got into a relationship, so she says in the description, so she has to quit. It's roleplay porn, apparently, she's doing a good job at the acting. All tied up and gagged and getting fucked by some big-dicked guy holding the camera. He's silent, but she's making a ton of noise, cums several times. Really good acting, the fear and desperation in her eyes looks so real. Talk about going out with a bang. It gets a lot of likes. Tons of comments about how sad people are she's quitting. And of course, a lot of comments say, what a lucky guy.

[egcdeath]

act natural

pairing: steve rogers x reader

summary: sometimes, you just have to share the bed. 

word count: 2.4k

warnings: fluff, sharing a bed, idiots in love, cheesy

a/n: this is really just an excuse for me to write a lot of self indulgent bants, but it’s also a part of @stargazingfangirl18’s soft!dark challenge, and i decided to write something soft and use the prompt of only having one bed! (p.s. i like did not edit this at all so if a few words are used a lot pls forgive me) 

Dinner at the safehouse was finally wrapping up after a long day of getting your ass beat by an angry android and a few enhanced teenagers. You and everyone else around you seemed to be more than exhausted from the extensive day of revisiting deeply repressed traumas, and petty arguments between teammates over who was truly at fault for every predicament you found yourselves in.

You took a long and final swig from a beer bottle, glancing up to Bruce and Nat as they stood up and pushed in their chairs, retiring for the night. 

“Thanks for hosting us, Laura,” Natasha offered, grabbing her plate from the dinner table, and dropping it off in the dishwasher.

“Of course, guys. Any time,” she gave a half smile to her friend, then looked back at the table, where everyone else had taken the memo, and found themselves somewhere in the process of leaving the table, or grabbing their dishes, “but before you all go, I wanted to warn you that someone else is gonna have to share a room tonight.”

You glanced over at Steve, who was on your left, and Tony, who was sat at the head of the table. You and Steve shared an awkward chuckle at the thought of being in the same bed, not even considering the similarly uncomfortable situation of sharing a bed with Tony. 

“I think I’ll be rooming alone. These two lovebirds can share,” Tony chided before either of you even had a chance to think of a response. You looked back over at Steve, whose cheeks were currently dusted with a light shade of pink, and the bigger man quickly looked away from you.

“Tony, you know we are not- you know what, nevermind,” you huffed, deciding the argument was not worth it. 

Tony shook his head as he dropped his dishes off in the dishwasher. “So no objections?” he asked teasingly, eyeing you both with a smirk on his way back from the kitchen. “Why am I not surprised?” You could’ve sworn you heard Clint and Fury laughing to themselves before excusing themselves from the table, and dispursting though the house.

Besides the slight humiliation of being teased for your situation, you weren’t too concerned about the act of spending the night, or next few nights with Steve. You and Steve were friends, or something like that. Just a few pals with crushes that you refused to admit to each other (or yourselves).

Pushing this thought aside, you grabbed the neck of your empty beer bottle, along with a few pieces of silverware and marched off to the mechanical cleaner yourself. You dropped off the things that needed to be cleaned, tossed your bottle in the recycling bin, then went to turn away when Steve grabbed your arm, automatically catching your attention. 

“Is this okay with you?” He asked, letting his vice grip on your arm go.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you upstairs,” you muttered before speeding off, and heading upstairs where you strolled into the only vacant room, with the door wide open, and both your own and Steve’s duffle bags on the floor. 

You made a mental note to thank whoever brought them in (probably Laura), and dug through your bag to find something even slightly comfortable to sleep in, eventually settling on an oversized shirt and your favorite cotton shorts. 

You had just barely finished changing in the tiny closet when you heard the soft click of the room door, notifying you of Steve’s arrival. You slid open the closet door, and made a beeline for the bed, flopping onto the left side, and reaching for your phone as a distraction. 

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” Steve asked, searching through his own bag until he found the only clean comfortable pair of pants he had in there, that just happened to be a jokey Christmas gift donned with a red white and blue color scheme, and graphics of mini shields on it.  

“What the hell, Steve. Of course not,” you set your phone down so that you could get a better look at him. “We probably have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” You could live with that excuse, especially considering that it would not be very becoming of you to tell your crush that missing an opportunity to sleep in the same bed as him feels like a federal crime. 

He stood up from his squatting position, squeezing into the tight space of the closet so that he could change into the corny pants, and finally get out of his clothes from the day, “I just didn’t want to make things weird.”

“Well, they won’t be as long as you stay on your side, okay?” You said petulantly, setting two pillows across the middle of the queen sized bed and attempting to ignore the excited butterflies in your stomach. 

“I will,” Steve responded, exiting the closet slipping into the right side of the bed cautiously, and looking at the wall that was facing him.

You glanced over at Steve, and when you caught wind of his shirtless torso, you couldn’t help but to look away with a warm face,“this is so awkward now,” you said after a beat. “Why couldn’t you have roomed with Tony?”

“Tony is the worst bed mate ever. Total blanket and pillow hog,” Steve chuckled, attempting to ease up some of the tension.

“You’re no saint either. I’ve heard you’re a cuddler,” you bantered back, allowing yourself one more glance at the man. Steve seemed to be having the same thought as you at the same time as you, as your eyes briefly met. 

It was uncomfortably silent in the room once more, and you reached over to your nightstand to turn off the bedside lamp, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night, Steve,” you turned your back to the border of pillows, fell into a fetal position, and squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that you’d be able to find some sort of peace after such a bizarre day. You tried not to dwell so much on the horrors you’d been forced to face earlier, and instead relied on the rhythmic breathing coming from the man next to you to ground you.

----

You weren’t sure when exactly you fell asleep, but a jolting of your bed, and a bit of a commotion coming from somewhere in your room pulled you away from your unsettling dreams.

Blinking yourself awake, you uncurled your body, and rolled over to look at Steve, whose legs were thrown over the edge of the bed while he panted heavily.

“Steve?” you slurred sleepily, “you ‘kay?”

“’m fine,” he yawned.

“Well you woke me up,” you mumbled, throwing your head back against a pillow.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was having a shitty dream anyway.”

“Really? I was too,” Steve refused to look at you, staring blankly at the wall.

“So tell me about it,” you hummed.

“It’s just… I keep thinking about how I missed out on so many things from the past. I could’ve been happy, living out my days in a semi-peaceful and familiar world. Not anything like this.”

You sat up as you listened, pushing aside a pillow from the border you’d constructed to move closer to Steve and set a reassuring hand on his back.

“I guess I just wish that I was there. With everyone and everything I used to know.”

“But it’s not all bad, right?” you offered, and Steve shrugged before looking down. 

 “I’m sorry. I really am. I know that I’ll never truly understand that, but there’s nothing any of us can do about it now. You’re here now, and you have no other choice but to make the best of it. I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but if you spend all of your time in the present lamenting about what things could’ve been in the past, you’re just gonna be miserable forever,” you rambled sleepily, words slurring occasionally. 

“Your experience is so unique, so I could be getting this all wrong, but there are plenty of good things here in the now. I mean, a world without the internet? I don’t know if that’s a world worth living in,” you chuckled softly, and were joined in your quiet laughter by the man on the other side of your bed.

“Seriously, though. I know you can’t control your dreams, but maybe your subconscious is letting you know that it’s okay to let go. Of like, the past. It might just be time for you to move on and be happy. I’m sure that Peggy and everyone else from your past would’ve wanted that for you too.” In the dark, you saw the silhouette of Steve’s head nodding. 

“You always know what to say, huh?” he asked, kicking his legs back over onto the bed while you scooted back over into your previous space. 

“I’m like half asleep right now, Steve. If you asked me to repeat half of what I just said, I would not know what to say,” you giggled. 

“You wanna talk about your dream?” Steve asked in a concerned tone. 

“Mmm, I actually just wanna go to sleep. As crazy as that may sound,” 

“Is there anything that I can do to help you not have another bad one?”

“Hmmm,” you pondered, becoming a bit more lethargic by the moment. “Spoon me?”

“As you wish,” Steve happily obliged, grabbing one of the pillows from the middle of the bed and adding it to his stash of pillows. 

You threw a pillow from the border between your knees, and received a strange look from Steve. “What? I heard it’s good for your back.” He still didn’t seem convinced. “Stop being so judgy and cuddle me already,” you murmured, turning your body so that you could lay on your side.

Steve scooted closer to you, and you pressed your back to the front of his chest. He tossed an arm over you and somehow managed to pull you even closer to him. You swore you hadn’t been this comfortable since you left the womb, and you nearly purred in response. 

“Can I make a request?” he asked.

You simply nodded.

“Can we just… talk until we fall back asleep?” 

“That’s really cute,” you mumbled into your pillow. 

“You just have a relaxing voice!” he defended playfully.

“You are such a dork,” you giggled. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Just tell me about… I dunno, anything.”

“That was so helpful, Steven.”

“My bad. Tell me about your favorite… mission?”

“Mm, probably that one time you and I had to go undercover for like a month to bust that arms dealer.”

“Which one?”

“Some dude in the Midwest. Can’t remember his name.”

“Oh yeah, yeah I know who you’re talking about.”

“It was fun being your life partner for a month. We were really good at being domestic.”

“Hmm, now that I think about it, we really were. Do you remember that cookout?”

“Of course I do,” you laughed at the memory. “Everyone else was getting so drunk, but you just… couldn’t. They were like Joseph, you’re such a beast, and shit. And who would’ve guessed that you, the old timer would be such a beast on the grill.”

“Well, who would’ve guessed that you were so good at cornhole?”

“Was I really that good? Or were you just really bad? Like really bad, especially for someone whose skill set revolves around having good aim,” you teased.

Steve scoffed and laughed, shaking his head at you. 

“How didn’t those people recognize us? I just don’t get it.”

“You’d be surprised how much a beard and dyed hair can change your look.”

“I guess,” you sighed softly, and set a hand on top of Steve’s. “Does this feel counterproductive to you? We’re just sitting here giggling. We’re probably getting less tired.”

“I guess I am less tired. But I’m also not thinking about the impending robot apocalypse.”

“Well now that you brought it up, I’m thinking about the impending robot apocalypse. You better fix this, Rogers.” Emboldened by what must’ve been the butterflies in your stomach falling asleep, you began to roll a bit in his arms so you were facing each other, kicking away the pillow between your legs in the process. 

“How can I make it up to you?” Steve asked, raising a brow.

“You’re the man with a plan, right? Think of something,” your lip quirked slightly in a smirk.

Steve leaned in just the smallest amount, before a lightbulb seemed to go off in his head. “I got it. We can do one of those one word stories until we fall asleep.”

Well, that’s not exactly how you thought this moment was going to go. 

“Okay, I’ll start then,” you nodded, pressing your head down against a soft pillow, and looking up at Steve, “once.”

“There,” Steve added.

“Was.”

“A.”

“Death-bot,” you giggled. 

“Okay, Y/N. No. No more stories. We can just listen to each other breathe now until we fall asleep like before since you wanna ruin the mood.”

“What mood? And you listened to me breathe?”

“What else was I gonna listen to?” he furrowed his brows, “it’s too late for this anyway. We can talk in the morning.”

“All you had to do was tell me that it’s way past your bedtime, and I would be understanding. But goodnight anyway, Stevie,” you cracked him one last smile, not budging from your position as you closed your eyes. 

It was silent for a few minutes before Steve whispered up out of the blue, “you still awake?”

You slurred something into the pillow, much more asleep than awake. 

“Well, I really like you a lot. Maybe one day I’ll get the guts to tell you that when you’re not completely out of it.”

You grunted as a response, and Steve couldn’t seem to wipe the grin off his face, not while he was falling asleep, and certainly not during his rather pleasant dreams.

——

You just couldn’t seem to catch a break with your wake up calls. While you and Steve seemed to sleep through the rapping against the door, and the door itself opening, you both seemed to become aware after the artificial shutter of an iPhone camera flooded through your ears.

“You guys just looked so cute, I wanted to archive this moment for the rest of time. And I’m sure the team will be glad to see that you got along well last night,” Nat teased as your eyes widened and you shot up. “Breakfast is ready downstairs, by the way.”

Well, you two were going to have a great time explaining this one. 

[yourbuerokrat2]

I love the scenario of Picard getting drunk and ending up cofessing he loves Q, thinking that would get rid of him somehow if Q got exactly what he wanted(a confession, maybe even a night) but deeply regretting how Q actually does mean it about loving him back

It was a horrible, horrible realization that hit him in the courtroom during the last Trial. When Q leant forward, Picards heart skipped a beat and he found himself thinking about leaning forward as well for a kiss.

The first thought after this was, that Q must have made him think that. But not only does he not actually think, that Q would do somthing like this, but Q also showed no signs of knowing about Picards inner shock and embarrassing feelings.

Perhaps it was just the courtroom and the immense power imbalance, that brought up this strange and entirely unwelcome desire. But no, when he was back in his quarter he woke up from a dream (nightmare. it was as nightmare) in the middle of the night.

Q showing up more and more to annoy him also did not help the situation.

By the way Q grinned at him and continued to ignore his personal space together with the mock-flirting, Picard suspected that Q might have caught on to Picards secret.

When Deanna wanted to talk about him, about things she felt coming from him on the Bridge, he decided that perhaps a few glasses of the wine bottles he still had from the last time his brother sent him wine from France as birthday gifts were not that bad.

A few glasses turned into a bottle and when he was about to fill up his fifth glass, Q arrived.

"Come to torment me again, have you"?, Picard asked him, with a slight slur to his voice.

"Now, mon capitaine, I thnk we both know that nothing that I have done during our last meetings can really count as me 'torment' you."

"Don't play innoncent with me, Q.", Picard said as half heartedly pointed his finger at Q.

"I know that you know, that I... You know exactly what you are doing, with your flirting and being so close to me."

Q looked a bit nervous.

"I have no idea, what you are talking about, Jean-Luc."

Picard, in his drunk stupor, looked at Q. Clearly Q has known what he was doing, this suspicion was now to Picard confirmed by the way Q nervously avoiding eye contact while still trying to play it of in a nonchalant way.

The question was, why? After all, he still remembered how Q called Picards feelings for Vash 'a weakness' and he also got talk about Qs reaction to Amanda Rogers crush on Riker.

So, Qs or at least this Q were opposed to the human concept of 'love'. And how could Q not? After all, if Q as Data said really viewed him as some kind of pet, than this whole ordeal about finding out Picard has feelings for him, must be rather amusing. Though, Picard thinks, pet was perhaps the wrong word. 

Q probably suspected that Picard was interested in him, but finding out just how deep Picards interest and attraction went, could prove to be the way to get rid of Q for good. Well, aside from his duties as humanitys judge.

After all, it must be so strange and perhaps even disgusting for Q to find out that a lowly human is in love with him. 

He just hoped that whatever Q would make of his confession would be brief and that he wouldn't make mention of it to his crew or anyone else.

"I am in love with you."

It was a fact. A rather uncomfortable fact, but still a fact.

Q for one of the few times in his eternal life, was speechless.

"Come again?"

"I am in love with you, Q"

From one second to the next he was completly sober, as if someone drained every last drop of alcohol from his body.

"Say it again."

"I am in love with you, Q."

He did not say it with a smile or a blush. He looked straight at a disbelieving Q.

'You saw my cards. Let me see yours and then let's end this and never speak of this again.'

Picard expected Q to laugh, to belittle him, give him condescending pity or a arrogant or even awkward rejection.

And then to hopefully disappear, never to be seen again. 

What he did not expect was to suddenly find himself standing in the middle of his bedroom and being kissed by Q

And while this was not expected, it was not entirely unwelcome. After all, he has made peace with his own attraction towards him and maybe this was hopefully meant as Qs last goodbye. 

Though as he heard what Q was muttering between the kisses, the reality that this was not at all a rejection or a goodbye, set it.

And as he got pushed unto his own bed, he  said.

“Q stop it.”

A deliriously happy seeming Q stopped. 

“Was I a bit too fast, mon armour?”, Q asked with a grin. 

A part of Picard really wanted to continue, but the more reasonable part reminded him of the possible consequences.

“Listen,Q, I know that perhaps in the heat of the moment you are thinking and saying things you don’t really mean..”

“Oh, but I mean everything. Have meant to tell you, but never knew when and if you need me to do something to prove how much I love you just say it and it will be done.”

Ok, how was he going to get himself out of this situation?

“I do believe, that you could possibly .. love me. But I don’t think that any relationship between us would work out.

“The only thing that matters is that I love you and you love me. And if anything  even tries to get between us, I’ll just get rid of it.”

Merde.

[skellebonez]

i have been laughing for like an hour at that one post about Macaque with hiccups so. what if like. drabble about that with idk prompts number 9 and 72 i guess???

Anon, you have NO IDEA how much I loved this post by @animemoonprincess , I have been wanting to write something using this idea for so long. I just wanted to write silly goofy "Mac can't control his powers when he has hiccups" fic for a while and this was so much fun!

How long have you been standing there?/Don’t you dare.

"And... how long as this been going on?" Pigsy asked, torn between shaking his head in disbelief and worry and holding back laughter at the sight before him. He honestly felt kinda bad for wanting to laugh, but after all the stunts the immortal monkey had put himself and his friends through... he allowed himself a few chuckles.

"Three-hic-HOURS!" Macaque snapped, laying flat on his chest and gripping the sides of the table in front of him with a scowl. "I can't take i-hic-it anymore, you have to have some-hic-thing to make them STOP!"

Each hiccup made Macaque's tail bristle and fluff up, as if each one startled him, and made his glamor glitch awkwardly. If that was the best way to put it.

"Mac, you look miserable," Mei said, holding back her own laughter as she looked up something on her phone.

"I am," he said, uncharacteristic honest for the moment... but then again, it wasn't like he could hide this fact.

"Don't I know that feeling," MK offered in solidarity, patting the immortal monkey on the back and wincing when another stronger hiccup made Macaque jump.

They had all wondered why he was wearing a cloak and avoiding them for the last hour when he finally showed his face, only hearing the hiccups coming from him and seeing the way he jumped ever so slightly with them. He'd stayed as close to light as much as he could, very unusual for himself, and tried to just go about what his initial mission was (which was apparently getting some ice water in the hopes it would help alleviate his symptoms).

And then he has hiccuped just a little too hard at the wrong moment and managed to fall through Sandy's shadow and into the lower levels of the drone ship.

