#how I tortured agent stone lately

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Christopher Hitchens on Islam

I can't shake what I heard, saw once on the BBC from someone whose career in London I followed. Don't know if you know him, you wouldn't like him: Anjem Choudary. A very well-known noise maker around London, complaining about secularism, Judaism, this kind of thing, been trouble with the law a few times.

And was interviewed on BBC, went on about how nothing would change until the green flag of Islam was flying over Downing Street and Buckingham Palace, and so forth.

And was asked, I thought quite mildly by BBC interviewer, said, well if this is the way you feel about Sharia, about the total Islamic rule, wouldn't you feel happier moving to a country where they already had it?

Which is a polite question, a rather cheap one, I mean, but still. Didn't prepare me for the answer, which Choudary looked straight at the guy and straight into camera, said what "makes you think this is your country?"

In Islam, humans have the right to govern human societies and manage the affairs of humans.

... until they are offered Islam.

As far as Islam is concerned, the world already belongs to Allah. And it’s not merely the case that only Allah may be worshipped (per the shahada), but also only Allah may rule. Humans can form their little governments and make their little rules while they don’t know better. Until Islam comes to save them from the tyranny of human laws, so they can be freed to submit to Allah instead, who is already in charge of everything, the people just didn’t know.

In theocracies like Iran, they don’t really “make” laws. All the laws, everything humanity will ever need has already been given to them by Islam. These theocratic governments don’t actually create laws, they find them in the scripture. Allah has already told them whether ringtones are haram or halal, his human agents just need to be pious enough to recognize his wisdom.

That’s why an Islamist lunatic like Anjem Choudary can deadpan say “what makes you think this is your country?” He already knows that it’s Allah’s land.

Well now, just you transfer yourself to Somalia last week.

A girl of 13, probably out for the first time unsupervised in her life. Things must have been very bad if she was allowed out without male supervision to begin with. But there's enough chaos to explain that. She's immediately pounced upon by a group of older men and very thoroughly raped and sodomized and beaten.

And she goes to the religious court for redress, and the religious court knows its business. And it knows its texts very well, and it says "we don't know that it's true what you say, that men abused you in this manner. But we can tell you've had sex. In fact, judging by your injuries, we can tell you've had a great deal of sex lately. But you're not married, so you're guilty of adultery."

So now, before your wounds have stopped hurting, you're going to be buried up to your waist in hot sand and laughing men will now take part in the only other cultural activity that gratifies the male sex in that part of the world, which is stoning that young woman to death.

The people who did this knew exactly what they were doing, and they were in perfect conformity with their holy books, and they absolutely do not believe that anything happens randomly. They are not under the illusion that heaven is indifferent. They're not under the illusion that we are biologically created, that we're here because of the laws of natural selection and random mutation. They don't believe anything of the sort.

They're utterly consoled by the idea that heaven intervenes and cares about every action, otherwise they wouldn't put themselves to the trouble of raping, torturing and murdering a thirteen-year-old whose last moments you might want to take just a few seconds to imagine.

[ms-erin-kallus]

I Can’t Destroy What Isn’t There

Chapter 8

AO3 link ~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/44541196/chapters/122272963

Agent Kallus woke groggily and rubbed hard at his tired hazel eyes as he slowly looked around into the unknown darkness that surrounded him. The meteorite that sat above him had long faded into nothing more than a simple stone, and so left the only light afforded him to come from the small chrono at his bedside. 

Panic quickly set in as he realized that he was in <em>his</em> bed before he shot up and scanned the room with sudden focus. How did I get here, he thought as he racked his brain for memories that wouldn’t come.

Wait, who put me into these clothes?

At the foot of his bed sat bottles of water, a few small foil packets, and a couple of protein bars. There was also a note, stay off of it for a few days, please.

He stared at it for a few confused seconds before he finally managed to bring himself to look at his bedside chrono, 1430.

At least it’s not too late in the day, he thought before the date made his eyes go wide in shock. It had been a full rotation and a half. His mind began to reel with excuses for his unauthorized absence; that was, until he remembered that no one had probably even noticed, or cared that he was gone. There would be no surprise either way. 

A tangle of hair caught in his fingers as he tried to run them through the disheveled mess on his head and he could only sigh before he carefully moved to sit on the edge of his bed. The deep ache in his leg felt substantially better than it had before as he carefully kneaded his fingers deep into the muscle. 

As he placed his feet onto the cold floor, his toes stretched back and forth as he tried to recall and categorize his last memories into some semblance of a memory of what might have happened prior. 

Ambush. Bahryn. Orrelios.

Family.

His face fell forward and he stared blankly at a wall that offered no answers before he managed to clumsily push himself up to standing.

Before he could realize what was happening, a bright blue light suddenly filled the room as an electrical current came hurtling toward him.

R3 unexpectedly charged up to him from the dark corner by his door, “what does the note say, stupid human?”

“What the hell?” Kallus yelled as he threw himself back into the corner behind him to avoid the droid’s rage. “You are definitely her droid,” he scoffed loudly when he realized who his attacker was. He gingerly scooted back to the edge of the bed and glared at an annoyed R3 before pain suddenly shot down to his toes and reminded him of his real problem.

“What are you even doing here anyway, don’t you have someone else to torture?”

“Yes.”

Kallus placed his feet on the floor again and the droid increased the current and pointed it directly at him. “Okay, okay, the cold feels good on my feet,” he conceded with his hands up at his sides in surrender, “calm down.”

Definitely her droid.

“Seriously. Why are you here?”

“I don’t know why she cares about you after everything you’ve put her through, or how she can overlook that you’re going to get her killed, but she told me to keep an eye on you because she had to go back to Lothal before you woke up,” R3 beeped.

Kallus shook his head, “back?”

“You don’t remember? Probably best. She’s too good for you and I despise you,” R3 beeped at him in a way that Kallus knew was hate filled sarcasm. “She dragged you to medical because you were seriously hurt and wouldn’t go on your own.” They backed up and took one of the packets from the table, “I will give you two every eight hours and monitor your progress.”

“How long do you plan on staying here?” Kallus almost yelled in literal horror. The few minutes they had been together were already too many. Entire rotations would end with either the angry little machine in the compactor or a very annoyed Kallus back in medical, or a corpse floating through space.

“The medical droid said to keep you off of your feet for at least three rotations. It has been one and a half. So, I’m here for another one and a half rotations.”

“You are absolutely not going to sit here and babysit m-,” Kallus started before the room lit up a bright blue again.

“I absolutely am.”

Kallus sighed hard as he realized that he had no choice. The droid was as stubborn as he was and had obviously been programmed to accommodate the fact, “where is Rhoan now? It would be nice-”

“Like I said, she’s on planet, not far enough away from you in my opinion. Her work here is done so she had to go back this morning.”

Dammit, he thought as he opened the packet. “What is this?”

“I’m hoping fatal, but they’re probably just painkillers.”

“You don’t have to be such an asshole,” Kallus retorted harshly as he tried to determine how to get a restraining bolt inconspicuously delivered to his room.

The droid just sat silently.

Kallus tore open the packet. “Maybe I’ll have to tell her?”

“Do it. Who do you think she’ll believe, the dangerous Imp or her faithful little droid? The droid that she loves.”

Kallus narrowed his eyes and glared at the machine with a jealousy he didn’t expect. “Sure, a droid can understand complex human emotions?”

“Probably better than you can.”

Kallus breathed in slowly to keep himself from reinjury while attempting to break the hateful and angery machine in front of him. Rhoan may have been able to put the things he had done in the past but he knew that she would end his future if he did anything to her protective little companion. “Fine. My datapad is in the drawer at the end of the bed. Will you get it for me since I’m apparently bedridden,” he asked nicely out of feigned defeat. 

Kallus watched the droid turn away before he quickly and quietly stood up.

The R3 unit turned and threw the datapad at him on sight as it rolled over, arm aglow again.

“Stop,” he yelled as he put his hands out in front of him. “You can’t shock me because I might reinjure myself and th-,” he protested.

The current surged twice before R3 warned him, “that’s your problem, not mine. I can stay here for weeks if that’s what you really want.”

“That is the last thing I want.”

“Then, sit down,” the droid threatened as it rolled over to the dark corner from where it came. “Find something stupid humans do and leave me alone.”

~

Kallus did find something to do; he researched Geonosis.

I never asked questions.

The next two rotations were spent relentlessly digging through anything and everything he could get his hands on regarding the planet and what could have happened to cause its population to completely disappear. He had a feeling that he couldn’t shake, and much to his horror, it was for good reason.

He had initially hoped that perhaps it had been a planet wide exodus due to some sort of mass extinction event. They already lived underground due to prior events that caused the surface to become uninhabitable; perhaps something new had happened that drove them completely off world. Something he somehow had never heard about. Or, possibly, it was a full-scale re-colonization. The Empire had a habit of confiscating entire planets to bleed dry their natural resources if said resources were of value, or even simply if its location was beneficial. 

But, he knew deep down that the Empire wouldn’t waste those kinds of funds, not on civilians.

He also knew neither scenario was correct.

Judging by what he had found, along with what he had seen in orbit around the planet, the population had basically been enslaved to build some sort of Imperial project. Whatever the project was, it was massive and a pretty well-kept secret.

He felt sick. Apparently, once they were of no use, they were simply eradicated. It was the only plausible explanation. It was genocide. It was one hundred million souls gone without hesitation.

By association, it was his fault.

Kallus wiped any traces of his investigation from his datapad and tossed it to the foot of his bed. Everything that he had been trained and conditioned to believe throughout his entire career was authoritarianism, plain and simple. He couldn’t believe that he was too stupid to never see it for what it was.

The ISB’s brainwashing techniques were impressively and terrifyingly effective.

~

The small green machine that had spent their time slowly tormenting him was gone when Kallus woke on the third rotation of his droid mandated medical leave. The small red light, the one that he knew was some sort of warning beacon, was replaced by darkness and his newly found freedom. 

Things could’ve gone much worse, R3 mostly left him alone unless it was time for medication or food. Unfortunately, the one thing he wasn’t allowed to do was shower. They were afraid he would slip and fall, and Kallus would never admit it out loud, but he was too. The refresher alone was a difficult task at first. 

An encrypted message of physical therapy stretches was sent to him before he even woke up from his procedure. The need for encryption was puzzling but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. Most of that night was a blur of fuzzy or straight up missing memories, so he was sure there was a good reason for it that he just couldn’t put together.

The painkillers prescribed didn’t help any. He didn’t even know how he got back to the dome from the star destroyer he was on.

Though he was sure that his absence had gone unnoticed, it was time for him to at least make some sort of appearance before he could disappear into his office until summoned for some sort of task or mission that he couldn’t just delegate to a subordinate. 

The residual emotions from his cold reception lingered in his mind with their claws dug deep and refused to let go. That was assuming they ever even would.

It felt like they were a parsec away as he walked as nondescriptly as he could to the communal showers at the end of the hall before someone could notice his still unsure gait. Empathy was hard to find in the military, but gossip was not. A few sideways glances quickly reminded him of that adage.

He could’ve spent the entire cycle under the hot water that relaxed his sore and tired muscles as he tried diligently to work the knots from his shoulders and relieve the strain on his knee. A sudden thought jarred through his mind and he immediately turned the water off and grabbed a towel. 

A few minutes later he stood in front of an empty cooler while seriously considering leaving the base to go to a market and find fresh fruit. He would have done it too, but his datapad chirped something about a stowaway rebel and a defected droid that included a report that he needed to read and a search party that needed to be formed to look into the matter.

That overachiever will probably thank me, he thought as he immediately forwarded the message and transferred the assignment to Lieutenant Lyste. Aside from the menial task, he didn’t want much to do with any of their targeted missions or operations, and knew he wouldn’t for awhile.

However, the correspondence was a sign that people were aware that he was available again and so his fruit fiasco was put on an unwanted hold. A caf and one of the better-quality protein bars would have to suffice.

~ 

Kallus hummed mindlessly to himself as the lift began its descent into the depths of the dome. The reverberations went all the way down into his chest as he tapped out an erratic rhythm on the side of the cup he held. There was an ease about him that he rarely felt and it was a welcomed respite from the recent hell that he found himself, and her, thrust into. 

Small echoes carried down the hallway with each step and he let them fall in line with the rhythm of his fingers. He almost let himself make up the lyrics to a verse but remembered that he had a reputation to uphold and ‘the singing ISB Agent’ didn’t carry the same bravado of his typical character.

However, the second he rounded the corner and made eye contact, a suffocating tension filled the air with an almost choking heaviness and uneasy warning.

It was more than obvious that the woman standing at the counter with her back to Kallus felt it because she took a small, obvious step backward the instant Rhoan’s gaze hardened. Their transaction continued in a loud whisper until R3 came out from behind the counter to pull a dysfunctional droid back into her work area, and did so without acknowledging him at all. 

The woman’s face immediately fell to the floor when she turned and saw one of the last people she thought she would see there before she scurried away silently into the safety of wherever it was she was going.

“Okay then,” he mumbled to himself as he looked up to a face he didn’t expect. He cleared his throat quietly before he set his offering on the counter, “I assumed that you probably didn’t eat.”

Rhoan sat silent, but he could see that her mind was racing as she tried her best to decide her next words or her best course of action; he assumed it was most likely both. 

Kallus felt his throat go dry.

The hinged door of the counter slammed loudly before Rhoan grabbed his hand and began to literally drag him toward the farthest wall of her work area.

“What is going-” he started but the look on her face when she turned back to him stopped him from finishing. “Rhoan, I can’t move that quickly yet,” he pleaded.

She didn’t stop but she did slow substantially as they came around the last row of shelving and toward a small door at the end of it. It hissed open quickly and she practically shoved him into it before she put her fingers up to her lips.

Be quiet.

The door closed behind her and Kallus was left standing alone in what appeared to be a small utility closet. What felt like an eternity later, she finally reappeared with a small micro ion pulse mine and activated it. His eyebrow raised at the suspicious move as a soft, blue glow illuminated the concern on her face. 

For a long, few seconds the only sound between them was the soft hum of the apparatus at their side, “Rhoan?” he asked carefully.

She began to say something but no words came. Her mouth closed and she thought hard before she finally spoke.

“You can’t be here.”

She shook her head mostly to herself, “the droids didn’t record but if there was a malfunction in any of them,” her whisper trailed off as she looked at the floor in contemplation of possibilities that he didn’t know what were.

“What is going on? You are beginning to seriously worry me,” he asked with quiet concern, unsure as to whether or not he could speak normally as the smell of the grease on her clothes blended subtly with the faint scent of the Imperial issue shampoo in her hair. It was a unique mix, but then, she was as well. He liked that about her, that he never knew what he was about to get. Except this time was an exception.

“What do you remember from that night? When you went to medical.” she snapped as his stomach immediately fell to the floor with the force of a seismic charge. “All of it. Everything. Tell me.”

“I, um,” he looked at her and she cocked her head to the side as if to tell him to both hurry and also be as thorough as he could. “I remember the hallway, kind of.”

I remember that you wanted to run from me.

“And after the hallway?” she asked, ignoring her own demand of everything.

“Not much. There was a needle.” He let out a nervous laugh that she disregarded.

“This part is important,” she reiterated with raised eyebrows, “do you remember anything you said?”

Kallus could barely breathe through the thick suddenly stagnant air, what did you do?

“I don’t,” he wasn’t sure what to say. Apparently he remembered less than he thought and her behavior wasn’t helping his memory in the slightest. “I feel like I-”

“You said some stupid shit, Kallus,” she told him with a quiet waver in her voice.

 Call me Alex.

The sound of stretching leather reverberated through the brutal silence.

She looked back down at the ground, “you really don’t remember anything,” 

“Feel free to let me in on the mystery,” he said, his temper beginning to rise out of confused desperation. If he put either of them in danger then she was wasting time. He would need to run damage control as soon and quickly as was possible. 

“You said something,” she took in a long breath and nodded slightly as if summoning the courage to keep looking at him, “something that bordered on sedition.” 

Her last word echoed loudly through his mind.

“You said you hated the Empire.” Rhoan’s brow furrowed and she looked at the device on the counter, “they have executed people for much less, and considering I didn’t go straight to command with this, it looks like complicity on my part.”

She was right. He had just spent almost two days learning about how they carried out the literal extermination of a species for no good reason. Killing one ISB Commander gone rogue would be nothing. A lieutenant on an outer rim planet that heard some words would easily be less.

“Look, I didn’t think that anyone was going to come looking for me out there, and I was just still upset about it. I was heavily sedated and emotional,” he said carefully. It wasn’t a complete lie; he was actually pretty pissed about the cold reception upon his return.

“I guess that makes sense.” She looked down to her side, “You’ve been nothing but a good and loyal agent of the ISB. I knew better than to think that way of you.”

“You’re also a loyal and outstanding servant to the Empire, which begs the question, are you going to inform anyone anyway," he asked cautiously, his heart pounded in his ears so hard he could barely hear what he said to her. Command could know whatever they wanted as long as it didn’t include her.  

“I can’t now. Not without incriminating myself,” she said with an abrupt tinge of hostility.

He could tell that she was angry with herself for that, for not only risking her career but possibly her life. He was angry with himself for putting her in such a situation. Again.

“Fixing this is all contingent on one thing.” She looked him dead in the eye, “this infatuation of yours has to stop. There is no reciprocity and you need to accept that already,” she said pointedly. “This is the third time that you have put me in a precarious situation. Two of them could’ve gotten me killed. One still may.”

She was stern in the delivery of her verdict, her resolve unrelenting, and it shattered him into a million invisible pieces held loosely only by a fleeting hope. 

“Rhoan, I-“

The low hum of the device went silent and the cold, blue light went dark when she reached over and turned it off, “no, you need to go now.”

 Please don’t. 

She looked down as she reached over and opened the door. 

There was the sudden sound of wheels racing away; R3 had obviously been listening in. 

When he didn’t move, she looked out subtly to let him know that it was, in fact, time for him to leave her.

He looked down at her, desperate for eye contact, for her to see that she was making a mistake. “You don’t want to do this. I know you don’t.” 

He felt her anxiety skyrocket as her body instantly went stiff, but still she didn’t look away from the door. “I have to,” there was a graveness in her voice that caught him off guard and he was finally forced to come to the realization that there was nothing left for him there anymore. There was nothing in the Empire and certainly nothing in that closet.

His shoulders fell at her words and he reluctantly turned away from the only decent thing that had happened to him in as long as he could remember. Even if it was merely infatuation, it gave him something to look forward to that wasn’t saturated in war. And yet, once again, war was all he had, except now it was in two theaters instead of one.

“Alright,” he said quietly as he began to walk out. 

He had given her no reason to trust him but every reason to fear him.

The door quickly whirred shut behind him and like that, he was alone. Again. 

He walked to the end of the row of shelves and looked back one last time before he scolded himself. “What did you really expect?”

Deep inside of him he knew that to protect her from the impending wrath of the Empire that would eventually fall over him was to forget that she ever existed. It was the only way that he couldn’t risk putting her in danger again.

Her nonexistence was his new reality.

With that, his head fell and he slowly made his way back to the lift, giving her time to change a mind that he knew was already set. 

Disappointment is built on false hope.

Unlike before, every step he took down the suddenly long hallway sounded like a seismic charge in his ears. His feet dragged heavily as if the floor had become a thick swamp that he could only try to free himself from. He knew total escape itself would be impossible no matter how hard he tried.

175…174 the lift chimed in front of him with every level it passed. Kallus could barely wait to get to his office where he could try to decompress some.

And most likely break something.

That wasn’t going to happen.

Konstantine’s voice unexpectedly grated against his ears.

“Ah, Agent Kallus, just who I was looking for,”   

[beevean]

So what's the point of Mizrack aka Templar Agent Stone?

From what I can tell he's there to be a religious hard ass, have sex with a man despite his religious zelotry ('cause y'know the Church didn't very much support gay people back then, you'd think they'd bring up this angle to at least have more CHURCH BAD ammo), and then join the heroes at the very last

He's giving me strong Striga vibes, in the sense that he'll be the token lgbt character with no personality beyond it and who has jack all to do with the plot beyond some cool scenes

At least Olrox killed Richter's mom which is important....though from what I can gather he spends the rest of his screentime just dicking around and being mysterious

Well, the previous show used Alucard and Hector to appeal to the fangirls with a taste for the tortured pretty twinks. Now it's time to appeal to those who tend towards the bara genre :P #representation

I respect Mizrak for being one of the very rare instances of a church character whose personality is not CHURCH BAD. In fact, he joins the heroes when he discovers how much the abbot has fallen. But it is kinda funny when he's all >:O when it's revealed that the abbot had a daughter, because. my dude. you ain't free of sin either :P

Olrox has a slightly more defined motivation, in that he doesn't support Sun Thundercat's plan because his late bf was against oppression and he wants to honor his wishes, cliché but hey it is something. I'm really not sure about Templar Stone here: I think he just exists to give Olrox another boyfriend and as an attempt to have some decent gay representation for once. Well, so far he is better than Female Guts and Her Girlfriend, but that's not a high bar to pass.

Also, I have to honestly compliment the show for finally having a Badass Normal character who fights vampires with simple human skills. Great! About time you showed the bravery of normal humans! Now why the fuck did you feel the need to turn Annette into a metalbender? :D

[spencers-renaissance]

I fear I will be ripped open and found unsightly

Summary: After Spencer fails his firearm recertification, the FBI believes some hand-to-hand combat and self-defence training is in order, and who better to administer it than the BAU's very own, Derek Morgan? Everything goes swimmingly until Derek decides to simulate an attack from above, and Spencer's thrust into the throes of a horrific flashback.

