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sex-lapis · 2 years

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Happy New Year, Zhongli-sensei

Mandatory Zhonglumi birthday smut, please enjoy

The history department year end party was, to Zhongli, something to be endured rather than enjoyed. His fellow academics were a tightly wound bunch, and adding alcohol to the mix always ended in an argument over some minor historical point. The fact that he generally knew the true answer to whatever it was they were fighting about added another layer of unpleasantness to the entire event, and more often than not, he ended up sat in a corner, laughing to himself over a glass of wine.

This year he had excused himself on the stroke of midnight, fireworks serenading his walk home. The streets around him were quiet, and it seemed to Zhongli as if the whole world were inside, cocooned from the cold and rain by the warmth of family and friends. Well, everyone apart from him.

He was nearly to his apartment when he saw one of his students, sat on the pavement. His favourite student, in fact. Lumine, who would listen to him prattle on and tell anecdotes about obscure battles and generals, whether they were on the syllabus or not.

She was wearing the same clothes she’d worn to his lecture that morning, the thin white fabric of her blouse sticking to her skin in the rain. Her head was bowed against the rain, and she didn’t look up until she sighted Zhongli’s shoes.

“Sensei-” she started, eyes widening.

Zhongli held his umbrella over her, a futile gesture, but one he felt compelled to make. “Lumine? Are you okay? Do you have somewhere you can go?”

Wordlessly Lumine shook her head, and Zhongli stepped closer, holding his arm out for her.

“Come with me,” he said, pausing as her golden gaze fell on him, uncertain. “I can make you some tea, at least.”

She nodded, and her hand was small and cold in his as he helped her up. “You won’t tell the school?” she said, and some small part of Zhongli’s heart cracked.

“I’m your teacher, Lumine. I have a duty of care to you, not the college.” He sighed, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over her shoulders. “Let’s get inside, before you catch a cold.”

What else are you good for, when you’re six thousand years old, except for perhaps teaching history? He hadn’t had much in mind when he’d retired from being Liyue’s emperor, but immortal or not, he still needed somewhere to live, and the bills wouldn’t pay themselves.

Zhongli busied himself with preparing the tea, trying not to think about how Lumine’s golden eyes had gone huge as she stepped through his doorway. His apartment was modest enough, but the same couldn’t be said about the contents.

He’d been earnest enough when he’d vowed to live like a normal man, but Zhongli was in truth no monk. The trappings of his position, of his divinity, had followed him all the way to his humble teacher’s apartment. His favourite incense burners, his cases full of rare scrolls, even some of the weapons he had crafted hung from the walls.

“Is this… real?” Lumine asked, fingers tracing the edge of a silk wall hanging.

Zhongli cleared his throat, putting the tea set down on a folding mahogany table that had been a gift from the queen of a neighbouring country, now defunct, probably only existing on the maps of historians like himself. “Please excuse the clutter. I had to downsize somewhat.”

“Oh, are you divorced?” Lumine’s expression was questioning.

“Widowed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Without warning, Lumine’s hand was on his arm, her golden eyes looking up at him with concern. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright,” Zhongli managed, his voice strangled as Lumine’s touch short circuited a part of his brain. If he were still emperor he would make her a concubine. The thought rose to the forefront of Zhongli’s mind and stayed there like an unwelcome guest. He would make her a concubine and put her in her own little palace, his to visit and dress up and play with.

If Lumine knew the effect she was having on him, she didn’t show it. “Still, I’m sorry.”

Zhongli shook his head, pouring a cup of tea for each of them. “If there is one thing that one learns in the study of history,” he said. “It is that tragic circumstances are rarely unique. I am hardly the only person in this world who has undergone loss, or heartbreak.” Gently, he slid Lumine’s cup towards her, a prompt. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

“You’ll keep it a secret?”

“Between us,” Zhongli confirmed, taking a sip of his own tea.

“My brother’s missing,” Lumine confided, her voice low and full of shame. “He was my only family, and I can’t afford the apartment without him, so…”

“You were evicted,” Zhongli finished for her.

Lumine bowed her head in confirmation, liquid tears forming at the corners of her eyes. Zhongli’s reached for his handkerchief, not really thinking, and Lumine blinked in surprise as he dabbed her tears away.

“Don’t cry,” Zhongli breathed. “It’ll be alright.”

“You can’t tell anyone! Not my friends, not the college-”

“I made a promise, did I not?” Zhongli eyed the bottom of his teacup. “I am not a man who breaks his promises. We will find a solution, in time. But for now, you should stay here.”

“With you?” Lumine’s eyes widened.

Zhongli nodded, wishing not for the first time that his residence was larger. “I’ll roll out a futon for you.”

—

That night he dreamed of a golden figure, crawling over him, pinning him down, pushing up his nightclothes. A tug on his hair roused him, and as he came groggily to consciousness Zhongli found that his dream had been very much founded in reality. She was on top of him, in his bed, sitting up astride his waist, the covers pushed aside.

“Sensei, let me fuck you,” Lumine whispered, and Zhongli felt the heat and wetness of her sweet cunt where it pressed against his navel, his nightshirt riding up where she had unbuttoned it. “Please.”

Zhongli opened his eyes fully and immediately regretted it. Lumine wore one of his dress shirts, her breasts peeking out where it was half buttoned, her mussed golden hair framing her flushed face in the half light. Zhongli’s body betrayed him like a sea monster rising from the depths, his mouth dry and his cock turgid. “Lumine!” he rasped, caught between covering his face and pushing her away. But there was nowhere safe to touch, only her deliciously naked thighs and hips, her slender waist, her tantalizing breasts.

“It’s okay, sensei.” Lumine leaned forward, taking his hands, strands of her hair falling over his chest and collar. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me take you.”

Zhongli stared up at her, trying to push the ache of his cock to the back of his mind. He was bigger than her, stronger than her. He could pick her up and put her back in her own bed, like the gentleman he pretended he was. But he didn’t. “You don’t have to do this, Lumine.”

Lumine’s expression was amused. “But I want to,” she said, pushing herself back against his cock.

Zhongli groaned as Lumine took him in, cunt so warm and wet that it was almost unreal. Her walls gripped him, at once tight and velvety, the feel of her sublime.

“See? You want me too, don’t you.” Lumine’s small hands squeezed his as she rocked her hips, the change in angle ripping a gasp from Zhongli’s throat.

“I-” Zhongli had never been a liar. “Yes,” he confessed, voice hoarse. “Keep going, little student. Make me spill myself inside you.”

“Sensei-” Lumine whimpered as she kept rocking, the sound of her voice enough to make Zhongli twitch, close to the edge of his endurance already.

Zhongli bucked his hips, driving another moan from his favourite student’s lips as he wrested his hands from hers, grabbing her by the hips and fucking up into her.

Lumine whimpered and begged in nonsense syllables as he took her, air driven out of her in time with his thrusts, the wet noise of her cunt filling his senses.

“You’re mine, aren’t you,” he growled, slowing his pace as he felt himself reach his limit.

“Yes, sensei.” Lumine’s face was flushed, her pupils blown. “I’m yours, to take and fuck and cum inside, whenever you like.”

“Then you should be a good student and cum on my cock, shouldn’t you,” said Zhongli, thumb finding the sensitive nub of her sex and brushing over it.

Lumine’s eyes went wide. “S-sensei!” she whined, and Zhongli smirked as he continued the gentle, continual touch. It had been a long time since he had been with anyone, but he had been with enough women to tell from feel that Lumine was close to her own orgasm, with the tension in her body and the shallowness of her breath.

“Good girl,” Zhongli rasped, barely holding off his own end, angling his hips to push at the sensitive spots inside her as he finished her with his thumb.

Lumine whimpered as she came, cunt quivering and pulsing around his shaft as she slumped forward against his chest. “I love you, sensei,” she murmured, so quiet that he could barely hear it.

Those four words and Zhongli felt himself come undone, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Lumine’s thighs as he emptied himself inside her, painting her womb with his essence.

It was, Zhongli thought, as he drifted off, not the smartest thing he had ever done. Lumine was still on top of him as he went soft inside her, her own breathing slowing to a sleeping rhythm, and Zhongli absently kissed her hair. He’d never claimed to be a wise man, just very old and good at improvising. If something bad came of this, he could deal with it.

“I love you too, little student,” said Zhongli quietly, to the still night air.

#lumine x zhongli #spicy #college au #teacher!zhongli x student!lumine #zhonglumi

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radiant-reid · 3 years

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...Two hours in Miami...

← Ends Up In Miami

Summary: Spencer and Y/n's questionable, drunk, cliché decisions leads them to end up in bed together.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Smut)

Content Warning: swearing | Smut (NSFM) | unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, switch!spencer, switch!reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Masterlist

"So what are we meant to do for 2 full hours?" Spencer asked, resting further against the headboard.

Y/n shrugged, looking around the room. She hadn't noticed how big it was until then, with a couch, tv, and kitchenette on the other end. On Spencer's side, there was a glass door that led to a balcony. A fact they clearly hadn't noticed because the curtains remained open. Their suitcases were haphazardly dumped on the floor, clothing rummaged through.

Y/n laughed, leaving Spencer to frown before she explained. "Sorry, I mean, whatever we do, it can't be worse than getting married." Spencer couldn't help but laugh either. It was good, they both realized, that their marriage would eventually become a funny anecdote. One they could tell at parties or use in a game of Two Truth One Lie.

"There are museums," Spencer suggested, mapping out the cities attractions in his head. "We haven't had a case in Miami in years."

Y/n looked over at him disapprovingly, not thrilled by the idea. "Look outside, Spencer. The weather is gorgeous. Do you really want to go to a museum?"

"I burn really easily." He offered as an explanation.

Sarcastically, Y/n widened her eyes. "You don't say." She hummed. Spencer huffed in reply, pouting fully. "We're going to the beach." She decided, promptly getting out of bed to look out the glass doors. It was only a block from the ocean's waves. Adding to the fact, the hotel was much more expensive than the usual ones.

"Can't wait." Spencer flatly replied, begrudgingly getting out of bed. "I'm picking what we do next time." He declared, pulling the sheets back up to make the bed.

Y/n noticed, walking over to do the same thing on her side. It wasn't physical affection, but there was something domestic about it. A simple, typical activity of a married couple. "Sure, as long as it's not something stupid like getting married."

Spencer frowned at her. "I thought that was your idea." He teased. The memories of their wedding were entirely gone, and Rossi didn't do a great job at explaining the decisions. He was hiding an alternate motive, most definitely, but they had no idea of determining what it was.

The beach was precisely where Y/n wanted to be. The white sand stretched for miles, the light teal ocean running alongside it. There were more people than there should have been for the middle of a Wednesday. All drawn out by the bright sun in the middle of the clear blue sky. It was an absolutely perfect day.

"I think I love Miami." Y/n declared, turning her head to glance at Spencer. They lay on beach towels in the middle of the flat sand, relaxed and far from any murderers.

She'd only seen Spencer in a bathing suit a couple of times, but it was a sight she was grateful for. The sweater vests and cardigans were a cover for the slightly toned chest he had been hiding.

"I don't," Spencer complained, squinting despite the fact he was wearing sunglasses. He could feel the sun already burning him after the half-hour they'd been there. "Did you know there's a flesh-eating bacteria called Vibrio vulnificus? It lives in warm seawater and literally breaks down skin. Florida reported 32 cases this year. Severe cases require amputation or even death. You can get it from entering the water with open wounds or eating badly cooked seafood."

Y/n frowned, scrunching up her nose. "Firstly, that's gross. Secondly, we're not in the water, and, thirdly, we don't have any opened wounds."

"Alright, fair point." Spencer agreed, but Y/n knew there was a rebuttal coming. "Beach sand. It harbors a multitude of stomach bugs that can lead to severe gastroenteritis. There's Salmonella, E. coli, and norovirus, not to mention Giardia and Campylobacter."

Y/n frowned more seriously at him. "Shush." She instructed. "Lots of people go to the beach each year."

"400 million visits a year." Spencer corrected, a tiny smirk on his lips when he looked at her.

Still, it felt more like a win for Y/n's point. "You could die walking down the street." She reminded him, standing up. "Come in the water with me." She requested, holding out a hand for him to take. Reluctantly, Spencer took it, trying to make it as difficult as possible for her to pull him up. "Spence, get up." She demanded, giggling at his petulance.

"Fine, fine." Spencer conceded, standing up by himself with a groan. Y/n almost ran to the shorefront, Spencer following her. He tried to convince himself he was only doing it because it was Y/n's choice of activity.

The water was a refreshing break from the hot sun. Y/n knew that if the rest of the team knew where they were, they would be envious. It was payback, she justified, for all the teasing.

Spencer didn't look as pleased. He winced at the coldness of the water, letting Y/n drag him out deep enough he could barely stand. His eyes followed her as she floated in circles around him, grinning when she splashed water at him.

"It's really not that bad, Mr. Dramatic." She informed him, paddling in front of him.

"Doctor." Spencer corrected with a smirk. Y/n stuck her tongue out at him, scrunching her nose. It was what Spencer believed to be the cutest expression in the world. "When can we get out of here?" He questioned, starting to shiver.

Y/n laughed at him. "How are you cold? This is warm."

"I'm from Vegas," Spencer answered, despite the question being rhetorical.

Y/n kept him guessing with what she was going to say, diving under the water before slicking her hair back. "But you burn." She teased.

"I was spent my summers indoors reading," Spencer offered as an explanation, getting splashed with the salty water by Y/n. "Please, it's cold." He begged.

How could she not say no to his pouting face, wide brown eyes locked onto hers? "Fine." She agreed, wading out of the water with Spencer following.

Dripping wet, they wrapped themselves in beach towels when Spencer had an idea. "We've still got like a half-hour left until we have to leave. We should get something to eat before we go back to our room." He suggested as they walked back up the beach.

Having not eaten in a few hours, Y/n agreed. "Yeah, do you think they have somewhere we can get takeout on the way back?"

Spencer nodded, pointing to a side street before the hotel. Of course, he'd memorized a map of downtown Miami. "Burgers?"

"I cannot think of anything better," Y/n stated, following him into the rustic burger joint. It was only small with a few wooden tables, mostly taken up by other beachgoers.

It was after they ordered and were sitting on the barstools when Y/n's phone rang. She checked the caller ID, determining that, unfortunately, it was factually more important than Spencer. Subjectively, she'd rather listen to him talk. "I should take this. It's Penelope." She told him, holding up the phone.

"Yeah, go. I'll wait in here." Spencer said.

Irritated that Penelope had to interrupt their conversation, Y/n answered the phone call and stepped outside. "Hey, P, what's up?"

Penelope only launched into questions about that case for a few minutes before her attention shifted. "How's Lover Boy?" She asked suggestively.

"Spencer." Y/n corrected her sternly. "Is fine." Purposefully, she left out any information about how they woke up that morning. "Thanks for your little prank, by the way."

Exactly as Morgan did, she feigned innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about, sweetness." So alike it was as if they rehearsed it. Y/n scoffed in reply, not believing it for a second. "What are you guys doing now?" She quickly asked, needing some gossip to no doubt give to Morgan.

Y/n turned back around to look at Spencer, except he wasn't alone. A girl stood right in front of him, clearly, not to Spencer, flirting with him. She was pretty, blonde hair, confidently wearing a bikini that showed off her lean, tanned body.

"Y/n?" Penelope asked, shifting her attention back to the phone call.

"Sorry," Y/n replied, caught off guard by the situation. "I've got to go." She decided, hanging up the phone call before she received any protest.

It was like she wasn't even thinking as she walked inside, gently placing a hand on Spencer's upper arm right in front of the girl. Clearly where the blonde, supermodel-looking woman could see.

"Hey, you ready to go?" She asked, glancing down at the brown paper bag he was holding.

Spencer gulped, unsure of where Y/n's affection was coming from. A light blush littered his cheeks, and Y/n was glad she could elicit that response. "Uh, yeah, definitely." He agreed, farewelling his new friend before they left the eatery.

Y/n felt like an idiot after she'd basically dragged Spencer out of there, too embarrassed to speak as they walked back to the hotel.

It took Spencer until they were getting into the elevator for him to associate the expression on her face with an emotion. "You're jealous." He correctly profiled, thankful it was only the two of them on the elevator.

He wouldn't have known the look if he wasn't something he'd felt. If not at the bar where the team drank after some cases, then it was while police officers flirted with Y/n.

Y/n tried to act nonchalantly, still leaning against the mirror. "She should have known you were legally married." She stated, trying to ignore the quickening heartbeat she'd had since Penelope's question.

"How would she have known that?" Spencer asked, enjoying the upper hand he had. "I'm not wearing a ring."

Even though their marriage wasn't prearranged, it didn't stop Y/n from feeling possessive. He put the ring on her finger, and Y/n was just trying to convince herself she had a right to feel jealous.

"It's fine, you know?" Spencer gently suggested. Y/n looked up at him for the first time since he'd started talking, trying to read the sincerity on his face. The elevator dinging stopped her from answering, giving her an out. Spencer cleared his throat as they walked, going back to his playful manner that made things much less uncomfortable. "Just admit it."

Y/n unlocked the door, spinning back to look at him. "Fine, I did. Is that what you wanted to hear?" She questioned demandingly, the accusation of her insecurity irritating her.

Spencer didn't give her a verbal reply. Instead, and he'd never be sure where the sudden rush of confidence came from, he leaned forwards, connecting their lips.

It was definitely not what Y/n was expecting, far too in shock to properly kiss him back. It wasn't until Spencer pulled back, uncertain and a little concerned about the reaction he was getting, that it all became clear.

Spencer opened his mouth to apologize, feeling terrible that he'd done something so dumb, but Y/n cut him off. Placing a hand on his cheek, thumb resting against his cheekbones, and fingers splayed out towards his jawline, she spoke. "More."

Never in his life had one word affected Spencer as much as that. Then again, one word accompanied with his eyes darting between Y/n's eyes and his impossibly soft lips, he'd do anything she wanted. He didn't waste another second, kissing her with a little more force.

Y/n couldn't believe she didn't remember the first time they'd kissed in Vegas. Even the copious amount of alcohol in her system shouldn't have been enough to make her forget the feeling of his lips. The passionate, perfectly varying in pressure kiss was unforgettable. If not that, then she should have recalled the thumping of her heart and hot blood running through her veins.

Spencer guided her into the room, still kissing her as he somehow managed to shut the door behind them and place their food on the table. Without his lead, Y/n wasn't sure how she would have been able to function.

The feeling of his tongue against hers only made it more difficult for her to perform any normal functions. Spencer pulled back once the back of her legs hit the bed. "We don't have to do this." He reminded her, still a little stunned he was making out with his friend.

"Want to." Y/n hummed, arms moving to wrap around his neck as she stood on her tiptoes, letting her lips touch his again. The heat vibrating off her cooled as she pulled back suddenly, concerned. "Do you want to?" She asked.

The hurried nod he gave was only accompanied by verbal enthusiasm. "Yes, more than anything." Although she chuckled, his words were the blatant truth.

She stopped herself before asking if it would ruin their friendship because she wasn't sure she wanted to just be friends. And it didn't seem to matter to Spencer. Instead, she went back to kissing him, groaning when she felt his large palms holding her bare waist, splaying out far enough to touch her bikini top. The smirk Spencer's lips drew into only grew once he moved his hands up, slightly cupping her tits.

He pulled away from her lips as she threw her head back, relishing in the feeling of his fingers against her nipples. His lips on her neck, softly sucking, only made his smirk grow once Y/n started letting out soft moans.

His right hand slipped behind her back, fingertips desperate to unclip the only obstacle that stood in his way of seeing her topless. Y/n giggled when he couldn't get it undone, placing her hand on top of his to guide him.

With a victorious hand dropping the top on the floor, Spencer pulled back to gawk at her. The pervert in him was taking a mental picture, and Y/n didn't mind a single bit.

The only thing she was focused on was palming the bulge in his shorts, lips connecting to his neck in an attempt to catch him off guard. It worked, and the groans that were quickly passing his lips were her new favorite sound.

"So responsive." She cooed, tugging his shorts down and letting his length spring free.

Spencer grunted, desperate to gain some power back. The forceful kisses on her neck were enough to stop her from pumping his cock up and down.

In control once again, Spencer slipped a hand into her bikini bottoms. The instinctive spreading of her legs told Spencer she wanted more. And he was going to give it to her. Tugging the last remaining barrier down her legs, pervertedly watching her naked form as she kicked them off, Spencer sucked harsher marks onto her skin. His roaming fingers stopped once the rough pad of his index finger found her clit. He was far too enamored in the way she shuddered to do much more than dumbly grin, lips almost touching her neck.

Testing out his theory regarding her responsiveness, Spencer's finger pushed inside her, only to his knuckle. It was enough to have Y/n losing her mind, stomach twisting as she tried to form a coherent thought.

"Just like that," Spencer commented, lips touching her ear as he added another finger, pumping them in and out harder. "All those smart comebacks are gone."

Y/n wanted to argue, to return with some banter, but she was far too gone to do anything but moan at his words. The fluttering only got more intense as he continued, skillfully having her on the edge of her orgasm quicker than ever before. The soft circles he was drawing on her clit had her moaning in pleasure, unable to get any words out before she fell apart on his fingers.

Spencer had never seen anything more beautiful. From her dilated pupils to the puffy bottom lip she was biting, he knew he'd forever be able to recall that expression.

The room had grown much hazier as Y/n collected herself. "So, are you going to fuck me, Doctor Reid, or just keep staring at me?" She asked, her voice dangerously sensual, dripping with desire.

Spencer grabbed ahold of her jaw, stopping her mischievous attitude almost as soon as it started. "That mouth is going to get you in trouble one day." His deep tone caught her off guard, astonished by how quickly he could snap back into a dominating role.

Still, she kept her together facade, trying to pretend his words weren't making her drip. "Let's hope that day is today."

Y/n swore she caught him groaning just from hearing her words. Spencer didn't let her get away with it for too long, grabbing her waist as he pushed her onto the bed.

It was Y/n groaning that time as he crawled in between her knees, pushing them apart as he placed kisses onto her inner thighs, quickly trailing them up her body. With his lips on hers in a hot, messy kiss, Spencer rubbed the head of his cock against her clit, gathering the wetness as he drew it through her slit.

"Fuck, Spencer. Please." She begged, squirming downwards in an attempt to get him to fuck her.

Spencer propped himself up on his elbows, on either side of her waist. "Gonna have to do better than that." He informed her teasingly.

"Please fuck me, Spencer. I really need it." Y/n begged, apparently much more to his satisfaction. Catching her off guard, Spencer pushed in, bottoming out with a groan.

Y/n was fully moaning as Spencer held himself inside her, letting her adjust to his size. It took her more than a few moments, her heart beating quickly while Spencer placed kisses on her chest.

"You can... move." Y/n managed to get the words out between moans. Spencer took it as enough confirmation to pull almost all the way out, slamming back into her at an unrelenting pace.

The rough, full thrusts didn't stop, filling her up all the way and making her moan loudly. It was matched by Spencer's moaning, savoring the wet, warm feeling of being inside her. Y/n was reduced to moans and expletives as Spencer's thumb circled her clit.

"Fuck, Spence. Gonna cum." Y/n moaned, feeling the tightening in her stomach once again. It was better than she'd ever felt.

Spencer nodded, a light sweat breaking out on his forehead. "I know, me too." He mumbled.

"Inside, please." She pleaded, voice smaller as she tipped over the edge with a paradoxically loud moan.

Although he wasn't usually a risk taken, Spencer nodded. The request made him feral, finishing inside her with a couple more sloppy thrusts.

After he placed a kiss on her forehead, he rolled off her, both of them panting as they tried to stabilize their breathing.

Y/n turned to look at him, almost terrified that if she took the step, the dancing around emotions they were doing would be spoiled. "That was..."

"Incredible?" Spencer offered, the insecurity playing in his voice like he was hoping she enjoyed it.

She enjoyed it just as much as he did, if not more. "Better than incredible." She mentioned, standing up to go to the bathroom. Her legs were like jelly, slightly stumbling and reaching out to hold onto the doorframe.

Spencer smirked as he watched her, choosing to offer synonyms as he stared at the ceiling, replaying the events. "Marvelous, fantastic, spectacular, remarkable, phenomenal, breathtaking?" He suggested.

Y/n walked back into the room, shaking her head at him playfully. "Breathtaking, definitely." She decided, only just able to correctly breathe. It wasn't until she picked up her phone that Y/n realized they had a bigger problem than picking a synonym. "Fuck, Spencer, we needed to leave like 5 minutes ago." She said frantically, scrambling to find clothes.

Spencer shot up from the bed, rummaging through his bag before quickly repacking it. "Shit. They're going to know, right?"

Y/n looked over at him with a frown. "You think I know about hiding the fact I just had sex from the team?" She questioned playfully, looking in the mirror as she tried to fix her hair, wiping up the mascara that had smudged. Thankfully, her foundation had stayed set.

He shook his head, gulping like he was in trouble. "I didn't mean it like that." He quickly informed her.

Giggling at him, she walked over, adjusting his tie. Spencer watched her intently, blushing when Y/n looked up, and he realized he had been caught. She just grinned at him, standing on her tiptoes to place a quick kiss on his lips, knowing they didn't have a lot of time.

"Okay, we better go," Spencer said, mostly so he wouldn't kiss her again and not stop.

Y/n nodded, picking up her things, checking around the room before walking after Spencer. Hurriedly, they made their way down to the lobby, handing their keycards in before waiting for the SUV they'd driven.

"I should drive." Spencer decided, attempting to step into the car.

Y/n rolled her eyes at him. "My driving isn't even that fast. Get in." Begrudgingly, Spencer complied, getting in the passenger seat before Y/n sped off. "Don't pout." She scolded playfully, looking over at him as she drove.

"Don't take your eyes off the road." Spencer countered, clearly concerned about her driving.

"We're already 2 minutes late. You know Hotch is stringent about being on time." She reminded him as if he didn't know.

Somehow, they got there only 6 minutes late. Y/n was thankful it was only that much time, and Spencer was worried about the more than 360 seconds everyone had been waiting on them for.

Hotch frowned at them when they walked in, showing his irritation with their tardiness. "You two do not make good decisions when you're alone." He scolded, stern voice making them both shiver.

"Sorry." They both replied, guiltily taking the seats next to each other, across from Morgan, who had his eyebrows raised, suggestively.

Y/n glared at him. "Don't look at us like that." She requested, knowing Morgan probably wasn't going to stop.

"Girly, there are marks all up and down your neck," Morgan informed her, cheekily smiling. Y/n clamped a palm to her neck, unsure of how she could have missed something so obvious.

Spencer held his jaw in his palm while Morgan chuckled. Something told Y/n they weren't behaving that way because of the hickeys on her neck. "What is it?" She asked face flushed red.

Almost as red as Spencer's. "There aren't any." He informed her hesitantly.

"Wait? What?" Y/n asked, head-turning between Spencer and Morgan. The latter could not contain his laughing, clearly finding it hilarious.