To say they were all grateful the ship wasn't flying at the moment and that he was on the upper level was an understatement... even if he would have survived the fall. Being immortal the way he was.

Right now he was in the ship's kitchen with the rest of their little group (minus Wukong who had seemingly vanished to... wherever it was he liked to hide), gripping the table as stated before to presumably not fall through a misplaced shadow again in the overly brought room, and looking... well...

He was blue. Literally, his hair had turned blue. Then he hiccuped and it became an odd shade that looked like his own mixed with stripes of Wukong's hair color. His eye that had a glamor over it changed color every other hiccup as well, and so did the color of his outfit (though he didn't normally have a glamor over that he couldn't control what glamors were put up or taken down it seemed).

The next hiccup was followed by a soft whimper of frustration as his two ears became six before their eyes. And that... made Pigsy pause.

"Does this hurt you?" Sandy took the initiative to ask, raising an eyebrow of concern.

Whatever laugher was about to bubble up from the group surrounding Macaque paused instantly once he brought up the possibility. MK in particular paused, a look of realization and slight guilt dawning on his face.

"No..." Macaque started slowly, seeming to think over his next words carefully before he sighed in defeat and face planted into the table. "But -hic-... it is very -hic- uncomfortable," the other admitted after, his ears changing color from completely normal to a rainbow on either side. "Imagine feeling the -hic- chest spasms but in what-hic-ever part of your body changes. And it's -hic- really tiring to have my -hic- powers activate like this."

Well... that was actually moderately concerning. Not dangerous sounding, exactly, but Pigsy could imagine how much this was affecting the other when the last hiccup made whatever glamor over the dark circles under his eyes fade away. They all knew that Macaque was hardly sleeping but this...

"Well," Mei said cheerily, jumping up from her seat and waving her phone. "I have a few idea on how we can get rid of these that are less dangerous than finding a rare flower that blooms under very specific circumstances. What have you tried already?"

~

To say they had been unsuccessful was an understement. They’d tried nearly everything they could think of.

Macaque had tried holding his breathe again, breathing exercises, drinking the ice water he had left his room to get. Sandy had suggested compressing his chest with his knees, but that hadn't worked either. Pigsy had brought him some ice to chew on with much the same result.

Mei's idea of eating a lemon slice or swallowing a spoonful of sugar, while creative, were even less well received when they did not work. There were other methods she found online that she immediately vetoed, no one wanted to anger the immortal by attempting to tickle them away (not after his snarled "Don’t you dare.")

MK's attempt at scaring them away was... laughable. Literally, instead of scaring Macaque the young man just sent him into a fit of laughter that only seemed to make him both even more exhausted and grateful for the short bit of amusement.

"Well now what?" Tang asked, checking off each attempt on a sheet of paper. "We've tried almost everything."

Macaque hiccuped again, groaning in exhaustion and covering one of his eyes with his cloak hood up to hide... whatever was on his face he didn't want anyone to see. No one said anything about it, the sight of the other making them just feel too bad for him to push the issue for the moment.

"Maybe if I pass out from -hic- exhaustion they'll stop," he almost slurred, leaning even harder against the table. He had been dealing with this for 4 hours with little to no relief sight. He looked awful. "Just let me pass -hic- out."

"No way!" Pigsy said firmly, helping Mei look up more cures on her phone. "What if they don't stop? You could fall through the floor again and we are not having-!"

Pigsy never got to finish that sentence because one second Macaque was alone at the table looking miserable.

The next Wukong was standing behind him and jabbed two of his fingers on either side of his neck.

"WHAT THE HELL!?" Macaque snapped after a yell of pain, breathing heavy as he clutched his chest and glowered at the Monkey King. "How long have you been standing there, Wukong!?"

"Only long enough to know that all of you didn't see me," Wukong said with a smirk, gesturing with his hand to the other immortal. "Hmn... sounds... awful quiet now... don't you think?"

Macaque paused, a look of confusion crossing his face before he realized... he wasn't hiccuping anymore. He stayed quiet for a moment, everyone did...

And no sound came aside from everyone's breathing.

"That actually worked!" MK shouted in relief, moving to hug Macaque in his excitement before realizing who he was hugging and letting go with an awkward chuckle.

"I know it's been centuries," Wukong said, face softening with a sad smile as his words continued. "But I remembered that worked for you... back then. You could have asked me for help, Mango."

"... yeah... thanks, Peaches," Macaque said slowly, looking at him with an almost suspicious gaze for a moment before he frowned oddly and stood to wander off. "I'm... going back to bed."

The group watched Macaque make his way to the hallway, movements slow and sluggish from his odd endeavor.

"Sleep well!" Mei suddenly shouted after him. "You deserve some rest after that!"

He paused just long enough to nod before heading on his way.

"You gonna explain any of that, Peaches?" Pigsy asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. "The heck did you do anyway?"

"Compressed his wind pipe and scared him half to death," Wukong answered with a shrug. "It was the only thing that worked when we were... friends. And no, I don't want to explain. Not until he wants to."

No one said anything to that, just nodded in silent agreement.

When Macaque woke up the glamors were back up and where they used to be... except, Pigsy noted, whatever had originally been concealing the dark circles under his eyes.

He also noted how when Mei asked how he sleept he sounded more honest than he had since joining them.

[petersasteria]

happier || haz osterfield

sour masterlist || osterfield || sour taglist

1,426 words i got carried away lmao and i made myself cry while writing

* * * *

Despite your painful breakup with Harrison a month ago, you still had the same circle of friends. It was awkward, but you loved all of them. They were on your side too even though you didn’t say anything to them. Tuwaine FaceTimed you almost every night just to check on you. Tom sent you a ‘care package’ and it had your favorite food and a few skin care items in it. Harry sent you pictures of everything he saw that made you smile. Sam personally brought you food the next day. He was there when you cried. After all, five years was no joke.

It’s Tom’s birthday and naturally, you were invited. Well, it wasn’t exactly his birthday. He just wanted to celebrate days before, so that he can celebrate his actual birthday with his family. Tom, Sam, and Harry were lucky to celebrate twice. You arrived at the restaurant with a big paper bag in your hand.

You looked around and saw Harry waving you over which made you smile as you made your way there. When you got closer, your smile dropped when you saw a girl next to Harrison a.k.a your ex that you still love because, again, five years is no joke. They were busy in their own little world, not noticing you sitting right across from them.

Noticing this, Harry said, “Sit beside me, Y/N! We have so much to talk about.” You glanced at him and gave him a small smile, but you were hurting already. You sit beside Harry and set your gift down under your chair before talking about random things.

Harrison finally noticed you and he acted as if he didn’t break your heart a month ago. It angered you and you had every right to feel that way. “Hey, Y/N/N! I didn’t see you there. This is my girlfriend, Gracie. Gracie, this is Y/N.”

You wanted the ground to eat you whole, but you plastered a fake smile on your face as you looked at her. She was beautiful and she seemed sweet. She was even shy when she greeted you and you had a feeling that she was genuinely kind. You glanced at Harrison for a second and saw that he was happy. He really was. He was laughing more and his smile was brighter. She really brought out the best in him.

You shook her hand and smiled. For real, this time. It was painful because it’s not everyday you get to shake the hand of your replacement, but for some reason you felt light. Probably because Gracie wasn’t a monster like the others and for that, you were thankful.

You never had closure with Harrison and maybe that’s why after eating dinner at the restaurant, he pulled you aside and asked you if it was okay for you both to talk. You just nodded before catching up with Sam and Harry.

Tom decided it was nice to walk from the restaurant to the nearest club. He was walking hand in hand with Nadia and it was such a cute sight to see. Meanwhile, Harrison and Gracie were doing the same thing, but you shook it off. You wanted to move on, but it was hard knowing that Harrison was right there.

You planned on getting blackout drunk because you wanted to forget. You knew it was stupid because you’d remember everything the next day, but drinking helped a little and you’ve been drinking often recently. You were killing yourself painfully slow by drinking excessively, but Harrison’s new relationship killed you and now, metaphorically, you were dead.

When you arrived at the club, you quickly went up to the bar and ordered yourself a few drinks before joining the rest of the group. They didn’t even notice you. After downing five different drinks, you made your way through the club and spotted the group. You sat beside Sam and you smiled at him.

“Where’d you go?” Sam asked in your ear.

“I got lost.” You lied, but Sam took it even though he knew that was a lie. Tom bought the first round of drinks and you quickly drank yours making everyone shocked. You just shrugged it off. The rest of the night was spent laughing, drinking, and dancing.

The twins were concerned about you, though. Tom and Tuwaine were concerned too. After all, they were your friends. Tuwaine noticed you were slurring your words and your movements were sluggish and that was enough for him to know that enough was enough. He gave you water and let you sober up.

“Is she okay?” Harrison asked.

“Yeah, she’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Sam snapped. He wasn’t mad at Harrison, but he hated seeing you like that. Harrison was his friend, but he’s just another guy and you’ll find someone else too. You won’t find someone new as soon as Harrison, but Sam believed that the guy for you was out there.

“I’ll take her outside for some air.” Sam said as he led you outside through the swarm of dancing, happy people.

The air was refreshing and it wasn’t crowded. Sam stared at you as you took in the air before you finally broke down in front of him. “What’s wrong?” Sam asked softly.

“He moved on so fast, that’s all. It’s like what we had was just a joke to him, Sam.” You cried, making Sam tear up. He brought you in for a hug and you hugged back.

“Did he forget about me that quick?” You asked and it broke Sam’s heart.

“I don’t know, Y/N. I wish I knew.” He frowned before pulling away. He wiped your tears with his thumbs. “You’ll be fine, I promise you that.”

“I-Is it selfish of me to wish that he isn’t happier with her? And- And as much as I want to hate her so bad, I can’t because she seems really nice and I can’t bring myself to hate her. I have so many questions. Did he tell her that she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen? Did he mean it when he said that shit to me? Or was he just playing with me? Did he really love me?” You questioned as tears streamed down your face. You were a mess, but Sam allowed you to just go on. God knows how long you’ve been keeping all that to yourself.

“I can’t let him go, Sam. Not yet. I don’t have the heart to because deep down I wish that he would come back.”

Sam smiled sadly and said, “We both know he’s not the type to go back to his ex.”

“I know. I guess that’s why I can’t let go because I thought I was the one for him. I thought we were it for each other, but I failed to notice that I wasn’t the one for him. I think I’m bitter because she could be the one for him and now that I see them together, my past with him keeps flashing back. I want him back and I think I’ll keep wanting him.” You rambled as you wiped your tears away. Sam gave you his handkerchief and you gladly took it to wipe your face.

Harrison walked out of the club and he saw both of you. He rushed over to both of you and asked Sam if he could leave. Sam hesitated, but you smiled at him and he nodded at you before leaving.

“Are you okay?” Harrison asked. You nodded, “Never been better.”

“Alright, that’s good to hear.” He chuckled. “I hope it wasn’t awkward with Gracie. What do you think of her?”

The question broke your heart even more and you didn’t think it was possible.

“She seems really kind and she’s beautiful.” You gave him a small smile.

He grinned, “Thank you.”

“I hope you’re happy with her. I mean it.” You said softly, thanking God that your voice didn’t crack because you feel a sob coming up.

“She’s the one, Y/N. I can feel it. I’m really happy with her.” Harrison said truthfully. “Anyway, I’ll go back inside. I just wanted to ask you if it’s awkward.”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you just shook your head. He gave you a quick hug before going back inside. You stood out there before walking home. You didn’t care about anything at the moment. You just wanted to go home because tonight, your soul left your body as you slowly died of heartbreak.

* * * *

𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @celestialholland @alinastarkrovs @piscesparker @prancerrparkerr @spideyspeaches @givebuckyhisplumsnow @blueleatherbag

[elia-de-silentio]

Vanitas and affection: a complicated relationship

In light of recent chapters and waiting for the next to deliver our new dose of pain, I've decided to make a bit of analysis on how Vanitas relates to affection.

Vanitas enters this world, and gets the first of a long series of traumas. A classic: mother dies in childbirth, the baby is blamed for existing. Vanitas had internalized this thinking from his father ... or maybe it was a reasoning he made on his own (he says that his father 'must have hated him', but does not recall the man actually telling him so), and his father did not correct him - either because he subconsciously agreed or because he wasn't the most emotionally attuned man in the world.

After all, the only thing certain about Vanitas's father is his tendency to self-sacrifice: he abandoned his birth family and respectable profession to follow the woman he loved in her travelling caravan, even if he didn't like the rest of the people there; he gave up his life to save his son.

And this latter part is what furthers Vanitas's trauma, as he will feel an extra dose of guilt for causing his father's sacrifice.

After the death of his family, he is taken by the Chasseurs to be trained and become one of them. His strong hatred for vampires fueled him, and it's likely he was quite good at fighting, given what we see of him now. But alas, he caught the attention of Moreau.

Vanitas's damnation was his high empathy. As Luna will later point out, he would be able to escape; but Moreau had faked his death by killing a kid that looked like him, thus triggering his trauma of 'other people sacrificing for his sake'.

And then, he thought that even if he escaped, someone else would be tortured in his place. The reasoning is actually more based in self-loathing than reality, as attested by the existence of n.70 and 71; so he turned his reason for being there into trying to get more torture and lift it from the other children whenever he could.

Then he gets saved. Well, he likely doesn't perceive it like that, because Luna is a vampire, especially the Vampire of the Blue Moon whose blood Moreau injected him to try and turn him into a vampire. Nevertheless, there appears to have been a somewhat peaceful period between the escape from Moreau and the start of the series: we see Luna take care of him and Misha, giving them shelter, teaching them about malnomens and trying her hand at life lessons; we see little Vanitas do most of the chores, even if with a standoffish attitude; we see little Misha basking in the happiness of a somewhat stable and nice family situation.

Then something terrible happens.

It is revealed that due to Moreau's experiments, the kids are not exactly human anymore, but they aren't vampires either; their body can't substain this state of being, and they will die if they aren't turned into kins of the Blue Moon. Misha accepts, Vanitas refuses, wanting to stay human. Next thing we know, they are both kins of the Blue Moon with Marks of Possession, and Luna is dead.

As of the time of this writing, it is not clear exactly what happened; we know that Luna died, and that Vanitas played some role in it. Misha outright accuses him of killing her, but the framing of the actual events is quite ambiguous.

Vanitas, on his part, seems to have conflicting feelings: he says he wants to take revenge on Luna for drinking his blood, but when he's half-delirious, he mutters that he didn't really hate her; he appearently made Misha some promise that he didn't keep, and he is crushed by guilt as a result.

But whatever happened, his consent on the kin-making was ignored (just like it always happened in Moreau's laboratory) and another person that was close to him died either at his own hand, or because of him. And he gets some other trauma on top of an already long list.

Moreover, he was surprised to find out that Misha was alive. So, for some time, he believed the person who he loved like a brother was dead. Add good old grief to the mix.

So, we get to the Vanitas of the very first chapters of the manga. An outgoing, cocky individual ... a mask. After all, every time he has shown his actual feelings of anger and grief, it didn't turn out very well for him in the end, did it?

It also allows him to annoy and gross out people, specifically Noé and Jeanne. Nobody really likes his arrogance and pushiness, so they won't give him the affection he doesn't deserve.

Then, the aftermath of the Bal Masqué. Vanitas is provoking Ruthven, and Noé goes unexpectedly to protect him. To take risks for his sake. This already scares him, but then Noé has the gall to go and try to understand him! His reaction has to be more extreme: he flat out tries to attack Noé with a knife and tries to get him away, whereas he had been pretty much stalking him up to this point. But Noé refuses; and Vanitas is maybe just a little comforted and moved, enough to stop trying to push him away.

Then there is the Catacomb Arc, where a new character is introduced: Roland. He doesn't show spite to Vanitas, but still sees him with condescension, denying that he is acting out of his own free will. And this, to the former Chasseur who was left by the rest of them in Moreau's clutches, is untolerable. Roland means well, but he's going at it the wrong way.

After the fight with Roland, there is another argument between Vanitas and Noé. Vanitas does exactly what Noé had done before: shields him. This sends Noé on a sermon about how Vanitas, as a human, is weak and shouldn't take such risks, which infuriates the other boy: he bites back by calling Noé overconfident, citing the Ruthven accident as an example. This confuses Noé, because didn't he want him to become his shield?

I suspect that this was both Vanitas tendency to sacrifice himself for others, and a sign of tentative trust towards Noé. He does the same thing the vampire did for him ... and got rebuked, and called weak for his trouble. Noé's attitude is too patronizing to be seen as an actual sign of concern,and his already bad mood sours considerably.

Well, there is to say that after a similar crisis repeats itself a chapter later, complete with anti-vampire slurs on Vanitas part, Noè amends ... by using him as a fake hostage against Roland, which is still better that treating him as if he was weak.

Now, Noé might be naive in a lot of regards, but he is not stupid. From that moment onwards, he gets that Vanitas will be treated as an equal. He won't force him into dangerous situations, but he won't even treat him like he's too frail for it. He will be incouraging, but not condescending. And the result is that he actually snaps Vanitas out from his trauma-induced flashbacks, and gets him to be more open and trusting than he has ever been.

In the Gevaudan arc, Vanitas's emotional connections get shaken on two fronts: Noé 's and Jeanne's.

In this arc, he is the one to encourage and support Noé. He gives him advice on how to handle Astolfo; he gets worried about him when he's captured by Chloé (even if he expresses it in his own way).

He saves Noé from getting lost into Jean-Jacques's memories, listens to what he has to say, and concedes to what he wants, where at the start of the manga he was all 'my way or the highway'. He even almost (almost) admits that he was worried about Noé!

He still receives some actual support: demostrations of Noé's spirit which are good for the soul, and a proclamation that he believes in what Vanitas thinks about the origin of Malnomen, the first time a vampire says something like that. Vani plays grumpy, but he is obviously very shaken, in a positive way.

He finally shows Jeanne some actual support: he is cold to her after he was unwillingly vulnerable in her presence due to his illness, but pushes that aside rather quickly, in order to help her realize what she truly wants (saving Chloé instead of killing her) and that she's right to want it. He reminds her that she's a person, not a tool.

And she's grateful for it, and has definitely no qualms about expressing it. The result is that our hero spends days in blue screen, to then have a complete freakout at the possibility of being actually in love with Jeanne. He's so out  of it, he ends up oversharing his feelings of being undeserving of love to a Roland who he doesn't like and a Olivier he has never met before. Still, it's the first time he flat-out says his issues.