Tags: hurt/comfort, past abuse, platonic cuddling, angst with a happy ending, friendship or pre-slash, crying, panic attacks, flashbacks, episode: s01e06 LDSK, protectiveness TW: !!Discussions of Underage Rape/Non-Con including Molestation and Incestuous Sexual Abuse!!

Pairing: Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid (Platonic or Pre-Slash)

Word Count: 4.3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

It’s a dreary day in late October when he fails his recertification test. Later, he’ll look back on this moment with a strange mixture of thankfulness and stone-cold dread, but in the moment all he can feel is the burning of his cheeks and the festering humiliation sat heavy in his chest.

Hotch is kind about it, because Hotch is kind about everything.

“Do you know what happened, Reid?” he asks with a complete absence of judgement, and it’s clear from everything about his body language and tone that he isn’t angry and he isn’t being critical, but Spencer feels his defences rising regardless.

He shakes his head and shrinks back in his seat, avoiding Hotch’s eyes.

“Did anyone do anything to make you feel uncomfortable?”

His eyes snap up to meet Hotch’s and he shifts to sit a bit more upright as he shakes his head with more vehemence this time. Sure, he didn’t particularly like the evaluator, but only because he seemed unimpressed with Spencer from the moment he laid eyes on him, acting as though evaluating someone who was doomed to fail was a waste of time.

Spencer can’t exactly blame him.

Hotch sighs. “Listen, Spencer,” he says gently, “I know you can handle yourself in the field and I know you can handle a gun just fine, but you know how many requirements were overlooked for you to join the unit in the first place, and you also know that your position in the BAU has been controversial with a few of the higher-ups. So, here’s the plan. I’m going to be your evaluator for your next recertification in two weeks, and in the meantime, I want you to do some hand-to-hand training with Derek to improve and consolidate your field and self-defence skills.”

Realistically, he knows that this is the best he could’ve hoped for, and he knows how hard Hotch and Gideon fight his corner when he’s questioned by everyone from witnesses to local PDs to the director of the bureau himself.

That does not mean he has to be happy about this.

He acquiesces because he has to. “Okay,” he says quietly, hoping he doesn’t sound as defeated as he feels.

“Reid,” Hotch says, redirecting his attention from the spot on the carpet he’s staring at. He waits for Spencer to look at him before smiling slightly and looking at him with a raw kind of earnest he knows is privileged to witness. “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

It’s Spencer’s turn to smile, brightening up from his miserable disposition slightly. “I do.”

⭑⭑⭑

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek says cheerfully, slamming his locker closed just as Spencer enters the FBI gym. “I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show.”

Spencer sighs, opening the locker next to Derek’s and putting his messenger bag inside before opening the grocery bag he’d brought his gym clothes in. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says drily as he pulls out his clothes and heads towards one of the two private changing cubicles.

He hears Derek chuckle to himself before he calls back to him as he opens the door to the gym. “I’m gonna set up, you come through when you’re ready.”

Spencer procrastinates for as long as he can, making sure his shoes are tied perfectly and the bows are even sizes, folding all his work clothes as neatly as possible and placing them carefully back into the grocery bag, but before long, there’s nothing more he can do and he has to face the music. He inhales deeply, steeling himself for the next hour, before putting his bag in his locker (closing it with much less force than Derek did earlier) and walking into the gym.

It’s a fairly big hall that’s usually used for academy recruits, large scale demonstrations, and the various sports teams that have cropped up in different divisions of the FBI. Spencer knows that Derek currently plays basketball for the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime team, the department that the BAU is part of.

Right now, though, Derek has them set up in a tucked-away corner, both hard and soft mats laid out on the ground surrounded by various equipment Spencer couldn’t hope to identify correctly.

“You took your time,” Derek says when Spencer approaches him, eyebrows raised and an obvious note of amusement in his voice. “But now you’re here, let’s get started.”

They begin with a short conditioning exercise that Derek says is supposed to ‘get the blood pumping’ but in actuality has Spencer panting like a dog and soaked with sweat within minutes. Maybe those higher-ups have something of a point. He knew he was unfit, but this is just embarrassing.

“Okay, now with the warm-up out of the way—”

“That was a warm-up?”

Derek doubles over with his laughter and Spencer can’t help but join in, despite how out of breath and red in the face he might be.

“It’s supposed to be, Spence, but maybe I over-estimated things a little,” he concedes once their giggles have died out. “Alright, alright, let’s move on to some basic self-defence moves. I know you probably already know most of these, but this is supposed to be a refresher, yeah? And to remind you that you can hold your own in the field, whether you pass your recertification or not.”

Spencer winces. “I don’t know, Derek, I mean I did fail every single physical aspect of the academy examination.”

“See, that’s what I mean, pretty boy,” Derek says, standing up from the mat and helping Spencer up, too. “You’re in your own head, and when you’re out in the field, you have enough enemies without making your own mind one as well. You know this stuff, Spence, I’m just here to remind you of that.”

“Alright,” he nods, holding in his sigh. He doesn’t mean to be negative, he just can’t help the way he’s feeling. The last week has been rough.

“Okay, so let’s go through front-facing attacks first,” Derek says. “What’s the first move you can do to protect yourself in that situation?”

“Elbow shield,” Spencer replies, holding out his arm and blocking Derek from coming any closer with his forearm acting as a barrier that Derek presses his chest against.

“Exactly, and what can you do to inflict damage in that position?”

Spencer responds by sliding his forearm up to Derek’s neck and applying light pressure, not wanting to actually hurt him.

“You got it. Okay, now what if I manage to grab you and pull you closer, what’s your move?”

He keeps his forearm locked to keep Derek from advancing too close, but this time he grabs his bicep with both hands and uses his core to bring him closer before he raises his shin and mimes kicking him in the groin.

“See, you know this stuff,” Derek says brightly. “The only note I have is to just remember to keep your thumbs in line with the rest of your fingers, not wrapping under my arm.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense. The thumb is easily broken, although the most common injury associated with a broken thumb is actually damage to the larger bone of your hand, the metacarpal.”

Derek chuckles. “Exactly.”

Funnily enough, Spencer actually finds himself having fun as they walk through some other basic defensive movements as well as the best way to use tactical punches to overpower or debilitate an unsub or attacker. They frequently burst into peals of laughter, as can be expected when two close individuals find themselves having to do semi-serious work together, and before he knows it, forty-five minutes have flown by.

“Okay, I want to end with some more up close and personal attacks and the best way to stave them off, alright?” Derek says as he puts away the boxing gloves and pads.

Immediately, Spencer feels a small glimmer of nerves and anticipation for how this might make him feel, but he brushes it off. He knows he’s safe with Derek, and the whole point of the exercise is to defend himself. Nothing’s going to happen.

“Let’s start with an attacker coming at you from behind,” Derek decides, coming up behind him. “I’m going to cover your mouth, and you’re going to use your skills and knowledge to remove me, alright?”

Spencer nods, hoping Derek doesn’t read the hesitancy in it, and he supposes that he doesn’t because soon enough a large palm is tightly covering the lower half of his face.

For a brief moment, he isn’t a twenty-five-year-old agent training with one of his closest friends in the gym in the basement of the FBI Headquarters, but a scared and lonely ten-year-old in his childhood bedroom, trying to fight the persistent, evil man on top of him, wondering why his dad would do this to him—

He snaps himself out of it by opening his eyes and forcing himself to take in the surroundings, and before long instinct takes over and he’s gripping at Derek’s wrist and using his core and bodyweight to bend forward and free himself from the restrictive hold.

“Good job, Reid!” Derek says encouragingly, and there’s no evidence on his face when he turns around that he noticed any sort of hesitation or deliberation, so he suspects that his flashback really was only for a second, no matter how everlasting and all-consuming it felt in the moment.

He manages a shaky smile, and invites his next method of torture. “What’s next?”

“Okay, what if I was to grab your t-shirt and immediately start punching you?” Derek asks, immediately miming doing exactly like that.

Fighting the instinct to go into protective mode, he instead turns around elbow first and uses his other hand to mime punching Derek while his knee goes up to attack his groin.

“Perfect! That’s the spirit, kid. No unsub’s ever gonna get the best of you.”

Spencer blushes a little at the praise, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to meet his eye, but inside he’s beyond pleased, both with the encouragement from Derek and his own self-confidence he can feel flooding back. Maybe he really does have a handle on the more physical side of things. Maybe he isn’t just good for his brain.

“Alright, let’s finish off with some on the ground stuff, okay?” Derek says, sitting down on the mat and inviting Spencer to join him with a pat on the space beside him.

He hesitates a little, and this time Derek notices, his face softening.

“Listen, I know this one is a bit more uncomfortable than the others, but we’re almost done, right? Let’s just get a few moves consolidated and then you can go and have a shower and head home to relax.”

Spencer nods finally and joins him, laying on his back as Derek instructs. The vulnerability of the position has him feeling deeply uncomfortable, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s safe with Derek, but he forces himself to lie still. If nothing else, he doesn’t want to reveal this very personal and private detail of his childhood to his best friend. He just needs to keep reminding himself that he’s safe.

“Right, let’s practice the pinned wrist escape, okay?”

Before he knows what’s happening, before he can process the words and prepare him for what’s about to happen, Derek’s straddling him and resting his full weight over his hips and his wrists are wrapped in a tight grip, pinned to the mat above his head.

It’s so sudden and the sensations so overwhelming that he can’t help the immediate fear response that’s triggered, because he’s not in the FBI gym with Derek anymore, he’s somewhere else entirely.

“No, please,” he begs, voice strangled by a sudden, all-consuming dry sob that heaves his chest, “please don’t, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, please, dad, don’t—”

His sobs suddenly overtake his words and he’s left crying pathetically on the floor, too trapped in the memory to notice that the pressure’s been removed from his hips and he’s free to move his arms, too consumed by the physical and emotional anguish that came with the abuse to hear Derek’s desperate, heart-broken pleas from beside him, begging him to come back to himself.

“Spencer!”

A voice finally manages to break through the fog of panic, and he slowly regains consciousness, the white hot glaze of fear and crippling memory fading incrementally until he can see the high beams of the gym ceiling, until he can hear Derek’s gentle, soothing words beside him.

“It’s alright, pretty boy, I’m here, you’re safe,” Derek tells him gently, although Spencer can hear the urgency in his voice, even in his scared and overwhelmed state.

He covers his face with his hands as his desperate, heaving sobs transform into wet, humiliated cries.

“Hey, hey, Spence,” Derek murmurs beside him, “is it alright if I touch you?”

He considers shaking his head, but really, he wants some comfort right now, no matter how much he’ll hate himself for embarrassing himself further later. He’s glad he does though because Derek very carefully and very slowly lifts him up until he’s wrapped up in a comforting hug, his face buried in a strong chest. He’s not sure he’s ever felt safer than in this exact moment.

“You’re alright, pretty boy, I got you.”

Spencer continues to cry, the overwhelm of having a flashback that intense still wracking his body, but eventually, he starts to calm down, the tension slowly bleeding from his muscles as he collapses, boneless against Derek’s body.

“Here, why don’t you have this granola bar and some water,” Derek suggests gently when his tears have dried up, reaching over to the edge of the mat where he was clearly hiding some post-exercise rewards.

Spencer accepts them tiredly, not moving from his position slumped against Derek’s chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asks him once he’s sipped his way through half the bottle and the granola bar is gone.

As much as he’d like to get things off his chest, as much as he trusts Derek, he just— can’t. So he shakes his head and pulls himself into a sitting upright position, although he still doesn’t meet Derek’s eyes.

“Okay,” Derek says softly. “I’m gonna drive you home. Come on.”

Spencer numbly walks through the locker room and the halls of the FBI with Derek guiding him until they reach his car, and the motion of climbing in brings a little bit more awareness back to him.

“Thanks,” he whispers as Derek starts the engine and drives them out of the parking garage.

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty boy. No thanks needed.”

They don’t speak on the journey home, and Spencer contents himself with looking out the window at the passing scenery until they enter the city and trees transform into tower blocks. His mind drifts, but he’s just grateful that it doesn’t keep circling back to the flashback, having somewhat successfully resealed those memories like he always does, pushing them down and smothering them with as much good as he can collect in people and memories and things.

The silence between them prevails until Derek steps into his apartment behind him, closing the front door and helping Spencer out of his jacket before hanging his own coat up on a hook and steering Spencer towards the sofa. “You are going to sit here,” he orders, picking up one of Penelope’s hand-knitted blankets from its position neatly folded over the arm of the sofa, “while I get some tea and something to eat. Fancy anything in particular?”

Spencer remembers the satsumas and macaroons Penelope brought over the other day and tells Derek as such, following the other man with his eyes until he disappears into the kitchen and he’s left alone with his hazy thoughts for a couple of minutes.

They pass in a blur, though, and before he can blink, Derek is pressing a mug of warm chamomile tea into his hands and placing a small plate of a satsuma and a couple of macaroons on the coffee table.

The weight of Derek sitting down on the sofa next to him, and the grounding feeling of his palm wrapped around his ankle, has his hazy mind clearing until he’s in a much more present and aware headspace, enough so that Derek clearly notices it.

“You feeling a bit more like yourself?”

Spencer nods, and offers a small smile, trying to ignore the curls of humiliation and self-loathing working their way up his throat. Thoughts he hasn’t had in years are bursting at the seams Spencer had sewn tightly around them, brought up by physical memory alone, and he’s trying to hold them back, but somewhere in the back of his head, there’s his dad again, whispering dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, di—

“Hey, Spence,” he hears, and he snaps his head up, his dad’s voice shutting up and making room for Derek’s — Derek’s soft and gentle reassurances, his promises that he’s here and he’s safe and everything will be okay. “You got a bit lost in your head again there, kid. You alright?”

Spencer sighs tiredly, and a tear runs down his face unbidden. He’s not crying exactly, just— leaking. Leaking in the way a tap that hasn’t been turned on for years does when it finally experiences a much overdue release of pressure. Leaking in the way Spencer Reid does when he has a flashback to the sexual abuse he experienced as a child for the first time in two and a half years.

“Spencer,” Derek says, and something in his voice catches his attention, something serious, something earnest. He looks over at him. “Spencer, I know what you’re going through.”

His cheeks pale and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears because those words, that means— surely not, right? How could Derek— how could he—

“It happened to me, too.”

And there’s the confirmation. There are the five words that have him breaking down again, tears splashing into hot chamomile tea and onto cold, cold hands, sobs wracking his sore and tired shoulders. No one should have to go through what he did, no one. Especially not— God, especially not—

“Hey, Spencer, listen to me,” Derek says urgently scooting closer on the sofa until he can lift Spencer’s chin up with his hands and raise his head until their eyes are locked on one another and he can bear witness to the pain and the openness and the concern swimming in his dark brown irises. “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re here, aren’t we? We’re safe. Don’t cry, pretty boy, everything’s gonna be just fine, I promise.”

He pauses to give Spencer a little time to catch his breath, but after a couple of minutes he speaks up again. “Would you like me to tell you about it?”

Spencer knows it will break his heart to hear. He doesn’t want to listen to a story in which Derek Morgan was the victim and not the hero, not his hero, but part of him knows that he needs to hear it; needs to know that he wasn’t and isn’t alone. And he can’t help but wonder whether maybe Derek needs to say it. Whether he also needs to tell someone what happened and have them empathise completely, have them say “I understand, I know what you’re going through” and have them mean it.

So he nods.

“His name was Carl Buford,” Derek says, resting the hand not clutching Spencer’s ankle on his knee, “and he was my football coach. A hero of the community. After my dad died, I got in a little trouble on the streets, right, and as a result, I got a record. Eventually, that record was expunged, and I learned that Buford had done it. I was confused, obviously, but he told me I had potential, that I was special, that I was going places and he was gonna help me get there.

“And so we started spending more time together. At first, it was just one-on-one football training and some run of the mill mentoring, and I finally felt like I had a real father figure again, someone who I could look up to and talk to and trust. Until one day when he took me up to his cabin. He gave me Helgeson wine to intoxicate me, and then convinced me to go skinny-dipping in a lake with him but when we came back to the cabin, he started— he started rubbing up against me. It eventually spiralled into… molestation and rape. He used to say "You better man up, boy, look up to the sky" when I would cry out for him to stop, or later — when some shameful part of me had accepted it — when I would wince in pain or he could sense I didn’t want to be there.

“And that went on for years until I guess I outgrew his preference and he— I mean— I guess, I guess he must have moved on.”

Spencer wants to be sick, and he’s pretty sure Derek feels the same, so all he can do is lean forward and wrap Derek in the tightest hug he can manage while they cry together.

“Did you ever tell anyone?” Spencer asks after a little time has passed.

Derek nods. “When it started affecting my football career in college, I started seeing a therapist, and I’ve really gotten to a place now where I’ve come to terms with it. As much as I’m ever going to be able to anyway. Half of that therapy was me grieving for the childhood I lost, expressing the anger I felt towards Buford in a healthy way, and then accepting that there isn’t anything I can do to undo the pain except work my ass off at the BAU putting guys like him behind bars since I lost my chance with him.”

Spencer nods. “I’m sorry he isn’t in prison.”

Derek shrugs his shoulders a little, pulling out of the hug. “I keep tabs on him. If I ever so much as catch a whiff of him hurting one of the boys at the centre I’ll be on him in no time. Just… waiting for the evidence, I guess.”

Spencer takes the hand resting on top of his knee and squeezes it, a show of solidarity his tongue can’t manage.

They sit in silence for long, comfortable minutes before Spencer finally feels like sharing. He knows that Derek isn’t expecting anything: if he never wanted to explain, he knows Derek would understand completely, but something about knowing he’ll understand like no one else can, that he can share and feel safe in doing so has his own story rolling off his tongue like it never has before.

“It was my dad,” Spencer says quietly, a confession he’s always been too ashamed to make. “The first time it happened was the night of my sixth birthday. He said that the day was his own celebration, because he’d waited so long and he was finally going to get his prize. He raped me. It wasn’t like that every time, sometimes he’d stop at… touching or— or fellatio, sometimes he’d come into my room and stand over me, getting off on how scared I was anticipating the act that never came.

“He left when I was ten, not far away from my eleventh birthday, and a big part of me always wondered whether the main reason he left was that I wasn’t in his preferential age group anymore. But when I was thirteen, I bumped into him in a hotel in California of all places, and even though I was bigger and stronger and nowhere near as vulnerable, he still got the best of me, he still weaseled his way into my room and took advantage of me again. After that time I carried pepper spray everywhere I went until the FBI issued me a gun. I swore I’d never let it happen again.”

Derek looks desperately sad when he finally meets his eyes again, and before he knows it he’s being wrapped in another hug, and they’re both in pieces again. However painful these memories are, though, the release of them is more cathartic than anything Spencer’s ever experienced; crying together with another survivor over everything they lost, the people that stole their childhoods and abused them for years on end, their younger, scared selves, desperate for someone to save them.

It hurts Spencer’s heart, but he also doesn’t think he’s ever felt safer than right in this moment.

“Is this the first time you’ve talked about this, Spence?” Derek asks eventually, with his cheek resting on the top of Spencer’s head.

“Yes,” he admits, another tear dripping onto the hands curled anxiously in his lap.

Derek pulls away and looks him in the eye, cupping his face gently and brushing a tear away with his thumb. “I’m proud of you.”

As broken and unseemly and ripped open and torn apart as he feels right now, as exposed as this entire ordeal has made him feel, for the first time, he thinks he agrees with Derek.

His trust was destroyed by the person supposed to protect him, and he’s carried the trauma of being sexually abused as a young child around with him for the last two decades, and still, he’s here. He’s brave enough to share himself with Derek, and he’s strong enough to cry and grieve and ache for the scared six-year-old boy he wishes he could go back in time and save.

Right now, in the early evening light of the flat and the safe and supportive arms of his best friend, he’s proud of himself, too. And that feels really damn good to finally say.

Please practice self-care after reading this, especially if you are also a survivor. RAINN Rape Crisis UK International Help for Survivors

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @enbyspencer @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic @thataveragenerd @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @cmily @notevanbuckley @thebipolarbisexualnerd (taglist form)

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter seven - “the king is dead”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1.7k

synopsis: shuri has awful news. the reader is terrified but bucky is strangely calm. the world is turned upside down, and not in a good way.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: this was so fun to write omg get ready it’s finally getting interesting!!! (as always, OC on my wattpad @ / typicaldaze)

Months had gone by since that day at the lake. Countless therapy sessions had been endured, several hard questions asked, many many issues worked through. Bucky suffered through a few more anxiety attacks along the way, but they never hindered his resolve, thanks to (Y/N). They had made progress, good, solid progress. Bucky was pleased; (Y/N) was thrilled. It's hard to see change when you're the one going through it. However, to the person guiding that change, every step forward is recognized. She was proud. She was genuinely proud of him. He wasn’t “fixed,” he still had struggles, but he was a lot better off then before.

There was something peculiar, though. Their relationship was strictly professional, (Y/N) knew that. However, she couldn't help but feel as though along the sidelines of their progress, they had grown to become friends. She knew that, clinically, this was not appropriate, but there were no corporate guidelines she was working under. She was helping him. So, what would it matter if after all this was over, they were friends? What would it matter if his therapist also operated as his friend? Hell, she didn't even have an official therapist position here! Sharon just sent her to help. (Y/N) had decided she didn't care about the boundaries being crossed. Nothing ever went wrong with someone gaining a friend. It's fine.

