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theartofdreaming1 · 3 years

Photo

Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch are slowly becoming a proper team! No more secrets! (for the most part)

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and (many) random thoughts on chapters 4-6 are below the cut.

heart

Losing that comfort of sleeping in each other’s arms after the Victory Tour must have been hard for Katniss and Peeta! Up until Katniss hurts her ankle, they probably didn’t really do much about it, just trying to make it through on their own... After she hurt her ankle and Peeta’s spending more time over at her place, I can easily imagine him staying over, at least until she’s fallen asleep, which might help a little... Since they are living only three houses apart from each other, I like to imagine that they can see each other’s bedroom windows from their bedroom (how else would Katniss know that Peeta sleeps with the windows open? I can’t really imagine that they would be able to open the windows of the train they were on - y’know, for “safety reasons” (i.e. making sure nobody can escape)); maybe they’d both light a candle and put it by their window, as a signal they are going to sleep... It’s not the same, but it helps a little

mind

I mean, aside from the systemic rigging of the reaping system (i.e. poorer people generally having more entries, so they can have some food), I can easily imagine there being a manipulation of the “odds” when someone becomes too vocal or troublesome for the local authorities, such as someone trying to unionize a district’s workforce, for example

soul

In the districts, their impact has to be big - their win alone was a huge defiance of the Games as they used to be... sticking together and sticking up for each other ultimately led to them defeating the Capitol’s rules! In-between the Games and the Victory Tour I don’t think there was much noteworthy going on (although maybe the fact that, so far, none of the new victors’ loved ones had been hurt - Prim, Mrs. E., but also Gale and his family would be visible during the celebrations, I’m sure, same probably goes for the Mellark’s - might tell the people in the district that Snow and his cronies were aware of the attention any assassination attempt would gather and that this, in turn, might actually could become the last straw that would spark a revolution. In a way, that was proof that the people on top were at least a little afraid of what the people in the districts would do...) And then, especially during the visit of D11, with Katniss expressing her thanks and Peeta reaching out to share their winnings with the people from D11, another district than their own - it must have provided a lot of inspiration, I’m sure.

As for the Capitolites, maybe some of them would notice for once how unhappy/riled up the people in some of the districts were... or at least stop to think about how this time, a show of love and companionship actually provided more “entertainment” and intrigue than the brutal gore and bloodshed from previous Games (also, longer lasting - there is actually much more “story” to be had from the star-crossed lovers from D12 than from any individual winner of previous Games, if you think about it... Their “love story” is still on-going, with an upcoming wedding and the promise of a family... it’s still creepy and voyeuristic as hell, though)

Chapter 4

Everything he [Haymitch] said was true about the Capitol’s expectations, my future with Peeta, even his last comment. Of course, I could do a lot worse than Peeta. That isn’t really the point, though, is it? One of the few freedoms we have in District 12 is the right to marry who we want or not marry at all. And now even that has been taken away from me. - God, this sucks so much! As Katniss rightly points out, her misery isn’t about Peeta at all - it’s about her (and also his, just pointing that out) agency being taken away! She’s being stripped even of that little sliver of agency that inhabitants of D12 usually have (choice of whom to marry, or whether to marry at all)

I wonder if President Snow will insist we have children. - Eugh, just the idea of Snow being the one to have the last word on that subject... 🤢 The invasion of privacy here... - The only person who should get to decide whether Katniss should have children or not is Katniss herself! Period!

My mind searches frantically for a way out. I can’t let President Snow condemn me to this. Even if it means taking my own life. Before that, though, I’d try to run away. - Boy, Katniss is even contemplating taking her own life, rather than to submit to the life the Capitol wants to force on her; it’s not her first choice (she’d rather run away), but it shows the desperation she’s feeling

Could I even manage to take everyone I love with me, start a new life deep in the wild? Highly unlikely but not impossible. - Later we will see that Peeta and Haymitch also belong into the category of “people Katniss loves” 😊(as well as her family, Gale, and his fam, of course)

“And Peeta’s team is probably still asleep.” “Doesn’t he need prepping?” I ask. “Not the way you do,” Effie replies. What does this mean? It means I get to spend the morning having the hair ripped off my body while Peeta sleeps in. I hadn’t thought about it much, but in the arena at least some of the boys got to keep their body hair whereas none of the girls did. - Gotta love that everlasting sexism that, even far into the future, still won’t allow women to have frickin’ body hair (y’know, like most humans do 🙄)

I can remember Peeta’s now, as I bathed him by the stream. Very blond in the sunlight, once the mud and blood had been washed away. Only his face remained completely smooth. Not one of the boys grew a beard, and many were old enough to. I wonder what they did to them. - Katniss seems to have committed every single detail about Peeta to her memory, including how his body hair looked when she cleaned him in the last Games... okay 👀😏 On a more somber note, what is it that the Capitol is doing to these poor kids?! The boys couldn’t grow beards and - I’m assuming - the girls wouldn’t get their periods while in the arena (since the Games can last for weeks, it would be a huge disadvantage if any of the girls also had to content with cramps + periods - aside from worrying about getting murdered, I mean); it’s such a violation of one’s autonomy over one’s own body, yikes

Flavius tilts up my chin and sighs. “It’s a shame Cinna said no alterations on you.” “Yes, we could really make you something special,” says Octavia. “When she’s older,” says Venia almost grimly. “Then he’ll have to let us.” - Eeek, no thanks!😦 And frankly, it really shouldn’t be Cinna’s call to make but, y’know, Katniss’s!!! I don’t know, I get real panick-y just reading this exchange (I have never even gotten my ears pierced - my mom wouldn’t let them be pierced until I could make my own decision on that subject matter and as someone with skin issues and bad experiences with needles, I really don’t feel the need to have any unnecessary metal inserted into my body, so... I’m good)

His [Peeta’s] apology takes me by surprise. It’s true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Game was something of an act. But I don’t hold it against him. [...] “I’m sorry, too,” I say. [...] “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You were keeping us alive.” - That apology of Peeta’s... *chef’s kiss*; it was totally understandable that Peeta was upset and needed some time apart from Katniss after her confession, which had caught him completely by surprise, not even Katniss blames him for that... But his apology shows that he really made use of their time apart to work out his emotions and to reflect on both their situations - that’s some emotional maturity to be envious of! Plus, his apology is a good move to get their communication channel opened up again

It would be nice if he’d come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I’m glad we’re speaking again. - Come on, Katniss, cut this boy some slack! He can’t read minds - how is he supposed to know about these things if you don’t tell him anything? It’s nice that you’re glad that you guys are on speaking terms again, but communication isn’t a one-way street, y’know?