"Morgan knew that if there was a...an opportunity for you to have acquired them, you would have held your hand to your neck. If there wasn't, you would have been confused." Spencer explained Morgan's psychological trick, knowing he couldn't have from his giggles.

Sometimes, she really hated profilers.

"Derek Morgan, you are the worst." She declared to him, shaking her head at his childish grin.

"Not yet," Morgan replied. "I haven't told Penelope yet." He reminded them, getting up off his seat to leave them guessing as to how much Penelope would find out.

Both Spencer and Y/n shook their heads, trying to figure out how they could cover up the fact they... took advantage of an opportunity. They missed the looks of the rest of the team, trying to piece together whatever information Morgan knew. Because they were profilers, it was pretty easy.

When Y/n looked up at him, she bit her lip and sighed. Spencer met her eyes, looking just as concerned. "We can't move past this, can we?" She rhetorically asked.

Spencer wanted to tell her it would all still be okay, that they could remain friends and just forget they ever went there. But, after all, he had an eidetic memory. "I don't think so."

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bratkook · 4 years

Text

almost. (m) jjk.

not yet, almost, right now

pairing. jungkook x reader genre. fluff, baby angst, smut word count. 6.4k warnings. two idiots!!, pining, masturbation (m. and f.), use of vibrator, accidental voyeurism?, more feelings come to light!! summary. jungkook tries to be the best wingman he could be in your new venture after your breakup. he could do it, right? note. part two of not yet, some more feelings are exposed, please don’t hate oc she is but a pendeja that doesn’t see the obvious feelings jungkook has but she has good intentions i promise<3 there will most likely be a final part,,if you guys are into it lmao okie bye

The cool summer breeze flows around you as you’re sitting under the shade, eyes focused on the chaos of runny yolk and hashbrowns that is your breakfast. Jungkook on the other hand, is focused on you. His signature yellow shades block out the sun reflecting from passing cars, concealing his eyes just enough for you to not see him blatantly staring at you while you stuff your face.

The charmed smile he has falters slightly when you look directly at him, hashbrown lingering by your lip as you repeat his name. “Sorry, what?”

Your brows come together as you smile at his zoned out state, something you had grown fond of in the years of knowing him, always enjoying the small dazed look that graced his face whenever he was lost in his thoughts. His lips push out slightly in question, curious eyes wondering just what you could have been asking him.

“I was saying that I think I’m giving up on crushes and love.” You say it so easily, mind made up as you grin at him before continuing to shovel hashbrowns into your mouth, only pausing to take a sip of your iced coffee.

Jungkook tries his best to seem unaffected, nodding along in interest as he takes a steady bite of his own food. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, taking a look around at the people surrounding you: friends having breakfast together and snapping photos, couples feeding each other food with smiles on their faces, a lone man with his dog perched on the seat across from his while he worked on his computer. You briefly wonder if all of them, even the dog, have better luck with love than you do.

“I think I’m cursed,” you continue. “All of my exes have been assholes, and I’ve always been too blind to see it until it’s over and I’m left crying over Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams.”

“Maybe you’re just looking for love in the wrong places,” Jungkook shrugs, internally screaming because he’s who you should be looking at if you wanted love.

Not to toot his own horn, but Jungkook liked to think he was a good guy, a great boyfriend even. His previous track record of relationships could attest to that, all of them ending on mutual terms, still friendly and civil with each other. He’s almost certain if there was a Yelp page for him it would be at least 4.5 stars with comments raving about how great he is, even little anecdotal touches about how he always gave away his hoodies or offered to cook breakfast.

He was a god damn catch, why couldn’t you see that?

“Maybe prince charming is a lot closer than you think,” he grumbles out, stabbing his omelette with a little more force than necessary, fork clanking against the plate. And when you gasp in realization he freezes, slowly looking back up at you and seeing the way your eyes widen.

“Wait, maybe you’re right!” Your hand shoots across the table, gripping onto his forearm and it sends a shock throughout him, skin tingling at your touch. “You know that coffee shop below our building? That cute barista always puts a heart next to my name. Do you think I should ask for his number?”

Jungkook blinks once, slowly twirls his fork in his hand and blinks again before staring up at the sky, mentally asking why he couldn’t just go out and say it. “Hm, I don’t think you should.“

With a defeated sigh you retract your hand, slumping back into your seat and grabbing your iced coffee once more, stirring the straw and ice around as you nod. “True. What if he feels obligated to give it to me just because he doesn’t want to get fired in case I go all Karen on his ass.”

That wasn’t why Jungkook had said not to, but sure, that works too, so he hums along.

“I bet he draws hearts on all the other girls cups too.” You huff, playfully wiping a tear under your eye with a smile.

“I’ve actually—“

“You know what I—“

You both freeze mid sentence, Jungkook’s cheeks tinted a light pink as he stutters on his words, wide eyes staring at you as if he had caught himself before you cut him off. But as you’re about to tell him to go on, he waves you off and urges you to speak first.

“I was just gonna say that maybe I should go through that wild phase people usually go through after breakups.”

He sets his silverware down on the plate and sips his water, giving you an odd look. “Wild phase? Like you wanna dye your hair red and get bangs?”

“No,” you cackle, ruffling a hand through your own hair as you picture yourself with that combination. “I should just go out and hook up with people. I feel like I’ve either been in a relationship or entirely single, so it could be fun right?”

“Uh, maybe...” he trails off, rolling his lips together in thought, not exactly fond of hearing you say that when he had felt the confession about to roll off his tongue. He takes a slow breath, trying to see this from a neutral point, the point of a supportive friend wanting to help you get over a breakup.

“How do you go about it?”

“Me?” he chokes, pointing at his chest as if there was magically some other person you could be addressing.

“Yes, you. Need I remind you, we share a wall between our beds.” You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face shows that you’re speaking of this lightly, not entirely annoyed by the fact that you had heard Jungkook during his own fair share of hook ups.

He’s not ashamed of it, but considering he never really brought up being able to hear you, he thought you’d pretend to never hear him. It wasn’t too often that he had a girl over, the number of hookups only increasing after you got with Hajoon and loosely cut ties with Jungkook. But from what you had heard—and seen thanks to your nosey self looking through peep holes once they left—it was very rarely the same girl.

So to you, Jungkook was a pro at the art of hookups.

“Right, sorry,” he grimaces, a sheepish smile on his lips as he wonders just how many times his activities kept you up at night.

“It’s fine, consider us even.” A teasing laugh follows your statement, enjoying the flustered look on his face, how his cheeks get even darker in embarrassment. Jungkook was used to the two of you talking like this, neither of you having a filter especially when it came to sexual aspects, but he hadn’t had a conversation like this since before you got with Hajoon. It would take some getting used to again.

“So, give me the tips. Where do you find people?”

Jungkook leans back into his chair, arms stretching out on either side of him, short sleeves of his black tee bunching up and revealing more of his tattoos and the rippling of his muscles. With a small laugh he rakes his hand through his fluffy hair, giving you a small smile. “Honestly? Anywhere. I’ve gotten girl’s numbers at the gym and at coffee shops, but bars are the best bet for something quick.”

“Ugh, fuck you and your pretty privilege.”

“What?” he guffaws, smiling wide and showing you his adorable smile as he laughs loudly, not caring about the attention he draws to your table. He doesn’t even realize how the table full of girls is now trying to discreetly stare at him, because his eyes are on you. You see it though, and it further proves your point. “What the hell is pretty privilege?”

Your wild hands gesture towards him, a look of disbelief on your face as you do so. “You! Of course girls line up to hand you their number, have you seen yourself? Pretty privilege,” you jab your fork at him in time with your final words, a smirk on your glossy lips.

Jungkook feels his confidence grow at your casual compliment, tongue prodding at his cheek as he stares down at his food, trying not to smile too hard. You thought he was pretty, that was a win in his book.

“C’mon,” he teases, foot gently nudging your leg underneath the table. “You could totally score someone's number. Plus there's always apps if you just wanna test the water.”

You give your plate a contemplated stare, “Sure, how hard could it be?”

Admittedly, the answer to that question was: not hard at all. You had met all your previous boyfriends in person, through mutual friends or shared classes back in college, never once dipping your toe into the world of Tinder or Bumble. Who knew all it would take was a couple of selfies and the strategic body shot to have boys circling around you like some new-age, slightly filthier version of rapunzel.

Jungkook knew though, not at all shocked by how quickly you get a match the following day when he’s at your place. His eyes are focused on the screen in front of him, helping you beat a level in your favorite game that you had been stuck on. But the second you gasp as if you’ve won the lottery, he pauses the game entirely and gives you an odd look.

“What?”

His answer comes in the form of your phone thrusted in his direction, lit up screen displaying your profile picture and the one of the boy you had just matched with. Jung Hoseok. Jungkook’s eyes narrow as he reads the name, trying to remember it in case he somehow had a friend in common that knew all the dirt on him.

He has a similar pair of yellow shades on his own head, thicker black rims around them and a charming smile on his face. Jungkook chuckles to himself. Yellow shades? How original.

“What do I say?” you question, eyes looking nervous as you wiggle the phone in his face. The small white bar beneath your match urges you to start a conversation, and coming up with the right words to say makes you overthink it all.

“Just say hi and tack on some cute emoji. It’s not that hard,” he laughs, pushing the phone back at you. Jungkook knew you could start the message off any way you wanted and this Jung Hoseok would eat it right up. How could he not, the alluring smile in your profile photo would draw anyone in.

“Okay, I did it.” Your phone is instantly locked and chucked aside in an attempt to be forgotten, choosing to grab the remote out of Jungkook’s hands for another distraction. It only lasts a brief second before you’re killed by the boss Jungkook was trying to defeat.

“Really?” Jungkook huffs, yanking the remote back into his hands, needing a distraction himself. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you were searching for a fuck buddy while he sat beside you. How crazy would it be if he suggested being your fuck buddy, offered to help you through this so called wild phase you were searching for.

No. That’s not what he wants.

Would he enjoy it? Sure. But he could already imagine how much worse his heart would hurt if his feelings came to light and yours were non-existent. That is if you’d even agree to it.

“Relax, he’s probably thinking of what to reply.”

You make a noise of disagreement, fingers itching to unlock your device to see if it was true, slowly inching towards it until you finally grab it and go back onto the app. Jungkook just chuckles as he goes back to helping you with your game, not wanting to look at you as you giggle at your device. He could already imagine what this guy was telling you for you to turn into a giddy mess not even two minutes in.

He tunes it all out, eyes focused on the screen, fingers gripping the remote with a little more force than needed. His concentration helps him though, finally passing the level you’ve been stuck on for the past two weeks.

“You’re welcome,” he sighs, making a show of stretching out and sending you a smile, having it falter slightly when he sees your eyes still focused on the screen of your phone. With a frown he looks back at the television, saving the game before turning it off altogether.

Once he gets up from the couch, making his way over to the media console to store the remotes, is when you look up at him. “You’re right, this is easy!”

Jungkook doesn’t feel the usual pride that comes with being right, but the cheerful look on your face prevents him from feeling salty. Coming back towards the couch, he sits beside you once more, facing you as he rests his elbow on the back cushion to lean on. “Told you so.”

He keeps that same smile on his face as you mention how quick Hoseok was to ask you out on a date, even as you bring up the fact that this date would be at his place, and Jungkook could decipher netflix and chill any way some greasy boy tried to conceal it.

“I hope he knows I don’t want anything serious,” you mumble, chewing on your fingernail as you scroll through the messages.

Jungkook could almost laugh at how blissfully unaware you were of the piranha infested water that was the great sea of Tinder. Of course this yellow sunglass wearing wannabe version of him knows you don’t want anything serious, why else would he be so quick to invite you over with the cheeky excuse to watch movies.

All he can do is shrug as he stares at you, lips pressed together in an effort to not say something that would totally ruin everything. Instead, Jungkook does everything he can to be the best version of a wingman you could get. He tells you the ins and outs of hookups, how you should definitely not text him the minute you leave his place and tell him you had fun, don’t talk about anything super personal involving family or your work, and if he doesn’t offer to go down on you but expects a blowjob he’s a loser.

It’s solid advice that you mentally jot down, subjecting him to further questions your mind comes up with and even asking him for help on an outfit via text the night of your hangout with Jung Hoseok.

Jungkook stares at the photos for a little too long if he’s being honest. They weren’t spectacular selfies that you had taken much effort for, their sole purpose being showing off the outfit, but the way you look so focused as you snapped the shot had him zooming into your face and smiling like an idiot. When you double text him with a long line of question marks he snaps out of it, deciding on the second option you picked of mom jeans and a cropped shirt. Cute and casual, and definitely something Jungkook preferred, but he’d never tell you that.

When you finally text him a thumbs up and tell him you’re on your way out he just hearts the message before locking his device and trudging to the living room. It’s not often that he wallows in self pity, spacing those days out so far he barely remembers them. But they usually went exactly like this, ordering a large meat lovers pizza with extra cheese, drinking far too many Mike’s hard lemonade—because despite how much they made his stomach hurt they were tasty so he didn’t care—and binge watching his comfort show: Modern Family.

But even as he sulks on his couch, practically sinking into the cushions with horrible posture and a slice of pizza resting on his chest, he can’t find it in himself to chuckle at Cam and Mitch’s usual banter. He’s too busy thinking about which movie you’re currently watching, if you were watching it. Who’s Jungkook kidding though, you were totally getting your guts rearranged right now.

Taking an aggressive bite out of the crust he frowns and raises the volume up on his television, attempting to drown the mocking voice in his head calling him a loser for not admitting to his feelings. He knew this, knew he should have said something when he wanted to at breakfast, but Jungkook was afraid that if he confessed as you were talking about hooking up, that you’d see him as taking advantage of a situation instead of being genuine. I mean who wouldn’t? You say you want something casual and suddenly he’s spilling his heart out and you’re supposed to believe he’s not some pig trying to butter you up. He didn’t want to get labeled as a creepy neighbor after the good times you’ve had.

“So stupid,” he grumbles to himself as he takes another swig, the last drops of the alcohol hitting his tongue with a tangy aftertaste. As he sits up to place the empty bottle onto his coffee table his muscles ache, neck stiff from the unfortunate position it had been subjected to for the last three hours. With a small huff he’s rolling his shoulders, reaching for his discarded phone to see the time—and also check if you’d sent him some SOS text—but he finds nothing besides the bright numbers indicating that it was nearing midnight.

In true pity party day fashion, he doesn’t even bother cleaning up after his mess, just tossing the dirty dishes into the sink to be washed tomorrow when he would force himself to be in a better mood. Instead, he grabs a water and his phone and waddles into his bedroom.

The moonlight illuminates the space enough for him to keep the light switch off, undressing from his crumb covered sweats and shirt, choosing to remain in his boxers as he slipped under the cold duvet. The sheets feel fresh against his hot cheeks, flush from the alcohol, cooling him down and making his body relax.

Jungkook knows he should sleep, needing to be up early tomorrow for work, but he can’t stop his mind from wandering into dangerous territory. His buzzed brain has no qualms imagining exactly what you were doing right now, wondering if you’d be the type to act shy at a guy’s house for the first time, if you’d initiate the first move or not. Jungkook had only seen it up close once under the flash of strobe lights and the haze of alcohol, but he can still picture the soft smile on your face before you go in for a kiss, and he grumbles under his breath when he realizes that he wouldn’t be the one kissing you tonight.

What he doesn’t know, is that you wouldn’t be the one getting kissed tonight either. The Jung Hoseok you had perceived through Tinder, assuming he was all casual and DTF with his netflix and chill suggestion, had been anything but. What you thought would be a steamy night, ended up becoming a nice dinner and comedy watched, morphing into some version of game night where you discovered he was a little too competitive than you were used to. The only action you got was a kiss to your cheek as he walked you to your car and a promise for another date. A promise you would not be keeping.

So as Jungkook lays in bed while his thoughts turn into some fantasy of you moaning out his name, you shuffle into your bedroom and slip into your pajamas with a defeated sigh. You had already texted your best friend telling her what a bust tonight had been, deciding to just tell Jungkook all about it tomorrow because you knew he was most likely fast asleep now. And as you settle under your own covers, inches away from Jungkook with only a wall seperating you, you decide to just call it a night and pretend it never happened.

Just as you shut your eyes, nuzzling into your pillow, you hear the first moan come from behind the wall. A small cry of despair escapes you as you bury your face into your sheets, tugging them up and over your head to block the sound of Jungkook getting some action the same night you had been left high and dry. Of course he would, assuming you’d be getting the same treatment at your date's place, why wouldn’t he take advantage of your absence and not have to muffle his partner’s moans the way he usually did.

You’re just going to ignore it, until you hear a moan that sounds strangely like your own name. Maybe it's wishful thinking on your part, your horny brain deciding to pretend that Jungkook was calling for you instead of whoever he was with. It might be a little wrong for you to have that fantasy of your neighbor, but you aren’t blind. He’s hot, and adorably sweet, the perfect package for any girl he tried to swoon. And judging by the cries you’ve heard of lucky girls prior, you know he was good in bed.

You’re just desperate now. That’s the excuse you tell yourself as you slowly settle onto your back, feeling your body warm up when you focus on his muffled groans, desperate and needy. As your hand slowly slides down your shirt, you shut your eyes, biting down onto your lip to muffle any sound you could make when your fingers slip underneath your pants and past your underwear.

Jungkook on the other hand doesn’t care about his volume. His boxers are tugged down his thighs, knees bent as he slowly ruts into his sticky palm. His hand is tacky with the lube he had messily squirted on, thick cock glistening in the light coming in from his window. He can’t look away from it, mouth dropped open as he groans, imagining it was your hand tightly wrapped around him, your spit covering his cock instead of that strawberry flavored lube.

“Ah fuck,” he moans, shutting his eyes and throwing his head back onto his soft pillows when his thumb rubs along his slit. It continues to leak beads of precum, quickly wiped away to join the mess on his cock when his hand slides back down and squeezes along his base.

You hear that loud and clear, and when the female voice you’re expecting never follows, you realize he must be taking care of himself. It makes you feel a little less guilty now as your fingers trail along your slit, collecting the slick coating your folds before you softly circle your clit. A choked gasp fills the air at the small sensation, your body already wired after having expected to get some action tonight; it totally had nothing to do with your hot neighbor jacking off inches away from you.

With your eyes fluttering shut, you strain your ears to make out any other noise, muffling your own groans with a hand pressed against your mouth. The bed creaks lightly underneath you as you roll your hips into your hand, getting into a smooth rhythm that makes your body buzz.

Slowly, your imagination runs wild, and you wonder just what Jungkook was thinking of as he did this. Was he watching some porn as he did it, using his own filthy thoughts to push himself to ecstacy, or was this just something he needed to do to be able to sleep?

“Shit, so good,” he groans out, voice raspy, but you can sense his desperation through the drywall. It’s what has you sinking a single digit into your drenched entrance, biting down onto your lower lip when you feel the glide of your walls as you start to thrust into yourself, easing in another and mewling at the slight stretch.

Jungkook would absolutely give his left leg to know what your pussy felt like, he didn’t even care how disgusting he sounded by admitting that to himself, it was true. Blame it on the hard lemonade that made his stomach ache and his mind unfiltered, but he could almost visualize how you’d look above him, could practically feel the warmth of your core wrapped around him, dripping down his length as he fucked into you.

He knows you’re loud in bed, never being one to conceal your cries of pleasure and he would die happy to hear his name come out of your mouth as you creamed his cock. But for now, his hand would have to do.

His lids feel too heavy, jaw slack as the pleasure flows through his body. The wet squelch of his palm fills the room, mingling with his pants and groans, air growing thick around him. It’s been a while since Jungkook had jacked off, and even longer since he’d been able to do it shamelessly in bed without the fear of you hearing him, but now that he thought you were gone he can’t find it in himself to cover his mouth or groan into his pillows like he usually did.

The pent up frustration fogs up his mind, cranks the lust up to 11 until his free hand is gripping his sheets beside him, bed frame creaking as his thrusts speed up. The thuds of his headboard hitting the wall come from behind you, a choked moan blending in with it, and it has you scrambling for your bedside drawer.

The pajamas you wear get yanked off your legs and tossed aside after you grab your trusty vibrator, settling onto your back once more with huff. All it takes is a press of a button for the device to come to life, buzzing in your hand as you trail it up your thighs. A gasp escapes you when you pass it over your mound, brushing against your clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“Oh my god,” you whimper when you finally press the vibrating head directly onto your sensitive clit, legs spreading further apart as you increase the intensity. You could clearly hear the raise in Jungkook’s moans, and that's when the first irrational thought pops into your mind.

How easy would it be for you to head over to his place and deal with both of your problems. Surely Jungkook wouldn’t have an issue with you offering to suck his dick, wouldn’t mind letting you sink down onto him if it was just a friendly favor.

The little devil on your shoulder tells you it would be mutually beneficial, urging you to get up and walk to Jungkook’s with the vibrator still in your hand, but you can’t. This alone felt like enough of a dirty secret, a secret you’d have absolutely no problem keeping because although you feel slightly ashamed, you couldn’t deny how turned on you are.

The flashes of all the times you’ve heard Jungkook with other people play in your mind, the screams of his name that he tried to muffle, pleas for him to go faster, the resounding smack of his palm on flesh that always left you wide eyed when you heard it. And you start to wonder if maybe you’d be into that, the feeling of his large tattooed hand connecting with your ass, gently tapping against your cheek for you to open up for his cock.

That fantasy is like the first ember needed to start the fire inside of you, spreading uncontrollably until you’re bucking into your vibrator, teeth biting down on your lip to keep any potential moans of his name from slipping out.

“Fuck, fuck,” he chants, the same fire burning within him. Maybe your minds are linked telepathically, his thoughts gravitating to the same filthy fantasy you had. Jungkook was very much an ass man, knowing very well how good your butt looked in jeans from how often he stared at it, he could only imagine how good it would look as he fucked you from behind. Picturing the way it would bounce back from the force of his thrusts, eyes glued to the way you’d soak his cock, mimicking the tightness of your walls with a firm grip of his palm.

Jungkook can sense his orgasm approaching, leaves his chest feeling tight as he pants, legs gliding along his sheets for leverage to continue fucking into his hand. You’re not far off either, vibrator set to the highest setting you can practically feel your bones rattling, free hand slipped under your shirt as you pinch at your pebbled nipples. You’re both on the brink of falling over the edge, the same question playing in your mind: where would you want Jungkook to cum?

As his moans get breathier, whiny in a way you’d never imagine them to be, you mentally decide that you’d want him to cum inside of you, wanting to see the way his cute face would twist up in pleasure as he filled you up. Jungkook hopes you would, throwing all responsible thinking aside for that sweet moment of ecstasy and the mental picture is enough to finally push him over.

“Ah shit, baby,” he cries out in his room—thankfully having half the mind to not cry out your name as he came—eyes rolling back as his cock twitches in his palm, ribbons of cum splashing onto his stomach and chest. The warmth hits his skin, more droplets continuing to leak out as his palm milks his orgasm, stomach hiccuping and back arching from the stimulation.

The choked moan is what has your own orgasm washing over you, your palm slapping over your mouth so hard you know you’ll feel the ache later but you don’t care. A muffled gasp blends with the buzzing of your toy, thighs tensing up as your body tingles and writhes around on your sheets.

The only thing you can think of is Jungkook, the charming smile he’d give you when he listened to you rant about anything, his annoying habit of rolling up his sleeves to show off his muscles, the cute scowl on his face whenever you managed to beat him at Mario Kart, and the soft feeling of his alcohol coated lips on yours. It leaves you feeling warm as your orgasm flows through you, lying limp on the bed as you mewl at the sensitivity.

When you realize your thoughts have strayed from ‘pure sexy Jungkook fantasyland’, and switched over to ‘Jeon Jungkook your adorable neighbor’, your eyes go wide, finger immediately going to turn off the vibrator. In your haste to shut it off, you click the wrong button, changing the pulsing settings and nearly screaming when the device starts to buzz erratically against your overly sensitive clit.

With a strained gasp you yank it away from yourself, turn it off and throw it aside, horribly miscalculating the size of your bed and watching in horror as it lands on the floor with a loud thud. The complete silence from both sides makes the noise sound deafening, and all you can do is sit on your bed, half naked, and hope Jungkook is still too busy basking in his post orgasm bliss to hear the bang.

Although the blood is still pumping in his ears, he heard the thud clearly. His heart stops in his chest as he lays there, too scared to breathe in case he’d somehow make too much noise, suddenly afraid of being too loud after he had just made a show of himself. Jungkook slowly sits himself up, grimacing at the stickiness on his stomach before pressing his ear against his headboard to try to hear anything else.

All you want to do is yank the covers over yourself and go to sleep, pretend your horrendous date and your dirty thoughts about your friend never happened. The sobering mentality that comes after an orgasm settles into you, leaving you staring at the floor with a crease between your brows as you wonder what the hell came over you.

When Jungkook hears nothing else, he sighs in relief, hauling himself out of bed to grab another pair of underwear before entering his bathroom to clean up. As he stares at his own reflection in the mirror, he frowns at how pathetic he feels. The throbbing headache of his earlier drinks is already starting to kick in, body now sweaty from exertion, stomach covered in his cum.

“Such a loser,” he grumbles out, grabbing a wad of tissues to wipe away the mess on his skin before walking back out. Here he was, getting off to the thought of you, while you were out having your post-breakup wild phase.

His hands grab his phone as he reaches his nightstand, flopping back onto the bed and unlocking the device. It’s now one in the morning, and you still hadn’t text him, which either meant you were having the time of your life, or Jungkook had to track down this Jung Hoseok. The slightly protective side of him won’t allow him to sleep until he hears back from you, fingers already typing out a message and hitting send.

Jungkook 1:23am : you safe or am i gonna have to go all Liam Neeson on this guy?

When your phone vibrates on your nightstand you gasp, grabbing it before it could make any more noise. Seeing Jungkook’s name flash on the screen makes your blood run cold, already imagining what the text could be: calling you dirty for getting off on him, making fun of you, telling you to come ove—no stop that.

Finally mustering up the courage, you open it up, a small laugh spilling out as you read his message, relief flooding through you as you realize that meant he thought you were still with Hoseok.

Y/N 1:26am : oh yeah, you gonna show him your very particular set of skills? lol

Y/N 1:26am : i just got home though

Y/N 1:26am : like right now

Y/N 1:26am : still sitting in my living room

Y/N 1:27am : haha

He laughs at your string of texts, something you hear as he settles into bed. Jungkook ebbs away the small feeling of jealousy in his chest, trying to see the silver lining of this. You weren’t rushing to tell him anything about your date which meant it either went so good you wanted to keep it to yourself, or it was subpar and you wouldn’t be seeing this yellow sunglass wearing copycat again.

Jungkook 1:29am : glad you got home safe, goodnight y/n!

Sending back a goodnight text, you lock your phone and slide deeper into bed, pulling the sheets up to your chin as you stare at the ceiling. You already know the only thing you’ll be dreaming about is your cute neighbor with a bunny smile and body proportions that contradicted it. And as Jungkook lays in bed, wondering if he’ll have to push the crush aside, you’re barely coming to terms with the fact that the small glowing feeling that came with being around him might be something else.