Regardless, the two of them had thoroughly addressed the anxiety and the PTSD, and he now officially had both diagnoses. He understood himself and his brain so much better, and with (Y/N)'s help, he not only acknowledged his disorders, but accepted them. She taught him to not see them as the enemy, not something that was wrong with him. They were just a part of him, same as his brown hair or blue eyes.

Bucky was so much more open now. He was less on edge and more comfortable, especially around her. In all honesty, he was usually his most comfortable with her. He had coping skills and everything!

This was all grand and good, but (Y/N) hoped with everything in her that it wouldn't be ruined by the present disaster.

-

"I thought he was automatically supposed to be king?" (Y/N) asked, confused.

She was at her weekly meeting with Shuri for Bucky's treatment plan, and the young genius had just told her she couldn't make it next week due to T'Challa's coronation.

"He is," Shuri started, "but it's Wakandan tradition to open the position up to a dual. So, his rule isn't set in stone."

"Oh... What if someone... challenges him?"

"Then they will fight! However, I have no worries. T'Challa is a great warrior, and though I doubt anyone would challenge him, he would win if they did."

(Y/N) admired the faith Shuri had in her brother. She could tell their bond was strong.

"Couldn't you technically challenge him?"

Shuri revealed a kind of devilish smirk that only a sibling can muster. "Oh, I have thought about it. But I am much more useful in my lab, and T'Challa wouldn't know what to do with himself if he wasn't in charge."

(Y/N) looked back on the memory anxiously as she stared in horror at the look on Shuri's face. A wicked mix of fear, grief, and stress drained all the color from the princess' normally dark, beautiful skin. Shuri had always radiated confidence and composure; seeing this change worried (Y/N) deeply.

"The King is dead."

Her face became void of any expression and all she could process was fear. She thought she gasped but she couldn't remember breathing out again. Her brain was frozen. (Y/N) was in a foreign country that just lost its monarch. She was alone, and all the people she was relying on to protect her just had their kingdom invaded and taken over by someone with the word kill as part of their nickname. She was almost certain that this would be her end.

"Dr. (Y/L/N)?" Shuri said unsteadily. "Did you hear me?"

"Y-Yes I... What are we going to do?" her voice was weak and small. Pathetic and afraid.

Then, thoughts of Bucky crossed her mind. What would happen to him? He could fight, she supposed, but he doesn't have any weapons or gear and he'd be against an entire regime. What if they killed him? What if they tortured him? Different scenarios quickly flashed through her brain, but she could only one concrete thought.

I have to find him.

"My family and I have a plan, but we can't take you with us."

Any remaining semblance of hope dissipated from (Y/N)'s body, and she swore she could feel her veins quiver with apprehension.

"What?"

Her voice felt far away.

"It is not ideal, and I'd never leave you unless I had to. But Agent Everett Ross is here. It's a long story, but as you know, he can't find out about Sergeant Barnes. He can't know that either of you are here. If we take you with us, it could compromise everything we've been working for," the nervous princess explained.

"So... what of me and Bucky?"

"Again, it's a long story, but there's a... sort of fallout shelter - I guess you could call it - that was built years and years ago when the first tribes of Wakanda were constantly at war with one another. I will give you supplies and directions, and you two must go there and remain hidden until this is all over."

Fantastic. (Y/N) would get to play Cold War nuclear fallout in Wakanda.

"How will we know?"

Shuri gave her a somber look. A look of uncertainty and immense guilt.

"I wish I could apologize enough, my partner, but I do not know. I promise I will try to contact you as soon as I get any information, but for now we must hurry. We do not have much time."

With that, Shuri took (Y/N)'s arm and quickly led her her outside. It was late afternoon and the air was beginning to cool. They ran, locked together, until they met the Queen under a large tree among the outskirts of a nearby forest. The woman looked just as shaken up as Shuri.

(Y/N) could see bags of different shapes and sizes at the base of the tree. She could only hope whatever was in there was sufficient for survival.

Shuri immediately embraced her mother, but the moment was short lived as she then bent down to gather the bags.

The Queen placed her hands gently on the sides of the psychologist’s face. "I am so sorry, child. This does not involve you in the slightest yet you are swept up in the middle of it."

Shuri handed her mother the bags and they both geared (Y/N) up with all her supplies. It was heavy. Really heavy. She realized she was carrying supplies for two. Then, there was panic.

"What about Bucky?"

"Barnes doesn't know about any of this yet. I thought it best he heard it from you," Shuri expained, "and we cannot afford anymore delays. Us or you. You must go now, tell Barnes what is happening and go. I wish I could be more help, but we simply don't have the time."

(Y/N) nodded, trying to process all the chaos. She was internalizing every bit of it. As a result, she was once again, frozen.

"Dr. (Y/L/N)!" Shrui exclaimed.

Her head shot up, snapped out of it.

"Go! You must go!"

And with that, (Y/N) took off. She had been in Wakanda long enough to know her way around the castle's surrounding land. Her speed didn't last very long as she was carrying for two, but she tried all she could to keep going as quickly as possible.

Eventually she found herself outside of Bucky's living quarters. She didn't know what to do, so she knocked.

An array of different emotions went through Bucky's face. At first he looked pleased, but then he saw the horror etched into (Y/N)'s features, and the bags she was carrying. He could tell something was wrong.

"What happened?" he asked, surprisingly calm, while immediately taking some of the bags from (Y/N). He still only had one arm but that really didn't seem to matter to him.

She was out of breath, face flushed and eyes wide.

"The King is dead," she said breathlessly. "Someone... someone killed him a-and took over."

Bucky didn't look as scared as (Y/N) felt. In fact, he looked... totally fine?  She was so out of it she wanted to curl up in a hole and allow natural death. How was the anxious man she was accustomed to so at ease? The world was flipped upside down and (Y/N) had no control. She wished there was a word stronger than fear because she couldn't even describe what she was feeling.

"Okay," Bucky said, gently taking another bag, leaving her with only one to carry, "What did Shuri say? What do we have to do?"

She shook her head, trying to regain her breath and her composure. "There's um - there's a fallout shelter thing we have to go to. Here."

She handed  him a crumpled up piece of paper that Shuri gave her. A map with directions. (Y/N) knew he would've been better at locating it than she could at that moment.

"Alright," more of the calm voice filled her ears. "Anything else?"

"There are more details, but - we don't have time," she sighed, restlessly. Her voice began to shake ever so slightly. "Bucky, I'm so sorry. We have to go now. I promise I'll tell you everything."

"Okay," he said again. He bent down slightly, looking her directly in the eyes. " (Y/N), we're fine, okay? We're good, and we're gonna be fine. I will get us there. Are you ready?"

She nodded, steeling herself.

Bucky looked at the map, then glanced up in the direction of the shelter. He took (Y/N)’s forearm firmly. She gave him a look, confirming she was ready. And off they went.

[ssa-daddyhotchner]

Undercover - Chapter 1

Story Warnings: Smut, rape, mention of suicide, murder, domestic abuse, sexual assault, mention of abortion, addiction, torture, kidnapping.

Just a mention that these are serious topics and are not promoting anything and those topics are specifically for character development....

Chapter Selection

______________________________

I walk into the building and feel a rush of cool air. Dammit I wish I brought a sweater. When I walk into the office I get called by a man wearing a black suit with a red tie, 

"Agent y/l?" I turned my head and walk over to the man that called my name; my Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. "Yes?" 

"Can I see you in my office." He asked in a clam stern voice. I walked up to his door and walked inside.

He gestured for me to take a seat. "I see that you have a degree in criminology and criminal psychology."

"Yes sir." I started to rub my thump over my fingers. "Why the BAU", I couldn't read the emotions on his face. He was like stone. "I've always been interested in criminals and their behavior the why was the question I constantly asked myself when I'd see or read a story of a crime." 

He doesn't say anything he just looks. His brows furrowed with his eyes focused on my body language.

"Okay", Hotch stands up and holds out his hand. I follow his movements and shook his hand. He walks out from behind his desk and walks to the railing outside. "I'd like to introduce you to Agent y/n y/l."

A crowd of 6 people came around from all over the bullpen. Hotch pointed to all the people; "This is Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid, David Rossi, and Penelope Garcia,"

We all made conversation about how it was at the BAU and the types of cases they had gotten in the past. They were quick to disperse having paperwork to do. Hotch showed me to my desk and Garcia helped me get familiar with the system. 

"Hey you need some help." Morgan approached me. "I'm already in the system and I have nothing to work on." He looks a me. 

"I can show you around the building if you want; I'm already done my paperwork and I don't get off till 5 so." I shrug I've got nothing better to do. 

JJ walked into the bullpen with a file at hand, "We've got a case." Everyone files to the round table taking a seat. Emily looks around taking notice at y/n and Morgan's absence, "Where's y/n and Morgan." 

"He took her on a tour of the building, he was done his work." Reid says. 

Me and Morgan were walking back into the bullpen when we notice everyone at the round table.

Hotch gave Morgan a disappointing look and showed me no emotion. "Don't be late. Garica." He wanted her to start. 

Garcia starts ,"16 yr old Julia Martin went missing in Georgetown, Delaware Tuesday night at 10:32pm. She goes to Sussex Central High School, she is a sophomore and keeps to herself, she has a few close friends. She doesn't go out very often." 

Now it's common knowledge that with cases like these it's time sensitive. "Wheels up in 30", We all head out to get our go bags, getting into the SUVs and heading to the jet.

We start to go over the case again. Hotch starts, "Prentiss, Morgan and I will go to the police station to set up, Reid and JJ go talk to the family. 

Y/N you're with Rossi I want you guys to go to the school and talk to her teachers and friends."

The plane lands and we all get into the cars.

Rossi gets into the driver's seat. "So how do you like it so far." He continues to look at the road. 

"It's great I've always wanted to be in the BAU since I was a kid." I look at Rossi, "Is Hotch always so serious?" He glances at me, "Most of the time but he'll warm up to you."

The rest of the car ride is filled with small conversation. 

We get to the school and walk and start talking to her teachers. I asked "What was Julia like in class? Did she talk to anybody that she usually didn't and how were her grades?"

"She didn't really talk to anyone other than a few of her friends. I would try and help her to talk but she would end up doing the work independently even with a group and she would do all the work and as for her grades they were great. She was an A, B student for the most part."

The rest of the teachers said the same thing as the first. 

"Okay so if nothing was going on at school and there were no suspicious people hanging around then they must have grabbed her at home."

 I told Rossi as we walked back to the car. Someone caught our attention. There was a boy leaning against our car. 

"Can we help you", Rossi asked. "I might know what happened to Julia, she was talking to this guy online... she might have mentioned that she was gonna meet up with him." 

"Can you come by the station later we're gonna need to talk to you", I said and he agreed. 

We drive back to the police station and the rest of the team is there. "So apparently Julia was talking to someone online and her friend thinks that's who might have taken her." Rossi says. 

"And she's never met this guy. He doesn't even go to the same school according to her friend" I continue, "The friend's name is Kevin Philips and he's coming by tomorrow."

"Okay everyone we have a long day tomorrow let's get some rest." Hotch tells the team.

We go outside to the cars and drive over to the hotel. "There were only four rooms left so we're gonna need to share.

 JJ and Emily I'm assuming you two are gonna share, Morgan and I will share so that leaves Hotch and y/n." Hotch stares at Rossi

"So you just get a room to yourself?" "Exactly." He walked off going to his room. 

Of course.. "Are you ok with that, you can just share a room with JJ and I." 

"No really it's fine." It wasn't fine. It was my first case and I sharing a room with my boss. Not just my boss but someone I found attractive. 

Hotch grabs the key and we walk to the room. He walks in, drops his stuff on the chair and I just look at him then the bed. "What is it?"

"Um there's only one bed."

He looks at the bed and then the floor. "If it bothers you I can sleep on the floor I dont mind." 

"No, it's ok, it's a large bed." He then turns around, grabs a towel and hops into the shower. I heat up our leftovers from lunch; I know he hasn’t eaten since this afternoon. 

I put on some music and I start to change into a black crop top and grey sweatpants when he walks out of the bathroom. 

I don't notice him at first but I can feel his eyes traveling up my body. I turned around and he's looking at me and I was staring at him. 

He was buff, not ripped, but perfectly toned. You could clearly tell he had abs and a V line that went straight to..... I hadn't put on my clothes yet I was only in a black lace bra and some matching underwear.

He kept staring and I was too lost in thought to do anything about it. "I'm sorry", and he turned around and walked back into the bathroom out of embarrassment. "It's ok Hotch really." 

"You sure." "Yes I'm sure." He walked back out with just the towel when I finished changing. While I was eating at one of the desks. 

There was a mirror in front of me and I could see him perfectly. While I was chewing I could hear a faint voice. "y/n...y/n" I snapped to look up at his eyes through the mirror. 

"Uhh you were staring." I didn't answer but I didn't have too. The brush rose to my cheeks and he could tell.

"You made my food?", "Yeah i knew you hadn't eaten so I figured."

Once I finished I turned off most of the lights as Hotch was still awake; I crawled under the covers and drifted off to sleep.

Aaron POV

I finished up eating the food she made me. I noticed the music she had on was still playing, the song was Brian Crain - Earth. 

She was already sleeping...she looked so beautiful and peaceful. I turned off the music and crawled into bed. She didn't move and I went to sleep. 

I woke up at 2am and her arms wrapped around my torso. Her head was laying on my chest; I slowly got up and went to the bathroom. I looked into the mirror and saw the sweat through my shirt so I took it off.

I went back into bed and right as I put one foot in she grabs my hand and pulls me toward her.

I'm now laying next to her with my arm wrapped around her back with my hand on her waist. She pulls me closer to her, puts her head back on my chest, and put a hand at the base of my neck. 

"Where'd you go", she whispered into my ear. I got chills that ran up and down my spine.

"I had to go for a second but I'm back now", my voice was soft and low almost a whisper as I didn't wanna wake her even more. It was nice, I did like her. 

She nestles her head in the crook of my neck. I felt her breath on my body. We both just drift in each other's arms.

She's just so beautiful... everything about her. The dips and curves of her body to the sound of her voice.

I notice something though, the scars running down her back. Like someone had dragged a knife down it.

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

I woke up first again this time; it was 6am. I didn't wanna wake y/n so I just stayed in bed laying down looking at her. 

This time she wasn't holding me, she was almost on top of me; I could feel her heart beat at a steady pace. Her legs were on mine, her face nestled into my chest and her arms around my body. 

I put my hands on her holding her close. After about 10min she started to open her eyes. "Hey", I said with a soft tone. Surprisingly she looked at me and didn't visibly freak out but her heart rate was picking up, she closed her eyes and tightened her grip. 

"How'd you sleep", I asked her and she looked down at my chest. "It was good", She said lazily. Y/N let out a loud sigh and got up into the bathroom. 

The heat that was next to me started to fade away as her side of the bed got cold. I heard the shower turn on when I went to get some food. 

When I came back she was out of the shower and dressed. "I got you some coffee." She took it from my hand and waited for me to get ready for work.

Y/N POV

Oh my god, I was sleeping on my boss....all night. I enjoyed it- he didn't get up when he saw me. Did he enjoy it too?

I get out of the shower and Hotch is gone. I started to get changed; I put on a white dress shirt and a black slacks with black heels. I hear someone knock at the door. 

It was Hotch holding some coffee and two muffins. "I got you some coffee." He said holding it out.

I start eating my food and he started asking me questions. "So what made you wanna join the FBI?", that was one question I didn't really wanna answer right now. 

"It was my sister for the most part but also the fact that basically my whole family was involved in the government."

"Why your sister?", He looked at me studying seeing how I was reacting. When he asked that question my heart sank into my stomach. "She-", I was trying not to cry; I took a big gulp. 

"She was murdered when I was teenager, I was the one who found the body...It was a long time ago but it still hurts", tears started to fill my eyes and my face was getting red. I looked up for a moment trying to blink the tears away. 

There was a flash of regret in his eyes, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get upset." 

"No it's okay you didn't know." I was trying to hold it together clearly it wasn't working when he walked over to me, he put his arms around my waist and back and hugged me. 

I was caught off guard by the sign of affection but I put my arms around him and hugged him tight. 

"it's okay, I'm sorry." A few tears managed to escape from my eyes; they rolled down my face they were absorbed by his shirt. He cupped my face and wanted me to look at him. 

He didn't say anything, he used his thumb to wipe the tears that were still falling from my face and hugged me again.

I started to calm down in his arms listening to his breathing. I felt protected, secure, and warm. Being in his embrace was like a shield; nothing else mattered. 

Time skip

While waiting for Kevin to get here we all are gathered around talking. I walked over to Reid; he has his nose buried in a book, "Hey." He looked up at me. "Hey", "How's it going." I was getting a little nervous running my thumb along my other fingers. 

He seemed to notice when his face softened a bit. "Good"

"Look I'm sorry in advance I'm not really good with conversation." I said as he stood up from the chair. "It's okay neither am I, I always worry if I'm saying too much or saying the wrong thing." 

Knowing there was someone else on the team that was also awkward it was comforting. "Well since we'll be working together a lot how about when we finish this we go get a cup of coffee." 

His shoulders eased and his eyes lit up. "Yeah I'd like that." I can tell the corners of his mouth were turning up and his cheeks were slightly pink. 

Reid sat back down when I walked away he looked slightly disappointed but resumed reading. I was about to talk to Morgan but Kevin walked into the station. 

JJ walked up to him, "Kevin?" He nodded. "Follow me", JJ brought him to a back office and sat him down. "Before Julia left did she say anything to you."

Kevin started, "I might be her best friend but she didn't tell me much only that she'd been talking to him for a few months and that he wanted to meet up with her. She said his name was Danny. He went to another high school but she didn't say which one, he was 17, and lived near Middletown or New Castle; I don't remember which. If it were up to her she wouldn't have told me at all, I was bugging her about it and she finally let it out." 

Morgan called Garcia, "Hey baby girl, Do you think you can trace her phone?", then Garcia started talking "Honey if you don't think I can do that then your in for a surprise on what I can do." Morgan laughed. He's obviously the flirty one. 

"Her phone is off best I can do is get the last known location....and that is in...New Castle Glasgow Park, its roughly an hour and 30 away." "Alright thanks babygirl"

"I'll call you back if it goes online." She ended the phone call and told the team.

Reid looked at Hotch, Morgan and I. "Either that's where they took her or she really didn't wanna get caught", I stated. 

"Y/N and I will drive up there." Hotch glances at me and nodded his head towards the door. 

The drive with Hotch was nice. We talked and I learned he had a brother in New York that works as a chef. His dad was a lawyer and his mom was a nurse. He likes dogs, Bon Jovi, and the beatles. 

I told him more about my sister, how my mom was a Marine and my dad was a detective. I told him I liked the beatles, cold weather, and Elvis. 

When we got to the park we noticed there was no one there, it was silent and secluded. "Walk with me", I tugged his hand gesturing to follow me. "Were on a case", "I know were just looking around." 

His eyes looked down at my hand on his, I let go and my cheeks blushed, he took notice; the corners of his mouth turning upwards. There was no one else on the trail.

Trees surrounding the majority of the area. "What did you do.. ya know before this." As we were walking he averted his gaze from the ground to me. "Before the FBI?" I turned slightly. "Yeah", "I was a prosecutor." 

I slowed my steps, "Why'd you stop, you were still putting the criminals away. Why'd you lose interest." He smiled a bit when he looked to the side to see me already looking at him. 

"I don't know, I guess it was because I was tried of it. When those cases came to me they had already committed the crime. I guess I thought I wasn't doing enough. I wanted to get them before those cases reached my desk." 

We were approaching some of the wooded pathways that broke of in two directions.

That's when we stopped, I walked in front of him and kept my eyes of the ground before looking up. 

"Well sir congrats you were successful. I mean think of how many lives you've saved based on that one decision you made." His eyes softened and his face eased his shoulders dropped, he was relaxed. 

"What's that", he points to the ground in front of one of the gates by the woods. I bend down and grabbed it, "It's a phone. Still has power, no password." 

Hotch calls Garcia, "Hello sir what can I do you for." "Can you run a number for me...302-555-4276." After a few seconds and the sound of typing she speaks. 

"The number is registered to a.. Julia Martin. Sir, that's her phone" Hotch ends the call. 

"The phone was in front of the woods if you were taking someone to a public park to meet with them the woods would be an easy exit", He states. 

Hotch gestures me to continue walking into the woods I look at him then the woods. "No you're going first", I put my hands up and he stares down and chuckles. "You scared?", I shrug and grin, "Maybe."

"Think about it in the movies where do the people go missing" I pause before continuing, "the woods and I'm not gonna be one of those people." 

While he's stiffing a laugh I follow behind him. It's starting to get dark so we pick up the pace. We go on for 2 miles before I stop him, "Right there", I point to a broken house at a clearing.

I remove my gun, he takes the back while I stay in the front with my gun raised. 

I hear Hotchs footsteps through the house, I walk in the front door; seeing nothing but broken chairs, torn wallpaper, and rotting wood. He signals me to go upstairs. 

The floor creaking below me feeling like it's going to fall any second. I get to the top and check the rooms. There's a chair in the middle of the room, blood on the walls and clothes covering the floor but they are worn and discolored. They've been for awhile. 