I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta is talking to me again, it’s all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn’t want me to. I’d better stick to small talk. - Katniss really should have listened to her instincts here - Haymitch might have a better idea of how the Games/Capitol works, but he knows little about teamwork, which is an important factor in their specific (and unprecedented!) situation; I’m not blaming Katniss for relying on her mentor here, but this entire approach is going to crash and burn in the next chapter

It’s good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand. - Not to say that you can’t have friendships where you frequently hold hands - you totally can - but it is noteworthy that I don’t think I can recall Katniss holding hands with any of her other friends... (somehow, I can’t really picture Katniss holding hands with Gale casually like that... nor with Madge or Finnick later on)

At the door, I remember, “I’ve got to apologize to Effie first.” “Don’t be afraid to lay it on thick,” Peeta tells me.- There is something about this exchange that speaks to me... maybe because it reads like some sort of an inside joke between them? Or because it shows that, despite being on good terms with Effie, Peeta’s totally aware of how high-maintenance/over the top Effie is... I dunno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Peeta has painted the Games. Some you wouldn’t get right away, if you hadn’t been with him in the arena yourself. Water dripping through the cracks in our cave. The dry pond bed. [...] Others any viewer would recognize. The golden horn called the Cornucopia. [...] And me. I am everywhere. [...] “What do you think?” he asks. “I hate them,” I say. I can almost smell the blood, the dirt, the unnatural breath of the mutt. - These are the pieces Peeta meant to exhibit in the Capitol, right? I wonder if he hoped that these paintings of his impressions/memories of the Games might actually connect with some Capitolites and might even move them to feel some empathy for the Tributes? Maybe he hoped that they would be more receptive for that kind of thing if he packaged it in art?

“All I do is go around trying to forget the arena and you’ve brought it back to life. How do you remember these things so exactly?” “I see them every night,” he says. [...] “Me too. Does it help? To paint them out?” “I don’t know. I think I’m a little less afraid of going to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am,” he says. “But they haven’t gone anywhere.” - I do wonder, whether and how painting out these moments could have therapeutic value for Peeta - on the one hand, the act of painting out specific intrusions/flashbacks might be helpful because he’d end up focusing on the more technical side of painting, y’know? Focussing on mixing the right shade of a certain color might help create some emotional distance from the moment itself... also, since painting usually takes some time, Peeta would actually spend a considerable amount of time facing these moments head on, rather than trying to avoid them (avoidance tends to increase the frequency of flashback/intrusions) and maybe spending so much time on them could also help him contextualize them within the broader narrative of his life, which is the basic principle behind Narrative Exposure Therapy, which is said to be pretty effective at treating PTSD... just my two cents

I can’t believe the size of District 11. “How many people do you think live here?” Peeta asks. I shake my head. In school they refer to it as a large district, that’s all. No actual figures on the population. - Perfect example of how tightly the Capitol controls the information the people in the districts have about the other districts... which is basically nothing. Let’s keep them in the dark so they are less likely to connect with each other and band together...

Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta will like the color. - Lol, Katniss bringing everything back to Peeta because she definitely hasn’t a crush on the guy, I see 😉

And then he [Peeta] hesitates before adding something that wasn’t written on the card. Maybe because he thought Effie might make him remove it. “It can in no way replace your losses, but as a token of our thanks we’d like for each of the tributes’ families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives.” - Peeta, the rebel! Talk about an act of radical kindness! I’m so proud of him. But also, I think this is another excellent example of how he and Katniss are on the same wavelength (this took me some time to find, but here you go): I silently say good-bye to Thresh and thank him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his family and Rue’s, if I win. (Ch. 23, THG)

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch’s voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it’s impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift... it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn’t seem forced at all. - Peeta: does anything that exemplifies his sense of morality; Katniss: *swoons* - but honestly, it is so beautiful how Katniss is so attracted to Peeta’s goodness and kind heart - it also tells us a lot about her (she is quite pure, as Peeta will point out later in this book) and what she values

“Wait, please.” I don’t know how to start, but once I do, the words rush from my lips as if they’ve been forming in the back of my mind for a long time. - And then Katniss launches into one of her spontaneous, heart-felt, and inspiring speeches/acts, expressing her thanks, sympathy, and a sense of kinship with people beyond the borders of her district, beyond the superficial barriers the Capitol has been trying to maintain in order to weaken the ‘common folk‘ and keep the exploitation going

The full impact of what I’ve done hits me. It was not intentional - I only meant to express my thanks - but I have elicited something dangerous. An act of dissent from the people of District 11. - Again, Katniss has done something that will solidify her as a symbol of the revolution without intending to do so and that’s the point, I think - she inspires people through her genuine displays of caring for others (which, in Panem, is already rebellious on its own)

Chapter 5

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building. - Protective Peeta! Also, I think it’s interesting to note the wording of Peeta’s arms “encircling” Katniss and then “guiding” her - his arms surround her, and he’s leading her away from harm (at least to the extent that is in his power - can’t really be safe from harm in Panem, can you?), but it doesn’t seem smothering or oppressive to Katniss in any way -”guide” has more of a connotation of giving direction without force, imo; in contrast, when Katniss talked about her kiss with Gale she mentions she’d never imagined how those hands [...] could as easily entrap me. (Ch. 2, CF); granted, these are two very different situations - the phrasing just stood out to me