This brings us to his rooftop conversation with Noé. I really liked the vampire's behaviour here: he was comforting in a sort of roundabout way, à la Vanitas. He said that he is happy Vanitas is the way he is, even if he still doesn't like him very much. Translation: you're a way better person than you think you are, and you deserve to be loved. This is coming from a totally unbiased place, I'm not a weird person who would like you or something.

And this is the last conversation we see between the two of them: as of the time of this writing, Noé has been compelled to drink Misha's blood, and Vanitas has just arrived on the scene.

Vanitas has seen his self-loathing perspective challenged and has changed a lot in the span of a rather short time, and I really don't know how he'll react to Noé learning the details of his past; he sure won't want any form of compassion. Personally, I suspect he'll be very cold to Noé for quite some time, possibly even trying to drive him away, before a reconciliation.

Thanks to anyone who bothered to read my ramblings!

[thefoxholestuff]

Hey y’all, here’s an expansion of my Neil-is-dangerous-and-Aaron-knows-it post, available here. A long overdue suggestion from @sarcasm-is-my-only-langauge, hope you like it lovely!

·      So all the foxes + Katelyn are hanging out together somewhere on campus (bc I love Katelyn and I said so ok).

·      And they run into the football team, who, in the grand tradition of fictional football teams, are assholes.

·      (to be fair, so are the foxes, but in a different way.)

·      The football team is not co-ed, and not particular fans of the fact that the foxes are. Also, their games tend to be on the same days and they’re a little mad that the foxes keep stealing their crowds.

·      So, predictably, they start giving the team shit.

·      (this got really long so the rest is under the cut)

·      And Matt and Aaron can handle being called junkies, they don’t care (Andrew says it to Neil often enough that the usual connotation barely even registers any more).

·      Nicky grits his teeth through the homophobic slurs and flips them off.

·      Kevin doesn’t give a single flying fuck about being called a reject.

·      The girls can and do defend themselves from the harassment and sexism (Katelyn is used to it, the girl is a cheerleader – they get so much shit just by virtue of their sport).

·      Neil just yawns his way through the ridiculing of his facial scars.

·      Pretty much everyone on the team defends themselves from the onslaught of insults and nastiness. You don’t get to be a fox without learning to hold your own, after all. Everyone fights back, and they don’t do it quietly.

·      Except for Andrew.

·      Now, obviously, Andrew cares even less about what people say about him than the other foxes.

·      Andrew doesn’t fight back, because he doesn’t care enough.

·      But guess what, motherfuckers? Neil sure does.

·      One minute he’s sneering at a guy twice his size, verbally annihilating his entire existence.

·      And the next he’s got the guy’s even bigger friend on the ground, screaming in pain, with an arm twisted behind his back for calling Andrew a soulless psycho.

·      He would have broken the asshole’s arm if Andrew hadn’t made eye contact and shook his head (because when Neil said he might have to fight the next person who called Andrew soulless, he wasn’t fucking kidding).

·      And the foxes just stare.

·      Cause yeah, okay, they knew Neil was dangerous, like objectively knew it – for fuck’s sake he grew up in the mob – but they’ve never seen it in action before. And, hell, it’s so easy to forget. Every time he gives them puppy eyes over a gift, or melts when one of them says he’s their friend, it gets harder and harder to remember where he comes from.

·      But Neil hasn’t forgotten.

·      And neither has one of the other foxes.

·      Dan gapes. She’s… kind of proud? But also no, bad vice captain, you and I are supposed to be the level-headed ones.

·      So does Allison, for a minute, and then she shrugs, walks by, and ruffles Neil’s hair with an “attaboy”.

·      Renee raises an eyebrow and reminds herself not to be fooled by those big blue eyes again.

·      Matt is nearly in tears jfc he’s so fuckin proud of his little bro, defending his bf like that (but also Neil buddy we gotta talk about public violence, someone’s gonna report that eventually).

·      Katelyn’s a little concerned, but like... fuckin foxes man what are you gonna do?

·      Nicky stares and starts rambling, Andrew bops him on the back of the head to get him to shut up.

·      Kevin is… vaguely concerned, actually, because Neil looked a lot like his father for a second there. It takes him a couple of days to look Neil in the eye again, but Andrew sits him down and makes him talk until he can figure things out.

·      Andrew is Looking Respectfully, he promises, but also… goddamn. He’s always pleased to see his people defend themselves, it means less work for him, but seeing someone defend him isn’t something he’s used to (and it’s kinda turning him on not gonna lie).

·      But Aaron? Aaron is not pleased.

·      You may recall that Aaron is not a fan of his brother’s relationship. Aside from the mild-to-moderate homophobia (which I like to think he’s working on at this point), he canonically thinks Neil is taking advantage of his brother, or trying to. He, like the rest of the foxes, is aware that Neil is the son of a mob boss, but unlike the rest of the foxes he’s hyper-aware of it.

·      Because yeah, Neil acts nice (for a fox) most of the time. He’s cute, funny kind of by accident, and a little socially awkward in a way the upperclassmen clearly adore.

·      You know who else seemed nice most of the time?

·      Tilda.

·      The Spears.

·      The Hemmicks.

·      Anyone who’s ever hurt Aaron or Andrew or Nicky, because you see, you don’t typically get close enough to hurt someone without seeming nice at first. Aaron knows for a fucking fact that ‘nice, most of the time’ and ‘willing to resort to violence’ is a bad, bad, bad combination.

·      And he doesn’t get why no one else seems to understand that.

·      Aaron’s not quite sure how Neil Josten has managed to fool his entire team, but he’s going to find out. And he’s going to start by talking to his brother because therapy is awful but he’s learning, dammit.

·      …after Andrew is done dragging his boyfriend off to the dorms, because ew. There are some things Aaron doesn’t need to see, even in the name of protecting his brother.

[five-rivers]

Loved 6

Written for Dannymay 2021 Day 15: Nature

.

“Danny,” said Sam, “what’s wrong?”

The question was, really, far too vague. Many things were wrong all the time, especially with Danny. Part and parcel of being what he was, living where they were, and doing what he did. Although she was more comfortable with it all than Tucker, she could acknowledge that things were… bad. That the world was messed up. That, although people could be horrible to each other on their own, the monstrous beings lurking under the fabric of reality did not help.

But Danny had been in especially low spirits for the last few days. She’d almost say he was depressed, but she was hesitant to apply mental health disorders to someone who wasn’t even entirely human anymore. He’d also been unusually quiet, but he had admitted some time ago that he was having progressively more difficulty ‘finding words,’ so that could be the reason instead.

If she could find out why he was upset, maybe she could cheer him up. Or at least support him.

He made a face, one hand covering his mouth as he talked. “You remember that time, um, when Clockwork… The gifts?” He touched his wrist.

“Yes?” said Sam, prompting him to continue.

Danny glanced down the otherwise oddly-deserted school hallway. “It’s… He had me eat with him. Sort of. Ever since then, my teeth have been…” He paused his hand now firmly pressed to his face.

“Weird?” suggested Tucker, voice low.

Danny nodded. “I had – I was venomous, in the Dream, I don’t—” He faltered.

“Do they hurt?” asked Sam.

“Mhm.”

“Do you think biting into something might help?” asked Sam as she swung her backpack off her shoulder and rummaged in it.

Danny’s eyes seemed to glaze over as he considered the question. Finally, he shrugged.

Sam found what she was looking for. “Here,” she said, holding out the shiny red apple. “Try this.”

Danny examined the apple, careful and silent. The fruit was reflected, vividly, in his eyes. Once. Twice. Three times? No. Danny had two eyes. Two perfect, insightful, soulful eyes.

Delicately, he took it. He still didn’t remove the hand over his mouth.

“We’ve seen worse, man,” mumbled Tucker.

“Not when I’m being human,” protested Danny. Gingerly, he removed his other hand from his mouth and brought the apple to his lips.

When his lips parted, Sam could see what he was talking about. Those were definitely, clearly, fangs. Sharp, smooth, and white. They sparkled even in the flat overhead school lights. Something bluish and clear glistened at their tips.

Was Danny venomous?

(Why did that excite her?)

They crunched into the apple. Danny held it there, still and tense, for a few seconds before his expression melted into absolute bliss.

“Feel better?” asked Sam.

“Mmmhmm,” said Danny, eyes half closed.

“Guys?” said Tucker. “We should probably go now. Before they kick us out.”

“Huh?”

“It’s the end of the school day. School’s been out for half an hour.”

Sam frowned. Was it? She… Did she… She did remember going to all her classes. She shook her head, dismissing the momentary lapse.

Danny regretfully disengaged from the apple, blinked, and swayed. His outline wavered. Sam grabbed his wrist, and a jolt ran up her bones, making her teeth hurt as if she had just bitten down on ice. He stabilized again.

“Thank you,” he said.

He did not notice that she had taken the apple.

.

She set the apple on her desk, and the color stood out vibrantly against the dark-stained wood and her black, goth-themed knickknacks. The color, which was a different than what it had been when she had given the apple to Danny.

The neon blue skin was cold enough to gather condensation and smooth under her fingers. There was otherwise little evidence that Danny had bitten into it. The holes had sealed over, leaving only small depressions.

She knew what she wanted to do. She knew what she shouldn’t do.

Danny said she couldn’t die. That he had destroyed her death, among others. She trusted him.

But it was always good to be prepared.

She set up a text on a timer. If she wasn’t able to cancel it in the next ten minutes, it would go out to Danny and Tucker.

The bed would be the best place to do this. She sat down on the edge, feet firmly planted on the floor.

She bit into the apple.

For a few seconds, she was disappointed, but then.

Then.

She let herself drop back onto her bed, the springs creaking slightly and the covers gently fluttering. She exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled. Blinked. Closed her eyes. Opened them again.

Everything. Everything.

It was like seeing for the first time. The world was as thin as rice paper. The light was shinning through. It’s true nature.

And all the people. Everywhere. Everyone. Connected.

She—

Everyone.

Beyond the rice paper they could see and touch and feel, the false veil above the truth they couldn’t look at directly, but Danny could and, oh.

Was this what he saw all the time? Was he always filled with this sense of—

Of charity? Of- of—

What could she call this? Care? Empathy?

Could she call it love?

(She could. He was. Because he was loving. But his understanding of love was overwritten and subsumed by his understanding of Love. There could be no other way.)

(To love was human. Love was divine.)

If everyone could feel like this…

Sam knew how much people could hurt each other. She knew how terrible the world was.

(Her grandfather had only died a few years ago. He’d been born in Germany.)

She knew how stressed Danny was about hurting others, even when it was his mere existence that was harmful – And Sam wasn’t so sure that it was harmful. If Danny hadn’t just internalized the vitriol and hate that his parents practically consisted of.

If everyone could feel like this…

They’d had a conversation, back when they’d connected the others to cults, about whether or not cults were a natural result of the others’ presence, or if they were actually encouraged by the others. Maybe it was a combination of the two, but Sam now had good evidence for the former.

This. This was natural. This was right.

And she would work hard to make everything else right, too.

The feeling faded after another few… minutes? Hours?

Minutes. It had to be minutes. Otherwise, Danny and Tucker would be here.

The timer.

She fumbled her phone open just in time to cancel the text.

.

Sam was tempted to take another bite of the apple, but she knew that she had to be careful with her resources. She had her vision. Her goal. Her plan to make the world a better place.

It started here.

She leaned on her shovel and checked the depth of the hole in the ground. Good. Good. Room enough for the apple and room enough for the fertilizer.

She used her fingernails to slit open a bag of the latter and then placed the apple reverently on top of the small pile. A shadow passed over her. It didn’t seem like quite enough, did it?

Perhaps… an offering? She emptied the contents of her pocket. Coins. A six-sided die with a bat in place of its ‘one’ pip. A caramel and a strawberry candy her grandmother had given her that morning. A small picture of herself, Danny, and Tucker. A safely pin.

She arranged them carefully around the apple. The safety pin gleamed in the light.

Staring at her. She stared back.

Maybe…

She picked up the pin and squeezed it to free the sharp end. Then, before she could hesitate, before she could have second thoughts, she drew it over the ball of her thumb. Blood welled up from the small wound, and she let it drip on the soil surrounding the apple.

.

The tree grew into a sapling overnight. The next day, it was taller than Sam. On the third, the trunk was thicker than both her wrists together. By the end of the week, it had burst into bloom.

Sam made sure to water it every day.

Danny, meanwhile, continued to have problems with his teeth. He spoke less, his words slurred and lisping around his still-growing fangs, but that didn’t matter to her and Tucker. After the years they’d spent together, they could read each other pretty well.

Sam maintained a constant supply of apples for him to bite down on. Most of the time, he ate them afterwards, which she couldn’t really begrudge him, but sometimes he’d leave them on his desk or on the table or just out and Sam would put aside her next afternoon for experimentation.

Before she knew it, the tree was bearing fruit. Rose-red and perfectly shaped, not a trace of scale or insects. Sam knew exactly what to do with them.

.

“Hey,” she said, as her parents walked in, “I made an apple pie. Tell me if it’s any good.”

[literaphobe]

George not found said the b and r slurs too and he just called them "insensitive things" and Dream has literally said the n word

ok this is the last time i’m gonna say anything about this. first of all, i am in no way excusing or defending anything dream or george have ever said. i have no intentions of doing so. if you hate dream and george that literally doesn’t matter to me and you have every right to do so. but the way you say these things sound very much like a ‘gotcha’ and it makes me think you haven’t been listening to the communities involved NOR have u been doing actual research about what happened aside from reading random posts or tweets about various situations

ur asking me why i’m calling out k*ceytron and telling people to focus on the racist, ableist, n homophobic things she did/said rather than shifting focus to this situation, because according to you dream and george essentially did the same thing. but the whole issue here is that k*cey never apologized, took accountability, nor did she try to do better. she in fact proceeded to antagonize the communities that she harmed because she wants attention and is a bad person who doesn’t care. we honestly shouldn’t even be giving her any attention because she’s literally 30 years old and has been doing this spiel since 2013

george and dream on the other hand have on multiple occasions taken responsibility when affected communities hold them accountable. this includes apologies and assurance that they care and want to do better, and then they don’t do/say things they promised to stop doing/saying. if you are in any community that’s been affected by anything they’ve said/done, you are not obliged to forgive them. this is something dream has told his followers. very valid criticism has been raised against them and if people affected still hate/don’t like them for it, that’s fine, and no one should be attacking them for it

but... accountability matters. the willingness to take responsibility and to change actually matters. “unproblematic ccs” don’t exist the same way that “unproblematic people” don’t exist. some of you put people on these high ass pedestals and then kick them down the second they do/say something wrong and this mentality actually hurts communities fighting against oppression, fighting for progress. it is a little uncomfortable how many people who weaponize cancel culture tend to have... so much privilege. i’m not talking about you personally anon, but if you are part of many privileged communities by chance i highly suggest you examine this mindset

ok re what u said about george. here’s the full apology he made, ur inferring inaccurately from the first sentence he said and it just doesn’t sit right with me! the instances u brought up are also from a video that’s almost a decade old, and while that’s not an excuse and george was and should have been held accountable for it like he has been, context matters. u can absolutely choose not to forgive him (if ur in the affected communities. if ur not, these apologies aren’t yours to accept nor reject), but you can’t tell me ccs that apologize and take responsibility are “just as bad” as ccs who repeatedly say/do horrible things and CONSISTENTLY refuse to take responsibility and continuously ignore communities that want, at the very least, an apology. that’s all i have to say on the matter. if you were unaware of most of this before, no hard feelings, i just wanted to educate. but also please don’t send me asks of this nature anymore

[devilrising]

For me the top of the list of things that feel gay and homophobic at the same time is Darco MyFatherWillHearAboutThis Malfoy

I really enjoyed this prompt! Thank you Raye for the beta <3

Warnings: drunken shenanigans, spin the bottle, and first kisses

***

The Room of Requirement is packed with students, speakers, and tables covered with cheap food and alcohol. Harry isn’t entirely sure who thought asking for Muggle speakers was a good idea, but the Room had supplied massive ones that take up a good amount of space. Occasionally a Pureblood bumps into them, and Harry takes great delight in watching them flinch and rush away.

When Hermione had suggested a party to help build interhouse relationships for the Eighth Years, Harry had been skeptical at best. When Ron had readily agreed to it, and even made sure the Slytherins were included, Harry was suspicious. There’s no way Ron was willing to hang out with Slytherins without an ulterior motive.

Part of Harry thinks he just wants to get into Hermione’s pants.

Face twisting in disgust at the thought, Harry forces himself back to the current situation. Most of the Eighth Years are gathered in a semi-circle, sitting in front of a roaring fire. There’s a bottle in the middle of the group, presently ignored in favour of the couple snogging. Harry didn’t see the point in playing Spin the Bottle. He had protested and claimed that they were too old to be making people kiss their classmates, but no one had wanted to listen to him.

Now though, after a few shots of Firewhiskey burning through his veins, he doesn’t think it’s such a bad idea anymore. If nothing else, it has finally made Dean and Seamus realise how stupid they are for each other.

“Alright alright! Keep it family friendly!” Hermione calls out, voice slightly slurred. The boys finally break apart, Dean squeezing Seamus’ butt once before moving back to his spot in the circle. Seamus flushes bright red, and after a moment, crawls after him.

“Spin the bottle!” Blaise shouts, grinning as it's set in motion again.

With all eyes turned to watch who it lands on, Harry takes a moment to scan the room again. There’s the circle of gay girls also playing spin the bottle, another group of people playing a drinking game of some sort, and not much else happening. The flash of blond hair he’s looking for is nowhere to be found, and he sighs under his breath. Bloody Malfoy must be invisible. Or not interested in getting drunk.

Harry forces his eyes back to his own circle, the group of boys staring in horror at the bottle. Theodore Nott and Terry Boot. Harry bites back a shocked laugh. It had surprised absolutely no one when both these boys came out, but surprised everyone when they started dating. Then it had all promptly fallen apart. And now they have to kiss because of a drunk party game. Harry feels slightly sorry for them, even if it’s also hilarious.

He watches as Terry wrinkles his nose in disgust, but shuffles forward on his knees to sit in the centre of the circle. Theo follows a moment later, scowling at Terry.

“It can’t be too bad Theo! You used to be constantly snogging him!”