As I go back downstairs I fall through into the basement, "Fuck!". "Y/N what happened, are you okay." "I'm fine", I say strained. I slammed my back on the concrete knocking the wind out of me. 

I hear something moving in the room with me. "Hotch there's something down here." I call out to him yelling in a whisper. 

[hournites]

Hournite Week Day 1: Light vs Dark - Hoax

Summary: When a distraught Beth visits the Farmlands one late night, Rick offers his support.

(read on ao3)

~.~

At the end of the day, Rick prefers to sit alone. There’s a chair in the living room, the room he used to play and sit with his parents in on the couch. The room he’d opened gifts on birthdays, watched television with his mother and sat by the window, looking out at the field for his father to come home. Matt has claimed that couch now. Rick doesn’t care to use it except when he’s forced to clean. It’s stained with beer and food that’s fallen through the cushions. His uncle brings women there, rarely ever the same woman twice. Rick knows it’s dirty and defiled and as beat up as the rest of the furniture Matt touches.

Rick prefers his father’s old recliner, shoved in the back dark corner where he can get the best bandwidth for the internet connection. Behind his uncle, it’s almost like Matt forgets Rick’s there. He studied those chemistry textbooks there, half-assed homework there, and fell asleep on rare occasions too. Outside of locking himself in his upstairs bedroom, it’s the closest to being invisible Rick gets. The closest to peacefulness he knows.

It’s on a Saturday night like that the doorbell rings, interrupting the tense quiet they’ve carved to share space.

Matt lifts his head from his phone, half-slouched on the couch, disgruntled when it rings twice more. “The hell?”

Rick stares ahead at the front door from the hall, startled by the foreign noise. “Um.”

Nobody uses the doorbell. They don’t even get visitors. The mailman drops parcels and bills off at the mailbox half a mile down the dirt walkway.

He looks at Matt.

“Ignore it.”

Rick stands. “It’s probably some real estate agent or something.” He’d notice a lot of the property nearby has gone up for sale. If he said they weren’t interested in buying, then they’d know not to come again.

“Exactly. So, leave it be.”

But the doorbell rings again just as he turns to walk away. Rick makes a move to the door.

“I said ignore it.”

He rolls his eyes. Well, now Rick was definitely going to do it. He glares at his uncle over his shoulder, twisting his wrist to unlock the door. “You can’t just tell me to—”

The door swings open and his eyes flit forward to address the figure at the arch. “Beth?”

Dressed in a dark purple cardigan and light-wash jeans, she’s clenching the rubber bars of her bike, fingers scrunched up like she wants to scratch it off with her nails. Like she’s moments from ripping it off entirely. She’s holding herself too stiff, head raised and chin jutted out. Rigid like she can’t move, twitching like she wants to fight. The irises of her big brown eyes skip from left to right, pleading.

“Can I stay here with you?”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Please —” she begs, voice cracking. “Can I stay over with you?”  

“Tell them to fuck off!”      

Rick glances back awkwardly over his shoulder, wary of his uncle, not sure what to say.

“Rick, please—”

Rick steps outside and shuts the front door behind him.

“Why are you here? Are you okay?”

Beth drops the handles and her bicycle falls to the porch with a clatter.

His eyes widen when she lurches forward, catapulting across the creaking wood. Rick grunts softly at the force of her hug. He stumbles back with her, wrapping her arms tight as they stand in the doorway.

Her body shudders and whatever storm she had been withholding inside releases with a bursting sob. Beth sniffles into his shirt, the angle of her round glasses pressed into his ribs. Rick looks down, at a loss.

“Hey,” he rasps out, taking a firm grasp at her shaking shoulder. “Beth. Okay. Shh. Jesus, don’t cry.” Matt’s going to hear this. He’s going to hear and come and see and make this a mess. The thought makes his blood run cold. Rick peels her off. It hurts and is jarring and she seizes at the rip of comfort he just tore away that he knows she needs, but hair stands up on his arms, hyper-cognizant. It’s not that he thinks Matt will—Rick doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he’d do and that’s been why he’s avoided letting the girls show up here.

“This can’t happen right now.” The last thing Rick wants is for Matt to find out about the hourglass or the JSA. The girls are his tether to that and he can’t risk Matt taking advantage or robbing anything he has no right to. Again.

Beth recoils. He’s quick to pull her back in, panicked. It’s not that he doesn’t care.  “I didn’t say that right. We just can’t do this here.”

“What do you mean?”

He leads her off the porch by the hand to around the side of the house. Rick can tell she’s biting down her lip to stop from asking another question, but it becomes clear where they’re going when they reach his parked car and she relaxes. He hops onto the hood and makes room for her. Beth looks reluctant, but joins him there, still brushing close, wanting him near.

“You don’t want me to stay?”

“It’s not that,” he promises. “I just don’t know how he’s going to react.”

Her wet eyelashes get stuck against the wall of her thick lenses. “Your uncle Matt?”

“I’ve told you. He’s not a good person.” His tone edges on sharp. “There’s a reason why I don’t want—” He pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting down his belligerence. Rick takes a breath. This isn’t going to help her. “He doesn’t treat women right.” He pauses, wanting to say more, but can’t bring himself to say the words.

She stares at him. “You think he’s a racist.”

“Well.” That too.

Beth slides off the car.

“Beth. Wait.”

She rubs at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan, turning back in the direction they came.

“I’ll go home.”

“Tell me what’s wrong first.” He follows her along the muddy grass. “You wanted to stay overnight.”

“You don’t want me here!” She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. “This was stupid of me. I shouldn’t have come. I should’ve asked first.”

“Beth, that’s not true. I do. I always want to see you. It’s just...” His implication is obvious, but it came out worse than he’d meant it to. The point is, she could’ve gone to anyone else. She could’ve gone to see Courtney.

She should’ve called Pat. They trust Pat. He’s safe and is a good problem solver as annoying as his methods are.

She came here instead. And yeah, he does wish she could’ve texted or called, but the fact she’s now thinking it was wrong seems strange.

Rick knew something wasn’t right the moment he saw her in front of his doorstep, but now he’s very worried as he hears her curse herself and blinking back more tears. Beth has always been so confident in herself, regardless of how others perceived her. He had never heard Beth call herself dumb or pathetic or stupid. He didn’t believe she had ever seen herself that way either. Why would she?

According to their high school, she might be a loser, but there had never been a day she wasn’t unapologetically proud to be herself. There’s nothing wrong with being outspoken or bold or self-assured, trusting or smart and self-sufficient. She’s all of the above and maybe that had intimidated or even annoyed Rick sitting across from her to overhear, but it didn’t make it less true.

Doesn’t Beth know that?

She looks at him again. “I thought we were—”

“We are.”

She lets out another long breath and swallows.

“We are. It’s not that I don’t… My uncle is a real asshole. That’s it.” He grabs her hand. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She lifts a helpless shoulder, glancing back at the mustang. She lingers on it like she wants to go in.

“What?” Rick asks.

“Do you wanna leave Blue Valley with me?”

She doesn’t mean a road trip. The question throws him. Not because it’s terrifying to hear that from her. Though it fucking is. It throws him because he’s had the same thought pass through his mind at night a thousand times. A thousand times a week. Everything could be better, away. Without the memories or the roads or the trees and the people who’ve made this town an awful place. But their perspectives on Blue Valley had always been Rick and Beth’s stark difference. What happened to her unwavering devotion to caring about the town and everyone in it? It’s what Rick liked so much. The light from within her pushed her bravery, eradicating her limits.

“Beth,” he speaks carefully. “Why are you running away?”

Beth turns her face towards the farms, letting go of his hand. “I love my parents so much.”

Rick’s face softens. “I know.”

“No. They’ve been my inspiration my whole life. How can—I can’t fathom how…it’s all...”

“What are you talking about?”

Beth tugs her fingers into the sleeves of her cardigan crossed over her chest, refusing to meet his gaze, miserable. She takes so long to answer, but Rick can see the fight in her mind in the way she sticks her jaw. Whatever it is she’s torturing herself with it, Rick can feel it just by standing nearby. “Beth?”

“It’s the ISA, Rick. I didn’t want to believe it but it’s been them all along. My—” She chokes on her words.

Dread sinks to his gut. “Which one?”

“Both.” The blankness that shadows over her face, Rick has seen it before. The ghost of Yolanda’s detachedness after she was betrayed. The shattering shake in Henry’s voice moments before he was gone. “Chuck found out a while ago but I kept pushing it back and pushing it back because it wasn’t true? It wasn’t true and I couldn’t accept that until...They’re close with Richard Swift.”

He touches her arm, lets his hand slide down the expensive sweater to reach for her hand when she cries again.

“Can’t we just go?” When she asks Rick again, he understands. The slimmer of hope she’s threaded through her request. What it’s costing him not to say yes.  

“Come inside,” he whispers instead, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. It's a dead weight like a stone in his hand. It shouldn’t be like this. Beth shouldn’t be like this. She’s not okay. “You can stay.”

She shoots a nervous glance at the house. “I don’t want to if it’s a problem.”

“I’ll make sure it’s not a problem,” he cuts in, sharp.

Beth mutters something, but Rick doesn’t catch it. He jogs back to the front porch and bends over to pick up her bike and lock it in the shed.

He returns, awkwardly holding her school bag, leaning against the wall.

“Stay here,” Rick says, “I’ll come to get you.”

He goes back inside and stands in front of Matt.

“My friend is staying over.”

“You have friends?” Matt scrolls on his phone with a snort. When he realizes Rick isn’t joking, he glances up. “No.”

“I’m not asking.”

“I babysit enough after you—”

“Is that what you call it?” Rick snarks.

Matt’s eyes flash at him. They say Don’t test me.

Rick steps away. He won’t. The plan isn’t to piss him off. He wants Beth to survive the night here. “She’ll stay in my room and I’ll sleep on the floor or something. It’s just for today.”

To Rick’s horror, Matt leers. “She’ll stay in your room?”

“Don’t.” Rick makes it clear. “Don’t. Don’t talk to her. She’s upset enough. She doesn’t need you in her business.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m serious,” Rick says. The flippant way Matt goes back to his phone has him unnerved. If it wasn’t for the fact he has the hourglass tucked away in his room, he’d walk right out and drive Beth to Pat’s instead. It’s not worth it.

But Rick can take Matt on now. If that’s something he ever needs to do.

“What’s her name?”

Rick doesn’t even want to tell him. He turns around and brings Beth in.

She wipes at her face and sucks in her hurt, attempting and failing to gather her emotions. “Sorry, Mr. Harris. I’m—”

“—No.” Rick pushes her past the living room before she could even finish her sentence. “Nope.”

“Is that any way to speak to your father? ” Matt yells after him.

Rick rolls his eyes hard and shuts the door to his room pointedly.

Beth sits gingerly onto his unmade bed. “You could’ve at least let me introduce myself. I’m in his house.”

“This is not his house.”

“Oh.” Beth picks at his linty sheet. “Right.”

He waits as long as he can before he can’t help himself. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she mutters. Beth reaches into her bag for Chuck and hands him over. “It’s all there.” Next, she pulls out a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. “Sorry. Can I change?”

“Uh. Sure.” Rick moves. “Tell me when I can come back in.”

Rick leans against the wall, waiting, wondering what he should do. Chuck is in his hands, half-lit. The last time he learned the truth through green hue, his life had changed for good. Was this what it felt like for her?

The projection skittered across the off-white peeling walls.

James Chapel. The American Dream. Hired by Jordan Mahkent, January 2006. James Chapel, MBA Keynote Speaker - Geopolitical Realignment in the Pursuit of an American Dream. Funded by Richard Swift. The Theoretical Abnormalities of Frontal-Cortex Reconfiguration published by Blue Valley Medical Centre Press. Authored by Henry King Jr, Bridget Chapel et al. 2000. Scholarship funding provided by Swift Inc.

It is followed by grainy photographs of a tall slender woman in a blue and red polymer jumpsuit with the youthfulness of Beth’s face. The pixels dissolve away and return with one that resembles her father. There’s more evidence, hard core pictures. Records of Henry Jr’s faked autopsy. Medical records on Joey Zarick. Notes on the political numbers in William Zarick’s campaign.

“I’m sure this comes as a great shock.”

“How didn’t you know?” It feels ridiculous to hiss accusations at a piece of tech no matter how special. He does it anyway. The damage, it’s done. He has half the mind to smash Chuck against the floor. He doesn’t hate Chuck, he knows how important he is to Beth. It’s just the gratification Rick craves to break something that hurt her.

“A glitch in my system. The Gambler had scrambled their affiliation well. It’s not until I’ve reloaded my servers and Beth brought me into Dr. Chapel’s work office that she uncovered any peculiarities.”

“This is going to break her.”

“Bruise,” Chuck corrects. “Not break.”

Rick shuts it off when his door cracks open.

She stepped out looking as cozy as one could with red-rimmed eyes.

Rick tilts his head up from his crouched position in the hall, passing Chuck back to her. She hugs the goggles close.

“Where are you sleeping?” she asks. “I won’t let you on the floor.”

“I have a chair.”

“Where?”

“The living room?”

She considers it, peering down the stairs. “Isn’t that where your uncle passes out?”

“I can bring it up here.”

“We shared a bed at Pat’s cabin.”

“That was before…” Besides, Barbara was there checking in like every two hours.

“Rick,” Beth whispers. “I just want you near.”

~.~

She is near, nestled in his arms. The sheer closeness makes his heart jump, the solid feel of her body beside his. Beth trusts him, confides in him. Looks up at him when he hears her.

“I don’t believe they’d ever hurt me,” she says at last. Rick bites his tongue. Physically? No. Indirectly? He’s seen the way she’s vied for their attention. Idolized herself after their values. The dependency they’ve fastened to leech onto their ideals of transparency and complete openness from her side when they don’t return the favour. Some of their FaceTime calls at lunch had been flat-out weird. Rick assumed it was his irritability flaring out whenever they bothered to check in on her. What if it was surveillance?

Beth catches his hesitation and frowns. “I know what you’re thinking. My parents are different. I know they’re…on the wrong side but they’re not like Tigress and Sportsmaster.” She’s defending them. Naturally, and in spite of her grief. He squeezes her arm, unthinking.

“I didn’t think they were.”

She turns and pulls on the sheet, staring up at his ceiling. “You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“Ever since I found out, my mind always circles back to you.”

“Me?” Rick’s brows crease against his pillow. “Why?”

“I was wrong about you too. I thought you were this unfeeling aggressive person that sat next to me at lunch all those years because you were indifferent.” She glances at him. “That’s not true.”

“It was a little true.”

She ignores that, carrying on. “But I wanted to be wrong about you from the beginning so I fought against my feelings to prove myself right that night. And I was. There’s so much more to you.”

He props his elbow up to study her quietly.

“I thought if there was more to you, there has to be more to my mom and dad. I didn’t think they could just leave me in the dark. That’s why I didn’t say anything for so long.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

He knows that she knows they’ll be talking to Courtney and Yolanda and Pat soon. That the world as she knew it was gone now. For now, Rick listens, being there for her.

Beth might’ve been left in the dark, but she navigates well in it. Her heart and wisdom are a bright light in themselves. And she’s touched him with it, seared him with her brightness and truth in a way he can’t ignore. Beth lightened him in a way he’s only more drawn to. And if she loses it now, if it dims out of her, Rick swears he’ll find it. He’ll find it and bring it back out if he has to.

[sweetlavenderwritings]

Back To His Nest- Pt. 2

A/N: I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I DIDN’T EXPECT THE LOVE THE FIC GOT AND WAS VERY SURPRISED. I initially planned to leave it at that maybe?? but then many of ya’ll actually wanted a part two and i had to rack up my brain on what was gonna happen ( ´△｀) anyways it’s here and i hope it doesn’t disappoint!

Pairing/s: hawks/keigo takami x reader

Word Count: 2 772

Tags: very light angst, love, eventual fluff, domestic fluff,

-ꦼ———▸ Part 1 

⋅. ♪ .⋅  Loving Keigo Playlist

8 Years later…

 You haven’t heard from him ever since you left. As planned, your parents had called him in advance. Telling him he shouldn’t try and contact you anymore, that trying to find you would be a waste of time. You were such a coward that you couldn’t even leave a message, your parents bearing the responsibility of telling him you’ve cut off ties with him completely.

It hurt. The pain was unbearable for the first few months, restless nights of crying as you struggled to keep your composure. You couldn’t even erase his number from your saved contacts. His callers ID still the same nickname you had for him. Despite your parents warning about not contacting you anymore, he still left a call every day. There were neither questions nor any form of pleading you to come back. Because you never answered, he left small messages that he sent at random times of the day. There was no consistent message of what the calls were all about. It was as if he left these messages like a personal diary he’d write to when he felt like it.

 “The day’s great today. It’s a bit hotter than usual but I’m quite grateful for the heat since flying always got me cold.” Yes it did, it was one thing about flying that he disliked. He just got too cold easily, which was why every time he got home, he’d head straight to the showers for a long hot soak then demand cuddles. He liked to call you his personal heater.

“It was too bright though, I had to keep squinting and I almost slammed face first to a billboard! Could you imagine that? Number Two Hero Getting Clumsy! Slams into Make Up Ad Starfish Style.” He laughed. “Okay, that was the worst headline ever. Could you blame me? I’m not really much of a writer like you are. Somehow, you always knew how to string words together beautifully… Ahh, looks like a low class villain is up to no good. I’ll catch up to you later. I love you baby bird.”

And just like that, he hangs up. They always ended in the same way, him having to cut it short because of his duties, and the constant line of ‘I love you.’ It felt so unfair, how he’d make it harder for you to move on. You knew better than to listen to them, but you still did.  You drunk up his voice whenever you heard it, closing your eyes and imagining he was actually there right in front of you, talking to you. When he hangs up, the sad illusion is gone.

There were times you almost called him back, desperately wanting to run back into his arms. To apologize for leaving, to tell him the truth, to tell him you never stopped loving him in the first place. But as your fingers almost reach the call button, your fear of the Hero Public Commission stop you every time.

So you settle for watching him in the news, seeing the headlines as he saves dozens of people every day. You read every article you see online, scouring every page for stories. It was torture, but you had to keep strong, not just for yourself. It wasn’t like you were alone in this anymore.

After 9 long months, you finally gave birth to your child. His child.

She was perfect. She looked almost exactly like him, honey blond hair and yellow eyes that seemed to glow. Her image made you miss him so much it hurt. But these feelings of pain and misery were shoved off to the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on your newfound feelings of joy and contentment. After so long, you felt like you could be happy again.

You named her Keiko, meaning “adored one”, because she was. With enough patience, you raised her by yourself. You dedicated your whole life making sure she grew up to be happy; it felt like you were compensating for the pain you brought upon to you and Hawks. Somehow, you comforted yourself with the fact that you saved your child from the horrors of what may come to her when the world comes to know of her existence.

---

  “Mom, come look it’s him again!” Keiko cheered, pointing at the television. An all too familiar winged hero comes on screen, gracefully flying in the air as he saved civilians from a burning building one by one. Your daughter let out another cheer as the number two hero successfully saves all of the civilians. Thankfully, the fire didn’t spread further with the help of the fire fighters helping from behind the scenes.

You stare at the screen as the news reporter interviews Hawks, him looking quite worn out but he manages to give the camera a smile and an enthusiastic response. If it was anyone else, he would’ve looked well composed, not breaking a sweat as he nonchalantly brushes off the praises he gets.

“All in a day’s work.” He says.

But you knew better.

Your daughter turns to you with a beaming smile, happy knowing her favourite hero once again saves the day. Her next words made your heart sank, “For my birthday tomorrow, can we meet him please?! I just want a picture and an autograph, that’s it I promise!”

“Ah, I don’t know about that baby. Hawks is a busy man and there are no chances we can just see him.” This was a lie of course, you knew he’d jump in at any opportunity to see you again but you couldn’t risk it. It pains you to see your daughter so disappointed, but you had to continue lying. For her sake.

“Tell you what, we can at least go to his district tomorrow and buy his merch. I can even get you one of those limited edition wings if you want.” Hawks’ merch was expensive, so his limited edition merchandise was gonna hurt your pockets like a bitch but it was worth it just to make up for what you couldn’t give your dear Keiko.

“Really?!” Keiko squealed as she bounced around the living room, “I can’t believe I’m going to have my own wings like Hawks, the number two hero! I can’t wait to tell Kiyoko as soon as I get them, she’ll be so jealous of me haha!” You smiled as you picked her up from the couch, stopping her from jumping off.

“If you sleep early tonight we might be able to make it there tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay!”

   You’ve never felt so nervous before. Because one, you were going to Hawks’ precinct with your daughter, all the more chances of meeting him despite NOT wanting to do that. Two, if by some chance- or karma- you both crossed paths, all your hard work would be all for naught. Hawks wasn’t stupid; he’s by far the most observant man you’ve ever met. Many people don’t know this with the way he eludes them with his charm, thus forgetting he’s the number two hero for a reason. Which means even a small glance at your-his daughter; he’d be able to puzzle the pieces together.

So by desperation, you snuggled your daughter with a big fluffy hat, tied her hair into neat pigtails, and then gave her the favourite pair of pink, heart sunglasses she always liked to wear. She scrunched her nose at you fussing over her appearance, but this was only because she was too excited and wanted to leave immediately. You wore a coat, and sunglasses to hopefully hide yourself as well without looking too suspicious. With a final look in the mirror, you left the house with your daughter in tow.