“What happened?” Effie hurries over. “We lost the feed just after Katniss’s beautiful speech, and then Haymitch said he thought he heard gun fire, and I said it was ridiculous, but who knows? There are lunatics everywhere!” - Very telling how a clueless Capitolite like Effie wouldn’t register the rebellious aspect of Katniss’s speech; by keeping the Capitolites in the depths of sweet, sweet ignorance while simultaneously harshly trying to curb any spark of rebellion by cutting off the feed, the government is actually drawing the attention of the ignorant Capitolites to the act of rebellion itself (and also letting the people in the districts know that there was something censor-worthy going on); kind of shooting themselves in the foot here

As far as I know, Haymitch has only been here once, when he was on his Victory Tour decades ago. But he must have a remarkable memory or reliable instincts, because he leads us up through a maze of twisting staricases and increasingly narrow halls. [...] Eventually we climb a ladder to a trapdoor. When Haymitch pushes it aside, we find ourselves in the dome of the Justice Building. - I wonder how Haymitch has come to know this part of the Justice Building? Has he been to District 11 more often than Katniss supposes (he is friends with Chaff, after all), did his mentor take him there for some private conversation, or was there a moment during Haymitch’s Victory Tour where he felt so overwhelmed by feelings of guilt and powerlessness that he fled to the most desolate, solitary place he could find?

“I was supposed to fix things on this tour. [...] Calm things down. But obviously, all I’ve done today is get three people killed, and now everyone in the square will be punished.” I feel so sick that I have to sit down on a couch, despite the exposed springs and stuffing. - Obviously, all of this is awful and no one - especially a traumatized, 16-year old girl - should have to suffer carrying such a burden... But also, here we see one of the downsides of Katniss taking sole responsibility for everything - she totally forgot that Peeta might feel responsible too, only that he didn’t even know what’s at stake - which leads us to-

“Then I made things worse, too. By giving the money,” says Peeta. Suddenly he strikes out at a lamp that sits precariously on a crate and knocks it across the room, where it shatters against the floor. “This has to stop. Right now. This - this - game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I’m too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them.”"It's not like that, Peeta-" I begin. "It's exactly like that!" he yells at me. - When kind, gentle Peeta’s mad, you know shit has hit the fan 😳 But also, being passed over/kept out of the loop seems to hit pretty close to home for Peeta (while I would like to know what his home life looked like before the Games, I have to admit that at this point, I’m somewhat afraid I might not be able to handle the truth...). I just think this scene is an important moment that leads to an end of (most of) their detrimental secrecy (hello end-of-CF-Haymitch!) and establishes their little team as such (hence the drawing)

“You’re always so reliably good, Peeta,” says Haymitch. “So smart about how you present yourself before the cameras. I didn’t want to disrupt that.” “Well, you overestimated me. Because I really screwed up today.” - Remember the last time someone overestimated Peeta (Foxface and the berries)? That ended in someone’s death as well... And, Haymitch? ‘Never assume’ applies to you, too!

“Do you think I gave them [Rue’s and Thresh’s families] a bright future? Because I think they’ll be lucky if they survive the day!” Peeta sends something else flying, a statue. I’ve never seen him like this. - Considering that his rebellious act of kindness is now threatening to become a sword of Damocles, hanging over those towards which he wanted to extend his kindness - simply because he’s been kept out of the loop (again)- Peeta’s anger is quite understandable

“Look, boy-” Haymitch begins. “Don’t bother, Haymitch. I know you had to choose one of us. And I’d have wanted it to be her. But this is something different. People are dead out there. More will follow unless we’re very good.” - Peeta doesn’t really care if it’s just his life on the line, but if other people’s lives are at risk? He takes no shit (it’s admirable in one way and deeply concerning in another); also, Peeta is right - while there still is a game to play, it’s not the Games, so different circumstances and rules apply

“From now on, you’ll be fully informed,” Haymitch promises. “I better be,” says Peeta. - Peeta generally is a very cooperative fellow, but don’t ever think he can’t be forceful and stand his ground when it matters!

“Did you choose me, Haymitch?” I ask. “Yeah,” he says. “Why? You like him better,” I say. “That’s true. But remember, until they changed the rules, I could only hope to get one of you out of there alive,” he says. “I thought since he was determined to protect you, well, between the three of us, we might be able to bring you home.” “Oh,” is all I can think to say. - This is such a quiet, sweet moment and also shows that Katniss, Haymitch and Peeta have been some sort of team from the start (also, in their team effort they actually managed to get the both of them back home!)

Everything is happening too fast for me to process it. The warning, the shootings, the recognition that I may have set something of great consequence in motion. The whole thing is so improbable. And it would be one thing if I had planned to stir things up, but given the circumstances... how on earth did I cause so much trouble? - Lol, you’re giving yourself a little too much credit here, Katniss ;) Frankly, the Capitol has been the one to create this powder-keg they are sitting on in the first place - all it needed was a little spark... All these injustices, the humilitation, the pain inflicted... it’s like an elastic rubber band that’s been stretched and stretched - until it snaps

“I’m something of an expert in architectural design, you know?” “Oh yes, I’ve heard that,” says Portia before the pause gets too long. - Bless Portia’s heart, making sure they avoid that awkward silence 😂

Effie looks so distressed that I spontaneously give her a hug. “That’s awful, Effie. Maybe we shouldn’t go to the dinner at all. At least until they’ve apologized.” - Aww, Katniss doing something nice for Effie!😊

Peeta and I join hands. “Haymitch says I was wrong to yell at you. You were only operating under his instructions,” says Peeta. “And it isn’t as if I haven’t kept things from you in the past.” - Peeta sorta apologizing, even acknowledging that he also had kept secrets from Katniss? We love to see it👍 - [...] “I think I broke a few things myself after that interview.” “Just an urn,” he says. - Peetaaa... stop diminishing your own physical injuries! Good thing that Katniss won’t let him: - “And your hands. There’s no point to it anymore though, is there? Not being straight with each other?” I say. “No point,” says Peeta. - Gasp! Honest, open communication as a good basis for a successful relationship? It’s more likely than you think!

“Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?” I’m so startled I answer. “Yes.” With all that has happened today, has that question actually been preying on him? - Peeta, you sly dog! Your priorities 😂

Some crowds have the weary-cattle feel that I know District 12 usually projects at the victors’ ceremonies. But in others - particularly 8, 4, and 3 - there is genuine elation in the faces of the people at the sight of us, and under the elation, fury. - I do think that it’s interesting how D4 is one of the districts being elated to see Peeta + Katniss and displaying such fury, despite being a Career district; just goes to show that, just because their odds are better at winning the Games, doesn’t have to make them more simpatico with the Capitol’s cruelty... (Considering how Finnick knows how to perform CPR, it’s highly likely that people in D4 are also used to awful and precarious working + living situations... maybe that’s exactly why they generally are so robust and do well in the Games; and maybe they are simply not that above joining the other Careers as long as it improves their chances of survival, like Katniss or Thresh had been... worked for a while for Peeta, too)

Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. [...] Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms. - 😭 Also: Very telling how Capitolite Effie just throws pills at the problem (with the best of intentions, I’m sure), which is an immediate, unpersonal, and superficial solution at best, whereas Peeta holding Katniss, offering comfort, understanding, a sense of safety, and human connection is so much more personal, intimate, and effective (for both of them!)

I personally killed the girl, Glimmer, and the boy from District 1. As I try to avoid looking at his family, I learn that his name was Marvel. How did I never know that? - You know why, Katniss - I suppose that before the Games I didn’t pay attention and afterward I didn’t want to know. - Still, not knowing his name didn’t stop you from humanizing him, Katniss, and that’s important, too

Whatever we do seems too little, too late. Back in our old quarters in the Training Center, I’m the one who suggests the public marriage proposal. Peeta agrees to do it but then disappears to his room for a long time. Haymitch tells me to leave him alone. “I thought he wanted it, anyway,” I say. “Not like this,” Haymitch says. “He wanted it to be real.” - Come on, Katniss, don’t be so callous; Peeta’s just as much of a prisoner here as you! Also, it’s all about being real or not real with these two, isn’t it?

Chapter 6

... you would think that at this moment, I would be in utter despair. Here’s what’s strange. The main thing I feel is a sense of relief. That I can give up this game. [...] That if desperate times call for desperate measures, then I am free to act as desperately as I wish. - Honestly, I think it was pretty short-sighted of Snow to let Katniss know so clearly that she didn’t succeed in her task; she did her utmost and it wasn’t enough - might as well fling caution to the wind now. All bets are off. If there had been still some small chance she could have ‘made things right’, she probably would have been trying harder to comply to his expectations. (I’m sure Snow thought the upcoming implementations of his stricter regime would be enough to keep Katniss in check, but pride comes before a fall ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

It’s essential to get back to District 12, because the main part of any plan will include my mother and sister, Gale and his family. And Peeta, If I can get him to come with us. I add Haymitch to the list. - For such a ‘loner’, Katniss sure has a lot of people that are important to her... And how ironic that Peeta, who she isn’t sure she’ll be able to convince in following her will be a much more willing participant that Gale, who Katniss is pretty much banking on joining her

“You’ll probably have to pass a new law,” I say with a giggle. “If that’s what it takes,” says the president with conspiratorial good humor. Oh the fun we two have together. - The dynamic between Snow and Katniss is so strange; despite the obvious antagonism there is definitely some vibe of interacting with each other at eye level and it��s weird (Sidenote: Is there any law in Panem preventing minors from marrying?)

“I want to taste everything in the room, “ I tell Peeta. [...] “Then you’d better pace yourself,” he says. “Okay, not more than one bite of each dish,” I say. My resolve is almost immediately broken at the first table, which has twenty or so soups - couldn’t have happened to me; I hate soup (like, thick soups I maaaybe can get behind, but clear soup/broth is just flavored water to me, no thanks - then again, I’m a picky eater)

Peeta and I make no effort to find company but are constantly sought out. We are what no one wants to miss at the party. I act delighted, but I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food. - Well isn’t that a mood for every social gathering ever (one person I enjoy talking to and lots of food I like? Perfect.)

I pick up a small roasted bird, bite into it, and my tongue floods with orange sauce. Delicious. But I make Peeta eat the remainder because I want to keep tasting things - Katniss seems to like the combination of meat and fruit, huh? (the lamb and plums, now bird and orange sauce) Personally, it’s a combination that’s on thin ice for me; there are only a few dishes with that component I actually like and it took me forever to tolerate them (I don’t know if it’s the texture or the taste, but something makes me apprehensive about it); anyway, Katniss making Peeta eat the rest is such a casual, couple-y thing to do (or at least something you do with someone you feel very comfortable with, I think)

Peeta looks at the glass again and puts it together. “You mean this will make me puke?” My prep team laughs hysterically. “Of course, so you can keep eating,” says Octavia. “I’ve been in there twice already. Everyone does it, or else how would you have any fun at a feast?” I’m speechless, staring at the pretty little glasses and all they imply. - Oh boy, I have a lot of thoughts on this part: A) I just noticed how this is the second delicate/fancy glass/drink that’s bringing about a jarring revelation: first that orange juice with the frilly straw in THG, now these tiny wine-stemmed glasses, B) “Everyone does it” + “how else would you have fun?” are the shittiest reasons I’ve ever heard at a party for doing something stupid you probably don’t want to do (I’m having flashbacks to all the times I had people trying to pressure me into drinking alcohol as a teen - it was even legal, btw - although I insisted that I didn’t like the taste (which I still don’t, to this day); it was tiresome 😑), C) “everyone does it” - the people in the Capitol must have some messed up teeth if that’s a regular occurence (sure, they probably bleach their teeth all the time, but also... they’d really need to, D) the obvious: how effed up that they just puke to stuff in more food when in the districts people literally are dying from starvation?! (and yeah, unequal distribution of resources sadly isn’t just a thing in Panem, I know... but there is something about actively purging yourself just for funsies that’s just extra, well, sick)