Every single one of your interactions gets rewinded and played back like a seamless montage, remembering just how many almost moments there was between you. The way his eyes would flash down to your lips whenever you playfully argued on your couch, hands yanking the remotes from his in a game of tug of war that left you way too close in the heat of the moment. How he’d let you braid his hair anytime you found a new youtube tutorial, his starry eyes staring at you with so much adoration it made your stomach flip, brushing it off as love for a friend.

Then came the jokes from your friends, constantly teasing you about Jungkook, playfully saying they would try to sleep with him just because they liked the scowl on your face, and how quickly you tried to play it off. How the sweet old lady from the convenience store downstairs always assumed you were dating when you came in together, the low jab she sent when you walked in with Hajoon and she said she preferred you with Jungkook. That argument had been one of the ones that left him bolting out of your apartment with a nasty slam of the door, spewing nasty words at you, calling you blind for not seeing it and dumb for acting like you had no idea what he was talking about.

And for the first time, you come to the sudden realization that Hajoon was right. His deep set insecurities about Jungkook had stemmed from scraps of the truth, not just from him but from you too. The amount of times you’d find a way to slide Jungkook’s name into a conversation about anything, telling him funny stories about him, too lost in thought to see that while you were giggling as you reminisce, he was staring at you in disbelief.

The final thought that makes you want a blackhole to swallow you up, comes in the form of you, grabbing Jungkook’s face before planting a kiss on his unsuspecting lips at the club. You want to scream into your pillow as you recall it, how he had almost leaned back in to kiss you again before you had sobered him up with your dumb question rooted in revenge.

“Oh my god, I’m such a bitch.” you whimper. Subjecting Jungkook to be your wingman, jokingly telling him he should be your fake boyfriend more often, asking him for tips with hook ups. If everyone else could see it but you, he probably thought you were purposely friendzoning him.

The guilt piles on top of you as you start to piece together every moment that flew over your head, only making you bury yourself deeper into your sheets. It makes your heart twist, taking note of how Jungkook was always so quick to put a smile on his face despite how naive you were to it all, wondering if maybe it was too late to try to make something of this now. How many times could you call Jungkook ‘bro’ and treat him like you didn’t see him romantically, before he decided there was no hope for him anymore.

So as you force yourself to sleep, nerves and uncertainty weighing heavy on your mind, Jungkook snores away as he dreams of the almost moments that could have been.

#heartsforbts #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #bangtansorciere #bangtaninn #ficswithluv #btscreatorscorner #jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #bts smut #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #bts fics #new

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imaginesfor-thesoul · 4 years

Text

spencer reid x hotch! daughter

(this is totally an au w/out jack and haley IM SORRY)

:: :: ::

The BAU had always heard about SSA Hotchner’s beloved daughter, (y/n), though none of the members had ever had the pleasure of meeting the aforementioned.

Besides the occasional anecdote, Hotch kept mostly to himself about his family. The only tangible evidence that (y/n) even existed was the black and white baby picture propped up on Hotch’s desk. On especially hard days, that silver photo frame displaying his gorgeous baby girl would be the only thing getting him through the day.

Naturally, mystery creates conspiracy. Derek had proposed that perhaps she was trouble, a black sheep. Maybe Hotch was ashamed to talk about her. Garcia, on the other hand, had attempted at some light snooping (minor invasion of privacy). Her search amounted to nothing more than a couple report cards and a birth certificate. JJ could appreciate Hotch’s value of privacy for his family, though on drunken nights with Emily and Spencer would sometimes picture what the mystery girl looked like (this often concluded with a female hotchner, furrowed brows and all).

The elusive daughter of aaron hotchner was far from the BAU’s mind that day, when a young girl wandered into the bullpen asking to talk to “Mr. Hotchner”.

The girl, late teens early twenties at first glance, walked into the buzzing room with a look of worry, yet a piqued interest.

She had got in using her last name and showing ID just to confirm. “Would you like me to tell your dad that you’re here, sweetie?” the kind woman front desk asked with soft eyes.

(y/n) shook her head “that’s alright, i’ll find him, thanks.”

Walking through the glass doors, it was busier than she was expecting. Perhaps she would need help finding her dad after all.

Taking cautious steps, so not to disturb the important people probably doing very important things all around her, (y/n) didn’t see the 6’1” mop of hair and cardigan approaching behind her.

“What are you looking for?” A silvery voice inquired from behind her.

The sudden voice caused (y/n) to jump out of her skin “Jesus dude, you scared the hell out of me!” She turned to see a man. A very gorgeous man. He wore tall cheekbones and wide, heartbreaking eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” He apologized quickly, though his previous question still lingering in the air.

(y/n) crossed her arms over her chest and quirked a brow. “How did you know I was looking for something?”

The man flashed a quick (cocky) smirk before stating “Well to start, when you got to the glass door, you pulled before pushing it open, indicating that you’ve never been here before, or at the very least, haven’t been here often. You came in slowly and scanned the entire floor, shortly analyzing every face around you, as well as reading every sign on a door from where you entered to here.” He finished. He spoke quickly, precisely and matter of factly.

As impressed as she was, all (y/n) could manage to say was “So you’re a profiler, huh. Let me guess, Reid?” She had remembered her dad telling her about the young genius.

Taken slightly aback, Spencer responded with “Uh, yeah. And you?”

“That’s not important. What is important however is the fact that you’ve been watching me! What, do I have a “kick me” sign on my back or something?” (y/n) nervously quipped. For some reason, he made her feel small... and warm, is it hot in here??

“No, not that I saw” He smiled lightly. “So, can I help you find something?”

(y/n) remembered why she had come here in the first place. “Oh yeah! Can you point me towards my- uh... Mr. Hotchner.” She cringed a little at her close slip up.

Reid instinctively pointed towards the top of the steps of the bullpen and towards the middle office. “He’s right up there-“

(y/n) lit up and began heading that direction.

“Wait you can’t just walk in there, he might be on a call or something. Do you have an appointment maybe we can get you to JJ!” He fumbled over his words as the girl continued to confidently stride towards his bosses office.

He looked to the members of his team for any sort of guidance or suggestions, yet they all remained speechless when the girl threw open Hocthner’s office door and jumped on in. “Who the fuck?” Was all Derek could say.

(y/n) pulled the door open with an unexpected force. It had been about 2 weeks since she had seen her father, and the look of surprise on his face made the homecoming all the more better.

“(y/n)?! What are you doing here?? How did you get in?” Hotchner questioned. Concerned, yet always happy to see his girl.

Noticing the numerous sets of eyes on him from the profilers downstairs, he quickly closed the blinds before scooping (y/n) into an overdue bear hug. “I missed you, dad.” She told him, letting go of him.

“I missed you too, (y/n). Always.” Smiling sadly, he ushered her over to his desk to take a seat.

“So what’s going on?” Hotchner asks, his furrowed brow returning.

(y/n) sighs, returning to reality stung a bit as the memories flood back. “I’m sorry I didn’t just do this over phone but I’m too afraid to use my phone in case someone is tapping it.” She let out, a slight pounding in her chest as the anxiety returns.

“What are you talking about?” Hotch eagerly asked. Worry spreading across his features.

“Do you remember a couple weeks ago my roommate, Amber, passed away from a drug overdose?” (y/n) began.

Hotch nodded.

“Well, two nights ago, I came back and my other roommate, Lacy is-“ (y/n) was trying everything in her power not to cry in front of her dad, though the words could barely come out. “She’s missing, dad! And there was a note... A note saying that whoever left it had killed Amber and that Lacy was next!”

She was hysterical now.

Hotchner’s heart broke as fear rose within him. His worse fear of something happening to (y/n) was getting dangerously close, and his sobbing daughter in front of him made him ache through and through.

“Right, here’s what we’ll do.” He took her hands in his in attempt to get her to stop crying.

“I’ll get the team on it right away. you’re going to have to help us, but I promise you, we will keep you safe.” (y/n) nodded and wiped the flowing tears off her cheek.

After a few more minutes of consolation, (y/n) had gathered herself and followed behind her father out his office door. Standing above the bullpen, Hotch shortly cleared his throat gaining the attention of his team. “We’ve got an urgent case, everyone up here now, Morgan, grab Garcia.”. The tall, dark and undeniably handsome man nodded and headed off promptly.

The rest of the team, curious as to why JJ hadn't brought the case to the team obeyed nonetheless. Reid caught (y/n)’s eyes once more. Through that gaze, an incomparable sense of safety fell upon the two.

Filing into a board room, Morgan and Garcia were the last to stumble in after Hotch, (y/n), Reid, Prentiss, JJ and Rossi. It was interesting for (y/n) to finally place faces to the names she had heard many stories about.

Hotch stood before the team. “Everyone, this is my daughter, (y/n). I wish I could've introduced her under different circumstances but here we are.”

A slight, barely audible realization settled through the team with Derek and Garcia fondly smiling towards you, JJ and Prentiss sharing a glance as if to say “called it”, Rossi nodding in understanding and Reid gaining a slight look of fear across his features.

As her father explained the events from the past couple of weeks, (y/n) zoned in and out, knowing the case through and through. Though she was still fearful, she let her mind drift towards the absolute sunshine that was Dr. Spencer Reid. His light had been the only source to pull (y/n) out of her total darkness, though it was just momentary.

They were magnetic from across the table. She didn't want him to pity her. As Hotch detailed what was going on, Reid couldn't help but glance at the girl, in a silent attempt at reassurance.

Pictures of Lacy and Amber (that Garcia had quickly dug up) up on the screen, (y/n) felt the familiar feeling of darkness creeping up once more, her eyes welling up, though she couldn't seem to look away. She didn't seem to hear as Hotchner finished up and the team immediately jumped into action.

A large hand made its way to her trembling one. “We’ll find her, I promise”.

(y/n) looked into Reid’s soulful eyes and she could tell, he genuinely meant it.

Catching sight of her father’s furrowed brow, she swiftly slid her hand from under his and cleared her throat. She shortly replied “Thank you.” Though the look in her eye declared so much more.

:: :: ::

part two

AN oh hey, it’s been a minute.

#spencer reid #Spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #hotchner #criminal minds #Matthew gray gubler #Matthew gray gubler x reader #Matthew gray gubler imagine #ff #imagine #derek morgan

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alwaysmychoices · 3 years

Text

Ski Resort

Synopsis: After declaring her intention to leave medicine forever, Charlie must join the Diagnostics Team for one more case before Ethan will let her retire. But once they’re trapped in the ski resort, Charlie gets tangled in the mystery, and she begins to wonder if she should really leave medicine or if it’s time to come back.

Chapter 26 of the “with and without” series

Previous Series: “a weekend with dr. ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 5.5k (sorry, I tried so hard to cut it down)

Rating: Teen

Also available on AO3 & Wattpad (link in Masterlist)

The drive to the ski resort was uncomfortably quiet. Ethan and Charlie didn't speak a word, not even when Baz tried to play car games or entertain the captive group with stories.

No, Ethan and Charlie weren't going to speak – or rather, Ethan wasn't going to speak until Charlie did, and Charlie wasn't going to say a thing.

The fight in Ethan's office had cooled to begrudging acceptance. Despite her objections, Charlie put on her coat, read the patient information, and piled in the car with the rest of the diagnostics team just as Ethan insisted. But her cooperation extended only that far.

Ethan was sure that she was furious in the back seat – so sure that he kept looking back to her in the rearview to see if her expression had soured any further.

But Ethan wasn't right about everything.

Charlie wasn't angry – or if she was, it was secondarily not primarily.

She was anxious.

Anxious to be back at work and interacting with critical patients when her confidence in herself and her skills had never been lower. Anxious to stand on the precipice of her entire future – for if she failed today, she wouldn't be a doctor, and if she didn't, she'd have to face fears buried deep in her soul.

It wasn't that she held her tongue because she would have hurled insults otherwise. She held her tongue because she simply couldn't bear to say anything at all.

June and Baz sensed the discomfort, though they were kind enough to not comment on it. Baz tried his best to lessen the uneasiness with music and diverting conversion, none of which stuck. June was more intrigued, maybe even suspicious.

They'd both been surprised when Charlie joined the expedition after her long absence, but Baz was much more willing to accept the sudden return and be thankful for it. June couldn't shake her curiosity.

After all, why had Charlie suddenly returned from leave for this one case? Why was the relationship between Charlie and Ethan, which had once been friendly, now so tense?

Being scrutinized only made Charlie feel worse.

It was a relief for all parties when they arrived at the ski resort.

Any other day, Charlie would have stopped and marveled at the sight.

Perfect, white snow coated the landscape and the resort. Smoke billowed from the central fireplace, promising warmth and comfort inside. Snow-capped trees climbed Mount Dagger and dotted the landscape. Even with layers and layers of footprints marring the snow and a large resort looming in the background, this place felt serene and untouched somehow.

It was so different from the heat and sunshine Charlie had grown up with.

Part of her wished she could have leaned into Ethan and marveled at the place, letting him tease her for her unfamiliarity and inexperience with snow. She realized that winter had only been pain and survival for them. She had the urge to change that somehow – to throw a snowball or challenge him to make snow angels.

But instead, Charlie just trudged along, keeping the urges to herself and remaining silent.

The owner, Rodney, was a friend of Ethan's. He greeted them all warmly and thanked them for their time. On the way to the patient's room, he offered charming anecdotes about Ethan's childhood and their friendship. Charlie wished she could have engaged more, but it was all becoming too real. In mere moments, she would be a working doctor again – a dream that had become a nightmare.

Paula and her son, Timothy, waited in their hotel room.

In the end, they weren't nearly as frightening as Charlie had imagined them. The entire drive, she morphed her patient experience into that of death and destruction, and she'd forgotten how mundane interactions could really be. Even Paula's defiance and complaints felt tame in the face of all Charlie had been through.

During the initial interview, Charlie didn't resume the active role she'd once had on the team. Instead, it was Ethan who drove the questioning, with June acting as his secondary. The team had found their new rhythm in her absence, and they seemed to know that Charlie was purposefully not stepping into her old shoes.

Ethan was disappointed.

To an outsider, she would have looked like a student rather than a member of the team. She stood in the back of the group, her mouth closed and ideas kept to herself. It could have read as disinterest, though Ethan highly doubted Charlie could confront a mystery and not be enthralled. No, it must have been something else. Anger maybe. Perhaps she wasn't ready, just as she'd warned him in the hospital.

During the interview, Ethan managed to look back at Charlie and examine her without anyone noticing.

And what he found prompted a sigh of relief.

She wasn't disinterested.

Charlie's eyes were bright and alive with curiosity. She was listening attentively, her expression changing slightly with each new piece of information. She must be cataloging it, saving it, and allowing it to simmer until it attached to a theory. Even if she wasn't speaking, she was here. She was part of the team, part of the future solution. He could see it in her now– the passion and empathy he'd recognized in her so early in her intern year.

He found himself hoping it would be enough to make her stay.

Enough to make her realize she wanted to stay.

It distracted him from the interview.

Not that he was missing much anyway. Paula, the patient, was particularly uncooperative. It took considerable prodding – and her son’s insistence – to get Paula to say anything at all.

But Ethan’s attention quickly returned when Paula's behavior suddenly shifted.

June and Baz talking to each other, quietly exposing the confusion amongst the team about Paula's bizarre symptoms. Nothing about the conversation was particularly unusual, but to a distrustful woman like Paula, it was enough to prove incompetence on the team's part.

With an eerie light in her eyes, Paula interrupted to say, "It sounds like you have no idea what you're talking about."

She said it with such airy mirth that the comment was unsettling.

Then, to the horror of everyone in the room, the formerly austere Paula's face split into a wild, frenzied laugh. Her posture had changed – so had her facial expressions. Ethan took a step closer and realized that the disturbing glimmer in her eyes was the dark of her pupil as it dilated.

The team looked at each other in horror and shock.

"Paula, are you feeling alright?" Charlie asked. These were the first unprompted words she'd spoken since the introductions.

"I feel great! Why the hell wouldn't I? I'm stuck on a mountain with a load of incompetent doctors!" Paula's voice dissolved into laughter. It was too loud. Too open. Too long.

The diagnostics team looked to each other, and in a silent consensus, they followed Ethan's lead to the hallway. Once the door closed behind them, they abandoned their polite, neutral expressions to show their true concern.

"It looks like a manic episode. If her brain trauma is extensive enough to cause that…." Ethan trailed off, only for Charlie to finish.

"We need to get her to a hospital as soon as possible. Can we call for a helicopter?"

“Doubtful,” Baz frowned, “During the interview, the storm was upgraded to a blizzard. We wouldn’t have time for a helicopter, and the roads are already being shut down.”

“But we just got here!” Charlie fought it, not that she was sure why she did. The entire drive up, the snow had gotten progressively worse. Even from inside Paula’s room, she could tell the weather was turning.

“Then we’re stuck here,” June announced, ignoring Charlie’s outburst, “We’ll have to monitor Paula all night in case her condition worsens.”

Charlie frowned.

This was not how she wanted her first case back to go.

The patient showed unusual symptoms and potential mania, all while they were trapped in a ski resort by a blizzard? This had death and destruction written all over it.

Had Ethan taken the time to consider it, he would have reached the same dim conclusion.

But fortunately for him, he was more distracted by managing the crisis. With little time before the snow made movement impossible to leave the lodge, Ethan decided to find the source of Paula’s rash on the mountain. Charlie objected on safety grounds, but Ethan went out anyway. In his absence, the team conducted a few tests and settled the room arrangements with Rodney. Ethan returned safely, just a bit cold and damp from the snow, and with the cause of the rash. It was poison sumac, he announced. Unrelated to the other symptoms, unfortunately, but at least they could rule other things out.

Only moments later, the blizzard captured the resort captured the resort and trapped the occupants inside.

To his surprise, Charlie wasn’t impressed by his discovery or his quick return. She was annoyed he’d gone out in the first place. And he suspected she was irritated to be here at all.

He wondered if he was pushing her too far, if his plan to show her the best parts of their job had been flawed. If he had been flawed.

If he was doing more harm than good.

Then June pulled out the hotel keys to present them to everyone.

There were four.

The extra room key stung.

It shouldn’t have.

Of course, they couldn’t stay in the same room on a work trip. He shouldn’t have expected anything different.

But something about it made him feel… distant from her.

Like he’d created a wall between them in this whole endeavor, a wall made physical by the separate rooms. Though he’d done it thousands of nights before, Ethan suddenly couldn’t imagine sleeping without her, her body warm beside him and her fragrant curls straying to his side of the bed. He wanted her to forgive him, though he wasn’t sure what for.

In an ideal world, they would have talked about it.

He would have checked on her.

But instead, in a whirlwind of arrangements and discussions, Ethan began his shift, and Charlie followed Baz and June to find their rooms.

Charlie hadn’t planned on staying, so she had nothing to unpack except for a phone charger from her purse and a laptop borrowed from Edenbrook. She didn’t relish the idea of sleeping in her bulky jeans or shivering in the cold night, but there was nothing she could do about that in a blizzard.

It was a relief to warm herself in a hot shower, but after, the room felt too lonely. Unsure what to do with herself, she searched for Baz and June. She found them both at the bar, which fortunately hadn’t been affected by the outside storm.

They sat by the fire with medical journals and drinks – and smores, in Baz’s case. When Charlie entered, they gave her their full attention.

They were genuinely happy to see her return.

They still believed in her, it seemed.

Not that she should be surprised, she reminded herself.

But she was a little.

She’d forgotten how it felt to be the prodigy, not the shattered impersonation of one.

Baz couldn’t contain his excitement and even went as far as to buy her bourbon in celebration, “I’m so happy you’re back! We’ve missed you, Charlie. It hasn’t been the same without you.”

“He tells the truth,” June confirmed, looking a little amused with her colleague’s enthusiasm.

Charlie didn’t know what to say, so she blushed and let Baz fill in the silence – not that he noticed. He had lots to say.

“To our star resident! You’ve been through hell and back, and we’re so proud of how far you’ve come. For you to have survived that and stand here ready to be a doctor again is brave, Charlie,” Baz emphasized in his toast, oblivious to the fact he was only making Charlie more nervous.

Charlie weakly raised her glass, tapping it against June’s and Baz’s.

June’s eyes settled on Charlie’s unsteady smile.

Which only made Charlie more unsteady.

“I can’t believe you’re really back and that Ethan didn’t even give us a warning! For weeks, he said you needed more time, and then, he surprised us. You two were probably in on it together,” Baz laughed good-naturedly, “So, are you back permanently now?”

I have no idea, she thought.

She didn’t know if she’d make it through this case, let alone if she’d take on another.

Her future was too uncertain, her confidence too shaken to answer.

“Um,” Charlie stammered, looking for an answer that didn’t expose her as a nervous wreck, “We’ll see how it works out with my remaining leave, I guess,” she answered noncommittally.

It was the wrong answer.

Too uncommitted. Not enough enthusiasm. Recognizable nerves.

It exposed something that Charlie wanted to hide. It showed how little she controlled this situation, how little she controlled everything. She didn’t know what would happen or what she wanted to happen. It was such a stark contrast from the determined, headstrong intern she’d once been.

If Baz noticed, he took it in stride and said he hoped she would be back full time soon. Then, he started telling her about all she’d missed – leaving out Levi, of course.

June noticed, though.

She sensed Charlie’s unease, and as a result, she stared. And studied.

Charlie became increasingly uncomfortable as the subject of June’s fascination. She felt like she might crack, like June would see through her if she was given enough time.

She began to feel like an imposter trying to fill her old role, and the deception of it all made her sick.

Charlie couldn’t stay for the rest of the evening, not if she was going to survive the night.

So, Charlie finished her bourbon a little too quickly, and to Baz’s disappointment, she excused herself to review online journals on her laptop. June wasn’t surprised she was leaving, though she politely said goodnight anyway.

Maybe June suspected Charlie’s weakness all along.

Maybe she was the smart one. Maybe she saw the truth that Ethan and Baz couldn’t – that Charlie was irreparably broken.

Even with the distance of a few floors separating them, Charlie felt haunted by the exchange – and maybe even still watched by June.

Charlie wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be the old star resident again, though she wondered if she had it in her.

The research proved fascinating, though research had never been a problem for Charlie. She loved learning, and she was always captivated by cases like this. Still, Paula’s case was an enigma, and Charlie went between journals, online textbooks, and her own observations over and over until her eyes burned. When she couldn’t focus anymore, she decided to take a walk and check on Paula. With any luck, she’d gain valuable information through questioning or observation. Even if learned nothing, it would be nice to see Ethan, someone who knew about her trauma and still believed in her enough to bring her here.

Charlie was halfway to Paula’s room when she spotted a familiar face.

“Timothy?” Charlie called out.

Timothy, the patient’s son, stopped mid-stride in shock. He probably didn’t think that anyone else in this hotel knew him.

“I’m one of your mom’s doctors,” Charlie explained quickly, hoping to put him at ease.

It worked. Timothy relaxed a bit, though he remained rigid enough to protect the cup of herbal tea he was carrying. Another mug for his mom, Charlie suspected. She worried that this meant her symptoms were getting worse.

“I’m on your way to your mother’s room. Do you mind if I walk with you?” Charlie asked. During the interview, Timothy had been more forthcoming than his mother, and if Paula became more uncooperative, he would be their only hope. And she worried for the boy. It had to be scary to watch something like this happen to your mother.

Timothy agreed, and they walked together quietly. After a few quiet moments, Charlie commented, “That’s very sweet of you to bring your mother some tea. You’ve been a very good caretaker, Timothy. That’s brave of you, and I want you to know you’re doing a good job, though you should also take care of yourself tonight.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m used to it,” Timothy said sheepishly, looking into the cup of tea with a shy smile.

Charlie’s interest was piqued.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just mom and me at home, so I take care of her.”

“What do you take care of, Timothy?”

Timothy frowned like he’d said something wrong.

“We’re here to help,” Charlie assured him, “So if she has a condition you’ve been helping her with, it’s okay. Just let us know. It may be interacting with or causing her current ailment.”

Timothy looked at Charlie thoughtfully. Almost too thoughtfully.

Charlie was sure there was something he wanted to tell her, or at least something he should tell her.

But all he said was, “It’s nothing really. We’re doing better now.”

Better from what? she thought.

Timothy suddenly looked down and frowned further.

“Is something wrong?”

“I forgot my bag in the lobby when I went to make the tea….”

“I can go get it for you.”

“No,” Timothy insisted too quickly.

Charlie was startled.

“Well, I can bring the tea if you want….” Charlie offered, her voice soft.

“She wouldn’t take it from you,” Timothy shook his head, his eyes softer now. Almost like he was apologetic for his mom’s violent dislike of doctors.

Charlie didn’t want to let Timothy go, especially when he was clearly hiding something, but he insisted she go ahead to the room without him. Not wanting to alienate him, Charlie reluctantly complied.

Once Charlie was in Paula’s room, she almost forgot about her strange encounter with Timothy. The change in Paula was drastic. Her boisterous laughter had faded into dreary silence. She laid in the bed silent and unmoving, her face blank and cold. Even the room felt darker, like all of the energy had been drained as depression gripped the primary occupant.

Ethan was stationed in the corner of the room, and he greeted Charlie with a silent nod.

“How long has this been going on?” Charlie whispered as she approached.

“About an hour,” Ethan frowned.

“I ran into the son in the hallway. I think there’s a preexisting condition they’re hiding from us,” Charlie lowered her voice even further to keep from being heard.

“Hmm,” Ethan raised his eyebrows with intrigue.

“I’m working on it,” she assured him.

Before they could talk any further, Timothy entered with a cup of tea and a bookbag in tow. He dropped the bag by the door, letting it slouch near Ethan and Charlie as he rushed to his mother’s side to deliver the tea. His bag’s zipper was half-undone, revealing some of the contents.

Charlie couldn’t help but look.

A notebook. Headphones. Pencils and pens. What looked like a few pages of math homework. Teabags, presumably from the herbal tea.

All normal stuff for a high schooler.

Still, she tilted her head just a bit more.

Some socks. A bag of –

A bag of pills.

Charlie’s head jerked to attention.

Why would he have a bag of pills? Was he abusing them?

Charlie was about to elbow Ethan and draw his attention to it when Timothy returned for the bag, zipping it back up and slinging it over his shoulder. If he noticed her stare, he didn’t let on.

Everything that was said after that was a blur. Charlie was wracking her brain trying to mentally identify the pill, but she didn’t recognize it. If only she knew what it was, maybe she could help.

When June arrived to take her shift, Charlie took it as her opportunity to return to her room to research medications commonly used or abused by teenagers.

Ethan, oblivious to her new mission, was disappointed by how quickly she ran away. He’d been excited when she came to check on Paula. He thought she was getting back into medicine, but now she was running away from it – and him.

He’d hoped to talk to her once he was off duty.

But Charlie didn’t even realize she’d slighted him.

She spent the next forty-five minutes trying to find a match for the pill.

Nothing jumped out at her. The pill she saw didn’t seem to be commonly abused, nor was it coming up in her research. Could it be a regular vitamin? If so, why would he have it in a bag? Or was it a street drug not listed in these databases?