“Not the time, Blaise,” Ron murmurs from where he’s standing with Hermione next to the fireplace. Ron may be bisexual, and therefore meets the criteria to join the game, but there’s no way he’d look at anyone else now he’s with Hermione. The two are nausea inducing, and Harry loves them.

Harry watches as Terry scoffs, fists his hands in Theodore’s shirt, and tugs him close. The kiss is a harsh peck, over in a second. Theo looks stunned, and then he’s hauling Terry back in. This time, it’s closer to snogging, and earns a few wolf whistles.

“I told you it wouldn’t be so bad,” Blaise mutters. “Bloody boys.”

“Blaise, you’re a boy,” Harry whispers pointedly.

Blaise just shrugs.

“Move it on lads,” Dean calls out.

Terry pulls away first, putting some distance between himself and Theo. And then he’s lifting a hand and slapping Theo across the cheek.

Theodore swears loudly, standing up and storming back to his spot next to Blaise. I guess they aren’t getting back together.

Cheers erupt from the circle of girls, and Harry turns to find Pansy and Lavender snogging. He watches as Pansy gets her hands in Lavender’s hair and tugs, making her moan. Hermione is quick to break it up, and the girls settle back down together, Pansy practically sitting in Lavender’s lap.

“Spin the bottle!” Anthony Goldstein calls, and Blaise takes great delight in grabbing it and giving a hard spin.

Harry zones out again, letting the game play around him. He briefly sees Blaise crawling into the circle, but he doesn’t know who the other player is. He glances around the room again. Where the fuck is Malfoy?

***

“You know what’s both gay and homophobic?” Theodore is asking a little while later, between rounds. Harry thinks having to kiss Dean Thomas is pretty high on his list. Dean a) has a boyfriend (as of 15 minutes ago) and b) is as far away from Harry’s type as possible. He won’t say that though; he would hate to offend one of his roommates of eight years.

“Guitars!”

The circle cheers.

“How?” Harry asks. He’s definitely missing something.

“You know. All those homophobic men who play them, but the gays love guitars.” Theo shakes his head like it should be obvious.

“Here I was thinking you’d say being forced to snog your ex!” Justin Finch-Fletchley called from across the room.

Theo huffs, looking down at the floor as his ears become pink.

An awkward cough draws Harry’s attention to someone outside the circle. Malfoy. Harry freezes, unable to tear his eyes away from Malfoy. His hair is for once not slicked back, but purposely tousled, hanging down over his forehead. His Hogwarts robes have been swapped out for a mesh black shirt and sinfully tight jeans. Harry can see his nipples through the shirt, and the sight makes his mouth water.

“You know what I think is gay and homophobic at the same time?” Ron, drunk off his arse, asks the group.

Everyone pauses, waiting.

“Draco MyFatherWillHearAboutThis Malfoy!”

The circle explodes with laughter and catcalls. All eyes turn to Malfoy, and Harry watches as the boys rake their eyes over his outfit. Something heavy settles and twists in Harry’s gut.

Malfoy flushes a lovely colour of pink, stuttering. No words actually manage to form, and after a few attempts at talking, he just rolls his eyes.

“Join the circle Draco!” Blaise says, his words nearly slurred beyond recognition. Theo nods enthusiastically, and soon everyone else is practically begging Malfoy to join. With an exaggerated sigh, Malfoy makes his way to the circle, sitting down between Theo and Blaise.

Great. Time to leave.

Harry shuffles back slowly, hoping not to draw any attention to himself. The universe has other plans though, as all eyes immediately fix on him.

Harry clears his throat. “I’m uh- I’m gonna go find Hermione. It’s getting late.” He feels his cheeks heating up, and hopes that the flush will be hidden under his dark skin. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Nope. Absolutely not. It’s just gotten interesting!” Seamus declares, his accent made all the more worse with excess alcohol. Dean, who Seamus is using as a chair, nods along.

“Yeah Potter, play one more round with us!” Anthony pipes up, a smirk playing on his lips.

A hand grabs Harry’s wrist and tugs him back to the floor. Harry resumes his position in the circle with a scowl. He can’t believe this is happening. Except, it’s not at all surprising.

“What do you say, Draco spins this time?” Blaise asks the group, and everyone nods. Everyone except Harry, who can’t think of a worse idea, but no one seems to care.

Malfoy turns to look at Blaise, his expression hidden from Harry; after a slight hesitation, he reaches forward. Draco’s pale, delicate hands look beautiful next to the bottle. Harry shakes his head. I must be really drunk.

The bottle spins and spins and spins. Harry nearly goes dizzy from watching it move, trying to predict where it will end up. Eventually it begins to slow down. Harry tracks its movements, his eyes flitting from Terry to Anthony to Dean to Seamus to…

“No. Nuh uh, no way.” All faces once again turn to Harry, and he glares at all of them.

“You have to Harry! It’s the rules!” Theo says.

“I am not kissing Malfoy.”

“Why not, Potter?” Blaise asks, eyes innocently--worryingly--large.

“Because it’s Malfoy.”

Harry turns to find Malfoy’s eyes, who is staring right at him. His gaze burns into Harry, setting him alight. I can’t do this.

“What’s wrong Potter?” Malfoy asks, popping the ‘p’ in an imitation of the way he used to say it. Now though, after the antagonism of their rivalry has faded to banter and bickering, Malfoy says it more gently. It always makes something in Harry’s brain melt. “Afraid I’ll be too good?” He lifts a single eyebrow, thin lips curving into a smirk.

“As if Malfoy. You’ve probably never kissed anyone before!” Harry knows it’s weak, but his brain is mostly offline thanks to the Firewhiskey and the idea of what’s about to happen. Because of course he’s going to kiss Malfoy.

“Trust me Potter, he has.”

Harry isn’t sure who said it, but he glares in the general direction. The image of Draco kissing someone other than him turns his mood sour. The weight in his gut reappears.

Draco is grinning when Harry looks at him again. He moves onto his knees and shuffles into the centre of the circle. “Scared, Potter?”

Harry scowls, pushing aside all rational thought, and joins him. “You wish, Malfoy.”

Harry doesn’t have another second to think, because Draco is grabbing the collar of Harry’s shirt and pulling him in. Fire floods Harry’s veins as his lips meet Draco’s. His fingers twitch, and he threads them into Draco’s breath-taking hair. The kiss turns heated very quickly, and Harry struggles to keep up as Draco slides his tongue against Harry’s. He’s going dizzy with it, burning from the inside out. His stomach flips as Draco slides his hands from his collar to the back of his neck, pulling him even closer.

Harry gasps for breath as they break apart, his lungs burning at the lack of oxygen. He can hear his pulse in his ears, blocking out everything except himself and Draco. After a second of harsh breathing, he feels lips on his jaw. A moan is wrenched from him as Draco nips gently, and then the mouth moves down to his neck. Draco sucks a mark into his skin, high up on his neck where Harry won’t be able to cover it. Harry can’t help the groan he releases, and tugs Draco back up to meet his lips again. Right where he wants him.

“Time to break it up!” someone is shouting, and Harry whines when Draco pulls away slightly.

As their foreheads rest against each other, Harry becomes aware of everyone in the Room cheering. Everyone. Not just the guys he was playing with, but the girls and other guys as well. Harry sighs, but he can’t help the smile on his lips.

“About bloody time mate,” Ron is saying when Harry finally gathers the courage to look at something other than the floor.

“Is now an appropriate time to say that I charmed the bottle?” Blaise asks, and Harry and Draco both whip around to look at him.

“You what?!” Draco shouts, glaring daggers into his friend.

“You two have been eye-fucking all term! I’m helping you get laid, Draco.” Blaise grins, the smug smile making Harry shake his head.

Draco rolls his eyes and stands up properly. Before Harry can begin doubting anything, Draco grabs his hand and hauls him up. Harry stands in front of Draco, a shy smile on his lips. God, he’s pretty.

“Come on, Harry,” Draco murmurs into his ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

Harry is helpless to do anything but nod and follow him out of the Room, ignoring the catcalls that trail after them.

***

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Masterlist

[shyficwriter]

Shots

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Yondu x Reader, guest starring Peter

Summary: Based on this prompt from anon: "Reader gets drunk for the first time - like REALLY drunk - and Yondu does nooot like it"

Author's note: Title sucks but I couldn't think of anything better. I was actually drunk when I wrote most of this (it's when inspiration finally struck to fulfill the prompt lol) but I obviously finished and edited it sober. That being said, I feel an obligation to say that the things Reader does in this story aren't necessarily written from experience, I was just trying to think what the most embarrassing things you could do while drunk would be lol. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2,470

One thing was certain, and it was that Yondu was going to shove his arrow up his ravagers' collective asses.

Yondu had long suspected you wouldn't be able to handle your liquor ever since you became old enough to drink. He noticed how you always got tipsy after just one beer, however luckily, you always stopped after around two, so it had never really been a problem.

Until tonight, that is. Because everyone was celebrating a big score gone well and Peter thought it'd be fun for you to take shots with him and the guys. Now Yondu had to deal with you being drunk off your ass.

He had pulled Peter aside and growled at him to knock it off earlier that night after he noticed you taking the first shot, saying, "The girl can't handle her liquor, boy! Don't be giving her any more, ya hear me?"

This was met with Peter calling Yondu overprotective, but he ultimately conceded and swore that he wouldn't give you anymore shots.

But Yondu hadn't said anything about Oblo, Tullk, or Horuz, had he?

The others thought it was real funny how giggly and expressive you'd get when drunk, so it didn't take much convincing from Peter for them sneak you shots when Yondu wasn't looking.

By the time Yondu noticed what had happened he was pissed.

He marched over to where you sat next to the guys. You were laughing your ass off at a dumb joke Tullk made, and you were surprised when you saw him and the other three jump up and high tail it out of the way without explanation.

Then Yondu sat in front of you.

"Heyyy!" you giggled, playfully shoving the captain in the shoulder. "Wassup?"

Yondu's eyes narrowed. "How much did you have?"

"What?"

"How much to drink, girl. I know they were giving ya shots, how many?"

You giggled and pretended to look yourself over. "I dunno what ya mean, I haven't been shot." You then preceded to laugh your ass off at what you thought was a hilarious joke.

"PETER!" Yondu snarled, looking around but unable to find the Terran. Kraglin happened to be walking by just then so he settled for pulling him in to see if he could answer the question. "Krags, did'ya happen to see how many she had?"

Kraglin was startled at having been suddenly jerked towards the two of you, but he answered as honestly as he could. "I'm not exactly sure, Cap, but I think I did notice her have at least four? Maybe five? Why?"

Yondu released the first mate's sleeve and sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Dammit. I'm gonna kill Quill." he said, before standing and pulling you up from your seat. "Come on. Yer going to bed." he said gruffly.

"Aw! But I don't want to!" you whined as he dragged you from the bar, unable to even really walk straight.

"Tough." Yondu said. "I don't like ya getting drunk like this. It ain't good fer ya. You'll only get into trouble."

"But ya let the other guys!" you pouted as the doors swung shut behind you and Yondu.

"They can handle it. Ya can't." he said flatly. Almost as if on cue you stumbled and almost brought the two of you down. This caused you to giggle madly as Yondu lost his grip on you.

"Catch me if you can!" you squeal in delight as you take off down the corridor.

Yondu swore under his breath as he ran after you. He might've called his arrow to stop you in your tracks, but he was worried that your drunk ass would accidentally run into the flarkin thing if he stopped it in front of your face to halt you.

Luckily for him you weren't exactly fast in your drunken state and he caught you quickly, grabbing you about the waist and pulling you back.

You squeaked at the contact, batting him away. "That tickles! Don't!" you giggle, squirming away.

Yondu rolled his eyes and sighed, moving his hands to instead rest on your shoulders as he steadied you.

The next couple minutes were relatively quiet, you were just softly giggling and babbling about nonsense while Yondu kept guiding you down the corridor to your quarters.

You were about halfway there when you were hit with a sudden and bad urge to pee. "Wait a sec." you drunkenly slur to your guide and before Yondu could even react you had already pulled down your pants and had squatted to take a piss in the damn hallway.

Once Yondu realized what was happening he jerked back and looked away, both not wanting anything to splash back on him, and also obviously not interested in looking, grateful that your jacket had blocked anything he might have seen before he reacted and looked away. He pinched the bridge of his nose as his face flushed with embarrassment and irritation at the situation, but there wasn't exactly a whole lot he could do about it in the moment, it had just happened so quick. He waited until he heard you stand up before looking back.

"I can't believe ya just pissed on my floor." he grumbled, side-stepping the mess and calling up Kraglin to send someone down to clean the ... "spill..." in the corridor leading towards the crew quarters.

He finally got you to your quarters and ushered you inside so you could sleep it off. He started to nudge you towards your bed when you suddenly announced you were going to be sick.

Yondu's eyes went wide, and not wanting a similar incident like what had happened in the hallway he quickly ripped a nearby trashcan from the floor and shoved it towards you.

After you had finished vomiting you placed the trashcan back on the floor and stumbled back into a seated position on the bed. "I don't feel well..."

"Gee, I wonder why." Yondu said bitterly, arms crossed over his chest. "Ya need to go to bed."

Just then your eyes flew open and you dumped yourself onto the floor, pulling the trashcan back towards you as you began to vomit again.

Yondu sighed. If anyone were to ask him about what he did next he'd deny it. He knelt down next to you and gently pulled your hair back so that you wouldn't get sick into it, and there he stayed for a good bit while you emptied the contents of your stomach.

When you had finally finished you sat up and leaned your back against your bed. Then, almost as if noticing Yondu for the first time you leaned into him and hugged him tightly.

He was almost warmed by the gesture, but then to his chagrin, you started bawling.

He made a grimace but returned the hug tentatively, occasionally giving gentle pats to your back with a "There, there." not really knowing what else to do.

Well, except for one thing. He glanced up to see the door was still opened, and without disturbing you too much from your places on the floor, he kicked it closed. No way in hell was one of his crew going to walk in on this scene and see him being all soft and shit. No way.

Eventually you did start to quiet down and then Yondu attempted to gently prod you into standing up so you could get into bed. Unfortunately for him, you only mumbled nonsense and nuzzled in closer like he was a damn teddy bear or something. So, he gently pried your arms away from him so he could stand up before helping you to your feet.

He had gotten you halfway into bed when it happened. You got sick again. Only this time you didn't use the trashcan. You got sick on him.

Yondu's stomach churned but he kept it together, Taking a not-so-deep breath (because of the smell) to keep himself from angrily setting off. There'd be plenty of time to yell at you in the morning, he reasoned.

He quickly put you the rest of the way in bed and luckily you seemed to fall asleep the moment your head hit the pillow. However, not before mumbling out a, "Night, dad." Yondu raised an eyebrow in surprise, but didn't give himself time to dwell on it. He was eager to leave and get cleaned up.

He was about a quarter of the way to his quarters when he came across a laughing group a ravagers cutting up and being silly in the corridors. It was Peter, Oblo, and Kraglin, and they all stopped laughing when they noticed both the murderous look on their captain's face and the mess of sick on his clothes as he approached.

Yondu didn't stop to talk. Merely glared at them as he made his way past. "Not. A. Word." he growled at their surprised faces.

They obeyed, but it didn't stop their giggles once they thought he was out of earshot and they put two and two together. You were really gonna get it in the morning, they thought.

***

The next morning Yondu gave extra cleaning duties to Peter and the other ravagers who got you plastered the night before. He didn't say it was punishment for what happened, after all it wasn't like there was a rule against it, but they still knew he was mad. He had woken them up at 5am to tell them to get started while everyone else slept in, after all.

He called you into his quarters shortly after and you made your way over hungover and groggy, the previous night mostly a blur.

You lightly rapped on his door to announce your presence and flinched when you were met with a loud "Come in! It's open!"

You opened the door and groaned as you entered the room that Yondu had made uncharacteristically bright by seemingly turning on every freaking light he had. Through squinted eyes you made out the form of your captain and you cringed again when he called out in a booming voice, "Have fun last night?" making your temples throb.

Basically, Yondu was being a dick.

You grunted in response and he spoke up again. "So, ya remember anything from last night?" he asked, randomly speaking certain words louder than they needed to be, just to make you further regret your hangover.

You rubbed a hand over your eyes and made another grunt while shrugging your shoulders.

"What was that? Couldn't hear ya." he said, a slight smirk playing over his lips.

You groaned and spoke up, "I dunno. Had some drinks with Peter and the guys, went to bed?" You honestly didn't know why he had to call you in so damn early. Whatever mischief you got up to with the guys couldn't have been that bad that this couldn't wait until noon.

"Oh hoho, no!" Yondu laughed almost bitterly, clapping his hands together with a loud pop that made you flinch in pain from the loud noise. "Ya did a lot more than that, missy."

You just stared up at him weakly, half not giving a shit & wishing to go back to bed and half worried you had done something either dangerous or embarrassing.

"I s'pose ya don't remember getting sick all over me?" he asked.

Your eyes flew wide, your former grogginess forgotten. Oh no. Please let him be joking. "I'm- so sorry." you stammered, both in embarrassment and in concern for how he was going to deal with you for that. Surely you wouldn't get off scot-free for vomiting on your captain. "I- sorry- I-" you didn't really know what to say. You had apparently thrown up all over your captain the night before. What could you say?

"Oh that ain't all." Yondu said in a tone that was obvious it was about to get worse.

Your stomach fell. What could possibly be worse than having drunkenly vomited on your captain? You could feel your cheeks turning pink as you cringed and asked, "Do I wanna know?"

"Prob'ly not, but I'm gonna tell ya anyway." Yondu said, his hands on his hips. "Ya remember when ya pissed in the hallway?"

Your face turned scarlet. "What?! Please tell me you're joking."

"Nope. Ya ripped yer drawers down and popped a squat right in the corridor."

You covered your burning face with your hands. That. That was what could be worse than throwing up on your captain- literally pissing on his floor in front of him. This was so humiliating, and it only got worse once you realized you probably did it in front of the rest of the crew too. You lowered your hands and asked, "Oh god. How many people saw??"

Yondu wanted to scare you a bit and tell you that you did it in front of the whole crew, but he saw tears start to form in your eyes and just couldn't bring himself to do it. "Lucky fer you, no one but me. Ya did it when I was dragging yer ass to your quarters to sleep it off. Ya didn't get sick on me til after that."