  An hour turned into two, then three, four, five…

 “Kei honey, please. It’s time to go home.” You pleaded. You two spent the next hours walking around and buying her gifts. But whenever you stopped near a shop, Keiko never seemed to lose energy and somehow pulled you into another store to “check things out.” It’s times like this you wondered if you spoiled her too much.

“Wait not yet! We might see him here somewhere!” Keiko tugged at your sleeves as she pointed to the main plaza. “I saw him give interviews here last week mommy; maybe he’ll do it again!”

“Baby please, I told you we’re not here for that. We already bought your gifts so it’s time to go home and-“

“Mommy, look! I think it’s him!” Oh no.

As if on cue, the famous red winged hero zoomed in on a scene. A villain, large one at that, appeared in the middle of a crowd and began harming nearby civilians as if it was panicking. How did you not notice that?

But now was not the time, you had to get your daughter out of harm’s way and hopefully, his too. Hauling your shopping bags into the loops of your arms, you carried your whining daughter into your arms and darted in the opposite direction you saw Hawks headed.

Hawks POV

 How long has it been, eight years? He never wanted to keep count, but he still did.

 God, he was pathetic. He’s supposed to move on by now, find another woman to give his affections to, forget about you then happily live his life.

 But he couldn’t and it sucked.

 He always felt he was too sentimental despite being a double agent. You would think after all he went through, he’d be hardened and cold as stone. Yet he remained quite soft, too empathetic as what his superiors commented. Fuck that.

He’s on his last patrol for the day, flying over the main plaza to keep civilians bustling on the streets. He doesn’t have any plans for later (as he usually does), so he thinks he’ll spend another night away drinking in his balcony or watch a sappy chick flick in the late hours.

He remembers he has fan mail he’s yet to open. Not that he’s ever obligated to do so, he’s free to throw them in the shredder for all he cares. They’re mostly enveloped underwear sprayed with sickeningly sweet perfume anyways. But he’s been receiving sweet letters from a little girl lately. Messages full of pure adorations and gratitude for his work. Judging by the handwritings and small creative decorations, the letters clearly had been made with a lot of effort. He can’t help but look forward to them every week, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone.

His thoughts of his late evening plans are disrupted with the sudden sounds of screams and shrieking from below. Without wasting a second he rushes to the scene.

 As he got closer, his eyes widened at the sight of who was causing the ruckus, or rather, what.

He dodged the Nomu’s sharp claws that swiped by his face at an alarming speed. In a beat, his feather flew from different directions, all leading to his target. They cut deep gashes onto its skin, but the Nomu’s regeneration was fast, healing its wounds as soon as it was inflicted on it.

Hawks never deterred, continuing his attacks while sending some of his feathers to keep away civilians from the disaster transpiring near him.

He could vaguely hear cheers and shouts from the crowd as he rapidly attacks the creature, somehow finding it difficult to cause enough damage to knock it out of conscious. As he flies around the attacking monster, he spots a vulnerable looking spot in its neck. Pausing for a second, he narrows his eyes as he aims. He was about to release a feather until the Nomu lets out a loud piercing shriek, causing everyone near them to shut their eyes at the screeching wail and cover their eyes.

 Fuuck, it must have sensed me. He thought.

 As soon as it stopped it’s shrieking, it speeded off to another direction. With a curse, Hawks followed it in pursuit. Pushing and carrying away with his feathers to keep them from getting harmed. The Nomu sets its eyes on a little girl with her mother, launching itself on its haunches then runs at a great speed towards the two.

The little girl screams then hides herself in her mother’s arms. The mother tries desperately to get away, but with the Nomu’s great speed and the closing distance between them there was nothing left to do but to brace herself in front of her child.

“No!” Hawks yells as the Nomu’s claws at the mother. Before it could land another attack, he strikes one of his biggest feathers at its neck. The Nomu stills, and then drops to the ground.

Hawks doesn’t have time to check if it’s dead or not, rushing over to the poor injured mother with her crying child. As he finally makes his way to the woman his heart stops.

It was you.

With shaking arms, he cradled you against his chest. He couldn’t believe it. After all these years, he got to see you again. And with a child! Wait… a child?

He took a look at the crying girl, blond hair and honey eyes… just like him.

His eyes widened in shock. Hair and eyes just like his, it couldn’t be.

“Is my mom gonna be okay?” The girl sniffled. He mentally slapped himself in the face, how could he forget the situation at hand and not comfort his distressed child? “She’ll be okay,” he assured her, “Help is on the way, okay? Can you breathe slowly for me birdie? So you can calm down.”

She wipes the tears from her eyes and nods. At the sound of an ambulance, he stands up while he carries your unconscious body. As the medics put you in a stretcher, he takes the time to actually look at you.

You looked much more different. Hair a different length from before, eyes much more tired, and cheeks less full. It must’ve been hard for you, he thinks. But now I’m here.

He turns to look for his daughter, who was behind him all along. Slowly, he bends over to pick up her shaking form. She raises her arms in surprise, but trusting nonetheless. As he settles her in one arm, he holds her close and looks at her.

“What’s your name, kid?” he softly asks.

“Keiko.” She mumbles shyly. Keiko, you named her after my own name? Hawks felt tears springing into the corners of his eyes. Before he could wipe them away, Keiko surprises him with a hug to his neck. She clings onto him as if he was her lifeline as he mutters something in his ear.

“Thank you for saving me hero.” Hawks finally lets his tears fall.

 Reader’s POV

 After waking up, you found yourself lying in a hospital bed. Your body felt heavy, you desperately needed to pee, and your throat was parched. You looked around and see your daughter was asleep in a couch near your bed. There was a small bouquet of flowers in your nightstand, but what surprised you the most was the warm, calloused hands that held your left hand; the very same hands that you held years ago. Keigo was asleep.

You ran your hands softly in his hair, a small habit you used to do when he came home utterly exhausted. Hawks stirred in his sleep before opening his eyes. Honey orbs met yours as you felt a smile form on your face.

“Good morning to you too, Kei.”

“Chealsey, oh thank god.” He leapt up from his spot on your bed then embraced you. The hug made you wince but you could’ve cared less. You missed him, you craved for his warmth for years and you never thought you’d ever feel him again. Now he was finally here…

You felt tears fall to your cheeks as you formed apologies in your lips. Hawks merely shushed you as he held you in his arms, “It’s okay, I understand. I know everything.” You clutched his shirt as you sobbed in his chest, letting go all pain and misery you’ve been holding in for years. He kisses your tears away, letting you release all your pent up emotions. He was just glad he had you in his arms once again.

Keiko woke up from her sleep, looking at the two of you in a mess of tangled limbs and tears. “Huh?” she mumbled. “Mommy, why are you crying? What’s going on?”

You both let out a laugh, sharing the same thought. There was going to be a lot to explaining to do.

A/N: fINALLY!! The ending is here! Hope ya’ll liked it everyone ≧(´▽｀)≦  this is unedited and i might do so when i wake up the next day lol. tysm for the love ya’ll gave this ficlet and im sorry for the wait.

[whisker-biscuit]

In the Name of Science: Chapter 6

Fandom: Sonic Movie (2020)

Rating: T for unethical experimentation, implied violence and gore, and implied torture

Summary:  Tom and Maddie didn’t make it in time to rescue Sonic from Robotnik.  Hopefully it’s not too late to save him now. Unfortunately, hope is hard  to come by in the labs of the mad doctor himself.

Chapter Warnings: needles, drugging, discussion of anatomy and light gore

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

Dr. Ivo Robotnik, M.D. Log 6

Full physical recovery has been confirmed. Complete examination and analysis of anatomy now underway.

End Log

……..........................................................................

Robotnik is rhapsodic. His subject is finally healthy – well, physically healthy, at least – and they can move onto Phase Two of his deconstruction of the alien’s everything.

With the pesky rebellious flame quelled for the time being, he taps his palm twice and the robots carry Sonic over to a large MRI machine; the very machine he’d asked Agent Stone about, upon his arrival here. The hedgehog eyes it warily. Robotnik would scoff at the continued display of complete and utter ignorance, but he’s in too good a mood to care enough to even react.

“Stone!” He calls out loud. “Any day now!”

“Sorry doctor, coming doctor!” The assistant responds with cheer, hurrying through the opposite door with a stainless-steel tray in his hands. It holds several medical syringes as well as a variety of bottled liquids, all marked clearly and carefully.

“Is that everything I asked for?”

“Yes sir! I have anesthetics of multiple kinds for general, local, and regional anesthesia. Which one would you like me to prepare?”

“Let’s get some of the stronger stuff going first,” the mad scientist says, watching how Sonic’s breathing has picked up minutely at the sight of the tray and its contents. “Don’t want our evolutionary miracle ‘running out’ on us right when we’re just getting started, do we?”

Agent Stone giggles like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard all day as he sets the tray on a table and begins filling a syringe with propofol. Robotnik smirks and turns to his captive, who has started wriggling at his restraints again in a panic.

“Remember when I said I could keep you asleep all this time, and I’ve chosen not to thanks to my plethora of patience?” The man asks, placing his pen back on Sonic’s chest. The hedgehog stops his movements only to stare at the pen like it’s going to bite him. His ears are alert and facing Robotnik, signaling that he has his full attention.

Just as it should be.

“I may have fibbed just a teensy bit. You see, I want to have the whole picture of what your body looks like, inside and out, and I can finally get that now that your injuries won’t potentially muddle up the results. Unfortunately, magnetic resonance imaging and computed tomography scans can’t be done while metal is present on the object being scanned.”

He makes a show of tapping his pen against one of Sonic’s wrist restraints. The teen’s mouth thins into a grimace.

“And since you’ve proven from the very beginning that you can’t be trusted to obey as expected quite yet, I’ve decided to take some precautions.”

Stone squirts a bit of liquid out of the syringe, drawing Sonic’s wide gaze at the action. Robotnik’s upper lip curls and he grabs the hedgehog at his jaw, forcing his attention back on the doctor.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to ignore someone when they’re directly speaking to you? Oh, right, of course no one did.”

The scientist holds out his unoccupied hand without turning away from his subject. Stone gives him the syringe, and he flips it around expertly so that it’s in a prime position to be used.

“W-Wait! Wait,” the hedgehog gasps, his chin still in Robotnik’s iron grip. “I won’t run!”

His captor raises an eyebrow even as he tilts Sonic’s head to the side, exposing his neck. “You won’t run?”

“Cross my heart! I’ll be still as a statue, slow as a sloth, subsent – subservent…uh.”

“Subservient?” Stone supplies helpfully.

“Yeah that! I’ll be the most of that that anyone’s ever been! Honest!”

“Oh, of course you will.” Robotnik lifts the syringe so that he can observe the opaque white fluid inside through the fluorescent lights of the lab. “You’ll lie perfectly still for upwards of two hours, doing absolutely nothing with nothing restraining you, and when we’re done, you’ll let me snap those cuffs and collar back on without resistance until we repeat the process all over with another scan.”

He gives the teen a flat, unimpressed look. Sonic tries to smile innocently back. It comes out sheepish and nervous.

“That’s what I thought. Stone, hold his head exactly like this while I find the jugular vein.”

“Yessir.”

The little alien hisses and squirms as the scientist presses his gloved finger against his neck, and desperate babbling fills the space between them.

“I’m a hedgehog of my word, you know, I would never ever break a promise I make. Ask anyone! Crazy Carl or Donut Lord or that skunk I ran into two years ago. I promised him I’d never do it again and I didn’t, I haven’t even seen the guy since then, you should call him up if you want proof of my –”

Robotnik finds the spot. He pricks it with the syringe. Sonic’s babbling reaches a higher pitch.

“My! Honesty! Let’s talk about this, no reason to be hasty! You know I never thought I’d hear those – those words come out…of my mouth, but you know what…they say…about desperate measures….”

His speech slows and slurs, and his eyelids grow heavy as the drug starts pumping through his body at a much faster rate than any human or animal. The doctor watches with unadulterated fascination.

It’s barely twenty seconds before the hedgehog is out like a light. He mumbles nonsense in his sleep as Stone removes the collar from around his neck and the robots lie him down on the MRI’s bench. A few well-placed inputs of Robotnik’s glove remote makes the restraints at his wrists and ankles release with a solid click.

Another press of a button, and the machine whirls to life, pulling the limp teen into the cramped round space to document the inner workings of his tiny body.

It’s almost an hour of total silence between the scientist and his assistant as they watch image files start to fill the computer screen connected to the MRI. Both are riveted by every millimeter of scan that comes through. The teen’s anatomy almost perfectly resembles that of a human, barring his skeletal structure, and already Robotnik’s mind is whirring with new things to examine, aspects to probe, and questions to answer about this remarkable little creature in his possession. And that’s not even considering the tests involving the limits of his strength, speed, and generation of energy.

Oh, it’s going to be so much fun.

The MRI finishes its process, and the doctor is quick to move onto new analyses while his subject is still unconscious and compliant. They set the hedgehog onto an examination table, lock his restraints back into place so that he can’t sit up even if he was to wake up, and Stone wheels in a cart of empty vials and surgical tools.

All the things he’d painstakingly waited to pull from the alien are now being painstakingly pulled. Skin samples; muscle samples; organs; bone and bone marrow; another large sample of blood. Anything and everything is fair game as Robotnik works his way through Sonic’s anatomy one section at a time. He’s careful not to take much of any singular sample – the purpose of this is examination and study, not debilitation, and he doesn’t want to have to wait too long to move onto all the other exciting things he has planned that will require his captive to be at full health to give accurate readings.

The teen himself remains comatose during the entire procedure, although his face twists whenever a particularly invasive cut is made, minimal as it is. At a single hand signal, Agent Stone injects another dose of propofol and the expressions of pain smooth out.

Half the day has passed by the time Robotnik finishes stitching up the last incision he’s made and disinfecting the shaved area. They litter the hedgehog’s body top to bottom; tiny patches of shaved fur and precisely-sutured incisions that make him look more like Frankenstein’s monster than the healthy thing he’d started out as just this morning.

The scientist wipes his brow as Stone takes the cart away to preserve the samples for analysis and clean all the tools he’d used. He leans his forearms on the metal table beside Sonic’s head, watching in fascination when the alien’s left ear twitches subconsciously at the stimulus.

He drops his own head, leaving only an inch or two between them, and takes in every detail of the hedgehog’s face as though burning it into his memory.

Slowly, his lips curl back into a terrible grin.

--------------------- 

A/N: I've been sitting on the first half of this chapter for almost a month now; partially cause of irl things changing (for the good) and keeping me busy, and partially cause I was debating how explicit I wanted to get with some of the descriptions in the latter half.

I'll never make it so heavy that it warrants an M rating, but T can still push the limit when it comes to gore-type stuff, and I'm trying to keep the balance between realistic procedure description and not squicking all of you out too hard, either.

Chapter 5

[personalfandompastastrainer]

THEORY ON THE AVENGERS: THE FIRST ONE

I know this has been said before, but Loki brought the Avengers together on purpose. Here's who, what, when, where, how.

Let's start at the beginning. Loki lets go of the edge of the Bifrost. He falls into the endless void of space, devasted, and knowing that he will never ever be king, or please his father, or measure up to his brother.

Now, there's speculation. We know Thanos finds him, and tortures him. Why would he torture him? Because Loki, for all Thanos knows, is "Asgardian." Asgard keeps some of the most powerful magical items in the galaxy in its vault. Perhaps infinity stones as well. Loki probably knows stuff about them. Loki is confused at first, but probably to distract himself from the pain, he starts putting the pieces together. Thanos is a very large threat. He wants the infinity stones. If Loki ever wanted to rule something, he needed to make sure Thanos could be defeated. So he talks. Loki is a manipulator. A negotiater. Words are his domain of power. And illusions. Thanos is so darn lazy, he won't do anything himself because he feels it's beneath him. So Loki praises him. He convinces him that he's on his side. Then he says, I know where the Tesseract is. I can get it for you, and wield it to destroy the people who are responsible for taking it from you. I just need an army. Also, this plan gets him out of being tortured. It may have taken a long time, but eventually, Thanos must've said yes.

Anyway, Loki does his research. He's familiar with SHIELD, so he must get into their files somehow. He can shapeshift, so it would've been easy. Maybe he sees the file on the Avengers. And he's like "aha. perfect."

Then he steals the Tesseract, and something the female assassin cares about. Now she'll leave her mission and join the chase for him. He'll also steal someone Thor cares about, and the Tesseract. Check.

Natasha will be sent to pick up Banner, bringing in an essential part of his plan. Fury will get the man out of time. Coulson will grab Tony.

Now for phase two; get captured. That part's easy. Barton is an amazing spy and agent, break into the place where the stuff is, and oop, there's god's righteous man and his pals, metal suit laser boy, jet plane flown by female assassin, and also thor, late to the party. Have the two oppose so that they both earn Thor's respect as warriors.

Phase 3; Unleash the Hulk. Tell Romanoff the plan on purpose. You think she's the manipulator? You haven't met Loki. There's no way he dropped that info on accident. He's too clever. He knew Natasha's background. Through probability, she was the only option as his interregator. So he knew she'd understand his hint. She did.

Phase 4; Escape. Of course, it was too late to keep Hulk from happening. So that was their first fight, the one that united them and got past their anger at each other. Also, just before escaping, by stroke of good luck, kill the agent they all cared about. Of course, there's no way for Loki to like, kill him on purpose, but it ended up working to his advantage, and Fury's. The Avengers now have a reason to fight. Together.

Phase 5; Cause utter and complete chaos in the appropriate place; Stark Tower and New York. Cause a war. Also, interesting side note; After being thrashed around by the Hulk, Loki just Lies There. I mean, understandable, and his body must've felt like it was on fire, but surely he would've recovered before the Avengers showed up. Like, he's a GOD. He might've been really hurt, but he would've gotten up faster. Why then, did he lie there? He wanted to be there. Loki didn't want to have to report back to Thanos. He didn't want to continue to be tortured bc he'd failed. He knew if he was caught again, that Thor would insist on taking him back home, to Asgard. The perfect place to cause more mischief and just chill in a jail cell. Much better than torture. Anyway, just a thought.

Phase 6; Getting caught. The Avengers are a team of unlikely heroes. Going back to Asgard. The Tesseract is safe. For now. The End. (For now.)

Also, I should add, an interesting little tidbit. I'm like 90% sure that in Norse Mythology, Loki is not only the God of Mischief. He's also the God of Stories. Food for thought.

(sorry for the long post! I had a LOT to say. Also, disclaimer; there's obviously going to be a few gaps in this theory. There's always gaps. No theory is perfect or set in stone. I just really like this one, so don't roast me in the comments. Feel free to add your own ideas though! Maintain polite conversation or criticism plz, thanks!)

[snapefiction]

Phases of the Moon Pt.1  - Snapeficition

A/N: This one is something I kept in my drafts for some time now but kind of still really like so I spontaneously wanted to post it. I hope you like it!

❤️ Please remember that English isn’t my native language and that my Writings will include Mistakes and maybe weird formed sentences. ❤️

Word count: 1321

Pairing: Severus Snape x Orphan!Y/N Flitwick

TW: Struggling Mental Health, Mention of Addiction, Mention of Torture

Phases of the Moon Pt.1

,,Are you even paying Attention, Severus?" Looking up he felt his burning, watery eyes paining him.

,,Yes, of course, Headmaster." He hasn't slept in days. To be exact in literally 68 hours which lead him to slowly going mental.

,,I know it's a lot but remember your promise-" Dumbledore started but Severus just nodded panicking.

,,Yes I am listening. I am listening." Almost begging he sat up again and wiped over his face to gain the imagination of wiping away his tiredness.

,,You made this promise."Dumbledore stated before continuing about his next Plan. Hours later after he prepared everything for his next Mission which would in conclusion would lead to his final death one day he fell onto his bed. His hammering Head wasn't shutting up. 73 Hours. Three days and one hour and he couldn't sleep? Ironic. Usually he liked staying awake for so long. Sometimes his paranoia took over and he forgot everything for a while. His body shut down so much that he finally could forget his degrading reality. But not tonight. Thinking about just taking a sleeping potion he quickly cancelled that idea. He took it way too often. He slowly became addictive to the magical relief. A walk would eventually do it, he deeply hoped.

Dragging himself through the corridors he had the feeling of not being a human anymore. Was he anything at all at this point? The Years of being a double agent left their traces and marks. Physically but also mentally. His Body aged quickly, leaving him in constant pain. But his mental pain was much worse. Having multiple panic attacks on the daily were just some of the milder things.

Thinking back to the first time he witnessed the dark Lord torturing someone he felt his stomach turning around. The screams still echoed in his ears and the imagine hunted him down in his sleep. It was cruel.

,,Severus? Are you alright?" A voice which wasn't more than a whisper made his head shoot up. Forgetting his thoughts trying to cope with the situation he nodded. Y/N Flitwick. Filius niece stood in front of him. His eyes had trouble identifying her as they had developed a film of tears.

,,Oh dear..."

-Y/N -

Wandering down the corridors you hoped no one would spot you as you tried to sneak out. You had trouble falling asleep during this phase of the moon and decided to get your mind off this stress somehow.

Hearing footsteps nearing you quickly casted Nox to stay undercover but as you discovered a familiar face you quickly casted Lumos again. His dark hair wasn't flowing anymore it were strands and his eyes weren't reflective but hallow and dull. All in all he seemed to be not well  but like a living dead.