Without interruption, she might have spent the whole night in this fruitless search.

She was lucky Ethan knocked on the door.

Knock. Knock.

Her train of thought was rudely interrupted, she thought, and she was reluctant to abandon her computer and greet the intruder. Had there not been a patient, she might have been annoyed enough to wait for a second knock.

When she saw Ethan, her mind went back to that room – to Paula.

She forgot that there was any other reason he might be coming to see her.

Like the fact that this was her first time back to work or that he was her boyfriend.

“Are Paula and Timothy alright?” Charlie blurted out, skipping introductions as she assumed the worst.

“Oh…” Ethan was a little knocked back, “Yes. They’re fine.”

“Oh,” Charlie was relieved but now a bit confused.

He stared at her.

Didn’t she understand why he was here? Why wasn’t she inviting him inside?

For a second, she’d gotten so into her job that she’d forgotten everything else – even how much her job terrified her.

“I came to check on you,” Ethan announced finally.

This jolted Charlie’s memory, and she quickly moved back from the door, letting him enter.

Her room was smaller than his, he noted. He found himself hoping she wouldn’t sleep in it tonight. He wanted her by his side. He wanted the assurance that he hadn’t lost her by pushing her too hard.

“How are you doing?” Ethan asked as he crossed the room, silently appraising her living arrangements. By the state of the crumbled comforter, it looked like she’d been researching on her laptop for most of the night.

“Alright, I guess” Charlie murmured, a little unsure of herself.

Their case was an enigma, and their patient was rapidly detreating in a blizzard. A teen had mystery pills in his backpack. June was now studying her. All day, Charlie had been teetering between genuine passion for her job and the feeling of insufficiently filling her old role.

How well could she really be doing?

But she also couldn’t say that she was miserable. She wasn’t as sure of her decision to leave as she had been this morning, nor was she convinced that medicine was all death and destruction.

The best way to describe Charlie was unsteady. Unsure, even.

She just had to survive this case.

Ethan, unsatisfied with her answer, awkwardly paced her small hotel room. She watched.

Finally, he turned to her, and finding the courage to say the words he’d prepared for the last hour, he said, “I’ve been thinking, and I wanted to apologize. I pushed you a lot today. At the time, I thought it was right. In fact, I still think it was right, but… it wasn’t fair.”

Charlie couldn’t believe Ethan was apologizing. Any other day, she might have even gloated. But today, she squirmed, equally unnerved by the situation. Maybe even more so.

Ethan waited for her response, trying so hard to be patient but failing miserably. He couldn’t fathom that he might have misjudged her limits and ruined everything.

It felt like an eternity before she spoke.

“It’s okay… I needed to come back before I decided. Maybe not so abruptly but…” Charlie trailed off, the edge of a smile on her lips. There was a glint in her eyes, and he realized she was poking fun at him.

He was relieved.

“You’ve done really well today,” Ethan ventured, “I’m proud of you.”

Charlie shook her head sheepishly, “I barely spoke.”

“But you were listening.”

“You can’t pretend I’m the same as I was.”

“You don’t have to be the same to be a good doctor, Charlie.”

Charlie bit her lower lip as she averted her gaze.

He took that as an invitation to be bolder, “I think you should come back permanently.”

“What?” Charlie’s eyes shot back to him, the shock in her eyes verging on indignation.

“The team agrees. It’s time, Charlie,” Ethan knew he was stuck now. He couldn’t take it back or soothe the storm that was brewing.

“You spoke to the team?” her gaze grew harder.

“I wanted you to know that you had full faith in you!” Ethan explained.

“June’s already watching me like there’s something wrong with me! Now you’ve just given her more reason to study me,” Charlie shook her head, frustration rising through her veins, “Why would you do that before talking to me?”

“You need to know that we believe in you, Charlotte,” Ethan said quite defensively, “We want you on the team.”

“I haven’t even made it through this case. What makes you think I’m ready to take on another?”

“Because you’re you. You’re not even out of residency yet, and you’re pulling your weight among experts. You’re discovering preexisting conditions none of us ever knew about-“

“Of which we have no proof!” Charlie interrupted.

“You’re still closer to an answer than any of us are,” Ethan said firmly, “And even when you’re scared, like you are now, you still care. You’re a good doctor. Great, even. You’ll be better than me one day. But you’re giving up-“

“Giving up?” Charlie repeated incredulously, “That’s what you think I’m doing?”

“You have a gift!”

“I almost died,” Charlie emphasized, “Every time a patient comes in with a mystery illness and no hope, I know what that feels like. I relive the worst day of my life through their eyes, and I know I can’t save them all. And you think I’m just giving up?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Charlie,” Ethan said, suddenly ashamed, “I’m trying to help you. I love you, and I know you love medicine. I don’t want you to lose that because of a premature decision.”

“So, you think you’re helping me by making me do what I don’t want?”

Ethan frowned, “When it feels like it’s for the best, yes… But it’ll get better.”

Charlie paused.

And then something clicked.

And the fight – and Ethan’s dumb words – were forgotten.

“Wait,” she mumbled, “Making me do what I don’t want…”

“Yes, I know, and I’m sorry. But I really am trying to help,” Ethan tried, oblivious to the shift in Charlie’s mind.

She ignored him, rushing to her computer.

“What are you doing?” Ethan asked incredulously, watching as she frantically typed something into her computer. Again, she ignored him.

Her eyes the screen until they landed on the pill she’d seen in Timothy’s bag.

“I know what’s wrong with Paula.”

Ethan dropped his defensive stance and rushed to her side, hoping he’d understand by looking at her screen. But all he saw was a medication.

“There’s a bag of lithium in Timothy’s backpack. He said he’s been taking care of her for a long time but that she got better recently. I think he’s drugging her with this.”

“Her mood swings…” Ethan’s jaw almost dropped.

“He’s probably been trying to treat her for bipolar disorder on his own. You saw how she was with doctors. I doubt she would have gone in for treatment,” Charlie felt a knot form in her stomach. Even though she was sure of her hypothesis, she hoped it wasn’t true.

“And they gave her ibuprofen to treat her head injury,” Ethan swallowed heavily.

“We have to get her to a hospital.”

“And talk to Timothy.”

As if reading each other’s minds, they abandoned the laptop in Charlie’s room and raced to Paula’s room where they found Timothy waiting by his sleeping mother, looking exhausted but sleepless with worry.

Unfortunately, Charlie’s theory was correct.

Timothy confessed, and Charlie’s heart broke as they explained the repercussions of his actions as well as the severity of what he had done wrong. She felt for him, for what he must have gone through to think such action was necessary. But she couldn’t excuse his decision to medicate her without her consent, especially given the consequences. The lithium and ibuprofen combined to form a disastrous chain reaction, one that lasted even after they discovered the cause.

It took hours for the storm to clear enough for the helicopters to take Paula to the hospital.

While they waited, Charlie and Ethan sat in his room – a romantic suite with a view of the snowy mountains. It felt like a waste now. A romantic night they could have had, if Charlie hadn’t solved such a sad mystery. She was tired, though she wouldn’t admit it. At some point, she drifted to sleep, and Ethan held her, his fingers running through her hair as he kissed her temple and quietly congratulated her on her solve.

“I always knew you’d be the one to solve it,” he whispered.

“Why?” she murmured, “Were you holding back?”

“No, because you’re smarter than me,” he chuckled.

Charlie was smiling when she fell asleep.

When she woke up, the mood had shifted back to panic.

The helicopter on its way, and the team needed to follow. June and Baz took the helicopter with Paula and Timothy, and Ethan and Charlie drove the car back once the roads opened. The team called a few times to share updates and ask for advice.

But for most of the drive, Ethan held Charlie’s hand in silence.

The case was over.

She could back to her life in the apartment where she hid from the world and pushed herself just a little day by day, building her tolerance safely. She could tell Ethan he was wrong. Or she could stay.

And the truth was… she couldn’t imagine going back now.

Not now that she remembered what it was like on the good days – ones where she made the solve and saved the day. Ones where she realized she made a difference, that she solved things other people couldn’t.

It was okay to be scared.

Even as the words were on the tip of her tongue, she was terrified.

“My answer is yes.”

Ethan’s eyes momentarily drifted from the road to her, “What?”

“To your question last night. I want to come back permanently.”

Ethan felt like he could crash the car out of pure shock.

“Are you sure?”

“I mean… not really. I’m scared, but I think it’s time,” Charlie nodded her head, trying to project the confidence she wanted to once more possess.

“We can wait for you if you need more time,” Ethan assured her, struggling to keep his eyes on the highway and not right at her.

“I know,” Charlie confirmed, “But now is the time. I can’t retire, and I can’t wait forever to go back. I’ll never be 100% ready, so I just have to jump in.”

Ethan’s heart was beating so fast that Charlie felt it as she held his hand.

“Are you really, really sure?” Ethan clarified just one more time.

“Yes,” Charlie laughed, a smile lingering on her lips.

He looked at her. Briefly, of course. He was driving, after all.

And then his face broke out in a face-splitting grin.

“I’m so proud of you, Rookie,” he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, “You’re amazing! I love you! I love you so much.”

His happiness was infectious. So infectious that she forgot about the fear.

And she laughed.

“You haven’t called me Rookie in a long time,” she squeezed his hand softly, and he cast a sideways glance at her.

“Do you still like being called Rookie?”

“Yes,” she smiled so warmly it practically radiated off of her.

And he loved her. He really did.

“Well then, I love you, Rookie,” he smirked, “And I owe you a romantic ski vacation.”

“Bold of you to assume I know how to ski.”

“And I owe you ski lessons, I suppose,” he murmured affectionately.

“You also owe me a kiss when we stop this car,” Charlie added.

He looked over at her – and quite recklessly because they were doctors and knew what could happen when young lovers were stupid on highways – he kissed her. Quickly, of course. Softly. But lovingly.

And even if she regretted it tomorrow and the world caved again, she was glad she was back today.

#Ethan ramsey #choices #ethan ramsey x mc #dr. ethan ramsey #pixelbery #choices stories you play #open heart #open heart fanfiction #with and without #fics #dr. ethan ramsey x mc

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mldrgrl · 3 years

Text

The Matchmaker

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary: Based on this old prompt I got, which I originally said I couldn’t handle, but then inspiration struck and I had to roll with it.

Scully has only just barely opened the door to the dark office when Mulder is shoving a file into her hands and closing the door behind her. The projector is on, but the screen is blank, just white square of light and Mulder’s silhouette as he takes her to-go cup of coffee from her hands so she can shrug out of her overcoat.

“Once upon a time,” he says, handing her coffee back to her.

“Really, Mulder? Once upon a time?”

He smirks good-naturedly and snatches up the remote to the projector to advance to the first slide. “Once upon a time there was a little tiny tree in a great big forest in New Hampshire.”

“Mmhm.”

Scully tucks the unopened file under her arm and passes through the warm light of the slide projector to put her satchel down at her workstation. She takes a momentary glance at a grainy, black and white photo of a large tree and sips her coffee.

“Estimates have placed this particular tree to be somewhere around 400 years old. This is the earliest photo of it I could find, in the Manchester Daily from 1929.”

“Did someone cut this tiny little tree down and release a great big swarm of deadly mites like the ones we encountered in Washington state?”

“No, nothing like that.” Mulder winces and scratches the back of his head before advancing to the next slide, another black and white photo from a different angle, wider so that the tree in question stands small and alone in the middle of a field against a backdrop of mighty oaks and firs and pines.

“Well?” she asks.

“Did you know there are countless legends about enchanted trees? Trees with magical powers, trees that have the ability to heal or harm or grant wishes or foretell the future?”

“Folklore.”

“Every single culture has some kind of legend about the power of a tree.”

“Mulder, you once tried to tell me the same thing about Bigfoot.”

He ignores the wisecrack and clicks through his slides, narrating the images that appear on the screen. “The Jinmenju tree in Japan is said to have fruit with human faces that laugh at people who happen to walk by. There’s the sacred Norse tree Yggdrasil, center of the cosmos and where the Gods gather for daily court. In Iranian mythology the Bas tokhmak is said to contain seeds that eliminate sorrow and despair. And the Hungarian égig érő fa or sky-high tree that only selected shamans are entitled to climb and encounter magical worlds in the clouds.”

“Sounds suspiciously similar to Jack and the Beanstalk.”

“And then there’s the Hart’s Location Flame Thrower Redbud.”

Scully presumes the new slide is the same tree that was in black and white at the start of the slideshow, only now it’s in color. The leaves are multicolored, mostly red and purple, but some are so dark they’re nearly black. Though small, the tree stands out in sharp contrast to the yellow fieldgrass, blue sky, and the green trees behind it.

“Well, it’s certainly beautiful,” she says.

“The locals call it The Matchmaker.”

Scully snorts softly. “And why is that?” she asks.

“If you open up that file I so generously put together for you, you’ll find newspaper clippings from the past half-century, most of them wedding announcements, citing this tree as a key to what led these couples to a happy union.”

“Mulder...you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Of course with any good legend, there’s a catch.”

“Of course there is.” She puts her coffee down and opens the file, but doesn’t take more than a passing glance at the pages she flips through.

“From what I can gather, and keep in mind this is the Cliff’s Notes version of things, people believe the tree can predict compatibility in couples who make the pilgrimage there.”

“And how, pray tell, does the tree do this?”

“Glad you asked!” Mulder advances the next slide, a close up photo of the left hand of a woman. The ring finger is disfigured in some way, appearing to Scully to almost resemble a twig.

“What the hell am I looking at, Mulder?”

“You’re looking at an example of what might happen if a couple is not compatible. There’s an online Usenet group dedicated to finding matches for anyone who’s had, let’s say, experiences with the tree that have left them unrequited.”

“Unrequited?”

Mulder scrolls through the next few slides without comment. There’s another photo of the side of a woman’s face with what appears at first to be a small pinecone earring, but on closer look the pinecone is actually attached to the earlobe. There’s another of a hand, masculine this time, with veins that look like tree roots creeping up from wrist to knuckles. The last one is a forearm covered with a thin layer of moss.

“They say the only way to reverse the effects is by true love’s touch.”

“True love’s touch,” she repeats.

“Hope you’ve got your hiking boots ready and an overnight bag in the car,” he says, clicking over to an aerial photo of a forest. “We’re headed to a little town on the outskirts of Crawford Notch State Park.”

She tries not to sigh in response.

*****

The flight to Manchester is less than two hours and they arrive just before noon. Scully has flipped through the file Mulder gave to her, and though the clippings make for amusing anecdotes, she sees nothing noteworthy or remarkable.

“What exactly is your interest in this case,” Scully asks, buckling her seatbelt after she takes her usual navigational seat in their rental car. “Not that I even believe there actually is a case here, let alone an x-file.”

“You don’t think it’s unusual just how many couples cite that tree as a turning point in their relationships?”

“Not really.”

“You’re not even a little curious?”

“About what?”

“The tree.”

“Quite honestly, I’m far more curious about what you’re going to buy me for lunch than I am about a matchmaking tree.”

He chuckles. “Ah, well, lucky for you our first stop happens to be a diner not too far from here.”

“Yes, lucky me.”

*****

The diner resembles a small cabin and is nestled amongst the trees off the side of the road. She doesn’t want to admit it, but the drive so far has been beautiful. The highway is narrow and tree-lined and it’s autumn. Miles upon miles of yellows and reds and golds and greens and oranges. To say that the road is picturesque would be an understatement.

The little cabin-diner is warm and cozy. A wood-burning stove is on in one corner, easily heating the small space. There’s a long counter with swivel-seats dividing the cabin in half, lengthwise, and four booths pressed up against the front windows, two on either side of the door. Only one man sits at the counter, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. He looks up briefly when Mulder and Scully enter, but immediately returns his attention to his newspaper.

A waitress in an emerald green, button-down dress and starch white apron comes out from behind the counter with two menus. She smiles congenially as she says good afternoon and waves to the booths.

“Take your pick,” she says.

Mulder looks to Scully and she sees him glance at the counter. She nods and cuts her eyes to the nametag pinned above the pocket of the woman’s uniform. “The counter is fine,” she says. “Janet.”

“Sure.” Janet turns and her blonde curls bounce lightly against her back. Her shoes squeak as she makes her way back to the other side of the counter and places the menus down side by side.

“What do you recommend?” Mulder asks.

“Can’t ever go wrong with a burger,” Janet answers, pulling an order booklet out of her apron pocket. “But, the special today is meatloaf. And the soup is tomato bisque.”

“I’ll do the burger. Medium well. Is that pie under that dome back there?”

“Pecan.”

“More of a sweet potato guy.”

“Yeah, me too. Well, sweet potato girl.” Janet laughs and winks and Mulder chuckles and nods.

Scully clears her throat and slaps her menu down on the counter so hard that Mulder jumps. “I’ll have the chicken salad,” she says, pushing the menu towards Janet. “Balsamic vinaigrette on the side, if you have it.”

“Sure.”

Janet swipes the menus from the counter, scribbles their orders down and rips the paper from the pad to slide it through a small window behind her. Scully adjusts her napkin and cutlery as Mulder swivels towards her and leans in close with his elbow on the counter and his hand across his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you being hostile to the witness.”

“The witness?”

Mulder inclines his head towards Janet and then raises his eyebrows. “Did you even read the file?”

“I gave it a glance.”

“Janet is one of the unrequited.”

“Too bad for Janet.”

Mulder narrows his eyes a little at her and puckers his lips to form a question. She doesn’t know why she’s suddenly feeling so catty, she just does. No, that’s not true. She does know why she’s feeling catty. The past year her partnership has felt like a game of ping pong, bouncing between extreme highs and extreme lows. And the wedge that was driven between them by Diana Fowley, may she rest in peace, is not far enough in the rear view mirror for her liking. They’re on the mend, both professionally and personally, but she still can’t help but feel threatened in some way when Mulder turns the charm on with strangers.

“I’ll stop being hostile if you stop flirting,” she blurts out, regretting not only what she’s just said, but the way in which it flies out of her mouth.

“Flirting?”

“Forget it.”

“Flirting?”

“Nevermind.”

Mulder straightens in his seat and puts both hands flat on the counter. Scully rolls her shoulders back and tucks her chin down. She lets her hair fall across her cheeks to hide her embarrassment. Janet is suddenly there in front of them again, two glasses of water in her hands.

“Didn’t even ask if you folks wanted something to drink,” she says.

“Got any iced tea?” Mulder asks.

“Sure do.”

“Two lemons, please.”

“And for the lady?”

“I’ll just have the water, thank you,” Scully says.

Janet is gone for what feels like only seconds before she’s bringing a glass of iced tea to Mulder and a small glass dish of lemon slices. Mulder thanks her warmly and for some reason, that makes Scully feel even more chagrined.

“Janet,” Mulder says, reaching into the interior breast pocket of his jacket to grab his ID. “My name is Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully. My partner and I are actually on an assignment right now that you might be able to help us with.”

“Me?”

“Have you ever been out to see a tree they call The Matchmaker?”

The smile on Janet’s face wavers and then fades into a frown. She stands stock still for a few moments and then grabs a rag from the side of the counter as though she’s about to clean something, but then just twists it nervously her hands.

“What do you know about it?” she asks.

“Not much, which is why we’re here. We know from our preliminary investigation that you’re amongst the group that calls yourselves the unrequited.”

Janet nods slowly. “That’s not...a crime, is it?”

“No, no. We’re trying to determine if you might be the victim of one though. It’s my understanding your contact with the tree has left you with some sort of affliction.”

Janet nods again and then hesitates before tucking the rag in her hands into her waistband and coming around the counter. Both Mulder and Scully turn in their seats and Janet turns her back to both of them. She lifts the hair up off her neck and it’s then that Scully’s interest is finally piqued. The back of Janet’s neck is rough and scaly, resembling tree bark. Scully whips a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and leans closer to Janet.

“Do you mind if I…?” Scully asks.

Janet glances over her shoulder at Scully, looks at the gloves she’s pulling on, and then nods her head. “Go ahead,” she answers.

“Agent Scully is a medical doctor,” Mulder says, unnecessarily.

Scully gently prods the ridges at the back of Janet’s neck. It appears as though the skin is very dry and may flake away, but in reality it’s very thick and does not give at all. Mulder hovers over Scully, his chin nearly touching her shoulder.

“It could be an allergic reaction,” Scully says. “It appears to be a localized eczema. Have you seen a dermatologist?”

“I’ve been to every dermatologist in the area,” Janet answers, dropping her hair and turning back around. “They’ve done biopsies, tried laser removal, creams, gels, cryotherapy, the whole nine yards. No one knows what it is or how to treat it.”

“And you think the tree that Agent Mulder mentioned earlier has something to do with this?”

“Oh, I know it does. I was foolish enough to ignore the warnings and so...well, now I’m one of the unrequited.”

“I see.”

“Can you walk us through how it happened?” Mulder asks.

“It was about five years ago now, I was a senior in high school. Me and my boyfriend at the time, Anthony, we thought it would be like a funny thing to do just before graduation. We’d been together all through high school, grown up on the same block, and we were planning on getting married the next fall.”

Scully lets her eyes drop momentarily to Janet’s hands and notes the absence of a ring on her finger.

“You knew of the stories before you went up there?” Mulder asks.

“Oh yeah,” Janet answers. “I mean, if you’re from around here, you hear all about it from the time you’re a kid. And everyone wants to brag about it, you know? You hear from all your friends, my parents touched The Matchmaker and then got married, but no one wants to talk about the other side of it.”

“You and Anthony?” Scully asks. “You never married?”

“Well, how could we? He wasn’t the one.”

“According to the tree.”

“If it was true love, I wouldn’t be afflicted.”

“You really believe that?”

Janet points to her neck. “I didn’t until this happened.”

“You didn’t believe in the legend when you went there?” Mulder asks.

“Not really. Who would believe that a tree could do this?”

“You folks need to talk to Hattie Vale,” the man at the other end of the counter suddenly pipes up, even though he doesn’t even look up from his newspaper.

“Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks, swiveling in his seat to face the older man.

“Mmhm.” He nods once and turns the page of his paper. “That cursed tree is part of her legacy. Janet, I’ll take my check now, if you please.”

“You got it, Wallace.” Janet gives Scully a wry smile before she heads behind the counter again, ripping a page out of her booklet.

“Can you tell us how to find Miss Vale?” Mulder asks.

“Take the red bridge about a mile inside the entrance of Crawford Notch. Sign’ll say private property, but it’s just to try to keep looky-loos away from the tree.” Wallace takes a few bills out of his wallet and puts them on the counter. “Thank you, Janet.”

“See you tomorrow,” Janet says.

“Miss Vale lives out by the tree?” Mulder asks.

Wallace folds his newspaper and then stands and tucks it under his arm. “Go right at the fork, that’ll take you to Hattie. Go left, that’ll take you to The Matchmaker. And take my advice, don’t touch that tree.”

“You have a personal experience you’d like to share with us?”

“No.” Wallace pulls a hat out from his jacket pocket, slaps it on his head, and walks out of the diner.

“Why do I not believe him?” Mulder says to Scully as he turns back to face the counter.

*****

Hattie Vale’s home is exactly where Wallace says it would be. While the diner was a faux cabin, Hattie’s place is the real deal. Scully would not be surprised if it did not have running water or electricity.

The woman that greets them on the porch is both ancient and spry. She’s stocky and squarely built, wearing a thin housedress and a hand-knit sweater and moccasins on her feet. Two long, grey braids fall over her shoulders to her hips. Her face is sunburnt and weathered, deep lines in her forehead and at the sides of her mouth. She grins broadly, revealing a handful of missing teeth.

“I had a feeling I might get visitors today,” she says. “And here you folks are.”

“Are you Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks.

“Sure am. Who’s asking?”

“My name is Agent Mulder, this is Agent Scully.” He stops at the edge of the porch and holds up his badge and Scully does the same.

“That supposed to impress me or something?”

“Ah, no Ma’am,” Mulder says, chuckling as he tucks his ID back into his pocket. “We’re investigating some unexplained afflictions associated with a tree in these parts referred to as The Matchmaker.”

“You’re about three centuries too late for that, bub.”

“Forgive me for my tardiness.”

Hattie laughs heartily at Mulder’s joke and Scully has to fight not to roll her eyes at him when he gives a pleased grin in her direction.

“Come on in, I got coffee I can put on.”

“That’s not necessary, Mrs. Vale, we only want to ask a few questions,” Scully says.

“Come on in anyway, let me put my feet up.”

Mulder hops up the stairs onto the porch and Scully trudges up behind him. She’s surprised to find that the cabin actually does have electricity and is fairly tidy and well-furnished. The large room is a combination kitchen, dining area and living space. Hand-woven rugs are strategically placed on the wood floors. Knitted blankets are draped over the couch and a lounge chair. There’s no TV, but there is a transistor radio perched on a folding tray next to the chair.

Hattie plops herself down into the lounger and pulls a lever to extend the footrest. She leans back with her hands over her belly and flexes her toes inside her moccasins.

“How long have you lived out here?” Mulder asks, waiting for Scully to take a seat before he perches himself at the edge of the couch.

“Well, I was born here, so I figured I might as well die here too, but I did move out to Vermont for a time when I got married. After I raised my kids and my husband passed, I thought it was as good of time as any to come back. That would’ve been somewhere around 1942, I think.”

“That was fifty-seven years ago,” Mulder says. “You had already raised your kids and been widowed by then?”

Hattie laughs again. “I was born in 1885.”

“You’re 114 years old?”

“Don’t look a day over 100, do I?” She wiggles her shoulders a little and lifts her brows. Even Scully has to smile in amusement.

“Mrs. Vale,” Scully starts.

“Hattie, please. Never liked formalities. So stuffy.”

“Hattie, can you tell us anything about the tree?”

“Maybe why some might say it’s cursed,” Mulder adds, and Scully grimaces.

“A curse? Bah. Sounds like you’ve been talking to my grandson.”

“Who’s your grandson?” Mulder asks.

“Name is Wallace Byrd. He’s my girl Rosemary’s boy.”

Mulder and Scully give each other a glance. “We did...happen to run into someone named Wallace,” Mulder says.

“Wally had a bad go of it when he was a young man. He blames the tree for it, silly boy.”

“So, you don’t think it’s cursed?”

“Not at all, the tree is blessed, if anything.”

“Do you happen to know how it came to be blessed?”

“Oh yes, I can tell you exactly how it came to be.”

There’s a twinkle in Hattie’s eyes as she starts to tell the story of the tree, one that makes Scully even more dubious and Mulder even more interested.

“My four times great grandfather, Jean-Luc Benoit, came to this area from Quebec City in the first half of the 1700s,” Hattie says. “There was a Winnipesaukee tribe that lived nearby and they traded goods often. Jean-Luc fell in love with a squaw from the village called Little Flower, and she with him, much to her father’s dismay. Sensing that Jean-Luc was going to ask for his blessing to marry his daughter, her father met with some of the elders of the village and they told him he would have to ask the white man to pass a test of his true love if he were to take one of their women away.”