Oddly enough, that didn't make you feel much better. You tried to wipe the tears from your eyes. "God, I'm never drinking again."

Yondu scoffed with a laugh. "Yeah, I've heard that one before. Ain't no one who's ever said that follows through though," he chuckled. He expected you to laugh too, but he made a grimace when he saw how miserable you looked. "Aw, come here." he said, pulling you into a hug. "Look, everyone's done embarrassin' shit when they're drunk. It's just part of life. It ain't the end of the world."

You sniffed. "Even you?"

Yondu rolled his eyes and begrudgingly answered. "Ya brat. Even me." He could tell you wanted to ask, but he moved the conversation along, moving to hold you out at arm's length. "Better?"

You sheepishly nod and say, "I guess..."

"Good. Ya can be off then."

You looked at him in confusion. "You mean I'm not in trouble?"

Yondu laughed. "Well, from the look on your face, I thought the humiliation was punishment enough, but since ya asked I guess I can assign ya extra kitchen duties this week. Ya can fill in tonight through Thursday for Gef."

You grimaced but accepted your fate. "Yes, sir," you say before turning to leave his quarters.

Yondu chuckled and shook his head after you closed the door behind you, flipping off some of the unnecessary lights. There may be some hiccups now and then, but his not-so-little girl wasn't turning out too bad.

And even though he knew you'd deny it sober, he was proud you called him dad.

But he'd be damned if he let you drink with Peter again.

[negasonicimagines]

Revelation; Part Two (NSFW)

All the warnings and details you'll need are in part one. Enjoy!

As soon as they return to the mansion, Yukio and Ellie immediately go to their room. Wade gets up from where he was sitting on the floor, slowly stepping aside. The girls rush in to comfort you but a wall of scent leaves them dizzy with pheromones.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you’re here,” you weep. The scent of your slick seems more intense, but maybe you’re just more aware of how turned on you are. The girls strip off their super-suits, joining you on the bed.

You practically tackle Ellie, burying your face in her neck.

“Mm, even better than I imagined…” you moan, starting to roll your hips so your soaking cunt can get the friction it needs on her thigh. Ellie carefully pushes you off of her, and you recline in the position you were before.

“Easy, sharpshooter. What the fuck happened? How are you in heat?”

“S-suppressants, not antidepressants, fake father, Wade,” you slur, explaining as best as you can.

“Wade,” Ellie and Yukio realize in unison.

“So, right now, you’re having not only your first heat, but a heat after years of taking suppressants,” Ellie fills in the blanks, and both she and Yukio look horrified.

“Mhm,” you confirm, “Need you. Both of you.”

“Of course, baby,” Yukio accepts, looking over you. Neither of them have seen you this stripped down before.

“Wait,” Ellie stops her, and you. “How do we know you actually want this? You’ve been really uncomfortable with the idea of sex until now, what if it’s just the heat? You literally said you don’t want to have sex today, like, two hours ago.”

“You don’t trust me?” You question, looking absolutely devastated.

“Y/N,” Ellie groans. “Of course I trust you, I just don’t want to hurt you. I love you. We love you.”

“It hurts. Please love me, Alpha,” you beg.

“Look at her, Ellie. She needs us,” Yukio adds.

“Fine. But we start out slow. Very slow. And if I get even a whiff of doubt or discomfort, we stop. Understand?”

“I need…” you whimper, clutching at your stomach as it continues to twist in pain.

“What is it, baby?” Yukio asks.

“I don’t know,” you sob, burying your face in your hands and squeezing your thighs together. “Just need it so bad, please.”

Both girls quickly shed their underwear, like the urgency of the situation is finally hitting them.

“So, the roses I smelled earlier…” Ellie trails off, feeling even worse. Not only is it not some other omega, it’s your heightened state of emotion, a sign of how much you want her and Yukio both.

Yukio gasps.

“Oh, Ellie, we can finally…” Yukio trails off.

“You’re gonna have to give a little more detail than that, Yukes. We’ve been looking forward to a lot of different things.”

Yukio whispers in Ellie’s ear, and the girl turns red before nodding.

“What are you gonna do to me?” you wonder.

“Well, if you want, we could both use our mouths on you at the same time,” Ellie reveals.

“Please,” you try to convince them to give you what you need. “Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely…” Yukio teases, like it’s not taking all her strength not to knot you right where you lay, propped wide open for the taking. It’d be so easy, and she could even try to have you to herself all week, and even though it’s probably impossible, you might have a baby. Oh, they’d be just the cutest, the perfect combination of her and you. What if you had twins? Or triplets? She’d never be able to tell them no once they flashed her your signature puppy eyes.

“Yukio,” Ellie snarls. “You’re panting. And drooling. She’s mine, too, remember?”

“Trust me, I remember,” Yukio snaps back.

“Alphas,” you whimper, and it’s like a switch flips. Their tongues battle for dominion over your most sensitive place, and your hips roll forward, desperate for more.

Ellie eventually concedes, giving your inner thigh some special attention that makes you squirm while Yukio devours you. The completely new sensations cause a tension to build in your stomach that you’ve only heard of.

“Oh my gosh, Ellie, Yuki- Ah! Ellie, Yuki- Ah! Ellie, Yuki- Oh, oh, oh!” you moan, embarrassed at how quickly you come undone.

“Oh, wow,” Ellie says. Yukio continues to lick up, well, everything, making the aftershock even more intense. “I- I didn’t realize you’d be that sensitive.”

“Never, ever, um, even by myself, ‘cause I never had any interest, because suppressants, so…”

“So, Yukio got to give you your first… Ever,” Ellie clarifies.

“U- Um,” you stutter, feeling a bit guilty for not making that clearer.

“You’re so adorable...” Yukio sounds almost reverent, and you taste yourself on her lips when they meet yours. You moan into the kiss, face burning under Ellie’s gaze and Yukio’s touch.

Ellie’s gaze turns into a glare as the kiss draws on, and soon that glare is joined by a growl that makes you gush. You pull back from the kiss, panting.

Yukio growls back, and your arousal intensifies even further, distracting the girls from their beginning turf war. You can’t help but wonder how many hickies you’re going to get in the next week.

“You really are an omega,” Ellie taunts.

“You like it when we growl?” Yukio adds.

They look like they’re ready to tear you to shreds in the best way.

“I guess it’s your turn,” Yukio remarks, sitting down next to you. “It’s still her first time, even if it won’t be the first time she-“

“Shut up,” Ellie snarls before going in for the kill, using her tongue to make you squirm and moan. She holds your hips down and your legs thrash around her, making you look the part of prey even more.

“Calm down,” Yukio suggests to you, stroking your hair. “It’s not like it’s ever gonna stop.”

“Oh fuck,” you whine, bucking your hips despite Ellie’s grip on them.

“That’s a good girl, fuck her face,” Yukio praises, taking one of your hands and putting it on Ellie’s head, holding the other. “She really likes having her hair pulled,” Yukio whispers in your ear. You get chills, but you do as she says.

Ellie groans into you, and at this point you really are fucking her face, your other hand having found its way into her hair.

“Oh my gosh, fuck, Daddy, I’m gonna cum,” you whine before unraveling again, hips still rolling like your life depends on it.

“Fucking called it.” Ellie grins proudly. “And she called me it. I think I win.”

“Oh, whichever way you slice it, I’m the one that ate our brave little be- omega first and made her fucking weep slick, so… Whatever small victories you can find, I suppose,” Yukio giggles.

“Yeah, but I’ll be the one to fuck her first,” Ellie counters.

“You really think so? I think it depends on who can get a condom on faster,” Yukio retorts.

“You trust me to pull out, don’t you, omega?” Ellie wonders, winking at Yukio.

“O-Of course. I mean, with the suppressants, even if you didn’t, it’s a one in a billion chance,” you remind her.

“Can I use my fingers to help you get ready?” Ellie asks.

“Uh-huh,” you agree, nodding as she slides one in, pumping, followed by another. Your breathing gets heavy again as she hits that divine spot over and over.

“Imagine my fucking cock hitting right there,” she breathes to you.

“Don’t wanna imagine, wanna feel it,” you plead. She adds a third finger. “S-so full, alpha…”

Yukio hands trail along your body carefully, as if you’re a priceless artifact she’s trying to appraise. She seems okay with letting Ellie have this, despite the fight she put up before. It’s probably the best compromise, you all know, because your first orgasm is something Yukio has that Ellie can never, now.

“Is this still okay?” Ellie wonders as she slips her fingers out of you, sliding them into Yukio’s mouth. The girl moans, cleaning them off eagerly.

“Yes, I promise,” you agree, and Ellie positions herself, unintentionally teasing your entrance. “Ellie, please.”

Her hips snap forward, but she’s careful not to push her rather swollen knot in. It throbs every time it presses against your entrance, where every nerve in her body is begging her to shove it in.

The two of you sync up so quickly it’s almost romantic, you meet her thrusts perfectly and her cock does feel amazing when it pushes up against that spot deep inside. She’s practically got you folded in half as you whine and whimper and moan.

You instinctively start to rub your clit, but Yukio pulls your hands up and away.

“You’ve had your turn, let us have ours,” she tells you rather calmly.

“B-but it’s too good, I need…” you weep.

“Oh- Oh f-“ A strangled noise catches in Ellie’s throat and you feel her cum spurt into you as she hastily pulls out. “Uh- Oh. Oh, wow.”

Yukio moves around you to get a look at whatever Ellie’s blushing over.

“You should be ashamed,” Yukio teases, playfully popping Ellie’s shoulder. “Giving our innocent little omega a creampie her first time. She looks really cute with you dripping out of her, though. Almost good enough to eat. Almost.”

Yukio pulls out her own member, and you watch her stroke herself, Ellie mouthing at her neck between their passionate kisses. Her strokes speed up gradually until ribbons of her orgasm splatter right onto where you’re starting to feel neglected, with a soft little moan from her that makes you throb even more.

“Fuck, it’s so pretty. Sit up, Y/N, look,” Ellie encourages. Her cum has mostly flowed out of you and onto the sheets, while Yukio’s paints you. Speaking of Yukio, she trails a finger up your tarnished slit, sliding it into your mouth. You taste the salty sweetness of all your juices combined and give a pleased hum, almost not wanting to let her finger go.

“Hmm… Now it looks good enough to eat,” Yukio confirms. “Wanna try to share again?”

“Absolutely,” Ellie agrees. The two girls lick up the mixture of their cum and your arousal as you tremble, squeaking and whining more than you actually moan, too sensitive to do much of anything other than lie there and take whatever they want to give.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip and your toes curl as you’re finally allowed release once more, but they don’t stop, despite your shaking.

“A-Alphas, what are you… What… I… Oh, oh, please,” you weakly implore them, so far gone that you’re not even sure if you’re asking them to stop or keep going.

After another orgasm, they come back up to check on you.

“So- So much,” you say, in response to “Are you okay?”

“So, I’m gonna go with water break time,” Ellie chuckles, opening up a bottle before opening your mouth with her hand. You let her help you drink.

“Good girl,” she praises, and you blush as Yukio stares you down.

“You should have a bath, too,” she suggests. “We can all take it together.” The jacuzzi sounds great for your aching muscles.

“Can you walk?” Ellie asks. She wasn’t particularly rough with you, but considering nothing that big’s ever been up there before…

You nod, already starting to feel normal, or, well, at least at what’s probably the baseline of this whole heat thing. You get up from the bed and immediately collapse into a heap on the ground, knees having turned to actual jelly at some point over the past hour.

The girls can’t help but snicker before helping you back into bed.

“I’ll go draw the bath. Your cuddle time got cut off earlier,” Yukio remembers.

“You’re doing amazing,” Ellie praises you once more, fingers running through your hair and stroking your face. “Such a good girl. Such a good omega. My omega.”

“My alpha,” you whisper back, before burying your nose in her neck. Ellie tightens her embrace.

“Thank you for letting us take care of you like this. You’re being so brave, sharpshooter, I- I know you were really nervous. I want you to know, y’know, as happy as I am you’re an omega— And that’s really, really happy, by the way. —I’d be just as happy right now if you were a beta. I love you. We love you, and we’re so grateful you trusted us with this.”

“Thank you. You smell good and I love you,” you tell her, not able to articulate much beyond that.

“You too,” she chuckles.

Yukio emerges from the bathroom, and Ellie helps you hobble over, both girls giggling and giddy at your stumbling.

“So, we’re probably gonna have to take another week off, huh?” Yukio notes, trying to sound sympathetic, but both girls can’t help their proud grins at how they’ve already fucked you to pieces and they’ve barely even started. This week is gonna be great, and so will the next, blissful and full of aftercare.

“Mhm,” you whimper. The girls help you into the bath, stripping off their remaining undergarments before joining you.

The warm water is such a comfort that your eyes involuntarily slip shut. Its embrace soothes your sore muscles, and your breathing slows. Yukio starts carefully scrubbing your arm with a lathered up loofah, holding your wrist like it’s the most fragile, priceless thing in the world.

“Hm?” You open your eyes, but Ellie slides your eyelids down with two fingers, stroking your cheek after.

“Shh… Just let us take care of you, okay? You’re always protecting us, keeping the den tidy, and you took us so well… Just relax, now.”

You do as you’re told and relax.

Ellie joins in washing you while Yukio hums softly.

“You’re so fucking pretty…” Ellie murmurs, the soft washcloth she’s using drifting down from your sensitive neck to your far more sensitive chest. You give a shallow, shaky sigh as each girl cleanses a breast, chills spreading throughout your body. Your heart flutters when Ellie’s washcloth meets your inner thigh under the water.

Yukio’s hand rests against your stomach, more specifically, your uterus.

“Yukes…” you sigh.

“I know,” she says quietly. “I was just thinking.”

It’s a bittersweet moment, but Yukio ends it before the bitter overcomes the sweet by gently washing your stomach with the loofah she was holding before. The girls switch positions and you whine needily. Your infertility can be discussed later, when tensions aren’t quite so high.

“Oh, sweetpea, are we doing something wrong?” Yukio questions teasingly.

“N- No,” you admit, brows furrowing. “I just- I-“

You’re already too blissed out to string together a coherent sentence, but you need more.

“Yeah, we can do that,” Ellie understands. You keep your eyes closed as fingers slip up and down your slit, leaning into the touch. The steam of the bath blends yours and your alphas’ scents, clouding your perception of where each girl is. You try to get a peek, but Ellie quickly, gently reminds you: “Eyes closed.”

Your chest is slowly, sensually massaged, the palms of whichever girl is doing so rubbing up against your nipples perfectly.

The alpha who was teasing you below the water before now slides her fingers inside you, making you gasp softly.

“Hmm… Good omega,” Yukio murmurs, closer to your ear than you thought she was, before nipping at it. You yelp in surprise, but the sensation has you feeling even tinglier. You lean towards Yukio, wanting to obey their limitation of your sight, but needing the comfort of knowing where each of them is. You cling to her arm, she’s now only massaging one breast and using the other hand to stroke your face.

The fingers inside you, which you’ve determined by process of elimination are Ellie’s, curl into that spot, hard, and you moan before you can quiet yourself.

“I think someone’s starting to feel ignored…” Yukio jeers, and you hear an indignant “Hmph!” from Ellie. “How about this?”

Yukio pries you off of her, and you hear movement in the water. Soon after, she pulls your back to her chest, allowing you to recline. The feeling of the alpha’s skin against yours is heavenly. She starts to massage your chest again, and Ellie resumes her activities as well, now from in between your legs.

“This is perfect,” Ellie agrees. “You are. Both of you.”

“Thank you,” you and Yukio both sigh.

You start to get restless as the girls continue to stimulate you, letting out little whimpers that sound more like impatience than pleasure.

“What is it, love?” Yukio wonders, so close to your ear again. You shudder before answering.

“Want, um… Um… Y-you… You know.”

“To cum?” Ellie asks.

“Y-yeah, but…” You rock against Yukio’s hardness, which is pressed against your back.

“Ngh, oh, okay, yeah,” Yukio agrees. “Lean back.”

You lean back, moving up and bracing yourself against the rim of the jacuzzi before sliding down onto Yukio’s dick, eyes rolling back as you’re filled by an alpha once more.

“W-wait, with this position, we could…” Ellie trails off, and you can sense Yukio’s smirk.

“I know.”

“W- What is it?”

“Well, uh, if you’re okay with it, Yukio and I could try to fit inside you at the same time,” Ellie suggests.

“That sounds nice, but…”

“But?”

“First time having Yukio,” you quietly say.

“Oh… Okay, babe, that makes sense. Maybe later?”

You nod eagerly, and Yukio starts to move a little, hooking her hands under your knees to maintain more control over you.

“E- Ellie.”

Yukio growls.

“N- No, I just… Ellie, could you rub my-“ You’re cut off by a moan that’s a mix of pleasure and pain as Yukio thrusts harder, resenting the lack of attention. “A- Alpha, I’m yours. I’m yours.”

“I- I know, sorry. Such a good omega,” Yukio quickly apologizes, sprinkling kisses all over your neck and shoulders as she takes it down a notch. Ellie summons the courage to touch you despite Yukio’s possessive burst, and you’re on cloud nine once again. “You feel so good.”

Eyes still closed, you’re caught off guard when Ellie kisses you, but you respond quickly, tangling your fingers in her hair and moaning into her mouth.

“Love you,” Ellie whispers against your lips before kissing you some more.

“El, go faster, I think she’s close,” Yukio tells your shared lover, and she obeys. Your moans rise in pitch and volume but due to your position there’s not much you can do other than take what you’re given.

“Yukio, Yukio, Yukio,” you whine in sync with her thrusts, squirming in an attempt to meet both Yukio’s motions and Ellie’s hand.

You don’t last much longer, and the way you tighten around Yukio causes her to finish as well, burying her face in your neck and groaning; likely resenting the fact that she can’t bury her teeth there, not yet.

“Well, so much for gentle aftercare,” Ellie chuckles, stroking your cheek, which honestly feels as sensitive as the rest of you.

“S-sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

Ellie helps you off of Yukio, and you nuzzle into her, embracing her.

“You two are the best alphas ever,” you mumble, eyes growing heavy again.

“We’re the only alphas you’ve had,” Ellie skeptically responds. You whimper at the perceived rejection. “Oh, but thank you. You’re sweet.”