,,Severus? Are you alright?" As if he hasn't noticed you yet he quickly looked up but his eyes darted through you processing the sight. A weak nod was followed by a small sigh as he lowered his wand he held up as well to light his way.

,,Oh dear..." His hands were shaking so much you wondered if he was having a incident or got attacked. Pity bid your heart and you sorted your endless thoughts for a second. Racing one after one you stopped as you had a merge plan on how to continue as Severus didn't seem to be very approachable.

,,Severus, do you need help? I can guide you to Madame Pomfrey any second."

,,No." His voice was so silent you almost mistook it for your thoughts.

,,Do you need something?" Shifting in your shoes his presence made you feel tired too.

,,If it's not too much to ask- some company?" For a spare second a small smile crept up your face. Severus wasn't able to keep his eyes properly open but asked for you to accompany him. Nodding you agreed stuttering.

,,Of course. I was on my way to the old Astronomy Tower. Would you like to follow me?"

,,Lead the way." He cleared his throat slightly. Tugging your Coat tighter around yourself you made sure that Severus was still following and alright. Of course just from the distance and quietly but you could tell that he was thankful to not be alone anymore. Which was quite odd since you got to know to a dark, powerful, and mysterious man and not the one who was so weak you feared that he’d fall over any second.

After taking the last few steps you sighed as you spotted the overview. This Place always made you feel safe and hidden. Sitting down The small steps You signed Severus to do the same. His tall figure just sank down on his own. He looked around, his whole presence seemed to relax and a small smile was visible just for a moment.

His Shoulder leaned against the stone wall and his knees were still close to his chest. He wasn't really sitting but crouching. Somehow he was looking peaceful just now. Eyes flickering he quickly drove off to a deep slumber. Would anyone believe you if you told them that the feared Professor just fell asleep next to you? Probably not. The strange feeling that something wasn't right didn't let you go so you didn't dared to move or read the book that rested on the inside of your jacket pocket.  You just watched the sky through the tall ceiling and imagined what a life at Hogwarts must be like.

Visiting your Uncle over the Holidays was always fun as you haven't grew up in the Magical world but as a Muggle. Learning late about you magical heritage you almost felt overwhelmed by this new world laying down to your feet. Filius quickly offered to teach you as often as he found some time which was just the case Right now again. Small Spells like Lumos and Nox were easy for you but still you struggled with Charms in General like the whole understanding of this world. The only person who never seemed to talk down on you was Severus. He picked you up on your first Holiday in Hogsmead and lead you to Filius. Severus wasn't very talkative but a good listener. And somehow it made you feel like he understood. Not the Charms Disaster , as how your Uncle called it, but the whole Situation on it's own. 

Whenever Severus noticed how much you struggled and how Filius was close to throw his wand at you he invited you gently to a Potions Lesson which included drinking tea and reading notes that Severus collected to each Potion from the Textbook. He was a Saviour on it's own. You've spent so much time with him and still didn't knew anything about himself. Hogwarts was a weird Place sometimes. Not to mention the Wizards and Witches living there.

Discovering that you had a second Uncle who introduced you to your greatest Fairytales was impressive. Born without a family and after so many years getting dragged into another world was - let's call it a lot.

So it happened very often that you had to flee somewhere no one would look after you. The small spot on the steps at the Astrology Tower hid you well like a secret. That's why you thought Severus would appreciate it too. Looking down on him you saw that his head sunk down low. Deep breaths left his lungs and as some air strikes his slim figure you took of your Coat to cover him. At first he shivered but then continued to sleep. Maybe you could give him back some of the trustful feeling he offered you some time ago? You really hoped so. But for now the figures of the two of you were consumed by the Phases of the Moon. And this is how it began. Slow but steady. How your loyal friendship started and how trust bonded.

to be continued. 15.April.21

Taglist: @deepperplexity  , @monstreviolet , @wow-life-love4 , @lizlil , @once-upon-an-imagine , @darkthought15 , @elizabeth-baelish , @looseheartedlady , @ithinkweallsing , @simpforsnape , @meteoritewolf69 , @rosaline-black , @morphineisouthoney , @mrssnivellussnape , @sarcasticequeen-blog , @agalandhermarvelobsession , @dracomalfoyownsmyass

Let me know if you want to be tagged in my Taglist! :)

[moonflower-31]

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer x Reader

Masterlist

Part 23 

Pairing: Spencer x Reader 

A/N: So... Long time no talk? Sorry guys. Depression sucks and so does life. What can ya do. But I hope this is good. My school just went on lockdown for 2 weeks so i should be able to get back into the swing of things. No guarantees btw. But please enjoy this part. I think it’s pretty good for someone who hasn’t written for two weeks. XD 

Warnings: A lot of shouting, cursing, name-calling, self-doubt (obviously), and slightly panic attack (I’ll go more into it in the next part) 

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner, @egg-boy03, @helena-way07, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @serendipity-imagines, @kaelyn-lobrutto24, @thatsonezesty13 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A week later, and you had finally been released from the hospital. Your infection had gotten to a manageable point where you could just take antibiotics and be cured of it in a few more weeks. Spencer had spent the entire time with you, never leaving your side. Except when you had to use the restroom. Obviously. 

"Spence… you gotta shower, seriously. I'm thankful, really, that you stayed with me all week. But you need a shower. Bad." You insist, hobbling slightly as you walk out of the hospital. 

You sigh softly to yourself, closing your eyes tightly for a moment as you waited for Spencer. Trying to hide the ever growing terror that filled your heart was getting increasingly harder to hide. But you didn't have time for therapy or to feel sorry for yourself. The BAU never made your case an active one despite two agents having gone missing and being taken. Which told you well enough that you weren't worth the time. Serial killers deserved more attention than you.  

"Hey, are you okay, (Y/N)?" 

The sudden touch to your shoulder plus the speech coming from Spencer pulled a shriek from your lungs. You jumped and looked toward Spencer terrified for a few agonizingly long moments.  

You took a deep breath and refocused your breathing, hoping to ease your racing heart back to it's slightly less annoying rhythm. 

"Y-yeah…" you murmur, shaking your head in an attempt to clear your mind. You also cleared your throat for good measure. "Yeah, I uh… I'm okay. Just a little… jumpy is all." 

Spencer’s frown deepens on his face, looking towards you sadly. Was this really the time for him to tell you how he felt? No, it really wasn't. You were healing. No, you are healing. You didn't need the confusion of a brand new romantic relationship to be added to your already overflowing plate. 

"Well… I'm here if you need me." Spencer assured, flashing a gentle smile towards you. You sighed and nodded back to hin. 

"Yeah, yeah," you exhaled, looking away from Spencer and not meeting his gaze. "Thanks." 

Spencer could feel the wedge you were unknowingly making grow between you. He hoped he could help you. After Hankel, he had hardly anyone. If he could make a difference in your PTSD, he would. He would try his damndest even if it killed him. 

"Well… I can at least get you back to the apartment. I'm sure Hotch will understand why I'm a few minutes late-" Spencer began, directing you towards the parking lot. He looked back at you and saw a flash of fear run over your (E/C) eyes as you stopped. 

"N-no. No, I need to get back to work. I don't have any vacation days saved up. I gotta go with you to work." You insisted, feeling a heavy stone of fear weigh on your chest. 

Spencer narrowed his eyes and looked over at you, stopping in his tracks. "(Y/N), Hotch gave you vacation days. You don't have to go back right now-" 

"No, Spencer. I'm going back. The team needs me. If I'm alone, Peter’s gonna have a better chance at finding me so-" the tears began falling before you could even realize. You feel your voice crack in your throat and all you knew to do was cover your mouth and try to smother your sobs. 

Spencer’s arms were around you before you could say, his hand rubbing your back while his other cradled your head. He didn't say anything, he just held you. You were thankful he hadn't. It was all you could do to keep your hand over your mouth and the other fisted in Spencer's days old cardigan. 

After what felt like forever, (reality was five minutes) Spencer pulled slightly away and tilted your head up to encourage you to look at him. "W-why don't we just get in the car for now? Figure things out on the way?" Spencer asked. Maybe you could still work. But he would put his foot down personally if you did anything other than desk work. 

You nodded subtly and swallowed what remained of your sobs. Spencer smiled gently and began guiding you towards the parking lot gently, not forcing you to venture any faster than you felt comfortable. 

You found yourself wandering with your eyes across the street, having become more vigilant and observant since your capture. Everything seemed normal. Couples were walking together hand in hand, some with kids. Some business men and women walked with their phones glued to their ears while some people were carrying groceries to their car. It wasn't suspicious at all. It should have calmed you. But it didn't. The only thing you found yourself able to be calm about was the fact that Spencer had his arms around you. That was what made you feel safe.  

Spencer looked towards you, watching you for a few moments. He watched your eyes wandering frantically across the parking lot and put two and two together. Just being in the parking lot scared you. Spencer couldn’t help but relate. The crunch of leaves had been his trigger for a few weeks after his kidnapping. Spencer squeezed you closer and rubbed your shoulder to get your attention. You turn your head back towards him, finding a relieving inhale enter you at the sight of his kind eyes once again looking into yours. “I’ll go pull up the car. You think you can stay here for a few seconds?” He asks. A jolt of regret strikes him as he sees the fear fill your pupils. But you don’t verbalize these fears. Instead you nodded silently.  

Spencer gave you a gentle grin before he went to go bring the car towards you. That way you didn’t have to step foot in the parking lot. He knew he was probably risking a few things, but at least you didn’t have to be fearful of the asphalt. 

You bit your lip anxiously, the hairs on your arms raising in false alarm. You knew you were safe. Your brain knew you were safe. But your heart was in overdrive. It had stolen the control console from your brain and was currently making you an emotional and anxious mess. A part of you didn’t want to go to work. It wanted to take your time to recover. But the rest of you was adamant on going. The case hadn’t been made priority. They were just lucky that no cases were deemed important enough for the BAU to help during the week you and Morgan had been missing. 

You remained lost in your thoughts until you felt the touch of Spencer’s hand on your shoulder. You looked up and gave him a gentle smile. 

“We’re gonna be late if we don’t go now. We have 39 minutes till we are considered late.” Spencer informs, trying not to derail from his normal personality so much that you noticed. He hated being pitied. And he knew that you did as well.

You nodded and began to follow. You climbed into the passenger seat and fastened your seatbelt. Your hands flexed and moved anxiously, unable to sit still. You took a few deep breaths, hearing Spencer get into the car alongside you. 

You finally opened your eyes and felt the car roar to life underneath you. You were heading back to work. You'd get back to normal soon. You had to. 

○●♡●○ 

The both of you had found a comfortable silence in the transport to the BAU. Spencer kept a comforting hand in yours, allowing you to squeeze it when needed. 

But now, as Spencer pulled into his usual parking spot, did your chest begin to tighten somewhat. You hadn't been here for what felt like years. Peter had abducted you from this very parking lot. Anyone would understandably be anxious. 

But by some miracle, you managed to keep your anxieties covert as Spencer and you got out of the car. Of course, Spencer suspected you had a little fear from being back here, but didn't push you. Many statistics had shown in the past that forcing a PTSD victim to share their trauma without it being their terms can be destructive to their mental health. Translation: He wasn't going to ask you about it. 

The ride up the elevator was torturous. Slow, agonizing, and not to mention extremely long. You found yourself fidgeting and moving in place rather than standing still. You'd never done this before. To say it didn't worry you would be a very big lie. 

"Are you sure you're ready, (Y/N)? You can always utilize the time off Hotch gave you." 

You appreciated Spencer’s worry, you really did. It helped to have someone there who was willing to care when you weren't. But that didn't mean that you still didn't get somewhat annoyed over the continuous asking. 

"Yeah, I'm fine Spencer. I just need to get my mind off…" you stopped and pushed a heavy exhale from your chest. "Everything." 

Spencer didn't push, and soon enough the two of you were inside the BAU's glass doors, walking towards the familiar bullpen. You subconsciously fix the cuffs of your dress shirt, avoiding the eyes of everyone who was shocked to see you. 

You sighed softly as you both continued into the bullpen, meeting the eyes of two of your coworkers. 

"(Y/N), What are you doing back so early? You have like, 5 weeks of available off time. You need to rest yourself. And your mind. Trauma isn't something that should be taken lightly." Prentiss spoke, stopping in your tracks to keep you from getting to your desk. 

Spencer, unbeknownst to you, made a cut it out gesture to Emily and cleared his throat. "It's alright. She's only going to be doing reports and desk work." Spencer expressed, looking around at everyone who had decided to turn around a watch. 

Emily sighed. "Alright. But I'm not going to let you go on any cases. I'm still your supervisory agent. You're lucky we're free of the more important cases so we've been working on yours." You feel an icy stab to the chest from her comment, reminding you of how unimportant you felt. You swallowed dryly and nodded, not caring that you hadn't said a word and had let Spencer talk for you. You didn't feel like talking anyway. 

You then sat down at your desk with a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you felt the familiar breeze that came with a stack of reports falling onto your desk. 

You nodded towards whoever it was that gave you the reports and then started on them. It wasn't long until you had managed to clear all of your feelings from your mind and instead hyperfocus on the reports and the details in each. 

You lost track of so much time, that when Spencer put a cup of coffee on your desk, you jumped and almost verbally cursed. 

"Jesus-" you began, holding your chest for a moment. Spencer’s eyes widened and held his hands up once the coffee was safely level on your desk. 

"S-sorry. I-I just thought you could use a little bit of a 'pick-me-up' or whatever Morgan said it was." He seemed nervous, his hand finding his neck soon after finishing his statement. 

You smile at him genuinely for what feels like the first time in weeks and nod to him. "Yeah… I needed it. Thank you, Spence." 

Spencer’s eyes almost twinkle with happiness at your reply, his cheeks growing red and his smile appearing on his face as he goes back to his desk behind yours. 

Then the moment ended. 

"(L/N)? What are you doing back so early?" 

You turn your head and find Hotch walking towards your desk. You swallow a nervous laugh and instead begin to find a way to reply for yourself. Spencer didn't need to defend you forever. 

"Hotch… I can't stay at home like that. I need to keep my mind focused on something else. I can't sit by when you all still need my help. My case wasn't made of importance. Why should I treat it like it is?" You insist, shoving down the sob that desperately wanted to escape your throat. 

Hotch sighed and began to speak "(Y/N)..." 

"No. Let me speak. I'm not going to sit on my ass at home while you all work on the case that almost got Morgan killed. I'm going to help you. Its here at home. I won't have to go anywhere." Every part of you was begging for Hotch to understand. That he would give you a chance. 

Hotch gave you a questioning look for a few moments, allowing you to finish if you chose to continue, before he spoke up. "Just because you're healed physically doesn't mean you're better mentally. You went through something noone can relate to. You need to take the time to heal." 

"But I'm needed here, Hotch. I'm not going to go home and do nothing. It's just not my style. Now if you'll let me, I have a few more reports to do from this pile." You deadpan, gritting your teeth as you sit back down at your desk to finish reports filled with information you would never forget. 

Hotch sighed, looking back at Spencer for a moment before he turned around and began to continue on his list of things to do.  

You sighed and grumbled to yourself, trying to focus your emotions yet again so that you could finish the reports on your desk. But as fate would have it, you couldn't do that. 

"(Y/N/N)... Would you like to take a walk with me? It's almost our break. Maybe you could use a bit of fresh air? Scientifically, going outside helps to clear your lungs as well as lower blood pressure and heart rate." Spencer spoke up, tapping your shoulder gently once he knew he had your attention. 

You shook your head and cleared your throat. "No… no I'm going to finish these reports first. They're more important." You start. 

Spencer shook his head, his eyes widened slightly. "No," he starts, standing up and walking over to you. "These reports aren't more important than your well-being. I haven't pushed because I want you to talk when you're ready. But you can't act like you aren't important." 

You scoff and go to reply, just as the sound of a slamming glass door echos through the bullpen, making everyone's eyes travel to the source of the noise. This also meant you. 

By the time you looked, two familiar eyes were staring coldly into yours. Two wrinkled hands clasped at your shirt collar and yanked you forward violently. 

"How dare you ungrateful-" Margaret quips, slapping you across the face before you could even react. "Selfish, and ignorant child!" 

You cough harshly, earning the feeling of Margaret's hand again across your face. "M-mother…" you murmured, the agents around you trying to separate the two of you. 

"No, you have gone too far now! I paid him to take you! You are his property! Go to him! I have lost too much for you to disobey like the brat of a child you've always been!" Margaret scrambled, trying to get out of the arms of a much stronger agent who held her back away from you. 

Someone, who you soon recognized as Garcia and Emily, helped you to your feet. Spencer had very quickly come to your aide, sending Garcia off to fetch Rossi and Hotch. 

You grumbled for a few moments, the anger you felt beginning to come to a head. "Really? You paid him? I thought he was just trying to get under my skin with that, Mother." You spat, taking a few steps forward before looking up into (e/c) eyes. 

Your mother scoffed and rolled her eyes, looking back at you coldly. "Of course I did. You need someone to finally put you in your place. To teach you the manners I had somehow missed." 

You growled at her continuance. Your fist clenched at your side. She was your mother. And this was what she chose to do? Instead of being by your side when you needed a mother most, she admitted to being a part of why you were raped in the first place. 

"So you admit to selling a human? To selling your only daughter, just because I wouldn't abide to your stupid fucking rules?" You glared, spitting out the words like venom on your tongue. 

Spencer went to stop you, but Emily pulled him back. You needed this. 

"Yes I-" Margaret began, but you quickly put a stop to her excuses. 

"No. You're going to let me share my opinion for ONCE in my life. You're going to stand there and face the monster that you created. Be the perfect housewife you insisted on creating with me." 

Your mother rolled her eyes, but surprisingly didn't speak up again. You were slightly baffled by her sudden respect. But it didn't last long. 

"You were never there for me when I needed you. When I was in the hospital, after what Peter did to me, I needed you. After Peter's threats, I needed you. After each low grade on a test, I needed you. Not the harsh yelling and lecture I received from you and father. I needed the reassurance that it wasn't the end of the world. Whenever I had nightmares from my never ending memory bank of trauma, you sent me back to bed with the flick of your hand. I remember every word, every scowl, every upturn of your nose, every single moment you've spared for me my entire life. You're lucky I don't charge you with assault and child abuse. I don't because you're my mother. I thought maybe one day…" you feel the hot, rushing tears fall from your cheeks, making you aware of your vulnerability in front of everyone. 

You sniffled and wiped your eyes before you continued. "T-that maybe one day you'd change. And I-I'd have my mom." A tearful smile formed on your face, staring at the woman who had cause so much of your misery. "But still, you choose to remind me of how unimportant I've always been. How I am just a pawn in your game of chess. Easily disposable. Well here's a reality check for you, Margaret." You snapped, pointing a finger against her chest. 

"Check. Cause I'm not going to rest until you and Peter are both sent to prison where you both so clearly belong!" You yell into her ear. "So much for motherly love." You whisper harshly afterwards, turning around so that she didn't get the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart. 

Hotch entered your vision soon after, gesturing for you to meet him in his office. You sigh shakily, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Spencer stops you for a moment, holding your arms. "H-hey… you don't have to go immediately, you know. You can stay for a minute." 

You recognize his extended olive branch and take it. He didn't need to even say another word for you to collapse into his arms, sobbing as hard as your heart had been begging to since you'd left the hospital that morning. 

Oh how the mighty have fallen. 

[hopesbarnes]

Black Swan (14)

Summary: Y/N used to be a Russian spy under the code name Black Swan. But that was a lifetime ago, now she’s a part-time avenger, dance teacher, surrogate sister to Natasha Romanoff, and trainer to new Shield Agents. She’s come a long way from the days of killing targets and being tortured. But when someone from her past comes around will she be able to ignore her history anymore? Or will she end up falling in love with the only man her sister ever loved?

A/N: Next chapter is the last (and then an epilogue) I can’t believe we’re almost done!! 

When you woke up the following morning you had several text messages from Bucky. He was a little nervous, but supportive of your decision to tell Natasha. She was your sister and she deserved to know the truth. Even if a small part of you was worried that this could mean she would hate you. 

But a larger part of you knew she would be fine with it. She’s not who she used to be and neither is Bucky. It’s been a long time since Russia, and you’re not those people anymore. So with a deep breath, you get dressed and head to your shared kitchen.

“Good morning,” she says cheerily when she sees you walk out of your room. For someone who people feared, she sure was sunshine in the mornings lately. (Most likely due to a little bird she spent time around).

“Morning. Got any plans today?” you ask nervously tapping your hand against the coffee she hands you.

“All yours,” she says smiling, noticing your tapping but not acknowledging it.

“Can you do me a favor and sit then. Kinda need to tell you something,” you say. Better to just get this talk over and not have it nagging at you all day long. She sits next to you, placing her coffee mug down on the counter.

“Yes?” she says with a hint of mischief. Almost as if...

“I’m dating Bucky!” you blurt out in the least elegant way possible. 

“Oh, is that it?” she says with a look. One that screamed ‘you’re overly dramatic Y/N’.

“What?”

“I knew already.”

“You? What? How in the world did you know,” you say before adding “And don’t you say ‘spy sense’!” Knowing that’s her go-to answer.

���You do know someone goes over comm. transcripts right? Since I was senior in charge of the mission you went on to that gala I was the one to read over them. And babe isn’t really a standard term for your coworker. Put the dots together,” she says smiling proudly. 

“That shit,” you say quietly in regards to your boyfriend. “You’re not upset?” 