Mulder nods encouragingly at Hattie and then grins at Scully. His enjoyment of the tale is palpable. She keeps her gaze straight ahead, afraid she might slip and very unprofessionally roll her eyes at him.

“Little Flower’s father took the advice of the elders,” Hattie continues. “Except, he decided he was going to give the would-be suitor an impossible task. He told Jean-Luc to plant a seed, and only when that seed had flourished and become a tree, could he have his daughter’s hand in marriage. Jean-Luc said his love was unhurried and he would plant the tree and wait as long as it took. A ceremony was held for the planting and to everyone’s astonishment, the tree grew overnight.”

“Overnight?” Mulder asks. “Incredible.”

“I’ll say,” Scully murmurs.

“But, that wasn’t to be the end of it,” Hattie says. “Little Flower’s father was distraught by the turn of events. Instead of turning to the elders as he had before, this time he went directly to the tree, believing the Gods may have grown the tree as punishment for his trickery. He apologized for his wrongdoing and pleaded with the tree for a sign that would show him that Jean-Luc was worthy. When he went home, his village was in chaos. They told him that right before their eyes, his daughter had started growing leaves where her hair was and roots where her feet were and that she reached up to the sky and her arms became limbs and her fingers became branches.”

“She turned into a tree?” Mulder asks.

“So they say. Little Flower’s father was distraught and horrified. He tried pulling her feet from the earth, but the roots just grew deeper. When he saw that he could do nothing, he ran to Jean-Luc and asked for his help. The instant that Jean-Luc touched the tree that Little Flower had become, she was restored to her human self.”

“And since then, people have come to ask the tree to show them who their true love is?” Mulder asks.

“That’s about right. Mostly locals though, passing the story along to their children and grandchildren.”

“Mrs. Vale, Hattie, are you aware of any pesticides that may have been sprayed around the tree or perhaps any poisonous foliage that might surround the area?” Scully asks.

Hattie shrugs. “Been years since I’ve been out by that tree. The state took that part of the land years ago when they formed the park.”

“Have you heard about people coming away from the tree with afflictions?” Mulder asks. “Skin problems, or physical ailments of some kind? You said your grandson, Wallace, believes the tree to be cursed. Has he been suffering from an ailment after contact?”

“Ailments? No. Broken heart is more like it. Wallace brought his sweetheart out to the tree before he proposed. He was a believer in the legend and said the tree showed him that Corrine, that was his girl, was his true love. A week before their wedding she was killed in an automobile accident. He never got over it. Now, he thinks the tree cursed him to a life alone. I tried to tell him many times not to take stock in that tale. It’s just a tale, after all.”

“So, you don’t believe in the legend?” Mulder asks.

“Believe in a tree that grows overnight and wraps a girl up in branches?” Hattie laughs. “You’d have to be crazy to believe in that kind of thing.”

It’s Scully’s turn to grin and Mulder smiles good-naturedly. He stands, and Scully does as well.

“Thank you for your time,” Scully says.

“Could you tell us, what’s the best way to reach the tree from here?”

“Once you cross back over the bridge head due west. The ‘no trespassing’ signs should lead you right to it.”

*****

It really is a stunning tree, Scully thinks, as they stand before it. The photos didn’t do it justice. The sun shines onto the top of the tree, making it look alive with red-purple flames. The branches curve out and the leaves cascade like a waterfall. The field grass flutters in the wind like a golden wave around their feet and the leaves of all the trees that surround them shake and rustle. She has to brush her hair from her eyes and away from her cheeks.

“Well, I guess we should take a look,” Mulder says.

“What is it that we’re looking for?” she asks.

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know, Mulder, I’m not a botanist. Plants aren’t something I ever took a strong interest in. I’m not even sure I’d truly be able to identify poison ivy if I came across it.”

“Leaves of three, let them be.” Mulder smiles as he pulls on a pair of gloves. “Something we used to say as kids to avoid it when we were camping.”

“And somehow I’m guessing you still managed to pull your share of rashes.”

“I don’t know where these baseless accusations are coming from, but I will neither confirm nor deny the generous supply of Calamine Lotion my mother kept on hand for such occasions.”

Scully snorts softly and pulls her own pair of gloves on. Mulder is already crouching before the tree, running his hand over the dirt. He picks up a fallen leaf and twirls it by the stem.

“It looks like a heart,” he tells her, turning it upside down and holding it up between pinched fingers. He’s right.

“Bag it,” Scully says, handing him a plastic bag. “We’ll need soil samples as well. Maybe scrape some bark off as well.”

“I take it your theory is the tree is toxic?”

“Perhaps.”

“Mmhm.” Mulder seals up the leaf and stands back up. “Any of those poisonous plants you mentioned before known to cause skin irritations for over five years?”

“Mulder, I’m fairly certain that contact with this tree is merely coincidence. Take Janet, for example, she could have daily exposure to an allergen without even knowing it, causing that rash at the back of her neck, her laundry detergent, for example.”

“Something that all of the dermatologists she’s been to have failed to diagnose?”

“I’m only saying that there are more probable explanations for why someone would develop a skin irritation than a centuries old legend.”

“Probable, but not implausible,” he says.

“Mulder, you’re crazy,” she answers with a shake of her head and a small laugh.

He pockets the plastic-wrapped leaf and then walks away from her to circle the tree. Scully studies the lush mane of leaves, trying to determine the best possible way to part them and reach the trunk. She puts her hands into a gap and a few birds fly up and out of the tree in a panic, their wings flapping wildly. She jumps back, heart racing. A sudden breeze ruffles the back of her hair and she shivers. Goosebumps prick her arms, but she isn’t cold. Her shoulder pulls up automatically as the inside of her ear is tickled with what feels like a soft whisper.

“Mulder?” She turns, but no one is there. She hurries to the other side of the three and spots Mulder a few yards away, looking up into the white pines that border the clearing.

Scully turns back to the tree and finds another gap in the leaves to part. She cautiously pushes them aside and finds she’s able to lift a section back and step under the canopy of branches. Hunching slightly, she pulls her pocketknife out and scrapes a bit of bark from the thin trunk and bags it. She crouches down to collect some dirt as well. As she straightens her knees, her heel comes back and catches on a tree root and she stumbles. Her first instinct is to throw her arm out and her hand smacks into the tree trunk. She can feel the bark bite into her palm through her glove and the inside of her wrist is scraped in her efforts to prevent herself from falling.

“Dammit,” she mutters, wobbling into her hunched position and letting go of the tree. She pulls the sleeve of her blazer up to inspect her hand. There’s debris on her glove and the inside of her wrist is scratched red, but the skin wasn’t broken and she’s not bleeding. She rotates her wrist a few times and fortunately it doesn’t feel sprained, just a little sore.

“Scully!” Mulder calls.

“Yeah,” she answers, warily.

“Where are you?”

“In here.” She can hear the crunching of the field grasses and leaves underfoot as Mulder approaches. She pulls the cuff of her sleeve down over her wrist before pushing the leaves aside like drapery and steps out from the canopy.

“You have…” Mulder approaches and reaches up to pluck a leaf from her hair.

“Thanks.”

“It matches,” he says, twirling the red leaf softly against the ends of her hair.

A breeze comes up again and that same whisper and tickle of her ear returns. She shivers again and moves her hand up to take the leaf from Mulder, but he pulls it back and puts it in his pocket.

“Find anything interesting?” he asks.

“Bagged up some bark and some dirt.”

“You ask the tree if it was cursed?”

“I did.”

“What was the answer?”

“Stop letting your crackpot partner talk you into fruitless jaunts to the forest.”

Mulder chuckles. “There is some poison oak in the woods up there. You’ll be happy to know I steered clear.”

“Wonderful,” she says, wincing as her wrist burns slightly when she peels off her gloves.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You think those are storm clouds rolling in over there?”

She nods slightly, rotating her wrist in her pocket. It’s beginning to itch.

“I guess we should probably head out then?”

“No argument from me.”

*****

They leave New Hampshire with nothing more than the samples and family legends. Mulder finally accepts there isn’t much of a case to be had, especially when they can’t find any other afflicted locals to speak with, and they return home. They run the samples through the lab, but the results don’t account for any toxins.

A week passes and Scully’s wrist doesn’t seem to stop itching. It’s at its worst during the day at work and seems to calm at night when she goes home. She sees a dermatologist who can’t find anything wrong, but gives her a prescription for an anti-itch cream that does nothing to help.

They’re out of town again, on a case in Iowa. She shouldn’t be relieved to be doing autopsies again, but it’s been awhile since she’s been in a morgue and not out in the field. She’s either too busy to notice her itching wrist, or it miraculously ceases to bother her for the day. When she’s back at the motel, having a pizza dinner over crime scene photos and witness statements, her whole hand starts to feel like it’s on fire. She excuses herself from the table and shuts herself in the bathroom.

By all outward appearances, nothing is wrong with her wrist. It’s not inflamed, it’s not scratched, it’s not even red anymore, but her skin crawls. She holds it up to the light and takes a closer look, running her thumb across the line where wrist meets palm. There does seem to be a slight bump where there wasn’t one before. She checks her left wrist in comparison and then the right one again. When she scratches at the little bump with her nail, she can actually feel a slight pull under her skin. She pushes at it with her thumbnail and then her skin ruptures and what looks like the stem of a leaf emerges.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. There is a pair of tweezers in her toiletry kit that she finds and then plucks lightly at the stemp, but it doesn’t budge. It doesn’t hurt and it doesn’t bleed and no matter how hard she pulls, the stem is immobile. After only a few minutes she’s nearly in tears with frustration. She wipes her watering eyes dry and then goes back to the table to rejoin Mulder.

“I need to show you something,” she says.

Mulder pauses with his hands full of photos and looks at her. He sets them down and then wipes his hands on his pants and leans forward, elbows on the table. “Okay,” he says. “Show me.”

Scully pulls the sleeve of her shirt up and drapes her hand across the table, wrist up. Mulder looks down at her hand and then up at her. He moves his face closer to her arm and tilts his head from side to side.

“What am I looking at?” he asks.

“When we were in New Hampshire, I scraped my hand on that tree.”

“The Matchmaker?”

“Yes. It wasn’t a bad scrape, no skin was broken, but since then, my wrist has not stopped itching.”

“What is that?”

“I don’t...I don’t know. I tried using my tweezers on it, but it wouldn’t come out.”

Mulder picks up Scully’s hand with both of his and runs his thumbs across the bottom of her palm. Her whole arm tingles when he touches her and she can feel something move beneath her skin.

“It feels like...I’m not sure...” Mulder puts a little more pressure on Scully’s wrist and slides one of his thumbs up to her palm. Suddenly it feels like her whole hand opens up somehow and something unfurls out of her wrist like a butterfly to rest in her palm. It’s a red, heart-shaped leaf.

They’re both silent, staring down at her hand, at the leaf. Her arm still tingles and she sways slightly, lightheaded. “Mulder…how did…?”

“I don’t know.”

“What just happened, Mulder, it’s impossible.”

“Well, there is one explanation.”

“Don’t say it.”

“You touched the tree.”

“A tree didn’t do this, Mulder.” She jumps up from the table, determined to pull the leaf from her hand, but it’s stuck to the stem and the stem won’t budge. “I need scissors.”

“Well wait, maybe you should see a doctor.”

“I am a doctor!” She rushes back into the bathroom to get the small scissors from her toiletry bag. Mulder follows behind and watches as she attempts to cut at the leaf and the stem, but the scissors just slide right off of the leaf as though it refuses to be cut.

“Stop,” Mulder says, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Come on.”

“Mulder, there is a leaf growing out of my hand!”

“I can see that, come out here.”

Mulder guides her out of the bathroom back to the table, but she doesn’t want to sit. She stares at her palm and at the leaf while Mulder sits and then he brings her towards him with his hands on her hips.

“Let me see,” he says.

Scully reluctantly shows him her hand and he holds it gently, tracing the shape of the leaf in her palm with his index finger. He pinches the leaf between his fingers and pulls gently and the stem slides out of her wrist without any effort at all. When it’s completely free of her hand, she feels something wash over her that she can only describe as utter euphoria. She sways slightly on her feet, leaning into Mulder and putting her hands on his shoulders to hold herself up.

“Scully?” The leaf flutters to the ground as he grabs her hips.

“Oh, I feel…”

“Sit down.” He stands and tries to urge her to sit, but she holds onto his arms and shakes her head.

“No, I…” She feels overwhelmed by something she can’t describe, but the force with which she aches to be as close to Mulder as possible is powerful. It’s like she can’t breathe, but he is oxygen. It’s like she’s freezing and he’s a warm fire.

“I really think you should sit down,” he whispers.

“Mulder,” she says, blinking lethargically. Her voice is slow and her eyes are heavy. “If it was the tree, then that would mean…”

Mulder puckers his lips a little and his chin juts forward as he swallows. “It would mean whatever you want it to mean,” he says.

Her heart hammers in her chest. She tingles from head to toe, but especially where his hands grip her hips and where his arms press against hers. She opens her mouth a few times, but doesn’t know what to say.

“I heard you, you know,” he says.

“Heard me?”

“When I was exposed to the artifact.” He lets go of her with one hand to reach up and lightly touch his fingers to her forehead. “I heard you. I don’t need an enchanted tree to tell me what I already know.”

She should feel embarrassed, and maybe two months ago she would have, maybe even two minutes ago, she would have, but not now. She drops her gaze to his mouth and then she looks up into his eyes again. By some unspoken, mutual agreement, they both lean in. Mulder bends and tips his head to the right, Scully lifts onto her toes and lets her eyes slip shut just before his mouth touches hers. The kiss is soft and unhurried. It’s tender and sweet in a way that makes her feel warm and secure.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she whispers against his lips.

“What part of it?”

“All of it.”

“Of course you don’t.” He chuckles and bends down to pick up the leaf he dropped. He twirls it between his fingers and then brushes it against her nose.

“It’s just not possible.”

“All of it?” He cocks his head a little and his eyes fall to her mouth.

“Maybe not all of it.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m having a hard time believing it myself.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.” He smiles, and bends to kiss her again, but she leans away and puts two fingers against his lips.

“Why did you take me up there?” she asks.

“I’ve owed you a nice trip to the forest for about seven years.”

“Is that all?”

“Autumn in New England? I only wish we could’ve found something worthwhile to stick around a little longer.”

“So, you never intended for…”

“For you to start becoming part tree? Not at all.”

“Oh my god, I just can’t...I can’t wrap my brain around it. It’s…” She covers her face with both hands and shakes her head.

Mulder kisses the knuckles on her right hand. “You wouldn’t be you if you believed it. Once upon a time there was a very skeptic little g-woman named Scully.”

“You are not allowed to start any stories with ‘once upon a time’ any longer,” she says, taking her hands away from her face. “Bad things happen in fairy tales.”

“Well you are forgetting one thing though.”

“What?”

“They always end with ‘happily ever after.’”

The End

#i wrote this #xf fanfic #definitely non canon #but set somewhere after The Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati #msr

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wannabemobwife · 3 years

Text

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Leave a Light On

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield, Family!Rosie Holland x Family!Harry Holland (idk really how to do pairings because most characters have interactions with everyone)

-Warnings: Hospital scenes, sadness, blood, typos

-Words: 4.1K

-Key:

Y/M/N = your middle name

Y/L/N = your last name

Y/B/T = your blood type (if you don’t know you can pick a random one, there is O-/+, AB-/+, A+/-, and B-/+)

A/n: I have a too much fun writing the hospital scenes sorry. And before you at me for a second coma, it isn’t one. Some people just take longer to come out of general anesthesia.

Chapter 11: Leave a Light On

Words: 4K

“Oh my god, she still has a pulse” said one of EMTs in the copter.

“Tell the hospital to have as much Y/B/T on hand when we get there.”

“We got you, Mrs. Holland.”

Everything was a blur. You were taunted by your consciousness ebbing like the tide. One minute you were awake, the other not so much. Noises and smells seemed louder and stronger as your sight was stripped from you. A constant buzzing gave the hint of a helicopter, you were rescued. You wanted to give up at that moment. All your energy had dissipated over the hours of waiting. Giving up would make all the pain go away.

But at what cost? You wanted to see Parker’s and Rosie’s smiling face once more. You wanted to see Tom again. Tell him you loved him because you aren’t so sure he truly believed you the last time. You wanted all these things but it seemed you were meant for a different path.

One without pain, struggle and hurt. One that has only known of peace, bliss, and tranquility. One you ready to say goodbye to and the other hello.

Something beyond yourself was keeping in the position you were in. Struggling to bring oxygen to your lungs, bleeding out liter after liter from your side you were ready and needed to give up. Someone else wasn’t ready.

“Mrs. Holland can you hear me?” A doctor said, shining a light in your eyes to see if you were responsive.

“Mrs. Holland, we are going to take good care of you.”

“Oh, wow... she’s soaked entirely through her bandage. I need all the bags from the blood bank of Y/B/T you can find. She could die of exsanguination any moment.

“Tom,” you whispered.

“What was that? Did you hear that?” Asked the hospital staff, working above you. You reached up weakly, to pull your oxygen mask off for a second.

“Tell Tom I love him, please,” was all you could choke out before a terrifying but familiar sound filled the room. A monotone beep. You were coding.

“I need a crash cart in here. Charging to 200… clear,” called out the doctor. Your body jolted up with the force of 200 joules.

“Charging to 300… clear.”

“Charge to 400, CLEAR,” the doctor screamed.

“Charge to 450—.“

“Doctor we aren’t supposed to give that high of a shock,” informed one of the surgical interns.

“I don’t care, this woman needs to see her kids again… Clear,” The doctor said, delivering a final defibrillation. Your heart rate returned to normal, a steady pulse still weak but there.

“Doctor, she has a pneumothorax (collapsed lung) on her right lung,” said one of the medical personnel using the ultrasound. “Shit, we need to get her to the OR now. Let’s move. I’m not going to let her die on me.” The doctor explained.

A plane ride that was only supposed to be 2 hours and 15 minutes melded into what felt like days. No word from Harry or anyone had come about you and Tom. They all landed and took a car to the hospital. It was enough waiting by then, all they knew is that both of you were found. Neglecting to mention dead or alive.

“I’m here for Tom and Y/N Holland. They were airlifted in. Can we see them?” Nikki asked the person at the front desk.

“No hablo ingles, lo siento,” said the receptionist

“IS THERE ANYBODY HERE WHO SPEAKS ENGLISH?” Dom screamed. “Yes, I do. Did I hear you say you are here for Tom and Y/N Holland?” Asked a man clad in a white lab coat.

“Yes. He’s my son and she’s my daughter-in-law. These are their kids.” Nikki explained gesturing to Parker and Rosie.

“Well ma’am if you’ll follow me. I can tell you in private.” “No, whatever needs to be said, they can hear. They want to hear.” “Still follow me to a private waiting room please, your son is in there. Everyone can come,” the doctor concluded. “Alright then,” Nikki responded, following the doctor to a private waiting room.

“Harry.” Rosie said, seeing her favorite uncle.

“You made it, I’ve been waiting for you guys to hear an update.” Harry was so happy to see the rest of his family. “It’s bad, it was really bad,” Harry explained somberly. “Enough with the dilly dally, just tell me. Is my son dead?” Nikki couldn’t take the waiting anymore.

“They were both brought in barely conscious. Tom had lost some blood due to an open wound on his femur, he has a severe concussion, a few cracked ribs and a small knick on his kidney. He is currently in surgery, they are fixing his kidney. The most he will have is a few stitches but, we are very confident he’ll pull through,” explained the doctor.

“And my mom?” Rosie asked.

“Y/N is currently in surgery, she has protruding wound to the abdomen, a collapsed lung, broken ribs, and a severe concussion. She lost a lot of blood, almost dying of exsanguination. She is in surgery to treat her abdominal wound and her lung. Our biggest concern is sepsis, we are worried an infection caused by the elements will occur.”

“So she’ll be okay, right?” Parker questioned.

“She wasn’t conscious like Tom when they found her. In her case the amount of blood she lost might have stopped bringing oxygen to her brain. If she survives the surgery—“

“If?” Rosie gasped, starting to cry.

“Rosie, let him finish,” Parker snapped.

“If she survives, we don’t know when or if she will wake up. We can only hope for the best. I promise to come back with any further updates.”

“Thank you doctor,” said Nikki.

“I need some tea or coffee or a drink. Anyone else?” Sam said, Dom nodded in response.

“I’ll join you and dad,” Paddy said following Dom and Sam out of the room.

Parker was trying to keep everything inside. He actually appreciated the uncertainty of it all, the longer it went on the longer he didn’t have to hear a definitive answer, that you and Tom were dead.

Parker mainly tried to comfort Rosie but that position was filled once Haz and Henry got to the hospital. It was only 30 mins til another doctor approached them.

“Your son is out of surgery. He is resting in room 302, we are just waiting for him to come out of general anesthesia,” came in another doctor with news.

“Thank you. And my daughter-in-law?”

“She is still in surgery,” informed the doctor.

“Ok, thank you. I’m going to go check on Tom. Parker come with?” Nikki asked, she didn’t want to be alone seeing Tom lie in a hospital bed.

“Sure,” Parker said, following Nikki through the door.

“Harry, you’ll stay here with Rosie,” Nikki called out.

“How you doing, Roo?” Harry asked, moving towards Rosie’s side.

“My mom calls me that,” she said, unmoving towards Harry’s love.

Rosie was still like a statue. But her mind was very active, traveling from place to place. Just waiting for someone to update her on your condition.

“I know. She’ll pull through, Rosie.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Cause I know your mom. For as long as I can remember she has always been the strongest person in the room.” Harry comforted her, draping an arm over her shoulders. “Your dad is convinced she is indestructible. Sure, she has gotten hurt in the past but she has always bounced back. Hasn’t she?” Harry encouraged.

“Yeah, she has,” Rosie sniffled, wiping her nose with her sweater’s sleeve.

“After everything she has survived, she is still here,” Harry asserted. “When she and your dad first were dating, they’d like to scare each other. Tom must’ve pulled something like 20 guns on her. It was really funny to watch,” Harry grinned.

“Tell me more stories please,” Rosie perked up at the anecdotes.

“Well there was that time when your mom told your dad about being pregnant with both you and Parker.”

“I already know that one.”

“Ok, let me think… oh. One time we pulled a prank on her. All of us, me, your dad, Sam, Paddy and Haz. She was supposed to speak at this benefit promoting something… I want to say a disease… maybe climate change… who cares,” Harry began. “But she is better at it now but she used to be so scared of public speaking. That night at the gala, she had a panic attack and Tom went to comfort her backstage, while the boys and I all went into her purse and switched out her speech for the joke one we made.”

“She went on stage and broke in to a laughing fit. All her nerves dissipated as she stood up there, cracking jokes from left and right. It was really funny because she was so scared she would read whatever was written on the cards. She did end up making a fool out of herself, but it was funny nonetheless. She was so mad at us, she avoided Tom for a week,” Harry finished, reminiscing of that night.

“Wow, that’s mean. Like really mean,” Rosie remarked as his story came to an end.

“No it wasn’t. It was funny, she’ll laugh about it now if you ask her.”

“Was she as mad as she has been lately?” Rosie inquired.

“What do you mean?”

“Mom and dad have been fighting a lot… I’m scared they won’t be able to work it out. I’ve never seem them like this,” Rosie cried, fighting back a fit of sobs.

“Roo, those two? Are you kidding me? They will work it out, they always have.”

“But that isn’t a guarantee.”

“Rosie, your mom and dad have been written in the stars since the beginning. Nothing will ever break them apart. And almost dying really brings people back together. I wouldn’t worry Rosie, they’ll be ok,” Harry consoled her.

Rosie really needed to hear that. Something to get her mind off all the death and sickness that surrounded her. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. She needed you to hold her once more.

“Mrs. Holland, Y/N is out of surgery now. If you’ll follow me I can take you to her room,” a doctor said to Nikki as she was stroking Tom’s hair, waiting for him to wake up.

“Oh thank god, thank you. Parker do you want to come?” Nikki asked.

“No, I think I’ll stay here with dad. In case he wakes up. I’m not ready to see her like that anyway,” Parker mumbled, needing every excuse to not walk into your room.

Nikki just nodded in response. Nikki was there when Rosie was in her coma and she knew you liked to talk to her as if she was there, so she did the same.

“Hey, Y/N. I’m sorry this happened. The doctors have warned me that you might not wake up and I’m here to tell you that’s not an option. Your kids need you. Tom needs you…. He won’t be able to live without you. None of us will,” Nikki said, holding you hand. As soon as Rosie got word, she was already there. Standing in your doorway peering at your sunken body.

“Mom? It’s Rosie…. It’s your Roo,… why isn’t she waking up?” Rosie came barging in. She’d never seen you in a state like this.

“Mom? Mommy, please,” Rosie said, starting to shake you a bit.

“Rosie, come here,” Nikki said, pulling her into her arms. “She’ll be ok. All we have to do is wait.” Nikki concluded.

In Tom’s room, Parker was still there by his dad’s side. Everything had gotten massively screwed up. He was betraying his own dad and Tom didn’t even know.

“Parker?” Tom croaked out, slightly moving.

“Dad, I’m so glad you are okay,” Parker lunged to hug him.

“Me too, buddy,” Tom said, gritting his teeth to mask the pain.

“How’s mom?” Tom asked, praying you were still alive. It had been a rough night. Images of your half-dead body leaning against him for support plagued his memory.

“Umm… you should see for yourself.”

“What room is she in?” Tom asked, jumping out of bed.

“Dad, I don’t think it’s such a good idea you get up,” Parker exclaimed.

“Parker, don’t you dare stand in my way.”

“Mr. Holland, you’re awake — woah, you can’t get up. Your stitches could rip,” the nurse spoke with a thick Spanish accent.

“I don’t care. Let me see my wife,” Tom yelled.

“You may need to sedate him,” Parker said cheekily.

“Fuck that,” Tom cursed.

“You aren’t doing anything to me till I see her,” Tom asserted, the nurse just nodded in response and brought him a wheel chair.

Parker wheeled him through the hospital. He was about to face his fear as well as Tom. It both being the fact that you were dead and not longer living. They weren’t ready for that.

Tom came into your room and it was like a time machine. All those times he was walked into a room similar to this one with the white walls, white sheets, bright blinding lights and the machines that beep to no end. He was taken back to every time he had seen you lying in a hospital bed.

All the times he knew he hadn’t protected you. All the guilt and anguish came flooding back. Washing over him like a tsunami.

He walked in to see everyone gathered around you. Rosie was sitting on the left side of your bed, clutching your left hand and Henry was next to her keeping an arm around her shoulder. Tom didn’t care about them anymore, all that mattered was you.

“Dad, you’re awake!” Rosie cheered, as she saw Tom in the doorway.

“Yeah baby, I’m okay,” he said, holding Rosie close to his chest.

“I’m scared, dad. I’m scared she won’t wake up,” Rosie cried.

“I know. I am too.” Tom responded, his eyes still fixed to your lifeless figure.

“You know it was just a 5 weeks ago, you were lying a hospital bed just like mom. And she was holding on to your hand just like you are to her. And if you woke up from that, I can promise you she’ll wake up from this,” Tom encouraged.