All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of the children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parents cannot give. More food. - God, how awful! How powerless they must feel 😟

And here in the Capitol they’re vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again. Not from some illness of body or mind, not from spoiled food. - Ooh, I’ve never noticed before how this passage not only recognizes physical reasons for purging, but also mental reasons! Wouldn’t have necessarily expected Katniss to acknowledge eating disorders like that, tbh... She has become a lot more cognizant and sensitive when mental health issues are concerned

One day when I dropped by to give Hazelle the game, Vick was home sick with a bad cough [...] he still spent about fifteen minutes talking about how they’d opened a can of corn syrup from Parcel Day and each had a spoonful on bread and were going to maybe have more later in the week. How Hazelle had said he could have a bit in a cup of tea to soothe his cough, but he wouldln’t feel right unless the others had some, too. - Aww, Vick is such a sweetheart! Hazelle is raising her kids right!

“Peeta, they bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment,”I say. “Really, this is nothing by comparison.” “I know. I know that. It’s just sometimes I can’t stand it anymore. To the point where... I’m not sure what I’ll do.” He pauses, then whispers, “Maybe we were wrong, Katniss.” “About what?” I ask. “About trying to subdue things in the districts,” he says. - Peeta’s rebellious nature coming through again!

“Sorry,” he says. He should be. This is no place to be voicing such thoughts. “Save it for home,” I tell him. - I know Katniss means D12, but her phrasing of “home” evokes a more domestic, couple-y connotation again 😊

I don’t want to dance with Plutarch Heavensbee. I don’t want to feel his hands, one resting against mine, one on my hip. I’m not used to being touched, except by Peeta or my family, and I rank Gamemakers somewhere below maggots in terms of creatures I want in contact with my skin. - It’s telling that, while Katniss is not big on being touched aside from her family (does that include Gale? probably? although they hadn’t even really hugged until Katniss had been reaped, so... I dunno), she’s totally fine with Peeta touching her (more than that: remember how good she felt holding his hand again in Ch.4 and how she’s feeling safe in his arms when they are sharing a bed), it says a lot about how comfortable she feels around him

Plutarch steps back and pulls out a gold watch on a chain from a vest pocket. He flips open the lid, sees the time, and frowns. “I’ll have to be going soon.” He turns the watch so I can see the face. “It starts at midnight.” - Honestly, this very subtle hint/foreshadowing of the clock setup of the Quarter Quell arena is simply brilliant! And also, midnight is going to become an important point in time as well from here on out (lightning tree, in the hanging tree song, saving Peeta and the others from the Training Center in the Capitol)

It’s another mockingjay. Exactly like the pin on my dress. Only this one disappears. He snaps the watch closed. “That’s very pretty,” I say. “Oh, it’s more than pretty. It’s one of a kind,” he says. - The disappearing mockingjay on the clock is interesting because A) Plutarch can’t really be flaunting the symbol of rebellion as Head Gamemaker, duh, but also B) the clock arena will be the place where the Mockingjay will disappear (until the rebellion will be able to use her for their cause); and that last comment by Plutarch clearly is aimed at the Mockingjay (Katniss) herself

When I open my eyes, it’s early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta’s arm. I don’t remember him coming in last night. - Okay, Katniss must feel hella safe and used to Peeta joining her in her bed, because apparently she didn’t even wake up when he did, like... I’m a fairly heavy sleeper, but I can’t imagine sleeping so deeply that I wouldn’t jerk awake if someone crawled into my bed while I was snoozing

“No nightmare,” he says. “What?” I ask. “You didn’t have any nightmares last night,” he says. He’s right. For the first time in ages I’ve slept through the night. - Telling how the first time Katniss sleeps through the night is after Snow let her know her performance wasn’t enough; she’s must have been so tense and on edge, desperately trying to calm down the districts and convince Snow, that she hadn’t been able to sleep properly, aside from the obvious sleeping issues she’d have from the PTSD (I’m often that way before an important exam - especially if it’s an oral exam; I get tense just thinking about it 😓)

“I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay though the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.” “Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. “I don’t know. We never arrived,” I say. “But I felt happy.” - Interesting how in Katniss’s dream, the mockingjay is Rue - lending further credence to the hypothesis that maybe Rue was originally meant to be the Mockingjay (would make Plutarch’s comment of the mockingjay being “one of a kind” a bit more hypocritical/exaggerated/dramatized, which still fits with his flair for propaganda/showmanship... and ultimately, Katniss as the Mockingjay was unique, but that doesn’t mean that the rebellion couldn’t have made someone else their symbol if they needed to); also, Peeta brushing Katniss’s hair off her forehead is so sweet and intimate 😊

After I got home, we [Madge and I] started spending time together. [...] It was a little awkward at first because we didn’t know what to do. Other girls our age, I’ve heard them talking about boys, or other girls, or clothes. Madge and I aren’t gossipy and clothes bore me to tears. But after a few false starts, I realized she was dying to go into the woods, so I’ve taken her a couple of times and showed her how to shoot. She’s trying to teach me the piano, but mostly I like to listen to her play. - Honestly? I’d love to read a fanfic about Katniss and Madge figuring out their friendship (let me know if there already are some!); it’s cute how they end up including each other in their hobbies 😊 Ah, the classic “I’m/We’re not like other girls”, which often is especially prevalent during your teen years (I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been gulty of this in my past 😅)... Katniss might actually would have benefited from talking with Madge about her boys’ troubles, though... And it’s so funny how Katniss admits that she has no interest in clothes, despite it being her supposed “talent”, while she also admits that she does admire Cinna’s work

... there’s a mob scene. The square’s packed with screaming people, their faces hidden with rags and homemade masks, throwing bricks. Building burn. Peacekeepers shoot into the crowd, killing at random. I’ve never seen anything like it - I... I have. At least on tv... In different places, at different times, but... yeah...