“Why would I be upset? I have a man I love deeply, and you’ve been significantly less of a pain in my ass since he showed up here,” she says with a laugh. “You seem happy, and that’s all I want.”

“You seem happy too Talia.” She reaches out and grabs your hand, letting you silently know you’re always going to have her. “So, now that we cleared the air. I have 17 costumes, 26 hair strips, and two pairs of shoes to rhinestone for next weekend’s competition. And I have a lovely sister to assist,” you say with a wide smile.

“You know we haven’t had team bonding in a while,” she says with a look and you think about it for a second before shrugging your shoulders. 

“If they mess up my costumes, I’m blaming you.”

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

Under the guise of team bonding, you get the avengers who were available  (which turned out to be you, Natasha, Steve, Bucky, Clint, Bruce, and Sam) to join you in the living room for help with finishing the costumes. You gave a quick tutorial of how to apply them and showed them the example of what you already did so that they could follow the design.

Steve was a natural, and you gave him some of the costumes to do. He gathered the deep blue rhinestones and happily went about gluing them to the fabric. Natasha had been helping you for years now so she knew the process and got to it. 

Sam and Bruce were a bit shakey but still were doing a good job. There was a few glue strings and the stones weren’t exactly straight, so you had them rhinestone the hair strips that sat on the girls hair parts (and gave a little bit of extra sparkle, but weren’t seen up close). 

Clint and Bucky were not so good, however. They each did one hair strip before you stopped them and forbid them from touching the glue anymore. Instead they sorted the rhinestones by color and helped decorate name signs for each of the girls doors at the hotel (it had been a tradition to decorate hotel doors the night before competition). 

You worked on the two solo’s shoes, adding sparkle to them before working on the costumes as well. While Steve and Natasha helped with the large group costumes, you worked on the solo costumes. 

With the help of the team you all finished within a few hours, and it significantly lessened your load. Competition season stressed you out, and this one was no different. The duet you choreographed meant more than any dance you ever did, and it was possible it could win the entire competition if they hit it. 

You shook the thought from your head, deciding not to worry about it now. There was still a whole week until they competed, and plenty of time to worry later. You look over at Bucky who was laughing with Sam about something. He caught your gaze and smiled looking at the team and then back to you. 

“Hey, thank you guys for all your help!” you say to them before adding, “By the way I’m dating Bucky. Good night!” And you try to get up and leave, but they all start a chorus of questions instead. 

“Since when?” Sam yells out and you smile.

“Few months birdbrain,” Bucky says and walks over to you wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“I’m in love with Natasha!” Clint declares loudly, taking the moment to add in his own relationship news.

“We all know that,” Bruce says with a small chuckle.

“I’m in love with him back,” Natasha admits with a sly smile.

“That we didn’t know,” Steve points out and everyone laughs. It felt good for the team to all know what was happening. And for once, there was nothing bad in your life.

[ironmandeficiency]

mr. tin man

mr. tin man

pairing: agent whiskey / statesman!reader

word count: 4470

summary: communication is vital in a relationship, and the lack thereof resulted in you breaking up with jack after eight months of dating. when whiskey and bloody mary see each other again, it’s not quite the romantic reunion they deserved.

a/n: apparently writing for a cowboy while wearing a cowboy hat and listening to country music brings out my twang via text. but this song was my inspo, enjoy my first attempt at whiskey

warnings: implied smut, heartbreak, plenty of sad, implied torture, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, promise of a happy ending

“so that’s it, you’re not gonna explain yourself?!”

“there’s nothing to explain, jack.”

“that’s bullshit and you know it!”

jack had no idea what had gotten into you. just last night the two of you were making dinner together with his record player singin’ george strait, following dinner with slow dancin’ in the living room. the rest of the night was spent in his bed, in his arms as he made you feel his love for you with every thrust and kiss, every word of praise whispered into your ear.

eight months was a short time to be so confident in his love for you. both of your jobs took you all around the country, sometimes the world, but you had always made it work. you both agreed very early on to not let work get in the way as much as possible, but sometimes it was like champ had it out for you despite not knowing that you were seeing someone.

i’m just- i’m grabbing my stuff and leaving, i can’t be around you right now.” your voice was cold and unyielding, nearly making jack think that the previous night’s lovemaking was all a figment of his wild imagination.

“i’m not letting you leave till you tell me why! what changed from last night to now?!”

“i don’t need to tell you a damned thing, now let me go!”

“sweetheart, don’t be like this!”

his eyes narrowed at you, face scrunching slightly as he continued. “like what, jack? a bitch?” your yelling was met with his silence. this silence only made you angrier with him, even though he had no idea what started this or how to fix it. “go on then,” you egg him on, “tell me what i’m acting like!”

“you’re acting like you don’t love me! you don’t treat someone you love like you’re treating me right now!”

now it was your turn to be silent. jack’s eyes were scrutinizing you and if asked to, he could pinpoint the exact second when your eyes lost the softness he crooned over and into rigid, obstinate stone. what was going on in that head of yours, and why wouldn’t you let him help you? why weren’t you talking things out like rational adults, the way you always did when there was a disagreement?

“well maybe i don’t love you.”

the only thing you heard was the blood rushing through his veins, trying to reach his heart and repair the damage you dealt before it was too late. but the second the words fell from your lips it was too late to save him, your cruelty laced with the venom of a thousand vipers as you spoke with no hesitation.

“tell me you don’t mean it. sugar, tell me you don’t-“

“i do, jack. i mean it. now let. me. go.”

you had no words to describe what you felt right then, the way your throat constricted and eyes blurred from tears and hands trembled as you grabbed what belongings of yours you could carry, choking on your pain but hiding it well. it wasn’t all of your things by any means, but he could do what he wanted with the rest of it. you had no intentions of returning for anything and you had the feeling you wouldn’t be welcomed back after what you’ve just done.

with your arms full and not a single glance over your shoulder, you walked out of the door he held open for you to walk out of. the slam of it reverberated through your body and you felt goosebumps when the breeze of the door blew against your back.

barely managing to open the door to your car, you let your things fall unceremoniously from your arms and clatter to the floorboard. eight months of life with jack had meant there were plenty of memories in the seat next to you and there would be far more waiting in your apartment. you weren’t ready for that, not right now. if you ever would be.

you moved to the driver’s side and got in, resting your head on the steering wheel as you tried to collect yourself. what you needed was a distraction, something to keep you from thinking about what you just did.

then your phone rings. one look at the contact name brings a bitter laugh from your throat, the sound broken and wet. this is the first time you’ve wished for work and unlike nearly every wish you’ve made in your life, you get instant results.

first question out of your mouth is about whether there’s an assignment that’ll keep you gone as long as possible. he says there’s nothing currently that doesn’t already have someone on it, but that there’s plenty of grunt work to be done that, when culminated and done all in a row, will keep you busy for nearly two months.

that sounds like heaven to you right now.

you tell him this and he chuckles, saying it’s not the first time he’s had an agent so desperate to be distracted. coordinates are sent to an airstrip eight hours away and even though you’re happy to drive the distance, you’re curious as to why the pilot couldn’t be assed to land at the one only three hours out. but before you’re able to voice this thought to champ, he’s already hung up.

you don’t want to, can’t find the strength to go back to your apartment. you can just buy the things you’ll need once you get to wherever and be done with it. the apartment was blanketed with landmine memories you didn’t want to go anywhere near right now, not before a mission. the moment one landmine is triggered, it’ll tell the others and send you into a blast that you honestly don’t think you’d recover from.

so with a sigh and a flick of the radio dial, you’ve got the saddest songs you know playing as loud as possible. you start your car and head toward the interstate and to the waiting plane, letting yourself go in favor of embracing bloody mary, the one that could handle pain and dish it back twice as harsh. it was time to forget jack daniels by using everything but.

jack didn’t know how to process what just happened. after eight life-altering, blissful months of being together, you just left. no real explanation except for the lingering “i don’t love you” he’s desperate to forget he heard spill from your mouth. he has no idea if he had done anything to drive you to leaving. if you would just tell him what he did, he’d repent for that and every other wrong thing he’s done in his life, if only it meant holding you in his arms again.

“LIKE A RHINESTONE COWBOY! RIDIN’ OUT ON A HORSE IN A STAR-SPANGLED RODEO!-”

he let it ring for a moment, his heart clenching at the fact you pulled the rhinestone cowboy stunt one last time before you walked out of his life. at this point he was hesitant to change it because then it would mean that you’d never do it again. you knew how much he despised the song and you went out of your way sometimes to remind him of its existence, but he could never grow tired of your wide smile when watching him react.

he barely schooled his voice before greeting the voice on the other line. “whiskey.”

“whiskey! good to hear from ya. listen, i got a job for you. won’t keep you gone for long, just a simple in and out, i know you’ve got places you’d rather be.”

last night he would have loved to hear those words come from his mouth. “give me everything you’ve got, champ. i don’t wanna be back for a while.”

the older man could sense that something was off but had the lick of sense required to not bring it up. instead, he told whiskey of some undercover work he needed someone on right away. two months, possibly more. the silver pony is waiting at the private airstrip three hours away and that he’ll be briefed on the plane. where exactly he’s headed isn’t of any consequence.

he packs a bag of his own clothes and a few of yours to help him sleep at night, preparing to submit himself fully to the agency. it wasn’t like he had someone to come home to anymore, no reason to do anything but work.

this undercover mission was gonna be his salvation.

you have a lot of regrets, a lot of things you’ve done that had you close to repenting. but when two months pass and it feels like you never left his apartment, you want to scream every atrocity you’ve ever committed at the top of your lungs if it meant holding him again.

not a word that came out of your mouth that morning was meant, but his safety was priority. it didn’t matter how your heart was bleeding, begging and pleading for you to not go through with breaking him. selfish is what you were, spending one last night in his arms and able to pretend that you could have something good happen for once in your life. he deserved more than that, he deserved all the love this world has to offer and more.

but that’s not how life goes.

so you kept your nose to the grindstone and worked till you bled and then worked till it scabbed and bled again. champ, thank god for champ, has been keeping jack as busy as he could reasonably ask to be. it kept you from thinking of jack and the way his dark eyes haunted your dreams. the way dream-jack would cry, voice cracking as he begged you to stay and tell him how he could fix whatever broke between you.

but there wasn’t anything jack had the power to fix. someone found his address and knew that he was yours, sending photos and calling you to make threats about getting revenge for their boss you killed on your last mission. you would rather offer yourself to the bastards on a silver platter than let anyone hurt your cowboy. if he was pulled into statesman business because of you, you don’t know what you would have done besides the fact that you could not be held responsible for your actions.

but what could you do, tell your boyfriend that you weren’t really in marketing after eight months together? that you killed people day in and day out, had the blood of hundreds on your hands and smeared that blood on his body when you came home to him?

you could just imagine how well that would go down.

you decided to make him hate you, convince him that you didn’t love him. that he wasn’t the motivation to keep going during missions, to stay safe because you didn’t want him to learn the truth about your work through news of your death.

you were many things, liar being on top of the list these days.

jack didn’t want to be in that house any longer than he needed to be. packing quicker than he had in nearly a year. he decided he’d leave his heart behind, damning the organ to seep into the floorboards, echoes of its beating permeating the air with every thunk of his boots against the hardwood.

if that house wasn’t where you were when “i love you” was spoken for the first time, he’d have sold it. if that bronco parked out front wasn’t the one you’d ride shotgun in, singing loudly to every song that sang through the fm dial, he’d have wrecked it.

jack found himself in a conundrum; he wanted to forget you and everything that made him fall in love with you, but he didn’t want to lose the only pieces of you that he had left.

the clothes you left here lost your smell far sooner than he thought they should have, and seeing every hanger in his closet in use, every garment accounted for, skewered him more than he thought it would.

when you spent the night there was always one hanger empty, and when he’d investigate as to the missing shirt’s whereabouts, it would always be on you. didn’t matter if you wore it buttoned or unbuttoned, or if you simply had it draped around you because it was another way to feel closer to him, even if he were only in the other room.

you were suffocating him in your memory and his heart and brain couldn’t choose whether to fight to breathe or let himself succumb.

it was another two weeks of light work when champ called you with a mission a bit more important than anything you’ve had in a while. a fellow agent sent to the badlands of montana hasn’t been making contact for far too long and it was your job to bring him home.

“mary, he’s one of our best. bring him home in one piece.”

“wouldn’t settle for less, champ. who is it, anyway? i’m hoping to god tequila isn’t who you’re thinking is one of your best.”

he chuckled and you could picture him shaking his head with a smirk. he was well aware of the somewhat friendly competition between the two of you and sometimes it was plenty amusing. other times, not so much. then he cleared his throat the way he only does when he’s dealing a harsh blow and your hair stood on end in preparation for what he was about to say.

“it’s whiskey, mary. we think his cover was blown.”

well, that was anticlimactic. “you say his name as if it’s supposed to mean something to me, champ. i’ve never met him a day in my life.”

he sputters for a second and isn’t sure whether he should call you on your shit or go along with your naivety since, if it were real, would be helpful in keeping you from making any rash decisions in the field.

see, champ caught on real early to the relationship statuses of two of his best agents. in the beginning he debated on whether or not to separate the two of you, but after a few months passed by and the quality of your work didn’t depreciate, he decided against it. let them have the happiness they earned, he figured, it wasn’t getting anyone killed.

for the sake of this productivity, he just pulled strings to keep the two of you from being assigned missions together. since the two of you never brought it up with him, he just assumed that you both agreed with his decision.

now he wasn’t so sure that either of you even knew that you were both statesman. oh fuck, this was gonna be fun, especially when they find out that he’d been knowing about the two of you, oh well, nothing to be done now. you were the only one he could trust with this operation and besides, it’s high time the two of you were completely honest with each other.

one thing jack’s learned during his capture, it’s that time was a social construct. the room he’s been in had no windows and the guard rotations were deliberately sporadic, purposefully switching shifts to fuck with his head. the minutes and hours and days blurred by pain and agony as they used nearly every possible torture method trying to get information from him that he didn’t know, stopping just short of killing him each time.

outside of his own blood pounding in his ears and the voices of his captors when they beat him, it was complete silence until a strained phone call was made outside of the door to his personal hell.

“your boss didn’t say he was statesman! i lost several good men on this operation, you owe me big time!” jack assumed they were talking about him, but wait a minute. didn’t they go after him because he was statesman? didn’t he slip up somehow and that’s what got him in this situation?

he doesn’t remember much from the fight he lost that ended with him in the very chair he was in right then, he just remembers them mentioning what he thought to be a name: bloody mary. he didn’t recognize the name from around the agency, so maybe instead of alluding to the beverage, they were hinting at the ghost that haunted mirrors. he didn’t like either option so he pushed it away, unsure of what this bloody mary had to do with him being here.

they’d been asking him about her ever since he got here, and for the first time he was honest during an interrogation. they still hit him, somehow convinced that he was involved with this mystery woman. what was even stranger was that they didn’t even give him some cockamamey evidence, doctored photos that could “attest” to his involvement.

“no! you send your men to come get him! and bring more to replace the ones your idiocy cost me!” a long silence from the man who’d led his interrogations, and a sigh. “have someone send the photos. he’s still not giving information… it’s been a week and he’s near dead, we push too hard and we lose any chance of getting the information… alright. let me know when they’re close.”

oh, they’re gonna bring photos pretty soon. finally he’ll have some sort of explanation as to why he’s here.

but then he hears gunshots outside of his little prison and his senses are immediately on edge. “secure the prisoner! secure the prisoner secure the-” the frantic shouts of one of the guards was cut off by a gurgling noise jack could only guess was his own blood.

this meant two things: someone was here to take whiskey and he had no idea whether he’d prefer a statesman rescue or for whoever his captors were trying to deliver him to. if the latter happens, maybe he can get a read on what kind of threat this “bloody mary” poses.

he’s never longed more for his whip and lasso and his revolver, to go out there and kill every single one of them that fucked with him. but he could barely stand or move as it was, leaving this room was a death sentence right now. stay put, he decided, and see what life has in store for him now.

he was never one to admire fictional characters all that much, but in that moment his mind wandered to the wizard of oz. he remembers watching it with you one night on your couch, you having won a bet that ended in you choosing the movie for movie night.

the tin man stood out the most to jack. here he was, an impenetrable force that yearned for a heart despite the weaknesses such an organ possessed. hypothetically, if the tin man were real, he would offer the man a bargain: your armor for my heart.

now jack wasn’t a con man. he wouldn’t say he was selling a fully functional heart all in one piece. no, he’d tell the tin man straight, that his heart was in pieces and has been pretty worn down over the years. after all, it isn’t like that armor of his hasn’t seen better days.

yeah, jack would be willing to do far too much to get just a scrap of that armor.

he’s too busy entertaining this idea through his hazy delirium that he doesn’t notice the door opening and one of the men approaching him in haste, hands beginning to grab at him, probably to take him away from whoever is attacking his prison.

they both hear the sound of footsteps from the doorway and whiskey’s vision is blocked by the man that was about to move his aching body from its crumpled position.

“turn around and step away from him. now!” the new voice shouted. it was a woman, he realized. what if this was the bloody mary in question? his broken mind could only imagine the opportunities that are falling at his feet.

the man turns, hands raised and whiskey could faintly make out the rapid breathing of the man scared shitless of the looming figure. “b-bloody mary, i-”

“save it. you’ve made a mistake crossing me, thornton. did you forget what happens to the men that dare fuck with me?”

there we go. this was perfect, exactly the woman he wanted to see. he had no idea what his future held, but getting an escort out of here by a woman who clearly wasn’t planning on leaving here without him (and wouldn’t hesitate to kill to ensure that outcome) was like a gift from god.

there was a silent screaming in the back of his mind that told him to pay more attention to the next time bloody mary spoke, that he was missing out on a critical detail by allowing himself to slip into near comatose.

“b-b-but i was gonna g-give you half the money once i handed him over! i swear it!”

“i don’t want your money, thornton. what i’d like back is the time i wasted tracking your slimy ass, but this will do.”

he hears a thunk and suddenly he’s covered in red and thornton’s body is crumpling to the ground, an arrow between his eyes and blood quickly pooling around him. before he passes out, he risks a look at the face of the crossbow-wielding woman who holds his life in her hands.

it’s you.

he has to be delusional. you can’t be here, splattered in blood and dirt and picking him up in your arms. his angel clad in crimson, one foot pressed to the dead man’s head as you yank the arrow out with force he didn’t think you had. you can’t be the one who asks him where his weapons are, jack lifting a trembling hand towards the trunk in the far corner as you pull out his trusted whip and lasso

you can’t be going back one by one to the men you left alive and ending their lives with barely contained rage as you guide him out of the prison he’s been trapped in for god only knows how long. and what was in the canteen you were emptying as you walked through towards the doors?

there was no way on god’s green earth that you were the one flicking open a zippo before tossing the chrome lighter on top of the puddle of what his brain is now telling him is lighter fluid, carrying him bridal style towards the cherry red ford edsel convertible as his hell went up in flames.

he feels himself be gently laid down in the back of the car, a soft hand coming up to cup his cheek and stroking away a tear jack didn’t realize he shed. it really was you, he realized as he met your eyes, eyebrows wrinkled in fear that he felt guilty for giving you.

“you’ll be alright, jack. we’re gonna get you some help, you’re gonna be okay, i swear it baby,” his heart clenched when your voice cracked at the end, his vision going black before he can say or do anything to soothe the ache he knows you’re feeling.

“you son of a bitch, you knew?!” jack knows that voice.

“of course i did, i wouldn’t be doing my job if i didn’t! and you two weren’t slackin off so i thought-” jack knew that voice too. but why did it seem as if they knew each other?

“so when it became apparent that i didn’t know that jack was a statesman, you didn’t think to tell me?!”

“it could have jeopardized the mission if i told you then!”

a loud slap echoes through the room as you loudly call champ a motherfucker, the insult followed by a demand for privacy.

a door clicks shut and for a second jack’s body is preparing him for another hit from an assailant or sparks of electricity from the car battery they electrocuted him with a time or two. his muscles tense all the same when instead of pain, much to his surprise, the touch is feather light and tender.

“jack… baby i’m so sorry, for everything i did. for leaving, for saying such hateful things,” he hears you sniffle and if he could move his body right then he’d wipe away the tears streaking your dirty face if he could move one. they had him so doped up on muscle relaxers and painkillers and whatnot that he was still unsure of whether you were even here.

“i didn’t mean any of it i swear, fuck i love you jack and-” you cut yourself off with the beginnings of a sob, taking a few heaving breaths before you were able to continue.

that is, until he felt your lips quivering against his in a kiss unlike any you’ve shared in the past. every kiss with whiskey was confident, whether it was the passionate connection of kiss-swollen lips as you made love or the gentle pecks when you were just being, cuddling during movie nights or when swaying around the kitchen while cooking. it was a confidence born of two people who knew they were meant to be together and would continue to be. that confidence was gone now.

the anxiety buried behind this kiss burned worse than the cigarettes his captors put out against his skin. you were scared he’d turn you away, tell you that he didn’t want you anywhere near him after how you broke his heart.

you flinch when he pushes his face closer to yours, trying to tame the way your lips shook because he loves you, he misses you, he forgives you. your eyes widen when he does this and your hands are immediately cupping his face and wiping away the tears that were starting to drop from his eyes.