“You really think so?” Rosie queried.

“I know so.… You know what your mom loves to tell me?”

“No. What?”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“It sounds like her,” Rosie chucked to herself.

“Yeah, it does.” Tom did the same, he was the one keeping you here. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. 17 years was nothing compared to lifetime he was destined to have with you. Nobody accounts for the times where something so drastic happens that it can change your entire timeline.

Nobody believes they will die tomorrow or get hit by a bus anywhere. People just live in day to day life thinking that they have a 100 years to go.

You’d think by now, he’d gotten used to seeing you in a hospital bed. Maybe grown accustomed to it. On the contrary, every time he’d see you like this he’d go weak at the knees and beg to switch places with you. To be the one lying there, on death’s door, not you

Every time he has made a promise, your life has been put on the line. You are constantly caught in the crossfires. Tom slowly remembered why he hated hospitals so much, especially when they were associated with you.

“We’ll give you two a minute,” Nikki said, motioning for everyone to clear the room so it was just Tom and you.

“Hey, darling. I told you we’d make it. We had two choices either we died together or we made it together.” Tom began, trying not to cry.

“Y/N, I’m standing here and I’m okay. So it’s only a matter of time before I see you again. We promised it would be us together. Don’t you dare go back on that promise from ages ago, I’m supposed to go before you. Ok? It’s supposed to me. You promised me.”

“This one that you have to keep. I know it might be nearly impossible to, love. But there is no but or if, there is only you waking up and seeing me. Seeing your husband who loves you more than life itself. Seeing our two beautiful kids. I know I haven’t been your favorite person lately, so don’t do it for me. Do it for them, Parker and Rosie. They need you, more than they know.”

“Alright princess, it's only a matter of time. I’ll see you soon.” Tom finished, pressing a kiss to your forehead. One of longing, he just wanted to see your smiling face again. He let himself go completely, breaking down the flood gates. Tears started coming and they didn’t stop, they couldn’t.

Haz peered through the open door, to see Tom crying over you, he immediately jumped into best mate mode and went to comfort Tom.

“Hey. It’s ok. You can let it out,” Harrison said, pulling Tom into his arms.

“I was so awful to her Haz. I let her think I cheated on her so she wouldn’t be mad about Rosie and Henry,” Tom cried out.

“Why? What did you do? You know what, that’s not important right now. The point is she will pull through.”

“She could be dying and the last moment I can only remember with her is our fight. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“She’s not dying, Tom. Y/N has survived much more than this and promise you, you will say hello again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Tom said, taking a line from your vernacular.

“Come on, let’s get some coffee… Here, hop on. I’ll push you,” Haz said, grabbing Tom’s wheelchair

“For fucks sake, you aren’t pushing me. I’m not some sick, crippled patient.” Tom exclaimed.

“Well… you did just get out of surgery.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going to let my helicopter crashing be the reason I can’t walk and I am looked at with pity.”

“Alright Tom, I believe we were going to get some coffee.”

“I don’t want to leave her alone,” Tom whispered.

“Rosie will be in here in a moment,” Haz explained.

“Ok.. Roo, can you go sit with your mom while I get your dad some coffee?” Haz asked. Tom still didn’t want to leave you but he knew you would want him to eat something.

“Yes, I’ll keep her safe.”

“I know you will, baby… Hold it. Hey Henry, can I talk to you?” Tom said, holding Henry back from entering the room.

“Dad,” Rosie said, sternly.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Tom said pulling Henry to the side.

“I’m sorry Tom.. um I mean Mr. Holland but I love your daughter more than anything,” Henry stammered.

“I just wanted to say thank you for being there for her when.. you know,” Tom admitted.

“Of course, I love her very much. And if the time every comes where I plan on marrying her I will ask for hands in marriage,” Henry promised.

“Woah kid, slow down. This is permission to date. No talking or even thinking about marriage, you understand. Also wear a fucking condom.”

“Yes, sir. Understood… Thanks Tom.”

“You’re a good kid, Henry. She’s in good hands,” Tom grinned, Henry just smiled and returned to Rosie. Returning to his rightful place, in her arms.

“Haz, did you bring me a change of clothes. I need to get out of this fucking gown,” Tom chuckled.

“Are you sure that’s a good ide—“ Haz started but was soon cut off.

“Eh, eh,” Tom interrupted giving him a harsh glare.

“You are not weak, I get it. Yeah, they are in my bag,” Haz concluded.

Tom said, “Thank you,” in return.

The waiting was back and it was killing Tom once again. This time he wasn’t waiting for both your impending deaths, just yours. It was eating him from the inside out.

You didn’t have enough time together. It wasn’t enough. Tom desired more, he needed more. All your favorite moments of you played through his head. Like he was watching a movie of his life with you, his love story.

One specifically, the day he proposed to you. It was hard to top his happiness that day.

All the days leading up to it he was distant and flighty. It worried it you greatly. Was he planning to break up with you? You were consumed with never-ending negative thoughts about your relationship.

It had been a while since you and Tom had a date night. He’d blown you off a few times to plan out the perfect proposal, afraid he’d let the question just slip out somehow. However, that was unknown to you so all you thought was, he’s an ass.

Tom was in his office, planning out how he was going to do it. What he would wear, where he would propose, what would he say. What would you say? He was nervous wreck.

“Haz, I can’t have anyone come in here ok?” Tom ordered. He must’ve practiced it 7 times. Getting down on one knee and declaring his love for you behind closed doors.

“Understood, Tom,” Haz said, giving him a cheeky grin as he closed his door. Not even 10 mins later, you came barging in through the front door. In a fury because Tom hadn’t returned any of your calls.

“Where is he?” You asked Haz. “Y/N?” He said, confused as to why you were here. Well, you did live there.

“Where’s Tom? I have to talk to him,” you asserted. “Why am I asking you? Of course, he is in his study,” you replied to your own question.

“NO, you can’t go in there,” Haz said, following you to Tom’s office.

“And why not?”

“He’s in a meeting.”

“What meeting would he have a 10:30 at night… Unless?” Your heart sank at the possibility of Tom not alone in there.

“Unless what?”

“He has a woman in there doesn’t he?”

“Umm.”

“It’s fine. I’ll go. You won’t see me around anymore. He chose her over me,” you said, trying not to cry. But you weren’t going to put up a fight.

“Y/N it’s not like that,” Haz called after you, trying to stop you from walking away.

“Then what is it Haz?”

“I can’t tell you?… Just go in there and see for yourself.”

“I don’t want see them.”

“Just do it,” Haz ordered, you eventually agreed. Opening the door to a very well-dressed Tom down on one knee holding a blue velvet box in his hands.

“People always spoke of soulmates and I didn’t believe them. But then I found you. And I had never been so happy to be proven wrong. Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N you make me want to be a better man. You are my inspiration for everything. I can’t ever imagine living without you. Will you marry me?” Tom said, oblivious to you standing right there.

“Yes,” you said without hesitation.

“No! No, no. You weren’t supposed to see that. Haz I told you to guard the door,” Tom yelled.

“Yes, Tommy. I’ll marry you”, you continued, hoping he’d hear you.

“God, it's ruined now. I’m so sorry. I had this huge plan take you to the London eye,” Tom apologized profusely, running his hands through the curls atop his head in frustration.

“Tom, you're not hearing me. I want to be your wife,” you exclaimed, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

“You do?” Tom surprised at your answer.

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying. YES!” You screamed. Tom immediately grabbed you twirling you in the air and kissed you with all the love and passion you deserved. He had been neglecting you so he wouldn’t spoil it.

He put the ring on your finger. It looked as though it was home. You were his and he was yours. Nothing could top that moment.

Thinking about you and the time spent together. It made it that much harder to say goodbye.

Tom was brought out of his trance as you stirred, starting to wake. All heads and eyes turned towards you.

“Y/N. Honey, it’s ok. You were in a helicopter crash. You’re ok. You’re ok. I’m so happy to see you,” Tom whispered, tucking the hair out of your face.

The moment you came to, your eyes widened and a look of panic adorned your face. You were completely lost. Unaware of all your surroundings. You managed to croak out three words. Not an “I love you,” not words of love, quite the opposite.

“Who are you?”

A/n: Alright, Y/N lived. As I promised, there are 17 chapter in this series, 6 more to go. I will start writing the sequel series once all these chapters have been posted, even though I have it already planned out in my head lol. New chapters every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas Masterlist

Taglist: @dummiesshort @thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @bi-lmg @allthisfortommy

#mob!tom #tom holland #tom holland au #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagines #tom holland mob au #tom holland series #tom holland x reader #mob!tom holland #mob tom #mob!tom holland x reader #mob!tom x mob!reader #dad!mob!tom holland #mob!tom x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #tom holland masterlist

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that-was-anticlimactic · 4 years

Text

Sokka with Tourette’s Headacanons Part Two

that no one asked for but here they are because I wanted to write more

Part One here and links to all of my other TS headcanons and such at the end!

*rubs hands together*

let’s start with premonitory urge and Sokka’s experience with it!

for those who don’t know, premonitory urges are essentially sensory tics. It’s when you feel a sensation or a discomfort in your body where you want to-- no, need to do something for touch something. For example, it can be as simple as this feeling in my body and head that I need to rub my phone screen a certain way. If I don’t rub it, the uncomfortable feeling will linger and make me anxious or extra fidgety. They can also increase tics.

Now, in Sokka’s life with TS, he has had... some problems with premonitory urge. When he was younger and training to be a warrior, there were multiple occasions where he almost sliced his fingers off because he kept getting this physical feeling that he had to touch the swords or spears etc... a certain way.

When he gets older, he finds that they start to bother him during council meetings in the Fire Nation, especially when Zuko is doing important stuff so he has to sit far away.

They’ll be in the middle of an important meeting when Sokka looks up from his doodling to glance at Zuko and this tingling, gravitational feeling suddenly moves through his body and he can’t stop staring at the edge of Zuko’s chair and he knows that he needs to rub it.

Obviously, he can’t just get up in the middle of the meeting, walk over to the Fire Lord, and rub his chair (even though they are dating and Zuko would definitely let him)

I have had experiences like this during class where I would mentally shut down or have to calm myself down from an anxiety attack because I need to rub the white board my teacher is writing on or the teacher’s desk but we are literally in the middle of class so I can’t do that (doesn’t always end like that, but that’s worse case scenario). And it sucks. So much. So, Sokka is miserable.

One time Sokka was so focused on not having an anxiety attack because his body was telling him that he needed to rub the surface of a Fire Nation elder’s desk-thingy that’s in front of his chair (because sometimes his body hates him and it happens to people he doesn’t know that well’s stuff) that he mentally shut down. He ended up squatting in his chair, rocking back and forth for ten minutes after the meeting ended without realizing it because all he could think was don’t interrupt the meeting, don’t be weird, don’t embarrass Zuko

Zuko, being the fantastic boyfriend he is, noticed that Sokka didn’t leave the meeting and thought it looked like an anxiety attack. He kind of just sat with him. He didn’t touch him because he knew Sokka wouldn’t want it and wouldn’t be able to coherently answer if he asked to touch him. Zuko just started talking about random things to try to get his mind off of the feeling.

Once he got back into the moment (with help from Zuko’s dulcet voice), he ran to the desk-thingy and rubbed it. Like, almost dramatically ran his hand across the desk and kind of just let his hand take over and rub whatever part he needed to.

Zuko was confused because this had never happened before (well, it had, but not to this extreme in front of him and Sokka never said anything) so Zuko never knew).

Sokka was kind of embarrassed, but he told Zuko about it and together they came up with a signal for when it got really bad so Zuko could either call a five minute break or make an excuse to switch seats so he could sit next to his boyfriend.

This is another reason that Zuko keeps random things on him at all times so if it gets bad, Sokka will have more to do with his hands than draw, write sentences over and over again, take notes, and tap.

Actually, lowkey stealing this particular headcanon from @tikmasjiens and their story For When He’s Being a Dumb*ss (which I highly suggest reading-- it’s fantastic!): Katara and Zuko (for the purposes of later in life when they’re dating because of course imma make it Zukka) carry little fidget kits / bags around for Sokka because he is forgetful and is sometimes so focused on one particular thing that he starts to run late for a meeting or lunch or hang out that he forgets his own personal fidget things.

The amazing Katara and Zuko have random things: brushes, atla equivalent at paper clips (aka metal things he can bend) (yes, yes, we’ve been hiding this from the world, but people with Tourette’s are actually paper clip benders lol), dice, Pai Sho tiles, and other little trinkets.

One time when Sokka was walking around an Earth Kingdom market out of boredom (and this is after the war because I just want him to not be on edge during this), he sees this young girl making noises and movements similar to him and he sees these two other kids mocking her and laughing at her and Sokka just sees red.

He actually goes over and scolds the kids (who don’t care enough to stay and listen ugh but that’s not the main focus of Sokka’s concern so it’s whatever for now) and this young girl sees him (at around age 17-18) making noises and moving ‘weirdly’ too and she’s just like “I’ve never seen anyone else do that stuff before”

and Sokka kind of just sits down with her and talks to her about his own experience and it’s not anything to be ashamed of, even though it can feel like that sometimes.

he rummages through his pockets and pulls out some of his fidget stuff and gives it to her. He, Zuko, and Katara have plenty of fidget stuff for him. Losing a few won’t matter.

Eventually, her parents return and they part ways. They never see each other again, but they never forgot each other either. It was both of their first time seeing someone else like them.

(and personal anecdote, but one time I was faculty at a camp for the weekend, and one of the kids in my group had just gotten diagnosed with Tourette’s and that was one of the most meaningful experiences I have ever had. I got to talk to him and his mom about my experience and it was... I’ll never forget that)

Sokka may be the protective older brother, but Katara is also the terrifying ‘you hurt my brother I will ruin you’ younger sister. One time, someone mocked Sokka’s tics and Katara’s protective instincts kicked in and she lectured them so hard. and very loudly. so everyone heard.

again, y’all, I know this is about Sokka with TS but WOW I love Katara too, what a queen. Let’s take a moment and appreciate the queen that she is.

Ty Lee and Sokka do yoga together at least twice a week. They both find it relaxing and fun and nice, but it also helps Sokka begin the day with less stress in his body. It doesn’t cure his TS, because there is no cure and he needs no cure, but it definitely helps sometimes.

Something that absolutely kills Sokka is that he wants to cuddle with Zuko at night so badly, but sometimes he genuinely just can’t. Zuko’s arms around him will make him feel too trapped and restrained, his arms around Zuko make him paranoid that if he moves too much, he’ll make Zuko uncomfortable and just stressed himself out by only being able to think about “am I moving too much?” “can Zuko feel me move?” “stay still stay still stay still” and it’s just not fun and he gets tense

But sometimes, he can cuddle and he loves it! Because as much as he hates being held, he desperately longs to be held. As self-conscious as he gets when he holds Zuko, he wants to be able to hold Zuko.

So when he feels like he can cuddle with Zuko, he gets so excited!

Zuko swears up and down that the lack of cuddling on occasion does not bother him, but Sokka still has trouble believing him (not that he doesn’t trust him, but he can’t understand how someone would be okay with it)

One time, Sokka was so distressed about whether or not Zuko was upset with him or pretending not to be upset to spare his feelings that Zuko invited Toph over so she could inform Sokka that he was, in fact, telling the truth about it being okay that they can’t always cuddle and be physically affectionate.

Sokka’s verbal tics both annoy him and don’t annoy him. He’s so used to hearing them that they don’t bother him anymore, but sometimes they make it hard for him to talk and he can feel them and that’s what bothers him.

He’s also self-conscious that everyone hates his verbal tics and are annoyed by them.

On a really bad head day for Sokka, the gaang was going to see a theatrical show per Zuko’s request and it was the first time in months they had all been able to hang out together and Sokka wasn’t having a good tic day and was so genuinely afraid to go to the show because he was going to tic and make noises and what if he distracted everyone? what if the strangers in the audience got mad at him? what if the ushers forced him to leave? how embarrassing would that be?

so he pretended to be sick and didn’t go

but Toph saw through his crap and stayed behind as well because “you’ve heard a play once, you’ve heard it a thousand times” and when everyone leaves, she calls Sokka out and asks him what was up

and he knew he couldn’t get away with lying to Toph, so he told her the truth and she just kind of laughed and went “they don’t bother any of us, seriously”

and Sokka was just “how do you know? It’s not like how much my tics don’t annoy you come up naturally in conversation”

and Toph goes “I don’t need to talk to them about it to know that no one’s bothered by them. Besides, they care about you more than they care about what sounds you make” then punched his arm

(and if Sokka silently cried, no one needed to know)

so, overtime, he gets the nerve to ask everyone individually (because there’s no way he could do everyone at once) just to make sure he wasn’t bothering them. He doesn’t get to ask everyone because some of them kind of get a feeling that he’s anxious about it (and if Zuko maybe mentioned it to some people so they approached him and causally mentioned they weren’t bothered, no one needs to know oops) (don’t worry, Zuko didn’t say anything super personal. Just like “tell Sokka his tics don’t bother you because he thinks they do”. Not like the details and stuff Sokka told him in private)

Katara didn’t answer, just asked if she could hug him and said that she loved him no matter what (and ten minutes later asked him if anyone told him that because if someone in the gaang said it, then she wouldn’t be afraid to spill blood)

Zuko, ever the dramatic and romantic one, knelt in front of Sokka (who was sitting) and went “I love you. I love every single part of you.” *kisses his hands* “I love you for your finger clenching and fist pumping.” *kisses his shoulders* “I love you for your shoulder rolling...” *kisses his neck* “your neck twitches...” *kisses his nose* “your nose scrunching...” *gently kisses each eye* “your blinking...” *kisses his lips* “and for every verbal and motor tic you’ve ever had and ever will have”

(look, I’m just... I’m so soft for that moment and I think about it constantly)

Suki gives him this hard and serious look and says “you are not annoying. You never have been and you never will be” and from just her stare and tone of voice, he knows she’s telling the truth.

Aang immediately just starts rambling and is like “I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel that way but you as so far from annoying! Honestly, sometimes I forget they’re even there I’m just so used to them-- not that they’re forgetful or anything, but they’re just so normal to me that I don’t notice-- why are you crying? Did I say that wrong? I’m sorry--”

and Sokka just grabs him and hugs him and says “No. I love you. Thank you.”

Mai is bad at emoting but she tells him “I don’t mind them. They’re comforting. Sometimes. Better than the sound of an empty house or screaming.”

Ty Lee immediately goes into “who told you you were annoying? I have some new moved I’d like to try. Give me names and they’re test subjects number one” and even Sokka feels fear at the look on her face even though the anger isn’t directed towards him

Azula is kind of snarky at first (because she’s trying not to, but it’s hard and it’s not her fault). She just gives him this seriously? look and kind of goes “you really think they’re significant enough to bother me?” and Sokka knows that’s Azula’s healing way of saying “no, they don’t bother me”

okay but let’s also talk about Hakoda and Piandao and Iroh because I want to and I love them

Hakoda kind of does what Katara does and asks if he can hug him and just tells him how proud he is of Sokka for the man that he’s become and that his TS is a part of who he is and it’s a part of his identity and there’s nothing his TS could ever do to make him any less proud

Piandao actually talked to Sokka about it during Sokka’s Master because it was holding him back of bit. Sokka was kind of embarrassed and was getting frustrated with it. Piandao sat him down and told him that perceived weaknesses are actually one of our greatest strengths. Being a nonbender looks like a weakness to many benders who rely solely on their bending, but it takes a certain kind of person to be a nonbender and that’s something to be proud of. The things that make you different are sometimes the things that teach you how special you are.

Piandao just sees so much potential and good in Sokka and Sokka looks up to him so much.

Iroh always lends Sokka extra or old Pai Sho tiles to fidget with. He also has this relaxing tea that helps his mind feel calm. Again, not with the intent to “fix” or “cure” him, but it helps his anxiety levels go down, in turn helping his tics relax.

Iroh tells Sokka that his tics are nothing to be ashamed of and that true friends would stick with him, tics or no tics.

hey? hey? guess what? Bumi ll didn’t just inherent the nonbending from Sokka, he also got the Tourette’s genes:)

imagine the Uncle / Nephew bonding between them

like, Bumi ll asks him why Kya and Tenzin don’t do weird things but he does? and Sokka just smiles sadly because he knows the feeling and talks to him about Tourette’s.

Bumi ll also got lucky because Katara saw the signs instantly and got him tested as soon as she could.

Let’s just say, aside from the gaang, the Kataang family is the most supportive family of his TS:) (it doesn’t hurt that his aunts and uncles will hung down anyone who ever makes him feel like trash and lecture them or their parents oops)

this is something I have mentioned before, but Sokka struggles to sit through meetings. Having TS and ADHD make it so hard for him.

sometimes he just feels so out of place because in this room full of people, he’s the only one rocking back and forth in his chair and changing his position every three seconds and jerking his head. He just feels... so wrong when he sees how still everyone else is sitting. Yeah, occasionally he’ll see some people tapping their foot or tapping the table in front of them with their fingers, but it’s not the same.

BUT on a happy note and not to make this all depressing (because TS sucks sometimes, but there’s nothing wrong with it or us and it’s a part of who we are) Sokka 100% has a top ten list of his favorite and least favorite tics of all time (I don’t know if people keep track of their favorites or if that’s just something I like to do, but I would imagine that a decent amount of people with TS know their favorites and least favorites)

I won’t bore y’all with an actual list, but his favorite tic is rocking back and forth. The motion is so soothing and comforting to him. Like, it feels right to be rocking. Yeah, sometimes he gets self-conscious about it, especially if he’s the only one in the room moving, but it feels so nice and right.

Sokka: *tics a couple times in a row* ughhhh that was not fun

Toph: *jokingly* wow, I mean, can’t you just, I don’t know, stop? Just, not do it?

Sokka: *jokingly* great idea, Toph! Why didn’t I think of that? All I needed to do all along was just not want to tic!

Toph is the only one ever allowed to do this bit with him. Sokka thinks it’s the funniest thing and it never fails to make laugh

Toph said that out of sarcastic instinct one time and almost choked on her drink because she felt so bad but Sokka was stifling a laugh and replied super sarcastically and then just laughed.

Toph still felt really bad and apologized (Sokka told her it was fine and he wasn’t upset, but she’s also been on the other side of jokes like that and it’s not fun).

Now, though, it’s kind of their thing. They do it every once in awhile and it flows like any other banter. It just happens and they don’t even blink.

(if anyone else did that to Sokka, though, Toph would probably rob them or like soak their clothes in cactus juice so they’re all sticky idk, she just wouldn’t stand for it)

Sokka actually takes a leave of absence from being an ambassador to travel around the four nations and visit schools with Toph and Zuko (who also take breaks). The three of them go to educate schools on disabilities (their own and others).

Sokka also personally makes it his mission to sit in one class at every school and see if there’s anything that he can give advice on. Sometimes, he talks to principals and teachers about how to help accommodate students with learning or “disruptive” disabilities so that they can get the best education that they can while still feeling comfortable and safe.

Now, the three don’t get this all done at once, it takes a year or two, but they do it and all three are just... really proud of it.

Sokka really struggles with Locus of Control (LOC). For those who don’t know, LOC is “ a psychological concept that refers to how strongly people believe they have control over the situations and experiences that affect their lives” (Ed.glossary.org).

Sokka, as many headcanon, likes having control over situations or likes having things ordered and scheduled. He doesn’t like changes to his schedule, he likes having schedules... his tics, on the other hand, are not something he can control or schedule

Giving up that control is hard for him. It wasn’t too bad as a child in a super small village, but once he left the SWT with Aang and Katara, he realized how different having tics was (although he was the only one back at home with tics, he often worked with restless children)

He went through a period of time where he thought that he could control his tics, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t. Thus, the loss of control he feels.

He actually went through a ‘phase’ once where he thought that maybe he was making his tics up and doing them on purpose for attention or to be different or something. Katara quickly shut him down and told him that he wasn’t doing that.

I once saw someone say that Sokka has imposter syndrome and I think it correlates a bit with LOC in this context (I should actually do some research about that...).

Learning to understand that he won’t always have control is hard for him. Like. Really hard. He tried so desperately to control his tics and it just increased his anxiety and wore him out. Trying to control tics freaking hurts.

Aang is actually the one to help him with that. He’s had a lot of experience of not being able to control his own life, and although their situations are different, he has methods he uses to attempt to prevent himself from overthinking too much and letting his anxiety take control.

After that, Sokka doesn’t struggle with LOC as badly as he did before. It still sneaks in time after time, but it’s never too prominent and Aang is always there with some advice and distractions:)

(I just also love Aang so much and he deserves the world)

Although Sokka is “weird” with touch, there is one type of touch he is almost always on board with: massages. Massages. I’ll say it one more time: massages. They feel so nice. He carries so much stress in his back and shoulders because of how much he moves them due to his tics.

Zuko can tell when Sokka’s shoulders and back start to hurt really badly and will just sit behind him, heat his hands up (not too much), and give him the absolute best massages.

No. Seriously. Zuko gives the best massages (Sokka once wanted to return the favour and uhhh.... Zuko was not a fan. Although Friends isn’t the best show to take examples from, but uhh Sokka gives massages like Monica Gellar. That is all. Zuko gets his massages from Ty Lee).

Suki gives the second best massages.

Katara third.

So, there’s this one Kyoshi Warrior that works with Suki on guard that Sokka just can’t crack. She has an RBF and rolls her eyes and stuff a lot and she uhhh is kind of rather facially expressive but like, RBF style, so one time when Sokka is having a bad tic day, she makes a face.

It wasn’t aimed towards him, it was about something else, but his heart just breaks because this girl he had been trying to get to open up a bit to him and let loose and not be so freaking serious all of the time hates him.

and later she approached him and just “Sorry. I don’t... I don’t get annoyed by your tics or you or anything. I find them soothing and, I don’t know, nice. Like a reminder that the Fire Lord’s boyfriend is still safe. And they sound nice. I don’t hate them. Or. You.” (look, feelings are hard for her)

and Sokka just :D

alrighty, this is longer than I intended... so we’ll end with me mentioning something I mentioned last time: Yue! (I love her). She never once brings up Sokka’s tics. She never makes faces or asks him why he makes sounds. She’s studied a lot, and while there isn’t too much out there about TS, it’s the NWT, they have lots of books. She could see the signs and assumed.

Never once in the amount of time that they knew each other did she mention it. Sokka appreciated not having to explain himself. He felt safe and welcome there with Yue.

Thank you for reading, anyone who made it to the bottom! I enjoy talking about TS as well as my own experience with it. I love writing about Sokka with TS in particular. There isn’t a lot of TS rep out there, really only the one episode of South Park (don’t watch the show, but I watched the clips about Tourette’s education that the Tourette’s Association of America approved of. It was really heartfelt and lovely to watch and is also a good representation of coprolalia!) and the movie Front of the Class.

My ask box is always available for questions about TS, Sokka with TS, Jay (Ninjago) with TS, anyone’s personal TS headcanons or experience, or any underrepresented neurological disorder that you want to share!