“More than just sweet,” Yukio argues, pulling the plug on the jacuzzi. Ellie holds you as the tub drains, so you don’t get too cold, while Yukio hunts down some towels and your robes. Pink satin for her, black flannel for Ellie, and a plush F/C one is yours.

The girls assist you as you get out of the tub, wrapping you in your robe and helping you to bed before equipping theirs.

Being bundled between them is enough to keep the worst of your heat pains at bay.

“Can I open my eyes now?” You wonder, and the girls chuckle endearingly.

“Yes, Y/N,” Ellie permits, but it seems as though you could’ve done so or at least asked much sooner, based on her tone. “I said yes.”

Your eyes stay closed, so heavy that you don’t even wanna bother yet.

“Babe, stay awake. We need to talk,” Ellie insists.

“About what?” Yukio asks curiously.

“The, uh.. The thing Wade stopped her from doing.”

“Jus’ thinking about it,” you correct.

“And the Supreme Court is ‘just thinking’ about overturning Roe v. Wade. It’s still a fucking problem,” Ellie argues.

You shake your head.

“I have real medicine now, I’ll be fine.”

“You still hid it from us,” Yukio says softly, tearfully. “We- We failed you. You didn’t feel like you could tell us, your alphas.”

“Being my alphas is what made me not want to tell you. Because you can’t- Because- Because I knew it would be torture for you both if I had a problem you couldn’t fix; a need you couldn’t provide. I just wanted to protect you.”

“Sharpshooter…” Ellie looks heartbroken, and the devastation that both girls reek of makes you want to lock yourself away (or worse) so that you’ll never hurt them again.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I never meant for you to find out.”

“That’s not the problem here,” Ellie disagrees.

“Isn’t it? If you two never found out, you wouldn’t be unhappy about anything right now. I ruined this.”

“No,” Yukio snarls, wrapping her arms tighter around you, as if they can protect you from yourself. “You’re good. We… I told you, we were the ones who made you feel like it wasn’t safe to be honest with us. We’re proving you right the longer we talk about this before you’re ready to. Don’t you agree, Ellie?”

Ellie nods, seeming to finally understand.

“Can you at least promise that if there’s any other time you feel like you did then, you’ll talk to someone you trust, even if it’s not us?” Ellie requests.

“I can do that,” you concede.

“Thank you,” both girls reply, and Ellie moves a little closer, maneuvering her arms so that she’s embracing both you and Yukio, who’s spooning you.

Between the drowsy scent of petrichor, the nostalgic scent of a campfire, and your own relaxing lavender aroma, the three of you are finally soothed, and able to rest before continuing to contend with your first heat.

The next week is nothing short of an absolute fuckfest. Sure, you all take breaks for food, water, showers, et cetera. But, on what should be the final night of your heat, something causes you to stir.

The absolute need that came with your heat had waned over the week, but now it seems to be back with full force. You squirm in your half-sleep, trying to ignore it, but sense that your girls are already awake.

“Baby,” one of your alphas whispers. You’re draped across them both, all of you naked and entangled. You’re not even sure where you end and they begin right now, let alone which is which.

“Can we touch you?”

“Mhm,” you agree sleepily.

Their hands wander comfortingly, making it easier for the sandman to lure you back into his arms, but one of the alphas is bold enough to slip her fingers inside of you, sliding them right back out for some reason.

“Wow…”

“That is… A lot of slick.”

Oh.

You whine, spreading your legs for whichever one of them will touch you, it really doesn’t matter. You’re guided into one of their laps, whoever it is feels huge with no prep.

“Please just knot me so we can sleep, s’not like I can get pregnant anyways,” you request.

“Mmkay, sharpshooter, if that’s what you want.” So, it’s Ellie fucking you. That’s nice. Hers is a little shorter than Yukio’s, but she’s thicker. You fidget around, adjusting to her girth before finding that perfect angle and just bouncing.

“You look so pretty riding our alpha like that,” Yukio quietly praises, making you shiver. She plays with your nipples, hardened in the cool night air, while she touches herself. You resent your current position for limiting your sight of the other alpha, but you wouldn’t trade Ellie’s embrace for anything. “Touch that clit for us, won’t you? Cum all over her cock. Maybe you’ll even squirt again. That angle is normally what does it for you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, Daddy,” you sigh, obeying.

“No, baby, Ellie’s your daddy. I’m your mommy.”

“M-Mommy,” you whimper, continuing to squeak and moan for your two lovers as you clench harder and harder around Ellie, sinking your teeth into her scent gland as you three finish, nails digging into her already scratched-up back. When you relax, Ellie pushes her knot in. “S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to without asking,” you apologize, pulling away with a mouth full of blood that both girls are just dying to taste.

“No, babe, you know I wanted you to do that.” Ellie kisses your lips, cleaning them. “Don’t worry. Can you bite Yukio, too?”

“Of course! But, um, how am I gonna get to her?”

“Don’t worry, I can wait,” Yukio reassures you both.

“But- But you’re mine, too,” you insist. “I’m yours, remember?”

“Baby, of course I remember. Maybe- Maybe I could just bite you for now, and then you can bite me and Ellie can bite you in the morning? That way everyone has a turn.”

“When are you two gonna bite each other?”

“We can do that in the morning, too,” Yukio explains. In her drowsiness, she’d forgotten that part. “Are you ready?”

“Y-Yes, Alpha,” you stutter, because while you’re ready, you’re still nervous. Yukio picks a spot with her teeth, gently pressing, as if to ask you and Ellie, ‘Right here?’

You nod.

“That’s good, Yukes,” Ellie agrees, and the other girl sinks her teeth in deep.

You moan in pleasurable pain, and Ellie’s hands grab at your hips, feeling you flutter around her.

“Fuck,” she snarls, tensing up with you until Yukio’s no longer clamped down on your neck. The pink-haired girl licks up the blood, and you start to writhe, turned on all over again.

“One more time?” you request meekly, like Ellie’s dick isn’t literally locked inside of you.

“Of course,” Ellie consents, needing it just as much as you do.

Despite your now-limited range of motion, you carefully gyrate your hips. Yukio presses against you from behind, embracing you but also letting a hand slip down, fingers rubbing circles on your clit.

“That’s it, ride that knot like a good little omega,” Yukio taunts you, and you can feel her touching herself again.

“Your good little omega,” you moan.

“Ours indeed,” Ellie reminds you both, fucking up into you as you continue. Your breathing deepens and you clutch Ellie’s shoulders tighter, burying your face in the crook of her neck once more. “Close, sharpshooter?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, the three of you entangled once again as Yukio strokes her cock and your clit, the heat radiating off of all of you intensifying your scents. “So close, wanna cum so bad,” you beg.

“Come on, baby, you can do it,” Yukio encourages. “Cum all over her.”

You whine as Yukio’s strokes become quicker for the both of you. Feeling the hand she’s using to get herself off brush against you turns you on even more, just knowing she’s getting off on this makes it even better. You can feel Ellie pulse inside you as her breathing also becomes labored.

“Cum with me, omega, please,” Yukio murmurs against the back of your neck, and you shudder, finally finishing. “Good girl… Good omega… Good girl…” Yukio sighs praise as she comes undone as well, Ellie’s orgasm falling somewhere in between yours and Yukio’s.

Ellie reclines with you on top of her, with Yukio nestled between her arm and her body. Both alphas embrace you, and the three of you finally fall back asleep.

[jetaime-jespere]

I Was Enchanted To Meet You

This is a long time in the works, and a gift to my dear friend @cmhotchniss-blog, who sent me her idea of how Aaron and Emily met. Most of the ideas are hers, and I am forever grateful she let me connect some of the dots. 💓

"I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet. For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

One night for Aaron and Emily has a lasting impact on them both, twenty-four years later.

A mess of metal is what’s left behind on a dusky stretch of Route 66. Shattered glass sparkles like diamonds along the wet asphalt in the darkening sky as night meets the last moments of the day. Smoke curls and hisses around the mangled frame of the SUV, the stillness of the air a juxtaposition to the chaos that wraps around them - a slew of first responders, a few ominous rumbles of thunder, the mounting traffic on the other side of the highway. It’s a cacophony of sounds and sirens, shrill and relentless, that bring them all back to the reality that it can’t get much worse than this.

Read the rest below or on ao3!

There’s shouting - so much shouting - the frantic and panicked voices from the normally imperturbable team as one of their own is pulled from the passenger seat, limp and unresponsive. It only took seconds for things to go horribly wrong. Accidents were never supposed to happen, and yet here they were, helplessly surrounding a team of paramedics who were just a little too quiet in their intense focus, their faces stretched a little too thin, a little too grey, as they bent over Emily.

Her speech is slurred; her eyes flutter and blink weakly as they fight to keep her conscious and alert, rattling off blood pressure numbers with thinly veiled concern. They abruptly push JJ to the side, curtly demanding the need for more space to work, bark directions to the hospital, and start preparing to move her into the ambulance.

On the other side, a hand with a set of bitten down nails grapples for purchase at Dave’s shirt, fingers wrapping around the folds of expensive fabric to pull him closer in one last moment of semi lucidity. With a fading grasp Emily drags him down close enough to whisper something inaudible in his ear, words meant for only him to hear. The older man frowns, eyebrows furrowing with confusion as she falls unconscious, the last lick of light disappearing behind the trees.

____

“Dad, are you sleeping?”

Aaron’s eyes snap open a little too quickly, the bowl of popcorn nearly spilling into his lap when he jumps to attention. The voice, a familiar one, is insistent, as if it’s not the first time he’s said his name in the last few minutes. “No,” he says quickly and he’s not entirely sure who he’s reassuring. “No. I was just -”

“Let me guess,” Jack scoffs, taking a large handful from his own, much larger bowl of popcorn in his lap. “Just nodded off.”

“I’m paying attention,” Aaron attempts weakly as Jack laughs under his breath and shakes his head.

“I’ve heard that before.” His son reaches for the remote to rewind the last ten minutes of the scene he’d missed, still laughing. “This is what … the third week in a row?”  While he’s right, Jack doesn’t seem bothered. The years away have made him wise beyond his years, with a patience not often possessed by hormonal teenage boys who spend most of their time with a screen in their face. Aaron often thinks his son inherited the best of Haley - her patience, for starters. He resembles her too, and every now and then, looking at Jack is like looking into a window of the past. A past that could have been a fantasy, for now it seems like so far gone.

“Something like that,” Aaron mumbles. It’s true. In the four months they’ve lived in the quaint Philadelphia suburbs of Chester County, an idyllic place without the Main Line housing prices, adjustment has taken on a new meaning once again. Gone are the fake identities, the constant checking and double checking of doors and windows, the frequent looks over their shoulders, the unsettling notion that it might not end - that this might, unfairly, be their reality. He knows they’d go to the end of the earth to find Scratch - they’d done it before to find Foyet, then Doyle. They fought monsters before, but somehow, this was different.

There had been a finality in his decision to take Jack and go into Witsec. His final act to name Emily as Unit Chief was an easy one, and while it didn’t lessen the blow of the circumstances in which he and Jack left, in a flurry of panic, reminiscent of one his son experienced once before, it gave him a semblance of peace he wasn’t expecting. A little bit of reprieve, the ability to sever ties that may never be rebuilt, to no fault of their own. The cruel and unusual situation was one that they always risked with the nature of their work, one that was always a distant possibility.

In the quiet moments, he thinks of her. The what ifs and the whys. Everything between them that was said, and what never was. What he’s never told anyone is just how long he’s thought of her in one way or another, the one night they shared together, years ago, tucked neatly away in his mind to save for nights when he wondered just how things got to be this way.

“Come on, Dad,” Jack laughs. “At least try to make it through this movie. You said you wanted to see this one.”

With a hint of guilt as his obvious disinterest, Aaron sits up a bit straighter on the couch, grips the popcorn bowl in his hands, locking his eyes on the television. The plot of the movie is already lost on him, despite it being a topic of conversation for the last several days. “Just play the movie, Jack.” He stifles a yawn into his fist and valiantly attempts to focus his attention on the screen.

Aaron is dozing when he’s interrupted again; this time by his phone vibrating on the table. He doesn’t miss Jack’s eyes flickering over to the phone. “It’s just like old times,” he sighs. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

The name on the screen is the very last he expects to see at such an hour in the middle of the week. Aaron frowns, the phone cradled in his hands as the phone vibrates insistently. It’s the familiar push and pull of guilt he feels when his eyes shift between his son and the phone again, an unexpected window into a life he long left behind. The phone keeps ringing, immediately following the first unanswered call. Not a good sign, he thinks.

“Dad?”

“I need to take this, Jack,” Aaron says quickly. It’s late enough that this is anything but a casual phone call. The blanket is tossed aside and the popcorn already forgotten. He barely hears Jack’s half-hearted protest as the phone crackles static and then connects. The voice on the other end speaks first, his tone clouded with thinly veiled fear.

“Aaron.”

“Dave.” His tone is equally clipped, even and steady even as the phone is held tightly in his hand, waiting for whatever news is about to come.

“Aaron, you need to get to Prince William Medical Center as soon as you can.” It’s the urgency in Dave’s voice that unnerves him; it sets off every warning bell in his head. His normally unflappable, at times annoyingly rational friend sounds harried and exhausted, as if it’s already been the longest of nights, as if making this very phone call was a last resort. “It’s Emily.”

Emily .

The words reverberate through his head, the implications tear through his chest like a series of spears. He knew it wasn’t good, but he didn’t expect this. “What happened?” But years of experience and unbridled heartache have steeled his nerves, tested his resolve time and time again. He should be used to this by now - bad news that haunts those he loves. But the fear is like a vice, a cold stab that wraps itself around his mind and back again.

“There was an accident.” Dave begins. It’s been a few years since he’s seen him, but through the phone Aaron can see the lines on his forehead that have certainly deepened by now, perhaps a few have been added over time as the years add up.

“Accident? What kind of accident?”

He barely listens as Dave recounts the last few hours in excruciating detail. They were on a case - local - Reston - on their way back to Quantico. A poorly timed summer storm made visibility terrible, rendering driving nearly impossible. They were sideswept by another SUV, the impact sending them careening into the median on 66 just outside of Woodbridge. It sounds like anyone’s worst nightmare - airbags deployed, the windshield shattered upon impact, the entire hood a mangled mess of metal as the car careened to a stop, the threatening hiss of the engine.

But the totaled car was the very least of their problems.

“She’s in critical condition, Aaron,” Dave says carefully, as if it’s only part of the truth, as if somehow it’s even graver than this. “She’s unconscious.” It doesn’t sound good - her head hit the window on impact, the rest of Dave’s news confirms his worst fears - a likely head injury, the extent of which they don’t know.

It doesn’t make sense. It seems like some kind of sick, ill joke - a nightmare he’ll wake up from, only to find Jack having devoured both bowls of popcorn and the credits of the movie he never actually watched rolling. “What aren’t you telling me Dave?”

“I think you’d want to be here, Aaron. It … it could go either way at this point.” Dave’s voice is so heavy, something Aaron isn’t used to. His friend was typically the voice of reason, the one he went to for assurance when things seemed to be spiraling out of control - something he did many times over. And now the tables were turned to their side, a cruel twist of fate. It takes no convincing; he’s already reaching for his jacket on the hook by the door, grappling for an umbrella shoved unceremoniously in a closet somewhere closeby.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

…

“Mendoza is on his way.,” JJ says quietly as she rounds the corner with two cups of coffee in her hands. “ He just called me.”

“That might complicate things.” Dave wrings his hands and paces the tiny hallway. “Who told him?” He asks curiously. It hadn’t been long since Emily had shown up in his office one night, shoulders heavy as she relayed the news of their breakup. Dave is no stranger to the failures of love - having been thrice divorced himself. Sometimes timing was to blame, other times it was priorities. In their case it was commitment, or lack thereof, things fizzling out and hasty goodbyes, half-hearted assurances of keeping in touch, that one will call the other. Yet Dave isn’t exactly surprised to hear the news. Despite their challenges, Mendoza had been all but enamored with Emily, in awe of her at times. He wasn’t a stupid man; he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t follow him to Colorado. There was always something else that stood in her way. He just never knew exactly what.

“Word travels fast.”

“Aaron is on his way.” After a long pause, Dave scrapes a hand across his face, exhaustion bleeding through the cracks of age. “I just called him.”

JJ only nods and stares into Emily’s room with a pensive expression. “What do we tell them?”

“We tell them what we know. Hope for the best. That's all we can do.”

...

The storm takes the humidity with it, a soft chilly breeze spreading through the darkness. Aaron hurries through the hospital doors, charging past the triage nurse towards the elevators. He’s only vaguely aware of the other man that wedges himself past the doors just in the nick of time. He looks just as distracted as Aaron feels, eyes distant -worlds away - and lost in his own thoughts as he offers a quick smile, fists shoved in jacket pockets.

“What floor?” Aaron offers with a tight smile.

“The ICU.”

He nods and pushes just one button, indicating that they’re in fact going to the same place.

“I’m sorry.” The other man nods his head in solidarity, noticing the single illuminated circle on the panel, shuffles his feet, checks his watch and hangs his head. The phone in his pocket buzzes; he checks it with a resigned sigh. Aaron feels a touch of sympathy for him, wonders just what brings him there.

Except he doesn’t have to wonder much longer, because not only is Dave waiting when the doors open, but he clearly knows whoever Aaron just shared the elevator with. And judging by the way Dave’s eyebrows lift just enough at the sight of them both, practically side by side, something tells him there’s more to the story than just a simple coincidence.

“I see you’ve met?” Dave cocks his head to the side, scrubs his chin with his hand thoughtfully. “I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“What the hell happened?” The man beside Aaron demands, a little more forcefully this time.

“So you haven’t met.”

“What the hell is going on, Dave?” Aaron snaps first, his patience starting to wane. The last three hours of travel have already started to catch up with him. It’s been years since he’s had to channel his feelings into something more stoic and taciturn. It doesn’t return as easily this time. He tells himself it’s because of age and time, yet the nagging voice in his head says it’s something else entirely.

“Andrew Mendoza, meet Aaron Hotchner. The former chief of the BAU. Hotch, this is Andrew Mendoza. Mendoza was the Special Agent in Charge of DC’s Field Office. He consulted with the BAU on a few local cases about a year ago.”