“hello darlin’,” he chokes out. “it’s nice to see you.”

you let out a wet laugh at his reference. of course jack’ s gonna start singing conway right now. “it’s been a long while, you’re just as lovely as you used to be.” your hands hold his face firmly as you bend lower and let your lips linger on the ones you’ve been without for the past two months.

“will ya lay with me, sweetheart?”

“always, jack.”

you maneuver your body around jack’s in the bed he was laying in, humming in content when he kisses your forehead. there’s a lot of obstacles ahead for the two of you, but it’s not anything two statesman agents can’t handle with their hands intertwined.

jack was never happier to not have traded his heart for armor.

[skyview-temple-spring]

Title: Damage Control (originally called by the prompt title Please...) Rating: T Pairings: Ghiralink and Ghiralink only (though past Zelink is fine too) Warnings: Implied Character Death, Mild Body Horror Summary: Canon Divergent Dark! Link AU (but not really)

"It's just a precaution. A safety measure. I'm sure you understand."

He does. He agreed, after all. It was a condition of joining, a fail safe to make sure he wasn't a double agent. (Even if he is. If he can go through with it.) Ghirahim's idea, one he had been lucky to convince the demon king would work. Link nods slowly, stiffly, back straight and hands folded in his lap. He's not going to back out now.

"Besides, think of the power you'll have! Near immortality, invulnerability, increased strength, and you don't even have to lift a finger!"

It is very appealing. He wants it, really. He's still scared, of course, still terrified of his own actions and unsure if he's made the right choice.

"It won't hurt too much. I promise. You'll survive. It will be wonderful." Ghirahim steps closer, taking Link's head into his hands. Link doesn't flinch, doesn't move, doesn't acknowledge Ghirahim's presence, even when a kiss is pressed to his head.

You were late, hero.

You were late, and you failed her.

In the end, it was the best decision for everyone. Zelda was no longer counting on him, after all. He wasn't giving them false hope. This way, maybe he had a chance at some sort of damage control.

Ghirahim sighs, brushing his fingers through Link's hair. Another reassurance is on the tip of his tongue, Link can tell, but his motions still. Looking back to the door, he rests a hand on Link's shoulder.

"It's time."

His heart couldn't be beating faster, his nerves strung any tighter. Not that it will be a problem soon. Ghirahim takes his hand, guides him to his feet, and kisses him again.

"I'm so proud of you, darling. You won't regret this."

It's as if he's outside of his body as they make their way down the hall. It's not him anymore, not Link as Ghirahim guides the ex-hero through the castle, twisting down, down, down dark hallways until the soft light of the moon is no more, the torches snuffed out as the demon passes by. Link shivers in the cold, and reminds himself that won't be a problem anymore, either.

"We're here, dear."

Ghirahim pushes open a foreboding door, the intricate patterns springing to life with a red glow. It means nothing to him.

Link walks ahead, as if marching towards his own death, and for all intents and purposes, he is. The boy from Skyloft is long gone. The hero is no more.

The chamber is dark. Demise is waiting for them, new sword in hand. Distantly, Link recognizes that as his future form, the vessel his soul will be trapped in for the rest of eternity.

Ghirahim is behind him again, coaxing him forward towards a stone table, glowing with the same red runes as the door. The whole room is alight with this magic, shadows dancing across the ceiling and walls as the glow flickers like flames.

The sword spirit's hands are light on his sides. Ghirahim had been unusually kind to him, after he came, broken down, to his doorstep, begging for a way out. He had been gentle, soft, even, caring for him as he sobbed and shook, pleading and admitting he was in over his head. He had kissed him for the first time that night, sealing the pact and trapping Link in his web.

He didn't mind Link's distant attitude after, long bouts of motionless silence followed by a hunger for attention, needy pleas and cries for affection. He gave it willingly in return for roughness, bruises and cuts and marks that Link didn't mind.

It was his idea, in the end. To become a sword spirit.

Ghirahim helped forge the sword, choosing from blades and hilts like they were wedding dresses not weapons, a special occasion he should be happy about, and it had to be perfect.

But for Link, this was an execution. A sacrifice. A rebirth.

Ghirahim presses another kiss to his neck before beginning his ceremonial spiel, presenting Link as a willing participant to his master, bowing and groveling and flattering the demon king with all he had, trying to keep him appeased and calm. Demise couldn't care less.

Link waits patiently for Ghirahim to finish, absently wondering if he will pass out early and not have to feel it for long. He never had a high pain tolerance.

Finishing his monologue, Ghirahim catches Link off guard with a push forward, sending him scrambling to catch his balance. The spirit's finger's slip underneath Link's shirt, snapping him from his dissociative thoughts.

"Hey! You never said anything about...." Link gasps, tucking his arms in on himself until Ghirahim swats them away.

"You'll be stuck with them forever if you don't take them off—stop fussing."

He protests still, whatever is left of his “unbreakable spirit” choosing to rear its head now, of all times. Ghirahim sighs, and lets go.

"You don't want to end up like your spirit, do you?"

Honestly, he wouldn't mind. No emotions means no emotional pain, no anger or sadness or frustration. It’s a possibility he will accept. 

Link mutters his indifference, quivering as Ghirahim scoops him into his arms.

"It'll be over before you know it. Stop struggling." Ghirahim coos, laying Link down on the cold slab. His hand drifts over his chest, where in a few hours time, a gem will appear.

Link's breathing speeds up. He is feeling the onset of panic, having second thoughts that maybe this isn't the only option, maybe he should have tried to fight harder. Words he doesn't understand invade his ears, motions that are a blur to his frantic mind pass by, his heart is pounding in his chest, blood roaring in his ears as black spots dance across his vision and—

Everything stops. All he focuses on is the blade held high above his chest, pointed down and ready to strike.

"Wait—!"

It's too late. Link screams as it plunges into the place a gem will form, excruciating pain spreading from the wound, burning away at his skin, magic eating at his core and changing his very being. It hurts, it hurts more than he can take, it is worse than death.

"Stop! Please!" He cries, but the blade only seems to burrow in farther. Ghirahim is by his side, stroking his hair as he sobs and writhes in the torture, whispering praises and reassurances.

"You're doing so well, Link. Let it happen. Let it go. It's almost over. I can already see your core forming, isn't that wonderful? It's almost done. You made the right choice."

"No! Get it out! Hylia, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, please, goddess, forgive me!"

He cries helplessly, knowing he will be ignored. He had agreed to this. He told them to do it. He can't stop now.

Link pants harder, struggling for each breath. It feels as if his lungs are solidifying, everything in his body shutting down and stopping, ceasing functions he needs to live. His blood is turning to molten lava, his eyes are glazing over.

As it goes on, he feels more numb. Maybe he is dying, maybe this is the end. This is his punishment. Maybe it won't work, maybe he'll wake up in his bed on Skyloft and it will have all been a nightmare. But as his limbs grow heavy, his eyes feel hard to keep open, and his mind grows empty with a desire to serve, Link focuses on Ghirahim's smile, his whispers meant only for him.

By the time it is over, Link can't feel anything. He can't move, frozen in place, nearly blind and deaf. He feels nothing, not even his heart beating.

The sword is drawn from his chest, clean of any blood.

"No more...."

And no more comes.

---

When he awakes, he is still on the stone slab, but the room is brighter. Fire light illuminates the dark figure at his side, kneeling with head resting on crossed arms upon the table.

"Oh! You're awake!" The demon snaps up, grabbing onto his hand. Link turns his head to see black against green, a shimmering diamond pattern synching up with each other's hand.

"See? It wasn't that bad, was it?"

It had been. It had been so much worse than he imagined, but it was over now, at least. Shifting his head back, he lets it rest on the stone, becoming aware of how everything felt.

He can still feel, emotionally and physically, which is a surprise. He is stiff, like rock, and his chest is sore. It's a different kind of feeling, not one he is used to, and he feels as if he is lacking something, desperate for a missing piece.

Ghirahim smiles down at him, gently stroking his hand. His gaze washes over his body, something akin to pity filling his empty white eyes.

"You're really very pretty, Link—an emerald sort of green. Green and gold, and your gem is gorgeous. Like the sky."

Link only nods. It hurts. Everything hurts. He makes to sit up, but cries out as his limbs crack, creaking like a rusty gear. Ghirahim rushes to press a hand behind his back, helping as Link swings his legs off the table.

"Oh, careful, careful, not so fast! It's difficult to get used to, yes, but before you know it you'll understand. And this!" Ghirahim brushes over his new gem, Link wincing at the touch, "You'll love this! It's so sensitive, wait until our Master first pulls your sword from it, or it heals so that soon," He smiles down at Link, taking his befuddled face into his hands. “soon enough, I'll teach you to shift forms. Not now, don't even try now. You need rest, to heal."

Ghirahim helps him stand, Link wobbly as he holds on for dear life. The other spirit laughs gently at his struggle, sighing when Link glances forlornly towards the exit.

"I expect you're feeling lost. I was too when I woke up, but Master was there for me. Unfortunately, he had matters to attend to, but I can take you to him now. The ache will dull, eventually, and you'll be able to stray further with only a weak bond, but for now, you yearn, don't you? You simply ache with the need to serve? To be used?"

Link nods, finally putting words to what he feels. It is like... like he has a purpose, one purpose, one goal now. All that matters is finding it.

That, and the spirit he is clinging to. Ghirahim seems to feel the same.

"Come now," The sword coos, taking Link's arm with his own, "It's time I introduce you to our Master."

[georgemackayhey]

Rules For Falling In Love: #5

summary: In which George wants to get married. But… you’re not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: Here it is! The end. This was such a fun, sweet, comforting little story to write. This month has been hell and I'm so so sorry it took me longer than planned to get this finished. But I can say with 98% confidence that I'm ready to be back in action! Boxer!George should be coming out soon for sure. I'm so thankful to all you lovelies who've stuck around for this easy breezy fic.

w/c: 2k

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You have to tell him, you know that. The longer you go on feeling so attached to him, the fiercer you realize that he needs to know. It's not your goal to see how long you can wait until something blows up and gets ruined in the process. Because something surely will, if you linger too long. But every time you gathered your nerves to try to come out and say it, the words get  stuck in your throat.

George would get a call from his agent seconds before you planned to storm into the living room and demand his attention. So you just kept bustling toward the kitchen, like you'd only been craving leftovers so ravenously.

When you pulled him aside during his family's weekend dinners, his sister would interrupt, begging for advice, or demanding you team up for some board game that couldn't ever wait. And when you got home, and Geogre asked if everything was alright, you'd lost all the nerve to say how you were really feeling.

And then, before your eyes, life forced you apart. Well, as far as you could split while remaining close as ever.

Your job became less of a second home and more like some sort of twisted sleep away camp. You couldn't remember a time you'd worked with such fervor. Maybe you'd only agreed to pick up your careers pace as some sort of torturous distraction. But you were quick to complain about how badly you'd rather be home watching trashy reality shows with your best friend.

George wasn't there, anyway. He was off filming some indie flick several towns away. The house was dark when you came home, void of bustle and whatever excitement that usually awaited when you passed through the door.

You went on for a month missing him. You went on for a month grossly surprised by how empty the space felt without Geogre. How empty you felt. It didn't help when ladies at the market and neighbors down the road asked after your husband. Sometimes, you'd forget the promise you'd made to each other. Some times you'd stare at your ring, afraid it didn't belong on your finger. Afraid someone else deserved to share in life so vastly with the guy you'd been close with for longer than some distant family members; or friends who made passing promises to stick around forever.

You thought of calling Dean and asking what to do. But you knew he was off with his own love. And this was something you'd have to figure out on your own, for both you and Geogre.

When he finally got home, you were too relieved to have him back to ruin anything. Too happy to waste days off taking walks along the waterfront together. Too content to hear his clattering about the kitchen in the mornings to disrupt the way of things. You asked often of his time away, of the friends he'd made. Geogre told you all his saved up stories on days you demanded off, trying to feel like less of a cog in the machine, and more at home in your own home.

Geogre made it easy to forget how confused he made you feel. Geogre was all laughs, head thrown back as you mucked about in the warm weather. He was silly questions shrouded in serious tones. He was quiet as the sun set while you read different books in the same room. He was everything that you'd come to adore. He was everything you were so afraid of losing, that you pushed yourself away from clinging too.

And when you went back to work, you blamed the long shifts and on your endless headaches. You'd blame your coworkers and the late hours on why you felt so bad. But work was nothing. Work was the closest thing to peace and quiet you had when your thoughts stuck on loop, echoing Georges name.

You'd get back home at the end of everyday and your heart would leap out of your chest at the sight of your best friend lounging on the sofa. You'd get home and Geogre would twirl you right back out for a spontaneous night on the town. Your stomach would flip when his hand met the small of your back in crowded pubs and on long walks home.

And even in crowded spaces when your favorite songs happened to blare from speakers and some mutual friends stood outside to share an hour long alley way chat, you still couldn't shake the dread sinking in your stomach and weighing you down.

And, of course, Geogre noticed. He lingered in the door way of your room as you switched out the lights for the evening, and asked you to tell him what was wrong. He spoke low and sweetly, insisting he wasn't turning down the hall until you fessed up to what was on your mind. When you still couldn't, he started guessing...

"Your job?" He wondered, knowing it was bound to turn your hair grey before mother nature got her natural say. He wondered after your family. He asked about your friends.

"I... I haven't done something have I?" George worried, suddenly. Your heart sank as you watched his eyes go dim under furrowed brows.

"No." You shook your head sorrily. "No Geogre, I'm sorry. I just really need to get some sleep, okay?"

He watched you with those big sad blue eyes as you shut the door to your room. The image of his worried expression remained in your head as you tossed and turned all night long.

Geogre was all you thought about till your alarm went off. He's all you saw on your drive to your job, and the only thing in the back of your mind as you moved through the motions of your work day. You broke the speed limit on the way home. Because You know he'd be there. You knew he'd greet you warmly. And above all things, you knew your time was up.

When you finally made it past the welcome mat of your entry way, you dropped your bags near the coat rack when you noticed George. He was sat cozily, scribbling away at some script. His focus would usually remain unbroken during such a task, but now, he turned his gaze up toward you with a small grin and a basic welcome home. Against your better judgment, and instead of willing out a simple hello, something broke. The dam holding back all your built up thoughts and feelings snapped under the weight of Georges soft gaze, and sprung tears to your eyes.

You stood stone still, willing your eyes to stop welling up with every bit of strength you had left.

"Whoa, what's wrong? Why are you crying." George tossed his script aside and moved to approach you. You watched in a watery sheen as he stalled before you with an arm reached out, as if to gesture you be the one to close the space.

"I've broken a rule." You admitted through your teeth, your jaw clamped shut in every effort to keep the last of you from falling apart. You watched Georges pretty face , his sea coloured eyes locking on to yours, prepared for the worst, it seemed; prepared to listen to whatever it was.

"I'm in love with someone." You spoke, struggling to hold back the waver in your voice.

"Okay." George softly responded, still frozen in place in front of where you had frozen all the same. His eyes shifted across your features, waiting for the penny to drop. Waiting for everything to change. These were the last moments you got of the reality you'd come to know and love. Maybe that was why you were still quiet, afraid of the transition. You watched Geogre seem to decide between one thousand responses before killing the silence by asking, "With who?"

In a shocking display of bravery you blurted out the answer as if you'd been ready to say it forever, even though it felt like the scariest thing you've ever had to do.

"It's obviously you." You cried, tears bursting through your will power to hold them in, pathetic sounds escaping your throat.

"Then... why're you crying?" Geogre asked, softly still. His curious gaze had grown even more perplexed, head cocked in confusion as he drifted a minuscule amount closer.

"We never wrote out a rule for this." You cried harder, hanging your head in your hands. How could something so terrifying feel like a weight off your shoulders?

You felt George reach out to you, either of his hands on your elbows. You wiped your eyes in time to watch as he gently pulled you along on his way toward the kitchen. You floated along, trying to pull yourself together for whatever chat that was about to take place.

Geogre was deadly quiet as he halted you near a row of cupboards. You leaned against them as Geogre turned and crossed to the other side of the room. You were still focused on remembering how to breathe, so much so that you didn't notice what Geogre was up to until he's almost finished.

"What are you doing?" You asked in a hoarse whisper. Geogre was leaning against the opposite counter space with a pencil in his hand. He locked eyes with you for a second that felt like forever before looking back down to whatever he'd just written. Then he started taking small steps closer to you as he started reading...

rules for falling in love:

one. do it.

two. throw away the other rules.

three. go on a big ridiculous anniversary trip every year as originally planned.

You listened on, each word adding up the perfect formula to make your head spin. The tears that felt so hot and bitter on their recent escape were now only shed out of relief as you tried to wrap your head around what Geogre was saying. It was only when he glanced up from his words that you knew he wasn't just trying to make you feel better. He was serious.

George tossed aside the little grey notebook as your flung your arms around his neck, crying out the last of every built up feeling you'd stored away for so long. He held onto you, one hand secure on your back, the other tangled in your hair, while your cries turned to chuckles of disbelief.

"I'm glad you said something." Geogre mumbled into your hair as you clung to him. "I've been trying for months."

"What?" You laughed, pulled away to shoot Geogre a look. He brushed the last of the tears from under your eyes and spoke up again.

"I mean... I just really couldn't pin down the right time to tell my wife how desperately in love with her I've fallen. It's quite the pickle we'd found ourselves in you know?"

You laughed, somehow feeling the exact opposite of the way than you had been the last month or so, all because of Geogre.

"You make everything better."

"I can make it better yet." Geogre spoke in a hush, before leaning in to kiss you. It wasn't the kind of first kiss that sent lightning through your veins, or a thunder through your heart. It was the kind of kiss that calmed to storm already raging within you. Georges lips were as warm as sunlight, melding perfectly against yours.

It seemed like hours wasted away in the dark of the kitchen, kissing him. You'd never felt more at home.

///

It didn't take long for you to switch bedrooms. Half of your clothes were already mixed in Georges closet from back when you'd ran out of space in your own. You moved a couple picture frames and pillows about, and turned the guest room back to its original form in the matter of a couple of days. You joked how all the hard bits were over. Your things had been moved, and your name had been changed.  All that was left to do was enjoy each other completely.

It was easy to be in love with Geogre, with the way he was so taken with you. It was easy to sit even closer together, and fight over what to watch, like always. It was even more of a comfort reach back to Geogre when he reached out to you. The best part was, nothing was news to the people who knew you. They didn't bat an eye when Geogre kissed you goodbye, hello, or just because.

And as giddy as a school girl as you were to waste days off with your lips pressed together, it didn't take much getting used too. Kissing George was like drinking a gallon of water after being stranded in Sahara heat, the water cooler always just out of reach. His kisses were full of all the things there weren't words for. Full of love and lust and longing that had no name, or glare powerful enough to trade.

George's lingering touches were something to marvel. No longer did he let his hand drift away after reaching out to give you some kind of comfort. His finger laces through yours and held on through movies and long walks. His arm fit around your waist to keep you near, wherever you were. He was still just as private as he pulled you along red carpets and behind scenes. But the both of you were certain and proud to belong together, whenever any one asked.

And you were still always right on time for Sunday dinner. Because even when some things changed for better or worse, somethings stayed the way they were always meant too. You still brought along flowers and wine and knickknacks each weekend you were welcomed into the family home. It was a tradition you just couldn't let break, even when you showed up to George's parent's place to attend a celebration in your very own honor.

You and Geogre had been married for a whole year. Which meant Dean and Claire had been seeing each other for just as long. They were invited to Geogre's parents garden too, because they'd made more than enough Sunday brunch to celebrate the milestone.

You were snug against George's side, sipping spiked punch in the warm afternoon, when Claire and Dean showed up. You'd made quite the tradition of spending as much time together as possible. From roadtrips to midnight milkshake runs, the four of you mucked about like the cast of some outdated afterschool special. It was only natural that their presence at your party was a must.

George's father meandered out to the garden, clapped Dean on the back and yammered about how the lad was like family. George's mother showed up, laying out sweets before jumped in with eager agreement.

"You two are my only hope for grandchildren, you know?" She pointed, almost joking, but you knew she really wasn't. So you weren't very shocked when Geogre spoke up,

"Well we've sort of changed our minds about that."

You'd been talking about it. Because you sure as hell weren't going to become a parent without writing out a few rules first. This was how things always had always gone with you and George. You'd talk about it, go about it, then you'd share the news.  "Oh, we're going away for the weekend." -"Oh, were living together now." -"Oh, we're getting married." -"Oh, we got married." -"Oh, yeah... we're gonna start a family." If any major life even happened in any other fashion, you might not have lasted so long as a pair. And you were certain you'd keep on that way, together.

You stayed lounged happily at your husband's side while his mother dramatically praised the heavens. His sister spun into her usual hysterics, while George's father laughed at the scene from the sidelines, after giving the pair of you a silly thumbs up. Claire shot you a wink before saving you from everyone's theatrical attention, shifting discussion to her recent travels.

When Dean shifted to reach for some of the desserts rested in the middle of your gathering, he shot you a look. It was a glare similar to the expression he gave you when you stayed sea side, shortly after getting married. Dean didn't need to say "I told ya so" but you could tell he desperately wanted too. So you flashed your middle finger his way and let yourself laugh as he feigned offense, before settling in to listen to his lady tell a story.  

You were already settled. Already happy. Finally right where you belonged, in the place you adored with all the people who loved you as much as you loved them. You decidedly wouldn't have traded the way things went for the world, because you figured you and Geogre belonged together, no matter the rules.

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