#thgagain #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #everlark #thg meta #my sketches and drawings #honestly there were so many scenes in these 3 chapter that I wanted to draw... but I barely had the time for these 2 #Catching Fire is just chock-full with interesting/important moments... my book is more post-it notes than pages at this point

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missaudreyhorney · 4 years

Text

The Big Game

Modern AU where Jim Hopper is at your parent’s house for a Super Bowl party. That isn’t a plot so much as it is a very flimsy excuse for me to write out some dirty thoughts I have after seeing this photo of David Harbour looking like an absolute DILF.

Content Warnings: Rated M for age gap, kissing, over-the-clothes touching, a bit of Daddy kink, a little physical intimidation. All that good stuff. Female Reader. Slightly OOC for the sake of funsies. 1.6k words.

Tagging @t-u-m-s. Anyone else want to be tagged when I post something new? Let me know.

“I know you said not to bring anything,” you announce as you walk into your parents’ house from the garage, “but mom told me the doctor said you should be watching your diet.” You place the tray of vegetables on the kitchen counter and turn towards the living room. “So I brought you some ve-” your words are cut off by the sight of an unfamiliar man sitting on the couch.

He’s wearing jeans, a dark grey polo shirt, and a black baseball cap that’s on backward. Just his profile alone is stunning. Thick eyebrows, an adorably pointy nose, and a strong jaw covered by a short, scruffy beard. He turns to look at you and it feels as if your heart stops.

“Hopper, you’ve met my daughter before, right?” your father says as he stands up from the chair to greet you.

“No,” the man answers coldly, eyes now fixed on the tv.

Your father comes into the kitchen and gives you a hug. “That was very nice of you, sweetie, but your mom’s been making me eat vegetables every day. This is the Super Bowl. All I want today is wings and potato skins.”

You hear his words clearly but they don’t register in your head. You’re much too distracted by this Hopper person you’ve never seen or even heard about before.

“Where’s everybody else?” you wonder aloud.

“They’re not here yet. This is just the pregame stuff,” your father clarifies.

Hopper glances at you again and you feel like you’re melting as you lean into the countertop. He’s so hot. Nothing like the boys you go to school with. Nothing like a boy at all. He is one hundred percent man.

“You wanna get a snack and join us?” your father requests in a jovial tone.

“Um, I have to, uh, put this other stuff away,” you point to the bag of groceries on the floor next to you.

“Oh, right,” your father acknowledges.

“Where’s mom?”

“Getting a couple of last-minute things for the party. She’ll be back soon.”

You roll your eyes. “I told her I would do that.”

“You know your mother, “ he says, walking back into the living room. “She never listens.”

You take a moment to admire Hopper before removing the food you’ve purchased from the bag. His arms are tantalizing, with the type of muscle not built from going to the gym, but from moving furniture, fixing cars, and other forms of manual labor. Seeing the veins in his hand as he drinks a bottle of beer makes you lick your lips. You can’t stop yourself from shooting him more glances as you finish putting the remainder of the groceries in their rightful place.

There’s no way you can sit in there with that gorgeous man and pretend to be calm or make casual conversation. Instead, you slowly and carefully make your way upstairs to your bedroom, or rather, what used to be your bedroom before you started college. Leaning against the inside of the door and taking a deep breath, you pull your phone from your pocket to distract you.

Your mother arrives about ten minutes later, with a football-shaped ice cream cake, and you admonish her appropriately. Soon after, more people show up to the party and the game starts.

With increasing frequency, your eyes drift over to the handsome stranger still on the couch, and within time, his begin to drift towards you as well. You try to keep busy by topping off people’s drinks, refilling the chip bowls, and putting more snacks in the oven but it’s ultimately no use. You can’t avert your gaze for longer than 5 minutes at the most.

Every time you catch him looking at you, heat rises in your chest and radiates out through your limbs. Under normal circumstances, you would welcome this feeling, but with so many sets of eyes surrounding you, the feeling is almost embarrassing. You don’t know how much more of it you can take and you have to get out of there. Not necessarily out of the house, but just away from Hopper.

During a detergent commercial, you try to sneak back upstairs. When your mother asks where you’re going, you tell her that you’re not feeling well and you need to lie down. It is at least partially the truth.

Sitting down on the small bed, you begin to scroll through Instagram to get your mind off of him and you quickly lose track of time. A while later, you hear someone ascending the staircase. Standing in the doorway of your room and looking down the hall, you see Hopper’s impossibly long legs lumbering up the steps.

“What are you doing up here?” you question quietly.

“It’s halftime,” he declares as he closes the space in between your bodies. His scent is so manly, like tobacco and aftershave.

You take a step back. “Don’t you want to see...whoever it is that’s performing?”

“No,” he answers, entering the room. “I want to see you.” His voice is low and deep, causing your thighs to gently quiver.

“H-Hopper, right?” you stammer, breath getting caught in your throat.

“You can call me Jim,” he offers. It's not until you're this close up to him that you see how incredible his eyes are. They're such an unusually dark shade of blue.

“Okay...Jim.” You can feel your cheeks flush as you utter his name.

He looks around and takes a sip of his beer. “Is this your old room?”

“Yeah,” you answer, “haven’t lived here in years though.”

“Who’s Troy?” he asks you with a slight chuckle.

You give him a confused expression, completely unaware of who or what he’s referring to. He points to the wall behind you and you turn your head to look.

“Oh,” you laugh nervously, seeing your old Troy Bolton poster. “It’s Zac Efron. I used to have a crush on him.”

He nods his head in recognition.

“My tastes have…matured since then though.”