“Was?” Aaron questions, quickly putting together what Dave doesn’t tell him about Andrew Mendoza. There’s only one reason why he’d be there - a reason he didn’t anticipate. He has to swallow the bitter pang of regret that rises in his throat. It shouldn’t exist at all, but a familiar feeling that has lingered just within his reach whenever he thought of Emily. The chances they never took, the timing that seemed to elude them for one reason or another. Time. It had never been on their side.

“The Denver Field Office offered me a promotion last month. My daughter and I are moving out to Colorado in a few weeks.”

“Congratulations,” Aaron says stiffly as he offers his hand. It’s obvious why he’s here - the same reason Aaron is. “I’ve heard good things about Denver.” There’s something about the news that satisfies him.

“I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” Mendoza glances at Aaron, then Dave, then back at Aaron again. “But what the hell happened tonight?”

“JJ didn’t tell you?”

“Just that there was an accident.”

Dave presses his mouth into a thin line, relaying the story with such tact that Aaron knows it’s an abridged version, a slightly less terrible rendition of what happened back on the highway. “We were right outside of Woodbridge. On our way back from a case in Reston. Visibility was awful. It happened so fast. Emily must have hit her head on impact. She lost consciousness shortly after the ambulance arrived. They’re considering surgery to relieve the pressure in her brain.”

Dave pauses, letting the news sink in, taking a deep breath of his own to compose his frayed nerves. “There’s a chance of brain damage but they won’t know more until after she regains consciousness.” His gaze shifts between them both, gauging their reactions.

“When will that be?”

“There’s no easy way to tell. Could be hours after the surgery. Or days. She’s not breathing on her own. It’s going to be a while before we know anything.” He repeats the doctors’ words as calmly as he can. Dave’s typically unflappable demeanor is strained; the weariness laces through his voice.

“How did this happen?” It’s Mendoza who speaks up this time, clearly distraught and searching for words of his own. He almost looks embarrassed by his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“It was an accident,” Dave repeats as calmly as he can, as if he’s practiced this speech in his head before giving it. “No one is to blame.”

The air seems to thicken around them, the reality setting in that while it’s already been a long night, it’s only just beginning.

“We’re here because of Emily. It’s a waiting game now, as long as it might be. May as well make yourselves comfortable. There’s a waiting room just down the hallway and a cafeteria on the sixth floor, if you want some coffee. It might eat a hole in your stomach, but it’s something.”

The room around him starts to spin. Aaron can’t remember the last conversation they had - something hasty by phone, he suspects, in the days of time differences and small talk. Never awkward, but something always lingering beneath the surface. Their conversations were all about what wasn’t said - subtext, layers of awareness only they possessed.

“One other thing,” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, a fleeting thought he nearly forgot, nothing more than a passing thought. “Before she lost consciousness, she was rambling incessantly about apple pie.” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, eyes narrowing in confusion. “The best apple pie in DC. Any idea what that could be about?”

Aaron stiffens, his jaw flexing at Dave’s seemingly innocuous mention in the midst of everything else. It’s been years since he’s last seen her and another fifteen since that night, one he’s never actually spoken of out loud. It could have been a lifetime ago, a distant memory. It feels so foreign at this point he could have dreamed it. Surely he misheard - there’s no way she’d be thinking of that. He pinches the bridge of his nose, stifles a yawn into his fist. It’s about to be a very long night. “Where is she? Is she in surgery yet?”

“Not yet. She’s just down the hall.” In the distance a monitor beeps then an alarm starts to go off, punctuated by the efficient scramble of nurses. It reminds him just how much he hates hospitals, and Aaron breathes a heavy sigh of relief when they don’t go into Emily’s room.

“You can see her, you know.” Dave offers gently, sensing the growing tension. “One visitor at a time.”

It’s somehow decided, without officially being decided out loud, that Aaron will go in first. Mendoza quietly mentions something about needing to call his daughter. Not for the first time this evening, Aaron is actually grateful Jack can hold his own at home for a little while, that they’re long past those years of constant check-ins. A simple text will do in a few hours’ time. And he steels his nerves with a few deep breaths before slipping into the room, the silence punctuated by the staccato beeping of monitors and a ventilator.

She’s like a ghost, translucent almost - amidst the machines and wires. He remembers a time, years ago, when the roles were reversed. Aaron wonders if she felt the same clench of fear in her gut, the awful feeling of helplessness that came along with being at someone’s bedside in a hospital. He wonders if she felt the same desperation clinging to every nerve in her body that things would be okay.

“Hey,” he says, sinking into the hard plastic chair at the side of the bed. “It’s been awhile.” Deep down he knows she won’t - can’t - respond. But there was a moment of hope - a tiny one - flimsy and built on nothing - that maybe she would move or something to indicate she heard him. There isn’t one.

Aaron swallows the rising lump in this throat, thick and pressing right down into his lungs. “I really need you to wake up, Emily.”

...

“When’s the big move?” Dave presses Mendoza gently, asking all the questions Emily never gave answers to. He folds his arms across his chest, unable to tear his gaze from the scene before him. From his place behind the window, he watches Aaron lower himself onto a chair on shaky legs, taking a few steadying breaths as he settles beside her. He rests a weary head on his fist.

“Two weeks. Keely wanted to finish her soccer season.” Mendoza crosses his arms over his chest as his eyes follow Dave’s.

Dave nods without really comprehending the words. “You’ll have to let us know when you’re both settled out there.”

“Yeah.”

Dave breaks an awkward silence. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you two.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t.” By now, Mendoza’s full attention is on the scene before them both, face solemn and stiff. “What’s the story between them?” His eyes narrow ever so slightly, shades of suspicion cloud his features and his shoulders tense. Years of profiling make Dave keenly aware of these subtle changes in his behavior. He’s questioning it .

Dave shrugs. “Friends? Colleagues?” By now, Aaron is brushing Emily’s arm with his thumb, and if he isn’t mistaken, swears he sees his lips moving too. “Anything else and your guess is as good as mine.”

It seems to smooth things over for a few moments, even as something else is planted in his mind. Something he never considered at all.

…

“Have you been to Boathouse Row yet?”

It’s an attempt to make small talk as they sit down; it doesn’t get past Aaron, who stays silent, completely ignoring the question.

“So what is it you’re not telling me?” Dave passes a flimsy styrofoam cup over the small table.

“Now might not be the best time, Dave,” Aaron retorts, rolling a tiny cup of creamer in his fingers.

“We’ve got nothing but time, Aaron. Surgeon says things could take hours. She might even be conscious immediately after. And you’re not driving back to Philly anytime soon.”

He has a point . “She was talking about when we first met.” He sighs heavily as he spins the cup around in his hands. “It was a long time ago.”

“At the BAU?” Dave knits his eyebrows in confusion.

Aaron rubs his eyes tiredly. By now any movement feels like effort, the space behind his eyes starting to throb with an oncoming headache and exhaustion. “Before that.”

“You mean you knew - “ Dave stops, his coffee ignored and interest piqued. “You two knew each other before?”

“We met years ago. Would be at least twenty now.” He’s too tired to do the math of exactly how long it’s been. “We met when I was working for her mother one summer in DC.”

“I certainly had no idea.”

“No one did. It never really came up.”

“By choice or on purpose?” Dave quips, his eyes just a touch brighter than they were moments before. He chuckles when Aaron just stares right back, the hint of a smile hidden in his eyes. “So what’s the story?”

His expression is wistful, as if he were dusting off a long held memory. “It was kind of an accident.”

__

Twenty-Four Years Ago

DC

Not for the first time that evening, Aaron checks his watch discreetly and sighs into his fist. It’s only eight-thirty; who knows how long this thing will last. It wasn’t that he agreed to this. It’s practically a rite of passage when working for an Ambassador, or so he’s been told -working one of the many extravagant parties and benefit dinners that were practically part of her job description. The ballroom is full of DC’s political elite - congressmen and senators, the Secretary of State and the Attorney General. Rumor had it the Vice President would be making an appearance. For that reason alone, security was heightened, every egress monitored, yet he’s never felt more invisible in a room full of people.

Aaron spots her accidentally, but something tells him she’s not trying to blend in. The tall figure on the opposite side of the room is entirely too young to be one of them , yet she mingles easily with a champagne flute between her fingers. She’s wearing an elegant black dress with a high neck and open back. It shows off delicate shoulder blades that jut out like wings when she moves. He isn’t the only one staring.

She’s the Ambassador’s daughter - Emily . Aaron has only heard of her from the others, her name being uttered in exasperation when one of the agents finds her breaking protocol yet again - sneaking out and in at all hours of the night, slipping an endless parade of friends past the entrance logs without proper verification. He’s never spoken a word to her; he knows almost nothing about her except that she’s a student at Yale, supposedly speaks multiple languages, and has a knack for causing trouble.

They haven’t spoken a word to each other, but her eyes meet his across the square in the middle of the room that is supposedly a dance floor. His mouth goes dry and he immediately looks away when Emily excuses herself from whatever conversation she’s immersed in, only to look back seconds later to find her sauntering directly towards him , effortlessly maneuvering through the crowd.

Aaron nods a polite hello, attempting to keep his expression neutral when she’s finally closed the gap between them both.

“You know,” Emily says with amusement, eyes flicking over him. “You could at least try not to look so miserable.”

“Who said anything about being miserable?”

“It’s practically part of the job requirements if you work for my mother. Besides, you’ve been wearing the same expression since this thing started.” When she catches his look of sheer bewilderment and mild annoyance, she laughs softly. “Trust me. I’ve been to enough of these things to know what I’m looking for.”

“Are you spying on me?” He glances around, wondering just where the Ambassador even is amidst a sea of black suits. He should be keeping a close eye, after all. He strains his neck a little, scanning the crowd purposefully until he sees the woman that strongly resembles the miniature version of her in front of him.

“No. I’m just observant.” Without missing a beat, Emily waves to someone - a Congressman Aaron immediately recognizes from the news - something about a scandal involving a rather young intern under a desk - but he hadn’t been paying too much attention to remember all the details. “He’s such a scumbag,” she adds quietly without any elaboration.

He senses her reticence immediately; he wonders just how she knows all of this, if he should push, if at all “Isn’t that part of their job description to a degree?”

“Some of them,” Emily mutters. “But he’s one of the worst.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aaron murmurs, tearing his eyes away from the crowd to get a better look at her. Up close she’s even more stunning, with sharp cheekbones and a perfectly symmetrical face, her smile wide and eyes like dark orbs. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“I’ve seen you around. You’re the new guy.”

“New-ish. I started in March.” It comes out a bit more dejectedly than it should, but it’s hard to hide the disdain he feels for it all. Things have been far from easy over the last few months. It’s a mindless shuffle of one foot in front of the other, days that blend together similar to the ones before, with the slightest hope that a few more weeks of patience might wield a change.

“New to me.” She’s only been home for the summer a few weeks at most, so he can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually seen her. “So what’s your story?”

“My story?”

“You stick out like a sore thumb.” She cracks a grin at her own remark. “You’re too tense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Agent …”

“Hotchner,” he fills in quickly.

“Agent Hotchner, you certainly wouldn’t be the first security detail to use this as a stepping stone to a different career. You’re all just biding time until something better comes along.” She’s so matter of fact, so assured, it’s as if she’s had this very conversation with every other agent in the room at one point or another. “It’s usually the quiet ones. They have less to prove.”

“Are we that transparent?”

“Some of you. And I can’t say I blame you. This place surely isn’t a means to an end.”

“What does your mother think of your beliefs?”

“My mother knows exactly what I think of her career and everything that goes along with it. It’s what’s gotten us to this point, actually.”

“And what point might that be?” He’s only heard of some of the epic arguments between the two of them, the harshness of their voices reverberating around the Ambassador’s office or some ornately decorated living room. The bitter clashes of two strong wills, hidden behind the fact that just maybe they were more similar than different.

“A story for a different time,” Emily says smoothly. “Can’t exactly talk about it here.”

“You’re full of stories, aren’t you?” Aaron deduces but she isn’t even paying attention anymore as she scans the crowd. He can see the wheels start to turn in her head, the flicker of an idea materializing somewhere. She turns back, this time a grin stuck to her lips. “What?” He asks reluctantly.

“Let’s get out of here.” Emily bats her thickly lashed, heavily lined eyes. “This thing is going nowhere fast. Besides, you look like you could use a break. “How long have you been on?”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere,” she says casually with a wink as she plucks a champagne flute from a nearby tray, downing it quickly. “I probably shouldn’t drive, but you can.” It’s accompanied with a flippant toss of hair over her shoulder, an expectant purse of her lips.

It’s certainly not the smartest idea or the most prudent, but something tells him Emily could care less about prudence and image. “I could be suspended for unauthorized use of a government-issued vehicle.” Not to mention, having his boss’s daughter in said government vehicle with him, or completely leaving his assignment altogether. He remembers skimming over the terms of employment months ago, specifically the section about fraternization with members of the Ambassador’s Family.

“Who said anything about one of theirs?” She looks almost bored now, tapping her fingers against the empty flute. “That’s no fun anyway. They have trackers on them. For security purposes.” She forms air quotes with her fingers. “We wouldn’t get far.”

He’s about to ask her how she even possesses that knowledge when he feels her hand on his waist, dipping into the creases of his jacket like a lover would. It doesn’t phase her, and while normally his reflexes would spring into quick action, he’s glued into place.

“You have a car don’t you?” Emily unabashedly pats his pocket, feeling for keys.

He opens his mouth to object, but she’s too fast. She grins with satisfied smirk, a triumphant click of her tongue as he stiffens awkwardly when they jingle against her hand. “You aren’t a great liar, Agent Hotchner.”

“Aaron,” he says somewhat stiffly, resignedly. He’s doing his damn best to keep his eyes centered on the ballroom but it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate on the task at hand. The scent of perfume - something undoubtedly expensive - lingers and it makes him dizzy even if he hasn’t had a sip to drink. “And I didn’t lie.”

“Aaron.” His name rolls off her tongue thoughtfully. “Aaron,” she repeats, as if it’s the first time she’s ever heard it. “I never understood why there were two A’s. What do you do with the second one?”

His head spins to keep up with her, how her mind somehow bounces from one thought to the next with seemingly little direction. “Never gave it much thought myself, actually.” From the corner of his eye he catches one of the other agents giving him a quizzical, perhaps slightly jealous, eye roll. It’s a bad idea to entertain, but one he can’t ignore. Emily is staring at him, eyes sparkling, with the slightest touch of longing. Longing for what he isn’t sure, but whatever it is, it wouldn’t be found in the middle of the opulent ballroom.“What do you have in mind?”

“I’ve been told of a place not too far from here,” she begins slowly, a smile on her face at his gradual acquiesce. “A diner that supposedly has the best apple pie in DC.”

“Apple pie?” Just how much has she had to drink?

“I’m starving ,” she offers with a hand pressed to her flat stomach. Aaron’s eyes follow, lingering up and down on her narrow frame.

“They’re about to serve dinner,” He says lamely, shaking his head to ensure he heard her correctly. Waiters have started to circle the room with large serving trays balanced precariously above their heads, passing around the plates that he guesses must cost a few hundred dollars a head, maybe more. The crowds have thinned as more guests take their seats.

Emily shrugs with disinterest. “Once you’ve been to one of these things you’ve been to them all. Besides, this is when things start to get really insufferable.”

“Is that so?”

“Someone will start talking,” Emily drawls sardonically, surveying the crowd starting to take their seats at previously assigned tables - tables he could probably rattle off by name if asked. “Make some big speech promoting their campaign trying to get reelected or whatever. Then they all will. They love hearing themselves talk.”

“Part of the job, I guess.” He stares, unsure of what to say next. Her attitude towards politics is the complete opposite of that of her mother. His interactions with his boss have been somewhat limited; he doubts if she even remembers his first name. Yet he’s seen the way Elizabeth Prentiss revels in a world seemingly dominated by men, a woman in a league of her own. He wonders just how much the Ambassador has sacrificed; wonders if her daughter might be amongst that list. It would certainly explain their tenuous relationship.

“So what do you say? Surely you don’t want to sit around listening to a bunch of old guys spout a bunch of half truths to line their pockets?” She seems unbothered yet again, almost amused by the sight in front of her - as if her premonition of how the night would go is coming true.

There’s nothing he wants less. “How do you suppose I get out of this? I’m still on the clock, you know.”

“I’ll leave that up to you.” Emily sets the champagne flute on a nearby serving tray and spins on her heel, sauntering back towards the center of the ballroom. “I’ll be outside of the South Gate when you figure it out.”

…

In the end, he makes up an excuse to leave. It’s not exactly convincing and the agent in charge doesn’t exactly believe him when he feigns an emergency - food poisoning. But Aaron has always had an exceptionally good poker face, grimacing just enough to make it look questionable, and the other agent curtly nods, grunting something about having enough security for the evening, and making up the hours later in the week. It falls on deaf ears - he’s already out the doors of the security office, a small grin playing at the corners of his lips as he strides across the asphalt driveways with his back toward the house.

Sure enough, Emily is waiting for him, finishing the rest of a cigarette when he pulls around to the South Gate. He keeps his taillights off; the less attention he draws to himself the better.

His car has seen better days, the leather seats worn smooth and the stereo outdated, the steering wheel permanently indented from the grip of his own two hands, scuff marks and faded carpets. But it’s well maintained, and Emily smiles appreciatively when he holds the passenger side door open, then explains how to adjust the seat, just in case . She doesn’t seem to notice at all, just unceremoniously tugs her long skirt out of the way of the door and kicks off her heels.

“Fucking things,” she grumbles. The heels are sharp as knives, ridiculously impractical yet Aaron can’t help but picture her wearing them in a dress much shorter than the one she currently has on. He shakes his head, reminding himself not to go there, because the reality is, she’s still his boss’s daughter, and if anyone were to see them, he’d most definitely be written up, maybe worse, for taking her off property without following protocol. But she’s close enough to touch, her arm a gentle weight against his own on the center console.

“So,” Aaron asks, his voice barely audible. He shifts the car into reverse, breath hitching when his knuckles brush against her hand. “Just where is this diner you speak so highly of?”

“Silver Spring.”

“I thought you said DC.”

“It’s close enough.” Emily tucks a long piece of hair behind her ear with a roll of her eyes. “Just trust me.”

It’s the way she says it that makes him wonder if she would do the same for him. Aaron grips the wheel in silence as the cool night air seeps through the open windows. He catches her shiver and is about to offer his jacket when she breaks the silence.