List of TS Stuff Already Written: Part One here , Deeper Than Words (a oneshot I wrote on ao3 of Sokka with TS), a lovely Sokka with TS oneshot written by @tikmasjiens (sorry for tagging you twice ahhh) here , Stuck (a Sokka with TS excerpt from a fic I’m writing), NInjago Jay!TS Oneshot

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baited-beth · 3 years

Text

My close friend, a TRA, has just gone home after spending the night and god did we have a deep and difficult discussion on women's rights and tran's rights... I love her and I'm so thankful she's happy to remain good friends and wants to plan to meet up soon, but we just really really disagree on this and I'm emotionally exhausted. She's so intelligent, but she is absolutely blind to the flaws in her arguments. Practically all of her reasons for disagreeing with me are:

dismissing the points without really engaging in them and saying that that's obviously not what's happening

saying that they're just headline fodder intended to cause outrage

simply stating that my point is hateful (rather than biological fact)

believing that a study should be dismissed because it hasn't been repeated/she doesn't trust the conditions it was conducted in (although lack of study into puberty blockers is fine🤔)

a seemingly willful belief that women can't be subject to male violence if the male person states they are trans

A general lack of understanding in the differences between male and female bodies and how puberty works

She got really uncomfortable when I asked her what a woman was. She tried to say it was anyone who identified as a woman. So I pointed out you can't use a word in its definition, and asked again. She said that it was anyone was felt more comfortable with the woman's shape or clothes etc. I tried pointing out that was a sexist assumption of what a woman was. Does that mean butch lesbians aren't women? She kept distracting from the point by implying I was only asking the question as an excuse to exclude trans women.

I also asked her why a 12 year old child bride was being married off and she responded "power and paedophilia". Okay, so why isn't it happening to 12 year old boys? If a 12 year old boy goes round telling everyone he's actually a girl, they aren't going to marrying him off. Apparently it probably does happen to 12 year old boys and I'm making a generalisation.

FGM. Who does that happen to? People with female genitals apparently. Why? "Power. And not wanted them to feel pleasure". Okay, so why is that not happening to boys? "Well it's happening to trans boys." Right, but what do they have in common with the girls? It's happening because they're female and they can't identify out of it. Apparently this argument isn't helpful because we really should be talking about the UK where this isn't particularly prevalent (which I wish I had countered now).

I pointed out the yearly stats for the number of trans people killed is actually mainly trans women who have been prostituted in Brazil and South America, and that actually the number is either 1 or 0 in the UK. Apparently she knows anecdotally that the number is far higher and thinks suicide should be included. I tried to point out that suicide isn't necessarly occurring because they're not being accepted as trans, but instead because they have mental health issues that have not been solved by transitioning.

We didn't get too deep into trans athletes, but she seems to think that oestrogen and surgery significantly reduces male strength to female levels... similar to how she's convinced that puberty restarts straight away once you come off puberty blockers. Completely misinformed on how different hormones and puberty affects bodies based on their sex.

She had no idea about the Karen White case. Apparently that kind of thing shouldn't happen because the crimes of the 'trans women' should be taken into account when they're transferred to a women's prison. I'm annoyed I forgot to bring up the recent ruling on this. I also tried to argue that a number of men were starting to pretend they were trans to be transferred and she again argued that the prison services should be able to separate the real from the fake, and she made a big thing about how trans people need to live in their chosen gender for a year before they're allowed a GRA so obviously prisons wouldn't allow it until they'd done this (laughably false). My point that the prison service can't make that decision without being labelled transphobic fell on deaf ears. I even pointed out that in California they out condom machines in women's prisons because of this and she dismissed it as something that probably got made up and blown out of proportion for headline fodder. She also seemed to think that I was wrong to point out that male people were more likely to be violent and that trans women were male. Apparently this shouldn't apply because they're trans women?

Oh, the best bit was when I asked why women and children should be subjected to a penis in a single sex changing room. Apparently "trans women don't go into changing rooms just to wave their dicks in people's faces". And rather than them, as a very small population, making women feel safe by taking a third option for changing spaces, women should accept them and deal with it if they feel uncomfortable.

When I pointed out that men will take advantage of the safeguarding loopholes created by gender ideology, her basic argument was that will men access those spaces if they want to regardless so it makes no difference. Which absolute amazed me? She was almost angry with me for suggesting the safeguarding needs to exclude some people in order to protect a bigger group. There was a lot of refusal to admit that women are more vulnerable to male violence and so need single sex spaces.

There was so much else we talked about and I'm proud of myself for actually sticking to my guns and having examples and difficult questions to back up my corner. But it amazes me how willingly blind she is. She really is spouting out the same lines I see all over TRA's blogs and twitter feeds without actively engaging with what they mean. She also said she thought she was being 'quite generous' with me about some of my opinions which... given she couldn't actually give a definition of what a woman is?

Anyway, we parted friends and agreed that we would exchange books so we could get out of our own bubbles. I'll read Detrasition Baby if she reads Trans by Helen Joyce. Hopefully some of what I said will stick with her and she will begin to question things more.

I feel like I should add links to all my above points but right now I just need a nap.

#feminism #radfem #radical feminism #terfs please interact #terf safe #terfs do interact #gender ideology

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felassan · 4 years

Text

Highlights and insights from the N7 Day cast & crew reunion panel

[Rewatch link]

In case a text format is better for anyone. There are some NSFW references. Cut for length.

(Some paraphrasing.)

“Some of us are inebriated”

“Patrick Weekes, the killer of man and beasts, the breaker of hearts”

JHale put the whole thing together, it’s the biggest ME cast reunion to date

The cast had no idea that the remaster was a thing

Lots of ace discussion about what the magic of the MET is (“it captured lightning in a bottle”)

Lots of warm fuzzies between the cast, crew and community, and lots of fun behind-the-scenes anecdotes

Lots of great discussion on the diversity and inclusion in ME: on gender, sexuality, representation, empowerment, the core message in the MET that “we’re all in this together or we’re screwed”, the progress made in the portrayal of female characters in gaming, etc. “Everything behind what went into these characters was authentic, we [the VAs] could tell that so much research, texture, authenticity etc had gone into them. It really made a difference”. JHale: “I’ve spent my career kicking down ceilings [barriers and so on women actors experience] with my steel-toed boot. To get to be a part of this game that has now created the expectation that there now be a female PC, ‘duh’, is once of the great things of my life. BioWare listened and put her on the box. The first time someone dropped the box in front of me I held it over my head and screamed over the crowd, ‘Casey Hudson, thank youuu!!’ It was a divine moment. This game was the moment the boot finally crashed through the glass, pushed by millions of women.”

The panel received many messages from the question submission from fans expressing that MET really helped them through very dark places and periods in their lives. The cast have had a lot of interactions with fans over the years where the fans expressed similar sentiments to them

ME was one of the first games Keythe Farley (Thane) acted for that had branching dialogue/dialogue choices, and when he saw the script with that when he went in, he was like “wow”. ME was the second big game D. C. Douglas (Legion) ever did. In his first audition he didn’t know it was for a robot-type character as it was disguised as something else with a military-feel. The second time it was to do a speech/lament at someone’s funeral and he knew it was for a robot. He said playing Legion for him was a case of “wake up, drink some coffee and go to work”

Jack was really special to her VA Courtenay Taylor because she relates to her so much and had a lot of similar emotional problems and personal troubles in her past. Jack helped her become who she has became. The host added that in his interactions with Courtenay over the years, he realized very quickly that she is very much like Jack

AWR has two moms, something which she hasn’t talked about/expressly said publicly before. Talking about recording lines between Sam and Femshep made her tear up. She said that being raised by two moms in the 80s was tough due to societal attitudes at the time, and so to see a loving relationship between two women depicted in a game was a big deal for her. When recording the white picket fence conversation, she was actually crying (“and then I’m crying because of the lesbians”). It was a huge moment for her to represent her moms’ journey. When she went home she told them all about how her character is gay and wants a white picket fence and everything “just like we had”.

When PW was working on Sam’s arc, one of the things they did was show it to one of their colleagues, who is a lesbian, asking what things she’d like to see in an arc like that and what things she felt were missing from it. The white picket fence conversation came from the colleague’s feedback (“we wanna see the nice, healthy, happy domestic stuff”, as it’s often missing in portrayals of wlw relationships)

As the VAs got more into their characters, they sometimes had feedback and input to the process to offer, like “I don’t think she’d say [this] like [that]”. Sometimes they knew their characters even better than the crew did sometimes. JHale waxed lyrical about Caroline Livingstone’s awesome direction, with the host adding that he has interviewed a lot of the VAs over the years and they all talk about Caroline like she’s Gandalf the White coming to the rescue in LotR. AWR expressed that Caroline is really funny (“don’t worry it’s not you, PW was sick when they wrote this line that’s why”) and emotionally in-tune with them and this makes long hard sessions with her a joy

When Mark went into record for the Citadel DLC one day he asked Caroline “wouldn’t be great if Shepard’s clone had been made to be the opposite gender? Then the two Shepards could fight each other!”

William Salyers (Mordin) likes the way Mordin’s story ended and felt that it was wonderful to be able to play that. He feels like the luckiest person because as he wasn’t the original VA of Mordin, he got to come in late to something that was amazing. “Caroline helped me get to where I needed to be emotionally to play that final scene. It was one of the most moving things I’ve ever gotten to do personally for a piece of interactive art”. PW related that with Mordin’s writing, they didn’t realize how much they were asking for. They thought William was amazing doing all the science-speak/technobabble, as they themselves didn’t know what it meant, and then suddenly having to deliver emotional heartbreaking lines. William’s always been a secret science nerd and so he loved that fact about Mordin. “It was a real treat to say your words”

Karin: “I always claim credit for the Scientist Salarian song even though I had nothing to do with it. I opened that door for PW”

Steve Blum (Grunt) found it a real treat playing Grunt as Grunt is a tough soldier on the outside but a [babey] on the inside, while he is more the other way around (softer on the outside, fight-y inside). He isn’t a gamer and so didn’t know what to expect or what he was getting into. There was the big pile of words, they showed him the picture of Grunt, and he just ran with it. “Grunt was kind of a perfect character for me in that respect”. Side note: his wry comments throughout the panel were hilarious

“Casey Hudson, our glorious loving overlord”

Courtenay jokes about “interspecies snorkeling”

The women Courtenay met working on this game are her friends for life. Ali Hillis (Liara) gave her her number the night of the ME3 drop and was like “let’s hang out!!” “JHale is the shit. I go to England and there’s AWR and I have this friend for life”.

“We’re a family”. The host comments that you don’t see this kind of closeness between the people on a lot of projects

Kimberley Brooks (Ashley) thinks things have and are changing for the better in terms of roles for women, and roles for brown and black women. This year she has noticed increasing awareness of inclusion and of where it’s lacking. “The copies I’m being sent for auditions, it’s drastically changing, I’m seeing it change before my eyes. It’s really exciting, there’s more and more roles for me.” “Ash is such a strong character and I felt very badass playing her, it was life-changing”. She’s excited that the remaster is going to be a new way to see these characters that they’ve been so lucky to voice. Kimberley/Ash was the first female character Karin saw in the studio, when she saw her she was like “Wow, she’s so kickass and inspiring”. At this point Karin hadn’t been working at BioWare for all that long, and she wanted to thank Kimberley, because she saw her and heard her voice and had a personal ‘this changes everything’ moment

Raphael Sbarge (Kaidan) finds it very moving how many women were encouraged into gaming due to ME

Raphael: “Everyone here has awesome varied careers, but because ME was so collaborative [and so on], [it was something really rare and special]. Nothing else I’ve done has been so important or impassioned, it has almost a religious experience to it, which you can see from tears in fans’ eyes and tattoos and people talking about it 10 years later”. “I’m so grateful for it.” “Clearly we’re going to do this again next year! :D” D. C. added that it’s going to follow him for the rest of his career. Courtenay says it has catapulted her career

PW talked about how it’s great that the female chars in ME were allowed to have real, realistic flaws and dark periods (as opposed to nonsense stuff like ‘her flaw is that she’s clumsy’)

Having the male and female PC be voiced was a big, expensive commitment for the studio. Karin commented that at the time, it was a risk that the pretty-much almost entirely-male leadership of BioWare at the time decided was important to take, and so she was happy that these were the values her colleagues had

PW was “the junior baby writer on ME1. I’d just gotten to the studio and Mac Walters fell down a flight of stairs and hurt his back, and they pulled me in while he was healing”. Karin: “Mac was very understanding when PW fell on the ice and hurt themselves during ME2.” PW: “My job in ME1 was to come up with conversations between followers to pass the time in the elevator loading times. I was throwing stuff at the wall to see what would stick”

Steve turning his volume down before he shouts classic Grunt quotes down the mic

Caroline: “Do you know how many tears were shed in the booth? How many times have we all cried in the booth...” JHale: “We were recording the end of ME3, which I never call the end, because I’m always like I’M HERE! [wink] The goodbye Garrus lines” - these lines got right under her skin and when she went to say her lines she couldn’t speak because she’d burst into tears. “It was all I could do to say those words... and then there was silence... [and Caroline had gotten choked up too].” This was one of the last sessions they did. PW: “John Dombrow wrote Garrus in ME3 and I’m gonna tell him that he got you both to break.”

Caroline was also really teary during Keith David’s (Anderson)’s performance where he tells Shepard she’s like his daughter. This moment was one of JHale’s favorites to act

BioWare came up with a proprietary VA recording system which JHale describes as a secret sauce as-yet not widely-used in the industry

Lots of fun in the line-reading portion at the end. The lines/scenes were sent in by fans. This starts around timestamp 1 hour 50 mins. There’s a break where they discuss more anecdotes after a bit then some line-reading resumes at 1 hour 59 mins 18 secs

"Salarian Vorcha Conrad Verner simmering sexual tension scene”

One of PW’s fondest memories is of ME3 when JHale and Mark got to play off each other (which they naturally didn’t get to do very much), when PW had shoved the entire script of the Blasto movie into random ambience throughout the Citadel. They knew Mark was going to be Blasto as he voiced most of the hanar. PW: “We had to have Blasto’s elcor partner’s hot sister... And I was like could it be JHale?? Because they hardly ever get to talk to each other. It was one of my proudest moments”. Mark: “Not only that, we had a romance.” JHale: “Yeah, it was hot”.

“Think of the poor cold freezing Edmontonian hanar”

PW’s story about Sam’s toothbrush: They wrote it as a throwaway line but AWR did it so well that PW wanted to bring it back in the Citadel DLC, as that DLC was the action-comedy one. So they decided the toothbrush was going to save the Normandy. The art director at the time was in an early playthrough of the scene and in that version of the scene Sam held up her empty hand. The director was like “We gotta make the toothbrush? Really? It’s gonna be thousands of dollars to render the toothbrush.” It then got to the next few lines and the director deadpanned at PW “Okay that’s pretty good, we’ll make the toothbrush.” PW: “Good, I got my toothbrush.”

It was John’s idea that we find out that Mordin had been working on a crime noir novel. There was a period in the development of the Citadel DLC where PW was feeling like “Mordin’s gone, he had his big moment, I want to respect and honor that” and the entire team were like “I think Mordin needs a couple more songs dude”. “Well alright!” By that point William had shown them he could deliver literally any line

“Oh I need a shower that was so steamy hot”

PW got in trouble with Localization over Jack’s “Save some of your energy, we’re gonna do it on the pool table” exchange. Localization were like “Um could you explain what Jack means by this??” These lines were PW’s, Karin as an editor got the question about it and passed it on to PW like “nope this is your fault”. “The best part is it was France that needed PW to explain the joke while apparently Germany were like ‘Yes please confirm that this is regarding the possibility of oral sex-’”

Keythe on voicing Thane: “Thane was a real lesson in opening up to the character, allowing this beautifully conflicted character to exist. Each character in the MET has conflicts within themselves and a tragic flaw that is revealed through the course of conflict.” He also waxed lyrical about how the MET was akin to Star Wars and Citizen Kane, and about the interconnectedness and representation in it

D. C.: “I have a question for you guys. Was it a conscious decision to not have Legion as a romance? Because there are a lot of upset people out there!!” “Voltage problems.” “A lot of creative reuses of ‘There was a hole.’” PW: “It was a process of us figuring out what we wanted to do. If we had known... The number of people who were like ‘I don’t know, are people gonna wanna romance Garrus? Liara? She’s blue and has no hair. Are people gonna be okay with that?” Karin: “We were young and naïve, now we know BioWare fans are thirsty.”

Derek brought in the first picture of Thane to show Caroline and she was like “He’s really hot, that’s gonna be a killer character. People are gonna want to romance that gentleman”

Raphael asked the BioWare team if there’s ever been a point where they thought about doing more DLC content or some kind of revival. “Has that ever come up?” “We’re legally obligated not to say, sorry, we’re going through a tunnel right now, bad reception!!”

D. C.: “Does this country have a soul?” “It does.”

“An N7 Day to remember! Go forth and heal.”

#bioware #mass effect #video games #lgbtq #feels #lul #garrus vakarian #best boy #please remember if you are a minor you should not be following me #a minor = under 18 #next mass effect

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oldsmobile-hotdogs · 3 years

Note

Willex + ⛵️💍💫

ohoho bestie i had fun with this (also it’s almost 2k oops lol)

it’s also available on ao3!

may i present to you:

Two Ghosts... Having a Date on a Stolen Boat... They Might Kiss...

Alex had to admit: even for Willie, this act of delinquency was a lot.

When he’d first floated the idea of joyriding a sailboat under cover of night to Alex, albeit somewhat casually and hypothetically as they strolled along the pier during a mild June afternoon, Alex had gone along jokingly in that way you do when a friend asks who’d be eaten first if the whole group were trapped on a desert island.

But then Willie had brought it up again on their next- Date? Outing? Meeting?

(Alex was vehemently avoiding putting labels on their spending time together, just in case Willie were to put a different one on it to the one he ascribed it.)

And then on their next, next… hanging-out session… Willie had mooted a date for the grand theft boat and didn’t phrase it much like a question. And then he’d gently pointed out when the sailing class stopped for the night on said date: a Sunday, no less, so it closed before the sun even got close to setting, meaning anyone inside the little shed where they stored the paperwork and lifejackets would certainly be gone by the evening.

This wasn’t accounting for how objectively shocked Alex had been to learn that Willie knew how to sail, of all things. He knew Willie knew how to skate, though that was hard to miss, and he knew Willie had mentioned he used to surf a little when he was alive, but as far as Alex was aware, and he was sorting through all of their conversations just to be sure that he was sure, Willie had never mentioned he could sail.

In retrospect, that could have largely been because he couldn’t, strictly speaking. Alex had watched on in a strange mix of awe and terror as Willie had untied a small sailboat that lent itself easily to being pitied, if he was honest- all chipping paint and scuffs on the body and sunbleached sails- from its docking, and then suddenly he'd been yanked onto the vessel by his arm and made to crouch just behind Willie, close enough for the wind kicking up to whip his hair occasionally in Alex's face, and then Willie had knelt behind the sails and done something, Alex couldn't be sure what, that meant they were off. It was pleasant at first, which had surprised him immensely. Initially they were travelling relatively slowly, but still smoothly, not too far out from the shore, and the longer the joyride had lasted at this pace, the closer Alex had been to letting himself relax.

But then it had very quickly become apparent that Willie was somewhat out of his element: not majorly- he'd probably taken a few classes in a summer, maybe- but enough that he had psyched himself out. And whenever Willie felt psyched out, he turned reckless. Well, more reckless.

Despite the fact that he was a ghost, which meant that even if they had capsized they would have both been able to breathe, and that even if they had crashed no one would have been hurt and it would be physically impossible for the crime to come back to them, Alex had found himself with a white-knuckled grip on either side of the boat as it had picked up speed almost exponentially and began coasting erratically from side to side, the sail changing direction so obviously and violently that even an absolute novice, which Alex was, could have seen that something was wrong.

'You alright up there?' Alex had asked, even though "up there" was about four inches from his face.

'Yeah, I'm just- hold on-' And then Willie had let go of the tiller, which had filled Alex with the fear of God for a good six seconds, before rolling his shoulders back, shaking out his hands, exhaling a quick breath through his mouth and grasping it again. Willie must have gotten himself out of his Beserker state in that time because the boat had then begun moving in a relatively straight line again and, after a little while, had eased itself back down to a manageable speed. Alex would have to ask about that coping mechanism when he got the chance.

After what felt like maybe ten more minutes of sailing lightly around, but may have been quite a bit more, spent mostly in comfortable silence, Willie had pulled clumsily back into where the boat had previously been docked and Alex had clambered out from the little space he had been guided to originally and had remained in the entire joyride, tying the rope back around the little wooden pole that tethered it to the beach. Sailors' knots Alex could do. He'd been so afraid of getting lost in the woods one spring when he was a child, although an opportunity had never presented itself for him to go into the woods, that he'd read a Boy Scouts handbook cover to cover to the point where, even now, if he closed his eyes, he could see the passage on how to sterilise river water laid out in front of him.

'When you're done come back onto the boat. I wanna sit here for a little bit.'

Alex had looked up from his handiwork to meet Willie's gaze. His eyes had been bright, filled with the leftover mischief from their escapade, and a soft smile which had made Alex wonder if Willie had something else up his sleeve had played on his lips.

'Okay, yeah, I'll be back in a second,' he had replied, leaning down one last time to tighten the knot in the right places.

Willie had genuinely expected Alex to tell him to stop at some point, but the more Alex had gone along with what was originally at least partially a joke, the more Willie had wanted to see if he could actualise what had previously only ever been a poorly planned pipe dream. When everything started more or less crashing down around them, however, and their outing previously slated as some dangerous, blockbuster-level adventure had fizzled out into the anticlimax of the season, Willie couldn't help but worry that he had done something to threaten what the two had going for them, which would be poor timing, considering.

Now sitting sideways on the boat together, ghost legs phasing into the shallow water below, hands in touching distance if one of them just worked up the courage to splay their pinky finger a little more, Willie was getting nervous. A little giddy, too, at the possibility of this going right, but mostly nervous.

'Alex?' he began, a little embarrassed, though he knew that was needlessly so, at how his voice hiked in pitch from the nerves.

'Yeah?' Alex responded, his eyes suddenly fixed on him. Willie felt his face grow warm at this, and hoped the relative darkness afforded him some ability to hide the blush he knew was developing.

An added problem was that now Willie had no idea what to say next. He was great at listening to people divulge their emotions, sure, but he always struggled a little with expressing his own, preferring to offer solutions to the other people in his life's struggles and pretend like his own feelings weren't always too close to overflowing for comfort. Willie was suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to backtrack as quickly as was humanly possible.

'No, never mind, actually. It's not important.' Willie attempted to sound casual, but was unsure of how successfully it actually came off.

'Well, see, now I definitely wanna hear what you had to say,' Alex retorted jokingly.

‘No, it’s stupid. Really.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Alex was now looking Willie pointedly in the eyes. ‘I don’t think you’ve said a stupid thing ever-’ Willie opened his mouth, ready to counter him- ‘Not when it counts.’

And it’s not like that admission of blind faith in Willie made the next words out of his mouth any easier, but they were now propelled from hiding by an added energy that wasn’t there before.

‘Okay, so I went to Tokyo a few weeks back-’

‘You- ...okay.’ It was obvious that this anecdote would have Alex wanting to throw himself into one of his crises about the afterlife and ghost powers and the limitations of poofing, but he was, so far, very valiantly, in Willie’s opinion, holding back. ‘You’ll have to tell me about that later.’

Willie couldn’t help but giggle at how resigned Alex sounded. ‘Oh, I will, hotdog, don’t worry.’

'Anyway,' Willie began again, more confident now that the conversation had taken on some humour. 'So I went to Tokyo, and I was walking down a street with a bunch of vendor stalls, and I saw this one stall and I, uh.' He paused a little, taking a few gentle breaths to build up the courage necessary to continue. 'I remembered my Mom telling me about these, uh, these rings.' Willie could almost feel Alex's eyes widen as he drew out the small, purple pouch that kept them safe from his hoodie pocket. He rushed to clarify. 'They're not- it's not a big thing in Japan. They're not like promise rings.' Alex audibly exhaled. 'Yeah, don't- I wouldn't... spring that on you.'

'No, yeah, I didn't... think you would.'

A silence came over them, uncharacteristicallly awkward, and Willie felt a little hopeless to save the moment.

Eventually, it was Alex who broke it. 'So, these rings?'

'Yeah,' Willie quickly responded. 'I stole them.' Alex chuckled under his breath. 'They're called couple rings, and people- well, couples- they buy them to mark the fact that they're- well, that they're couples.'

'Seems simple enough,' Alex joked, evidently warming to the idea.

'Oh yeah, very simple.' Willie could feel a smile spreading across his face. 'And there's no implication that you're gonna, like, do anything else later on either, which I like because, I mean, we're ghosts.' He gestured at how their legs became translucent where they dangled into the water. 'And that's probably already enough thinking about "forever" on its own, without the added pressure of any big promises.'

'Yeah, I agree.' Alex let out a sigh.

There was a beat of quiet before Willie continued.

'But obviously actually seeing them and putting them on is the main event, so I'm going to get them out of the pouch now, finally,' he joked, pulling open the hole in the top and lightly shaking two thin, silver bands out onto his hand. He then placed them gently onto the edge of the boat, and turned them so that Alex could see clearly what they looked like, or as clearly as was possible at this time of night.

'They've both got this line engraved in them almost the whole way 'round, and then one has a star stamped into it, and the other has a moon,' Willie explained, the nerves returning now that his gift was out in the open.

'I can see that,' Alex responded breathily, leaning a little closer to the rings. 'Willie, these are- they're beautiful. Thank you.'

'I thought you could be the star,' Willie suggested, the arm of his that was further away from Alex reaching up to rub at his neck, lightly avoiding how to respond to Alex's gratitude.

'Okay.'

Gingerly, Willie closed the gap between their hands and slipped the band onto Alex's ring finger, and then donned his own. Neither of them spoke for a little while, both stunned into silence and afraid to break this air of closeness they'd achieved. Once again, Alex was the first to move.

'So, this definitely means we're dating, right?'

Willie flung himself backwards into the hull of the ship, his hair somewhat cushioning his head as he landed, his legs sticking up over the top, now opaque. 'Ugh. Yes, hotdog, we're dating,' he called back up in fake annoyance.

'Cool, just checking,' Alex called back.

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scripttorture · 4 years

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I'm not sure if this question has been asked before, but what would be usually the reason why people would torture someone? Not to justify (torture is unjustifiable in any situation) but I really needed a driving force for a villain why they would w/o sounding ridiculous or implausible, and any reason I come up with falls kind of flat (... Which I suppose is expected, since that's how the reasonings behind tortures are in rl I guess)

I can help you out here. And I want you to know that from a writing stand point this does make perfect sense. Motivation, however shallow, is important for capturing a character.

Yes a lot of the motivations in reality are flat, shallow and outright stupid. And it can be a careful balancing act, showing those motivations making them understandable without straying into justifying them. It can also be hard to make an interesting character with flat motivations.