“Have they?” he asks with his curiosity piqued.

You nod vigorously as he approaches you like a lion stalking a young gazelle. Attempting to be coy, you back away, until your legs hit the bed and there’s nowhere else to go.

He puts his beer bottle on the nightstand. “What’s your taste in men like now?”

“Older,” you admit, looking up into his beautiful eyes.

“How much older?” His hands clasp around either side of your waist.

“I don’t know,” you answer breathlessly as your hands move up to his shoulders. “About 20 years?”

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, his lips are on yours in a fiery kiss. Something about this feels wrong, but at the same time, oh so right. You do have a genuine preference for older men, but one that’s friends with your father is really pushing it. As much as you hate to admit it, part of that excites you. It turns you on that he’s in his 40’s and there are a dozen or so people downstairs who could catch you two together at any moment.

Your mouth gasps against his when he shoves you backward and you both fall onto the twin-sized bed. He tastes like beer, a flavor you’re not fond of, but the absolute last thing you want to do right now is to stop. Suddenly, his left hand pulls your hair, yanking your head to the side to give his mouth better access to your neck. He kisses and sucks your sensitive skin there, making you squirm with equal parts pleasure and arousal.

“Oh, Daddy,” you breathe as he nibbles on your earlobe.

“Did you just call me Daddy?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you confess. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I liked it.”

You moan as his teeth graze your skin. The way he’s biting and sucking on you, it feels like he’s going to leave a mark, and at this point, you don’t even care. You don’t care about anything at all other than the way your body feels underneath him and his wanton mouth.

Another moan tumbles from your lips as run your fingers up his hairy forearms and grasp onto his biceps.

“Not so loud, huh? They’re gonna hear us.”

“You should have shut the door,” you reprimand halfheartedly. The sensation of his beard scratching the flesh over your collarbone has you pushing your hips into him.

“Too late for that now,“ he dismisses as his palm presses just below the zipper on your jeans.

Again you let out a moan, this one strained as you try and fail to be quiet.

“Why haven’t I seen you here before?” he inquires, his fingers now massaging against the denim.

“I’ve been at school,” you pant out.

“Well, you’re just going to have to come over here more often, aren’t you?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy!” you moan as the fingers of his free hand start to slide up the back of your t-shirt towards your bra.

“Hey, Hopper. You up there?” your father calls from downstairs.

Slapping a hand down on his head to keep his hat in place, Hopper jumps up from the bed and sprints to the door. “Yeah, I’m, uh, just looking for the bathroom.”

In a daze, you close your eyes and stay on the bed. It’s not until now that you notice how much your blood is pumping and your heart is pounding. With a resigned whimper, you realize that you’re aching with an overwhelming need left by his immense hand rubbing you through your jeans.

“Hurry up. The game is about to start again.” The sound of your father’s voice is a massive buzzkill.

“I’ll see you later, alright?” Hopper suggests to you as he stands in the doorway.

You don’t know what that means exactly but you’re looking forward to finding out. “Alright,” you sigh.

READ PART 2 HERE!

#Jim Hopper drabble #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x you #Hopper x You #Hopper x Reader #hard Jim Hopper #female reader #I did it #The Big Game #WTW #jim hopper fanfiction

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imagineaworlds · 3 years

Text

I Love You (Part Forty-Eight) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of Dom/sub relationship. I think that’s it? Let me know if I missed something.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 10,833

Timeline: A week after part forty-seven.

I drove us home that night when Hotch and Prentiss came home. Hotch was in the passenger’s seat, still holding baby Emily, staring down at her with a bright smile and cooing at her every so often. She kicked around and grabbed at the air in a futile attempt to reach him until he gave in and moved her up his chest so that she could grab at his beard. Lucky. I wanted to be the one to do that. The thought only made me chuckle, though, and move one of my hands towards him so that I could brush my fingers through his hair.

I think that during that drive, I somewhat came to terms with the fact that Prentiss was still alive. I mean… I was trying to be understanding, but at least my mind had wrapped around it, and now all that there was left to do was to move on from the slight anger and betrayal I felt coursing through me. Actually, the first thing we had to sort out were the names. It was too complicated to have Emily and Emily. Prentiss and baby Emily. Especially in the future, I could foresee it becoming a problem and leading to a handful of instances of miscommunication.

So, as we were pulling into the driveway, parking the car just next to Jessica’s, I asked Hotch how he felt about us addressing our daughter by her middle name, Scarlet. At least that way she was still named after Emily, whom we both adored and Hotch risked everything for—including betraying my trust, which was ballsy of him.

Hotch gave her an Eskimo kiss. “Scarlet…” She giggled. “It sounds like a good plan.”

When we headed inside, we saw Jack playing a videogame on his tablet while Jessica was reading a book. They acknowledged our entrance—Jack hardly looked up to even see that his dad was home, so I snuck up behind him and stole the game away from him playfully, holding it above my head so that he had to turn to face us while reaching for it. Jack did as I expected. Once he was sitting on his knees on the couch, making a move for the tablet, he saw his dad. Jack hesitated for a moment. Then, when reality set in, he forgot about the game altogether, and he scrambled to his feet and ran over to Hotch while cheering. Hotch leaned down to catch his son in a hug, careful not to squish Scarlet.

“I missed you so much, buddy.”

I set Jack’s tablet down so that I could sneak Scarlet out of Hotch’s arms. Once she was resting against me, Hotch immediately wrapped his arms around Jack and lifted him up off the ground, squeezing him as tightly as he could. Jack returned the favor. I missed seeing them hug like that—I mean, a real, true, solid Superman hug where both of them were straining and wanted nothing more than to just hold each other until the end of time.

“Are you back for real, for real?” Jack asking warily.

Hotch nodded against him while letting out a choked back sob with a laugh. “Yeah, buddy. I’m back for real.”