“Make a right up at the light, and then it’s a quick left.” Emily shifts in the passenger seat. Her fingers twitch as if she were still holding a cigarette between them; she tucks her hand against her cheek daintily. She’s very much aware the passenger side is nearly spotless - nothing to indicate someone sits there frequently. No wayward sunglasses or a forgotten piece of jewelry belonging to a significant other. She straightens the wrinkled fabric of her dress and lowers her eyes.She’d had him pegged wrong - certainly he’d had it all figured out, the well intended nature that comes along with a mostly idyllic existence. She imagined a naive wife or girlfriend completely enamored with him, both parties working to make ends meet for bigger and better things - not happiness, for one. That they had in spades. But maybe a white picket fence, a dog and a baby or two one day.

Instead, he seems lonely and guarded, a choice he was forced to make. Circumstances, maybe, she thinks as the traffic light ahead blinks from a glowing green to yellow, to red. It shines a little brighter than usual, a universal warning everyone should understand . It makes her shiver again.

“Here. Take my jacket” The red light gives him the chance to shrug out of the confines of his suit jacket, which he hands over. He palms the wheel a little tighter when she wraps herself into it, the fabric draping over her like a shield.

“This is the place?” Aaron studies the gaudy exterior of the diner, hard to miss and yet, the type of place you wouldn’t give a second thought. The fluorescent lighting nearly blinds him, and he’s somewhat surprised to see through the windows that multiple tables are full despite the late hour. He can hardly conceal his disbelief. “How’d you learn about this place?”

“Word gets around,” Emily says lightly as she slips her shoes back on, wincing slightly when she stands upright, nearly enveloped by his jacket. “I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover. Maybe you should do the same.”

They find a booth in the back, tucked away from the clamor of the bustling kitchen and constant jingle of the doors. Again they’re left with nothing but silence, a few wayward glances, and two plastic coated menus between them. The haggard waitress only nods abruptly at their order - two black coffees, one with splenda and one without, one slice of apple pie, and two forks.

“You think she thinks we’re a couple?”

“I’m sure she has a lot more on her mind than us.” Aaron twists the paper straw wrapper between his fingers and studies her across the table. What he’s not expecting is to realize she’s doing the same thing - analyzing his body language with a degree of precision that matches his own, an expression that hides what she’s thinking. He wonders if she’s practiced it over time. She wears his jacket like a coat of armor yet she’s curious, the mundane quietness of the diner a stark contrast to their initial surroundings a short time ago.

“How does someone like you end up working for my mother?” Emily asks out of nowhere, direct and forward without an ounce of hesitation. It could be mistaken for an interrogation, he muses.

“Someone like me?”

“Decent. With manners. Not some macho guy with a little man complex or some baggage like that who gets off swinging his gun around.” She blows the straw wrapper across the table; it hits him square in the shoulder and stays here until he flicks it off. She doesn’t seem to notice as the waitress sets down their much anticipated order amidst a promise to come back with some cream for the coffee.

It’s his turn to laugh; he knows exactly what type she’s referring to. He could name more of them than he has fingers. “Trust me, it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”

Emily carves out a large bite of apple pie with her fork, eyes closing with delight as it disappears between her lips, along with a delicate moan. “This is so good.” She pushes the pie plate towards him. “So then what was it?”

“Bad timing, for starters.” Aaron stabs his fork into the jagged slice of pie, cuts off a bite for himself. His stomach growls; it’s been hours since the early dinner he’d scarfed down behind the wheel on his way back to work the shift he just abandoned. “You’re right,” he says around a mouthful of apple and pastry crust. “That’s really good.”

“Told you.” She proudly lifts her shoulders, momentarily triumphant before she digs in for another bite. But she also looks expectant, ready for an answer, even with another forkful of pie. He supposes he owes her one.

“I wanted to join the FBI,” Aaron begins slowly. It comes to him that she’s only the second person he’s ever told any of this to. He supposed talking about it would make it real, take it from a pipe dream to something that could irrevocably fail right in front of his own eyes.

“The big leagues, huh?” She waves her fork in a circle, and it takes a moment for him to realize she isn’t totally shocked. “I could see that, actually, now that you mention it. You have the poker face for it, at least.” Emily gives a little grin, one that meets her eyes. “But that didn’t happen?”

“Had the application filled out and everything. Was going to send it in.”

“So what happened?”

“My girlfriend … She didn’t like the idea. The recruitment process takes months and basic training even longer. Close to a year sometimes. Haley wanted me to do something a little more traditional. Wanted me home at 6 for dinner and around on the weekends.” He takes another bite of pie, partially to gather his thoughts, and to let Emily give her own.

“Girlfriend, huh?”

“Well.” The fork in his hand feels heavy all of a sudden; he sets it down with a clatter. “We’re taking a break right now.”

She takes in his words, chuckles a little bit. “I’m a little disappointed in myself. I definitely had you all wrong.”

“You keep saying that.” It’s more of a question than a statement, a curiosity he can’t contain.

“I took you as settled. Happy. With Haley. ” His girlfriend’s name rolls off her tongue; hearing it sounds strange, like she’s saying something she shouldn’t.

“I’m ... figuring things out. We’re figuring things out.”

“Do you love her? Does she love you?” Emily asks directly without hesitation. “If you do, there shouldn’t be much to figure out.”

He stiffens. “I don’t … not love her. But we want different things. At some point, you have to be honest with each other, right? When you can’t make it work, what do you do?”

“I’m definitely not the person to ask.” She laughs but there isn’t any humor in it, more of a resigned sadness if he looks close enough through the rough edges hidden by carefully curated appearance. “Relationships aren’t something I’ve had a ton of luck with.”

“Maybe you’re dating the wrong people.”

“Maybe.” She looks around the diner, rests her chin in her hands. “I’m pretty directionless myself at the moment, if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t, but thank you.” He takes a sip of coffee, more for something to do with his hands than a need for it. He wants to know more, wants to ask just what could possibly make her directionless. Someone who seemingly had it all.

“Sounds like we’re both lost.” There’s a dreamlike tone to her voice, as if they’re sharing a secret.

“We don’t have to be.”

“If I keep going at this rate, I’ll be a bored socialite by 30 throwing cocktail parties every night and getting drunk by the pool by day.”

“Who says?”

“No one has to say it. It’s … expected of me, I think?”

“Is that so?”

“I’m certainly not following in my mother’s footsteps into politics.” She scoffs. There’s contempt in her voice, for what he deduces is years of being put second, something she never asked for but received over and over again. “What else is there for me to do? Someone has to carry on the family tradition somehow.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Emily says, dragging her fork through some of the remaining bits of pie on the plate. She flicks a crumb into the air.  “I’ve never really had a home , you know. Most of my life has been spent overseas. Just staying in one place for a while would be nice.”

“I always wanted to get away.” Aaron laments. “From Manassas at least.”

“Well, that’s understandable. You aren’t missing much there, or so I’ve heard.” She stirs a spoon into her coffee to work in the mess of splenda packets she’s dumped in.

He watches the liquid swirl, her mezmirzation at it. Something comes to him - something he’s always wanted to know. “Is it true you speak four languages?”

Emily looks up from her coffee, temporarily distracted by his question. “Six, actually. French, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Greek, and some Russian.” She ticks them off on her fingers nonchalantly as if she were counting inanimate objects.

He does a double take. “Six? I can barely handle English.”

“It’s always been easy for me. I just wish I knew what to do with it, you know?”

“When I applied, I remember seeing that the FBI needs linguists. People with language experience to work overseas.” He takes his own fork to the last remaining bits of the pie, watching her face carefully for a reaction. She’s almost unreadable; he can’t discern just what she’s thinking.

She laughs - not the reaction he expected. “You know, applying for the FBI would absolutely piss my mother off entirely. She would hate it if I did that. Kind of makes me want to do it.”

“She and Haley should meet. I’m sure they’d have lots to talk about.”

“You want to hear what I think?” Emily says after a few long moments, the coffee and the pie that once sat between them are now gone. “I think you should go for it. The FBI. Do it and don’t look back. And call your girlfriend. Let her talk, but tell her how you feel.”

“And?”

“If she comes back, then you know it’s meant to be.”

...

“Never even knew this place existed,” Aaron says, lingering at Emily’s elbow as they pick their way across the pebbled driveway of the diner. She’s a little unsteady on the heels now, not unsurprising given the late hour and the time they spent sitting down.

“Who knew a diner in the middle of Silver Spring Maryland would have such great pie?” Dangling from her wrist is a to-go bag with an extra slice of pie for the morning - the waitress had kindly given her one on the house - the leftovers from the day before.

“I thought New Jersey was the diner capital of the world,” Aaron muses. “New Jersey is all about their diners and traffic circles.”

“And Bruce Springsteen,” Emily adds pointedly. “He’s from New Jersey.”

“Him too.” Aaron laughs quietly. The tension in his shoulders mounts; he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to talk to her, wants to keep her there. But the moment feels final. Emily catches the wrist of the hand that reaches out to cup her cheek, wraps her fingers around it. “If things were different -” he starts quietly, looking almost embarrassed.

“I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to go, is it?” Emily leans into the weight of his calloused palm, into the touch of a man that isn’t her own. It feels foreign, like she’s taking something that isn’t hers. “I don’t think that’s in our cards, Aaron. Maybe in a different life.”

The ride back to DC is again silent, save for the crinkling of the paper bag in her lap. Aaron skips the main entrance and the long paved driveway, taking a shortcut around the massive property to the South Gate entrance. Emily side eyes him, looking slightly impressed. “Trying to remain inconspicuous?”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet,” she offers as he pulls up to the outside of the South Gate. “For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

“Maybe.” He tells himself to pull away, curling it back around the steering wheel protectively. “Remember what I told you, Emily.” He watches her reach for her shoes, their moments together dwindling down to seconds. “Don’t live your life on the terms of someone else. Especially your mother. If our paths cross again and you’re a bored socialite throwing cocktail parties, we’ll have to talk.”

She loops some hair behind her ear, gives him a small smile. “If our paths cross again in ten years and you aren’t leading some FBI unit somewhere, I’ll have some words for you as well.” She draws a breath, carefully slips on her shoes. “Thank you for the pie, Aaron.” The creak of the passenger side door is the only thing he hears as she slips away like a ship in the night, not to turn back around.

Aaron watches her disappear across the grass, blending into the deep blue of the early morning, the sky not quite awake but out of the depths of night. She’s a shadowy dark figure amidst the promise of a new day. The clock on the dashboard nears 6:00 AM. The little red numbers glow are a reminder of the inevitable crash that will most definitely come later on. He isn’t 20 anymore, after all. But when he drives away, there’s a sense of renewal, one he can’t explain, but deep down understands.

He hands in his resignation before he can work another shift, and he never does make up the time he promised. Three days after that, he mails a thick packet of papers in a standard manila envelope to the FBI Headquarters in Quantico.

A week after that, he takes out his phone and dials Haley’s number. About thirteen years later, his son comes into the world, wailing and screaming with healthy lungs and a head of dark hair. Haley is tired and beaming, his pride is obvious as the tiny bundle is placed in his arms.

They name the baby Jack.

In some ways, the stars aligned.

He’ll sometimes wonder if Emily’s did too.

…

Present Day

“Why didn’t things ever work out between the two of you?”

Dave’s voice brings him back to reality, out of the daydream he’s held so close to his heart for so many years. It’s jarring at first, a confusing limbo of then and now, past and present blending together for a few long moments. He glances around, the harsh overhead lights glaring bright, the low hum of hospital sounds reverberating through his ears. Along with it comes the reality of why he’s there, and the bitter rush of fear that floods his consciousness.

“Timing.” Aaron spins his now empty coffee cup in his hands. “Even after Haley and I got divorced, it was never the right time.”

“You’re going to blame timing ? That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“I never wanted to take the risk.” It’s the closest thing he can think of as truth. They built a tentative friendship after a rocky start, something built on mutual respect. His divorce brought new challenges - co parenting amidst a ridiculously stressful career, supporting and leading his team. Emily had always been one to hold her own, a silent backbone of their team, a friend to all of them. He’d relied on her, never wanted to lose what they had in hopes of something else . Ian Doyle had taken her from them all; her return was tense and it didn’t take a profiler to understand that Quantico just wasn’t home to her anymore. He let her walk away, encompassed by a fragile shell of his own tentative happiness, and in the years after she went to London, there was a permanent hole in his heart that never quite mended itself again. “Maybe I should have.”

“Love is a choice, Aaron. It doesn’t just happen. You have to choose to make things work.” Dave leans back in his seat, checks his watch, an eyebrow arching just a bit. “I thought you would have known that by now.”

“You and Krystall made a choice?”

“We still do. Every day we have to choose to love each other. Some days it’s easy. Others, not so much. But you know the best part?”

“I think you’re going to tell me anyway, Dave.”

“It’s never not been worth it, Aaron.” There’s a subtle gleam in his eye that wasn’t there before. “Something tells me you might just feel the same, if you gave it a chance.” Dave fumbles for his phone, patting the pockets of his jeans and then that of his blazer before finally pulling the phone from his breast pocket. He flips it open, his eyes widening at whatever message lights up the tiny screen.

“What is it?” Aaron asks with baited breath.

Dave looks up from his phone. For the first time since all of this began, he looks full of hope. “Emily’s out of surgery.”

…

The surgeon is pleased with the outcome of Emily’s procedure, and the air around them seemingly lightens with each minute he explains the procedure, and its success. The three of them hang on every word he says, asking questions and seeking assurances.

“She should be awake within a few hours. We’ll know more then, but her brain activity is good, and her vitals are strong. Agent Prentiss got very lucky. I have patients who often have a very different outcome.”

The relief is palpable, as if the tension was cut with a knife as they all exchange optimistic smiles and tentative handshakes, while profusely thanking Emily’s surgeon. Aaron excuses himself to call Jack - something he should have done hours ago. “I’m not going far,” he reminds Dave, his words a warning of what to do if anything changes in the next few minutes.

“We’ll be right here.”

Mendoza is shrugging into his jacket and digging for his keys with a look of resignation on his face. He catches Dave’s sideways glance. “I think it’s time I head out, Dave. Please give Emily my best wishes on a quick recovery when she’s discharged.” There’s a change in his voice, one that wasn’t there earlier.

“You’re leaving?” Dave asks curiously. “You aren’t going to stay and see Emily? It shouldn’t be much longer before we can go in.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

Mendoza shakes his head, runs a hand over his scalp. “I learned something tonight. You know when it’s just not meant to be, but you can’t find the reason why?”

Dave nods, a glimmer of understanding appearing in his eyes. “I do. I know it very well, actually.”

“I think I found the why.” His eyes roam around before they finally land on Aaron and Dave’s do too. The phone is still pressed to his ear but he’s still staring right into Emily’s room, never once looking away, even as his mouth moves in conversation to Jack on the other end. “I tried to deny it, so did Emily. But I don’t think her heart ever belonged to me. I think it belonged to him.”

—

Emily finally wakes up a few hours later. Aaron and Dave wait outside the room as she’s tended to by a horde of surgeons and nurses, testing brain function and vital signs, spattering off medical terms with ease. It’s a language only they understand, one Aaron never wants to learn. But their voices are hopeful, they have smiles on their faces as they talk to Emily, assessing her cognition and running tests. She’s a little confused and extremely tired, but awake and alert . Dave is just as relieved to see things appear normal; they’re both very aware of just how lucky they got.

Eventually, they’re finally allowed to see her.

“Do you mind if I … “ Aaron trails off, except he doesn’t need to finish the question.

“Go, Aaron. I take it you have some things you want to get off your chest,” Dave quips. “I’m going to call the others and give them an update. They’ve been waiting awhile.” He departs with a pat of encouragement on the back, a shared moment between them.

Moments later, he’s back in her room, at her side on the same uncomfortable chair from earlier. Her eyes flicker open once again, widening almost impossibly when she sees him. Years of unanswered questions are written on her face in seconds, a shared history fraught with more than what most people experience in a lifetime. But there’s something oddly content there too, as if she woke up from a dream that has somehow materialized in front of her.

“Hey,” Aaron says softly, reaching out with a nervous hand to touch her for the first time in years . He dodges wires and IV lines, finds her fingers with his own and gives a gentle squeeze. “You’re up.”

“You’re here?” Emily blinks with confusion, still making sense of just how she got there in the first place. “But I thought you were .. you and Jack are in Philadelphia. What are you doing here?”

“Of course I’m here,” he says soothingly, ignoring her question. They can talk about that later. “How are you feeling?”

Emily gives a wry grin, slightly distorted and weak, but there. “They asked me who the President of the United States was.”

It’s his turn to smirk. “What did you tell them?”

“To ask me after 45 leaves the Oval Office,” she says without hesitation. “I think I made at least two of them laugh.” But then something comes over her face, the reality of it all setting in. “You came all this way,” she croaks, throat raw from the intubation tube. “How did you know about all of this?”

“You were there for me, remember?” He’s not only talking about Foyet, but all the years she spent at his side. The years they spent doing a dance around one another,  their steps never quite aligning. This time feels like a second chance he never thought he’d get, one he can’t mess up.

“That was a lifetime ago, Aaron. So much has happened since then.” Emily tries to sit upright, pushes herself up about halfway before exhaustion overtakes her. She grumbles in frustration; he shouldn’t smile but he does. It means the Emily he knows, the Emily he fell in love with years ago is somewhere in there.

“Take it easy,” he soothes, adjusting the pillows so she’s more vertical than horizontal. He uses the opportunity to press a kiss against her forehead. He touches his own to hers and murmurs, “That’s something I should have done a long time ago.”

A smile spreads across her face, just as brilliant as the night he met her. She remembers it all, just as well as he does. “Funny how it always seems to take one of us dying to figure things out.”

“What are you talking about?” It’s a morbid thought, one he can’t entertain for long because despite his question, there’s an element of truth to it. He brushes some hair from her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. It’s matted in his fingers and dirty yet he doesn’t even notice. His heart swells, the hand in her hair trails down to her cheek, a thumb against the blush that spreads there. “And by the way, that’s not funny.”

“I’m saying maybe after I get out of this place,” she gestures to the mess of monitors and wires and tubes, “You can ask me out on a date. Finally.”

“Anywhere,” Aaron agrees. He would go anywhere, if it meant he could be with her.

“I know a place in Silver Spring. Supposedly they have the best apple pie in DC.”