I think I’ll start off with talking about motivations/‘reasons’ in reality and then talk a little about when and whether we should break from reality when we write about torturers.

Remember that there isn’t a lot of research on torturers. So I’m working from the little bit of research I can access, interviews with torturers and anecdotal reports. It isn’t perfect, but this is (so far as I can tell) the best information we have at the time of writing.

Understanding why torture occurs means understanding that it is structural violence.

I do take questions on abuse, I personally don’t see much point in sticking to the strict legal definition of torture when I’m trying to help authors do a decent job portraying trauma survivors. But sometimes the definition matters. And torture is essentially defined as abuse by government employees*, by public servants in positions of authority.

Over and over again the reasons torturers give for their crimes come back to flaws in the organisations they were part of. Consistently, across cultures and time periods, they describe understaffed, high pressure environments with no training, little supervision and the instruction to produce results or else.

This combines with cultural messages that violence ‘works’ and existing sub-cultures of torturers within organisations to perpetuate abuse.

It’s also worth mentioning that for most torturers they’re coming into an organisation where there are already established sub-groups of torturers. The group dynamics do seem to play a role in all this. Though it’s difficult to say how much when we’re entirely going from what torturers say and they are… demonstrably inaccurate when it comes to talking about torture.

Having said that; torturers do seem to encourage each other to more and more acts of violence. They treat it almost competitively. They will also, sometimes, approach new recruits and bring them into the torturer sub-group, pressuring them to participate.

I’m unsure how much of a role the social factor plays in torturers starting to torture, but it definite seems to keep them torturing when they say they’d rather stop. There are a couple of reasons why.

First of all there’s a sort of implicit threat; refusing to torture is seen as a threat to the torturer sub-culture. And these are people who have already shown a capacity for violence. There have been cases of torturers attacking other members of the same organisation for their opposition to, or refusal to, torture.

There’s also a social aspect; once involved with the torturer sub-culture the individual tends to become more and more cut off from the rest of the organisation. The group of torturers becomes more or less their entire social circle.

We’re social animals. So leaving, rejecting the entire social group, is a big deal. It’s hard for us to do.

The toxic sub-culture torturers form encourages them to root part of their identity in their capacity for violence and how ‘good at it’ the other members of their group think they are. They tend to tie ideas of toughness, dependability, achievement and (often) masculinity to torture. They frame themselves as especially manly, strong and ‘willing to do the tough jobs no one else has the guts to’.

It’s complete nonsense but it’s what they do.

And it means that facing up to the fact torture is pointless feels like an attack on their self worth. A lot of them choose to double down rather then face that reality.

This isn’t a definitive list of relevant factors. It’s my assessment of the ones that always seem to show up. There are usually other factors that feed into particular situations. Rejali’s Three Systems is a worth a read on that front.

Ideas about social hierarchy and transgression are common features. So things like ‘anyone who does That Terrible Thing deserves to be tortured’ or ‘no one Like That would be in this part of town for an innocent reason’.

All of this means that motivation can be tricky to write, because the real motivations are often not the sort of thing we’re taught are ‘interesting’.

Real, honest motivations are often things like:

‘I think those people deserve it’

‘I was told to’

‘Everyone else was doing it’

‘I couldn’t think of anything else to do’

‘I got angry and took it out on someone else’

‘I thought it would work and no one ever taught me another way’

That’s not a definitive list but you get the idea. And probably get the point about these sorts of shallow motivations being narratively unsatisfying.

So let’s step back from the reality and tackle the writing problem at the heart of this: how do we make this interesting?

There are a couple of different approaches.

The first approach I see is to accept that the motivation and the villain are shallow and shift the interest away from the villain.

Villains don’t need to be interesting. And they don’t need to be the focus.

If your story is structured in a way which primarily makes the villain a looming threat and focuses on the heroes, their journey, their relationships then adding detail or depth to the villain is unnecessary.

The Lord of the Rings trilogy does this with several of its major villains. The Shape of Water does it for the main villain. Zelda: Breath of the Wild (yes I bought a switch during lock down, and it’s my first Zelda game I am not sorry) does it with Ganon.

Another approach is to accept the motivation is shallow and shift the focus away from the villain’s motivation.

Villains do not need to have a grand philosophy or deep motivation or underlying pain in order to be a good read. They don’t need to be an intellectual threat to the heroes in order to be a legitimate threat.

For instance Joker in Batman: The Animated Series, I’d argue one of the best takes on the character ever. But if you go back and watch the episodes he isn’t deep. His motivation almost always boils down to pettiness, greed and a vindictive streak a mile wide. It is incredibly shallow.

But he’s fun to watch, because he’s unpredictable and funny. He’s also a legitimate threat to the heroes because he’s so incredibly destructive. More then any other villain his crimes are aimed at effecting large numbers of people. That sets the stakes high without any motivation or philosophy coming into it.

The focus is on what he does each time he shows up, not why.

Persona 5 pulls off a similar trick. Every single one of its villains has a shallow motivation. But each of them also has power over one of the heroes or another innocent person. They don’t need a deeper or more interesting motivation in order to make life miserable for the heroes. And every caper hinges on the heroes trying to stop that worst outcome.

As much as Fullmetal Alchemist is a deep story which touches on many complex topics, neither version (the original manga or the 2003 anime with it’s very different plot) had a particularly complex villain at the end of the story. In both cases the ultimate leader of the ‘bad guys’ just wanted more power. And didn’t care how many lives they destroyed to get it.

Not all stories need a Killmonger.

It’s always worth taking the time to consider what your story needs, rather then what’s fashionable in fiction at the moment. On a personal note some of my favourite stories have been either entirely focused on the heroes or had explicitly shallow villains.

The reality is that most of the time motivations for large scale atrocities are shallow and unsatisfying. Giving fictional villains deeper or more complex motives can work, but it can also mean twisting the narrative up to make it look like the villain (and hence their actions) are more reasonable then they are.

Killmonger’s twisted vision of what would make Wakanda ‘better’ works in Black Panther, just as White Wolf’s similar motivation did in the comics a decade or so earlier. They work because they’re directly competing with the hero’s vision of what would make the world better. And because ultimately it’s about showing why T’Challa’s way is better then the villain he’s facing off against.

But I can think of other stories where giving the villain a ‘deeper’ reasoning just served to make them look reasonable. While they were arguing for torture and genocide.

And… I just think we’ve got enough of that in real life.

At the end of the day your villain should be serving a role within the story you’re creating. Motivation is one of many ways that we try to make sure they serve that function effectively and entertainingly.

But, despite what some people would have you believe, it ain’t the be all and end all of whether a villain or story is entertaining. Personality, plots, aesthetic and sometimes how satisfying it feels to see their day ruined, all feed in to how well a villain works.

The threat they represent in the story isn’t dependant on whether their motivation is deep or nuanced or rational. It’s about their ability to follow through and sometimes the horrific nature of the desire itself.

So I guess a lot of my advice here is to consider what your villain actually needs to do in the story. Then take a step back and consider whether deeper motivation adds anything to that.

Be aware that the more complex motivations and drives you add the further you’re getting from a realistic torturer. Which is not inherently apologia, or inherently a bad writing idea, but consider what any deviation from reality implies.

I hope that helps. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*The international definition can include groups that control territory, ie an occupying force. In some countries the definition is slightly wider and encompasses some international criminal gangs.

#writing advice #tw torture #writing torturers #behaviour of torturers #motivations of torturers #threatening villains #motivation #writing villains #effects of torture on organisations #defining torture

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vanessakirbyfans · 4 years

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Vanessa Kirby suggests we meet on the Mall, the central location for her on-screen triumph as the young Princess Margaret in The Crown. I’m standing outside the shuttered Institute of Contemporary Arts when she strides into view, a slender, leggy figure with bleached hair and brilliant blue eyes, clad in trademark black, but for her gleaming white Converse trainers.

"I haven’t been here since we were filming!" she marvels through her mask, gazing up the processional avenue towards Buckingham Palace. "I was whizzing up the road on a motorbike, holding onto the back of Matthew Goode [as Antony Armstrong-Jones] and feeling so exhilarated about what on Earth was happening to my life – being in a job I loved, playing someone I loved."

Her ebullient mood was dented when Margaret’s handbag, into which she’d put her own phone, was blown away from between her feet, and an opportunistic passer-by ran off with it. "By the time I could check Find My iPhone, it was already in Leicester Square," she says. "Of course, the costume department were furious because the bag was vintage and a one-off." We both laugh, rather ruefully, for such anecdotes already seem to belong to a more carefree time. This bright, crisp lunchtime in lockdown, the Mall is all but deserted –there would be no need for roadblocks or filming at dawn today – while the roles Kirby is here to discuss are light-years away from her embodiment of a pampered royal party girl.

The morning of our meeting, Pieces of a Woman has launched on Netflix to rapturous reviews and critical acclaim that has seen Kirby, in her first lead role, picked as a front-runner for the award season’s most coveted best-actress gongs.

It is not, however, an easy watch. Kirby plays Martha, a first-time mother whose baby dies moments after being born; the film follows Martha’s subsequent disintegration, alongside that of her close relationships. Her labour, which comes at the start of the film, is some 26 minutes of one unbroken take that manages to be simultaneously intimate and menacing as the camera swoops around the apartment and hovers beside the traumatised protagonists.

Kirby’s performance is astonishingly unselfconscious, which is the more surprising since she never went to drama school (turning down the offer of a place at Lamda in favour of stage roles at Bolton’s Octagon Theatre) and says she couldn't bring herself to dance in front of her friends. "I’m the one who sits in the corner and watches." She describes seeing herself on-screen as "disconcerting", and "not a very natural human experience", and indeed even finds making Zoom calls a trial. "There’s nothing to hide behind!"

For Pieces of a Woman, the director Kornel Mundruczo decided that the birth scene would be the first to be shot, she tells me, as we stroll around St James’s Park, conducting ourselves like a couple of spies in a Le Carré novel. "I knew I’d have to be naked, and literally open my legs and give birth in front of a group of strangers I’d only met that morning. I was actually quite thankful – I thought, the rest of it’s going to be a lot easier."

In fact, she says, she found herself swept away by the emotion of the story. "Normally, it’s so hard to forget there are machines in your face, but I had no idea that a camera was even there." Was it traumatic to act? "The first time we shot it, I was literally sobbing for 10 minutes afterwards. I couldn’t get out of it. My brain was telling me it wasn’t real, but my unconscious didn’t know the difference, especially with having a real baby in my arms.

"Kornel came over onto the bed and held me so tight. He didn’t let go of me for five minutes, and he said, 'Just remember this feeling.' That really helped me for the rest of the movie, when the character doesn’t express anything, but almost has to be doing the howling without speaking a word."

Kirby took her research seriously, even asking a mother-to-be –a total stranger – to allow her to be present in the delivery room at the birth of her son in a north-London hospital. "I remember every single second of it," the actress says emphatically. "I was there, glued to my seat, for seven hours, not even a loo break! I was just amazed, in awe. I saw a woman completely surrender and go on this spiritual journey, which involved indescribable pain, clearly, but also ecstasy. It gave me a whole new respect for women and how powerful they are, and a new empathy for men, because they feel so helpless. And obviously, seeing the baby come out was the most incredible thing in the world I’ve ever seen, by far. After he was born, all of the mother’s colour returned, she looked like an angel, she had a kind of holy glow." Bathetically, it was only then that the couple recognised Kirby. "They were going, 'Oh my God, it’s Princess Margaret! This is so weird!'"

The experience has given her a new philosophy on life, she says. "I was watching the mother go through these contractions, which were excruciating, and the pushing, and then there was a moment of calm, and of expansion. And so, when I’m going through things in my life, I say to myself, this is like a contraction, surrender to it, because there might be something born from it. Sometimes we don’t want that; when we’re feeling something horrible, we want it to pass as far as possible. I’m teaching myself to allow it to be there and not resist or push it away, and that’s because of that woman."

But her character’s storyline also demanded that Kirby understand the experience of stillbirth. A friend introduced her to a woman who had lost her baby Luciana under eerily similar circumstances to those in Martha’s narrative. "She shared everything with me." They have become close friends, and the film’s ending is dedicated to Luciana. Kirby continues to work with Sands, the Stillbirth and Neonatal Death charity, and is voluble in her admiration of the Duchess of Sussex and Chrissy Teigen, both of whom have recently spoken out about their own experiences of miscarriage.

"I feel so close to them and so proud of them for breaking that silence," she says. "Meghan is probably the last person who would feel comfortable sharing her very personal, intimate feelings. It’s that courage that I want to continue to honour. What they’re saying is, if you’ve been through it, we have too, we share your story. I think that makes you feel less lonely. But one in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage, which is far more than I knew about. Society finds it difficult to hold space for that kind of pain."

Her parents, to whom she is very close, have both seen the film and wept throughout, she says. As if on cue, her phone pings, and her eyes soften when she checks the message; it’s a childhood friend who herself miscarried, getting in touch to say how much the film has meant to her.

The integrity of Kirby’s performance has already netted her the Volpi Cup for Best Actress at the Venice Film Festival. "It doesn’t seem real," she says. "I have it in its case – I wouldn’t have it on display, it looks like a football trophy – but occasionally I glance at it and think, 'Did that really happen? Or did I make it up in a weird dream?'" In a similar vein, she is reluctant to engage with the Oscar buzz surrounding her. "I don’t even know when they are," she admits. "My 13-year-old self would have a heart attack. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it!"

Kirby’s other film, The World to Come, is set in mid-19th-century America but touches on the same themes of bereavement and redemption. The central character Abigail, played by Katherine Waterston, has also lost her young daughter, and in her grief, turns away from her husband to have an affair with Tallie, her free-spirited, flame-haired neighbour. "I was glad I was playing Tallie rather than Abigail, because it might have been a bit too much," Kirby confesses – though without giving away spoilers, that role is pretty traumatic too...

The screenplay is taken from the short story of the same name by Jim Shepard, which was inspired by an entry he found in an antique diary: 'My best friend’s moved away, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.' "It was one woman’s voice, like an echo from the past, and we’ll never know who she was," says Kirby. "The World to Come really educated me about what life was like for women not that long ago. They didn’t have a choice about anything they did with their time. You were owned by the house, and the man, and you had no freedom outside that. The best thing about doing this mad job sometimes is having your ignorance illuminated. I gravitate towards things that push beyond my experience, I want to go to places I don’t know, I’m not familiar with."

The experience of making both films has changed her profoundly. "I can’t do anything unless it means something to me now," she says. "It’s a better way to work, because you’re not focused on yourself at all. So maybe I’ll only work once every 10 years!"

To ensure that this is not the case, and in order to find more untold, female-led stories, her ambition is now to set up her own production company. "Even a few years ago, a film about a woman losing a baby would have been unthinkable. There are so many voiceless people, and I have a voice in this industry, and I want to make sure the tribe is represented properly."

It is undeniably awkward, therefore, that her male co-stars in the films, Shia LaBeouf and Casey Affleck, both of whom play violent, abusive husbands, have been called out for their treatment of women. In December, the British singer FKA Twigs filed a lawsuit against LaBeouf, her ex-partner, alleging that he "hurts women. He uses them. He abuses them, both physically and mentally". While LaBeouf largely denied the accusations, he admitted in a statement to The New York Times: "I have a history of hurting the people closest to me. I’m ashamed of that history and am sorry to those I hurt. There is nothing else I can really say."

Meanwhile, Affleck was sued by two female crew members working on his 2010 film I’m Still Here, one of whom accused him of sexual harassment. He denied the allegations, and the lawsuits were settled out of court, but he later told the Associated Press: "I behaved in a way, and I allowed others to behave in a way, that was really unprofessional, and I’m sorry."

Kirby is understandably reluctant to get into any of this. "I can’t comment on a legal case that’s going on in someone’s personal life," she says. "I feel really protective of Pieces, so that’s what I want to speak about. Because it came out at eight this morning, all I can think about is the mothers I spoke to, and wanting them to be my focus. I just know my job is to honour them."

Perhaps counter-intuitively, starring in Pieces has awakened in her the desire for a family of her own. "It’s definitely made me want a baby, for sure," she says; but she hasn’t currently got a partner, having split up from Callum Turner (Frank Churchill in last year’s Emma), whom she met when they co-starred in the 2014 film Queen & Country. "This year has made me think a lot about the home I want to create. I like the idea of inviting someone into a space that’s mine, preferably before I have kids."

In the near future, however, Kirby has nothing on her plate except for getting through a third lockdown. "I’m free as a bird! I’ve read a lot of stuff, and said no to a lot of stuff..." She currently shares a flat in Tooting, south London, with her sister Juliet, an assistant director, and two friends. "I was just about to move out to live on my own in north London – my God, I would have been so lonely! My sister saved me. It was so nice to have routines together. We were trying to take a bit of exercise, cooking together, watching films that made us feel better, drinking wine on Friday nights..."

By now, having circled St James’s Park several times, we are strolling back towards the Corinthia Hotel, where Kirby has a full programme of Zoom interviews lined up for the afternoon. "That’s why I’m so happy to have actually had the chance to go out and meet you in real life," she says enthusiastically. "It’s funny when everything in your life closes down, and you have to sit with yourself, and you suddenly notice all the things you have and you’re grateful for. I hope that feeling never goes away – I will never underestimate how lucky I am."

#Vanessa Kirby #Pieces of a Woman #The World to Come #Interview #Articles

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commonwealthoccurences · 4 years

Text

The Kids From Yesterday

TW: Injury and it’s symptoms description.

Note: To clarify none of this is supposed to be interpreted as Deacon hitting on Sole. Their friendship is familial in this case and that’s it.

Request: “ So imagine, the Sole Survivor is secretive about their identity. They never show their face, their voice bounces around their helmet, and Deacon's 90 percent sure they use heeled boots. But they're a good leader and a good person, so everyone lets it be. One day, Sole is out with a Companion and they hit their head. Companion has no choice but to take off the helmet to check for wounds, since Sole's knocked out. And they learn why they never show their face. They're a teenager.”

It was a hot day in the middle of summer. Sole and Deacon were trekking across the Commonwealth to Diamond City, hoping to get a decent room for the night before they left to check out a nearby safehouse. Sweat beaded across Sole’s forehead, the intense heat made worse by the helmet they always wore. “Sheesh, Boss. I’m committed to privacy, too, but are you sure you don’t wanna take that off? I’ll look the other way, promise.” He held up his pinky to imply his innocent intentions.

Sole rolled their eyes despite Deacon not being able to see. “Yeah, sure. For about two seconds before you use those sunglasses to your advantage. I know your tricks by now Deacon.”

He grinned, unashamed. “Busted.”

They continued their hike in silence. Deacon had known Sole for more than a year and a half, and not once had they even given a hint about their identity. Sure, they came from a vault and they were trying to find a family member, but that’s all Deacon knew about them. They had managed to hook up a voice modifier to their helmet, which changed pitch every day. Their armor was bulky and hid any defining features. They were decently tall, but even then, in the beginning they walked unsteadily which led Deacon to believe their boots had built in heels. Conversations were kept anecdotal and light, and if they told stories, no one involved in them had seen Sole’s face either.

This ate at Deacon. He respected their privacy as much as they respected his. Neither tried to pry too much, but he couldn’t help but be curious. His entire job was to figure out mysteries and despite the fact that he made sure not to go too far, he really wanted to know even a little bit about who they were.

However, he didn’t need to know any more about them to respect them. They were a hard worker and a fantastic leader, and didn’t hesitate to put their life on the line for the Railroad and the Minutemen and the synths under their protection. Deacon was no stranger to keeping his distance; as long as they continued to do what they did, they were good in his books.

Sole’s commitment to their secrecy could be to a fault, though. They never let anyone help treat their wounds; Deacon had to listen to them sew up their own injuries from the other side of a curtain multiple times and each was a struggle for him to stay in his seat. Yet every time they patched themself up, put their armor back on, and stepped out from behind the curtain with a silent nod.

And now, they were refusing to put their well being first and take their helmet off for even a small breath of fresh air. Of course Deacon was mostly joking when he implied he’d take a peek at their appearance, and he could understand their caution, but still, it was putting their safety at risk.

They had made it about halfway there when Sole began stumbling. The sun had reached its fullest height and its rays were beating down onto the Commonwealth. Plants had shriveled up across the fields, ponds had been turned to mere puddles, and the light reflected harshly off the rocks, rivers, and the scraps of metal that decorated the sides of the roads.

Sole’s line of vision tilted as they struggled to re-orientate themself. Deacon moved to grab their arm, but he didn’t move fast enough due to his own exhaustion, and Sole went tumbling, their helmeted head slamming into a fractured guard rail. He swore loudly when they didn’t move to get up.

“Sole? Hey, you need to wake up.” He leaned over them in an attempt to block out the sun and shook their shoulders. No response.

Fear struck him when he realized just how limp their frame was. It was pure dead weight. “Hey! Sole, can you hear me?” He shook them again.

He had a decision to make. They had hit their head hard and that was never good. Either he respected their privacy to the fault they were so infamous for and left their helmet on, hoping for the best, or he kept them alive and let them yell at him later. He barely hesitated. Sole had saved his life multiple times, he couldn’t stand by for the sake of their anonymity.

“I’m sorry in advance, Sole.” He muttered, crouching next to them and reaching for their helmet.

Sole awoke in an unfamiliar room. An oil lamp flickered on the nightstand next to the cot they were reclined on, casting dancing shadows across the room. There was a table of medical supplies to their right along with a water pitcher and an empty, clean cup. Carefully, they began to sit up. The room spun as they inhaled sharply and squeezed their eyes shut in an attempt to make the nauseating feeling go away.

When they reopened their eyes to a right-side-up room, they reached for a knife that had been left on the tray next to a bandana. They gripped it tightly in their hand, knuckles white as they began to swing their legs over the side of the mattress. Their body felt extra heavy, like weights had been attached to their joints.

With a sharp breath they forced themself to get to their feet, leant against the railing attached to the cot. The room seemed to be a doctor’s office more than anything, but they had been stripped of their padded armor and helmet; someone had explaining to do. When they were finally steadily on their feet they picked up the bandana and tied it around the lower half of their face, securing the knot at the back of their head. “Taking off so soon?” A voice startled them from the doorway and they tightened their grip on the knife.

Their eyes snapped up, causing another wave of nauseating dizziness. Deacon- well, three of him, actually -stood in the doorway. The figures blended together before separating again, clueing Sole in on just how bad their dizziness was. As carefully as they could, they lowered themself back onto the cot. “That’s what I thought.” He sighed.

The whole ‘disappointed parent’ vibe was starting to piss Sole off, and it was exactly the reason they never gave clues about their identity. “Save the lecture, Deacon. Where are we?” They asked, attempting to regulate their tone.

“Diamond City clinic. We’re still having this conversation, though.”

“Later, when we’re somewhere secure. I’m not having less-than-fortunate discussions within earshot of nosy people. Or worse. The Institute.”

Deacon fought the urge to make a face. Sure, they were right. What he knew now didn’t change that they knew what they were doing and how to keep themself safe. It did, however, make him struggle with the idea of standing by while they continued their path of work. As they fought to stand again, he knew he couldn’t stop them, regardless. “Will you let me help you?” Deacon asked quietly, dragging a hand over his face.

“Yeah, knock yourself out.”

He crossed the room and gripped their forearm so they could brace themself to stand. “Slowly.” He warned, reaching around to grab their other arm as they swayed.

“Don’t start babying me now, Deacon.”

“I’m not. This is what caring about someone looks like.” His tone was biting.

Sole suppressed a roll of their eyes and continued to make their way towards where their armor was laying. “What time is it?”

“Ten-ish at night. We’re safe to get to Dugout Inn without you overheating again. I already booked a room and the brothers agreed to make sure the place was cleared out and everyone was in their rooms before we got there. The doc never saw your face, by the way, I kept the bandana over it.”

“Thank you.”

Carefully, Sole began putting their armor on. They started to lean forward to put their shin guards on and Deacon stopped them, kneeling to adjust the straps for them. Piece by piece he strapped them into their armor before reaching for the pitcher of water. “You need to drink something before we leave. He administered fluids but we shouldn’t risk it.” He handed them a glass of water and waited for them to finish it off.

Slowly and carefully, they made their way from the Surgery Center clinic through the alleys to the Dugout Inn. Their face was still covered, and Sole thanked God for that, but they still turned away as soon as the brothers looked over from where they were talking quietly behind the bar. “Do you guys need some help?” Vadim asked.

Deacon shook his head. “Nah, we’re all good. Thanks, though.”

Sole’s feet shuffled against the ground as he led them to the nearest room, which he had the foresight to request. With practiced ease Deacon shifted their arm over his shoulder and gripped their waist, twisting the doorknob to the room open and swinging it open. He moved them in and transferred their weight onto the nearby bed. “Alright, let’s talk.” They sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I wanted to be taken seriously. If I had said anything, no one would’ve respected me enough to let me lead. Hell, I doubt they would’ve even let me out of Sanctuary.”

Deacon began to pace slowly. “How old are you? Minus the whole popsicle situation.”

“Seventeen. Since April.”

Deacon swore, his hands on his hips as he stared at the dusty floor. Silence filled the room and Sole didn’t bother breaking it; Deacon would talk when he wanted to and it was pointless to push. After a pause, he dropped down onto the nearby couch and put his head in his hands. He swore again under his breath. “I’m sorry.” He said finally.

“Come again?”

“I’m sorry. I mean- kids have to go through a lot here already, you know. But you’ve had to do things adults from this generation couldn’t even fathom and you weren’t born into this world, I- I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry”

When Deacon looked up at them, his sunglasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose. Sole watched carefully as he reached up to remove them, instinctively getting the urge to avert their eyes. He folded the arms together and set his sunglasses on the coffee table in front of him, his eyes clouded with emotion. “I just want you to know I’ve got your back, Boss. We’ll come out on the other side of this and you can get old with Dogmeat in Sanctuary, y’know. But you have to stop pushing yourself so hard.”

Sole, not seeing the point of hiding anymore, tugged their helmet off and settled it in their lap, running their fingertips over it as they examined it carefully. “I don’t mean it relative to your age, either. You push yourself way too hard to please everyone in this area and it’s gonna get you killed. You’ve already proved yourself. You’re already good enough. It’s time that you see that, too, and maybe take some time to just- are you gonna shoot me with my own pistol if I said ‘to just be a kid?’”

Sole tipped their head back and laughed. “No. I guess it’s fair.”

“Thank God. Hey, you need to put another cap in the ‘Near Death Experience’ jar when we get back home.”

Sole snorted. “I think we’re single handedly filling that damn thing.”

Deacon couldn’t disagree. He got up briefly to lock the door, not wanting any late-night ambushes, and settled back onto the couch. It was customary for him to take the first watch while Sole got a nap in, and considering their condition, that wasn’t going to change. “Get some rest, Boss. We’ve got an early morning.” He leaned over to the nearby lamp and paused, waiting for Sole to settle down under the blankets, the bandana still tied over the lower half of their face.

“Goodnight, Deacon.”

“G’night, kid.”

“Don’t push it.”

Deacon laughed quietly and blew out the lamp.

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