“Good,” Jack responded quickly. Hotch kissed Jack’s cheek as hard as he could. “Ew— Dad, your beard!” He wiggled out of Hotch’s arms to escape the scratch feel of his father’s facial hair. “I don’t like it!” Jack rubbed his cheeks clean with his palms.

Hotch laughed again. “I know, I know.”

“Are you thinking about shaving it?” Jessica asked playfully from the couch.

“In a few days.”

“Or longer,” I said. He looked at me and winked.

“Thank you for everything, Jess.” Hotch leaned forward to hug her after she stood. “I know I already owe you a thousand times over, but we can just add this to the long list.”

Jessica shook her head. “There’s no list; and you don’t owe me. Promise.” She leaned in to kiss Jack’s head. “I’ll see you guys soon.”

As she headed to the door, Hotch and I whispered, “See ya.” She collected her things and opened the door. “Thanks again,” we jinxed. She smiled politely at us and headed out.

Jack jumped on the couch and grabbed his tablet again, already bored with the idea of having his dad back. I rolled my eyes. Hotch didn’t seem to mind, though, because at least it felt normal, and it meant that Jack had no clue what drama was brewing between his parents, and that was really all that mattered. We tried to shelter him as much as possible. Some would say it wasn’t good to coddle him as much as we did, but then again, considering everything he had been through, and he was only seven, it was fair of us to want to protect him from everything—including ourselves.

Hotch made a gesture, asking if he could hold Scarlet again, so I gave in, gently handing her back, making sure that she wouldn’t wake up. His smile brightened. As she yawned and stretched, he giggled quietly and sat down next to Jack, who rested his head against his dad’s side. I sighed and sat, too. Hotch, without thinking, kissed my cheek. For a second, I forgot that I was mad at him at all, and I melted, letting my eyes flutter shut, and I relaxed into his touch. I could feel him smiling.

Then, hours seemed to pass. By the time it turned nine, Jack’s tablet slipped out of his hands as he fell asleep against his dad’s side, and Scarlet was already long gone on his chest. She was so tiny compared to him. She wasn’t even curled up, and yet she still only took up about half of his stomach. And then she would squirm to curl up and suck on her thumb while she was sleeping. I couldn’t believe how freaking small and adorable she was, and how she felt so relaxed when she was with him over everyone else. She was always a menace when Morgan, Jessica, or I would try to hold her. But with Hotch, she was just so… adorable… The perfect baby.

Eventually, Hotch ended up asking if we could talk about it—Not Scarlet’s name, but the fact that he left us in the first place. I didn’t understand why he wanted to rush this. We were in a good mood now, and I had actually managed to forget about some of the pain he caused just because I was watching him hold our kids and I was so relieved to be with him again. Why did he want to do this?

But then he said something that gave me cause for pause. “I was scared.” It made me look at him and hold him tighter. “When we found out that you were pregnant, I was- I was so excited. We always talked about having kids, and when it was finally happening, I was so relieved. It felt like all the pieces of our life were coming together, and I kind of just wanted to fast forward to the part where I would get to hold our little girl in my arms…” He looked down at Scarlet and wiped his large thumb over her tiny cheek. “But then she came, and I was holding her in my arms, and I suddenly realized just how scared I was.”

“Why were you scared?”

I didn’t understand how it was that Aaron Christopher Hotchner, of all people, could have been scared of a baby—especially considering the fact that it wasn’t even his first kid. He had experience. He knew what he was doing. But I didn’t know, which should have made me the scared one; yet I never was because I knew that I had him, and that we would navigate it together. What could have possibly scared him?

“The last time I started a family with someone, it fell apart.” Oh. “And I lost everything.” Oh… “I was terrified of losing you, Jack, and Scarlet because of decisions I made. I lost Haley and Jack because of work because it was important to her that I was always around and always available to cater to her needs, but I just couldn’t be; so she left. Honesty is so important to you, Y/N. You value that more than anything in the world. In our relationship, you’ve begged me a thousand times to be honest with you, and with most things, I’ve tried, but I couldn’t tell you the truth about Prentiss, and it was killing me to keep that from you. So, I was suddenly terrified of losing this,” he gestured to the way we were all laying on him, “because I couldn’t tell you the truth. So, instead of actively lying to you, I decided to leave. I ran like a coward, and I stayed away until I was sure that I couldn’t keep the lie from you anymore.” He kissed my forehead again, but this time, he didn’t pull away, “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

I reached up to cup my palm around his cheek. “It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not. And I swear that I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

I looked up at him, gently maneuvering my head so that I didn’t hurt him as he pulled away from me. I swiped my thumb over his mole on his cheek. “We’re going to be okay. It’ll take time, but we’re going to be okay.”

“I can see it in your face, you know.”

I paused. “What?”

“The anger. The hate. The disappointment. I know that I fucked up, Y/N— and you can tell me a thousand and one times that you forgive me, or that we’ll move past it, or that if we just ignore it long enough we can pretend it never happened… But I see it in your face, Y/N. You’ve made me promise to always tell you the truth, and I just… I keep fucking up, and there aren’t enough ways for me to say that I’m sorry. I’m going to spend the rest of my life praying that you don’t leave me like Haley did because of this. The unfortunate truth, though, is that as long as I can see it in your face, I’ll never be sure…”

“Aaron Christopher Hotchner, you listen to me right now. I don’t forgive you.” I shook my head insistently. “I don’t.” I stopped to stare into his eyes again. “And I don’t know if I ever will. But here’s the difference between me and Haley. She couldn’t forgive you, and she wasn’t mature enough to just… talk it out and fix it. But I’m not going to let that happen to us. I’m not. I told you a long time ago that I would always fight for you, and I still mean that. It’s going to take me a long time to get over this, to not feel the sting of betrayal every time I look at you or think about Prentiss or hold our daughter in my arms—but the thing about time, Hotch, is that it heals wounds. Eventually, this’ll pass, and I won’t be so disappointed. Until then, though, you’re just going to have to trust that I’m not going anywhere, and you’re going to have to be ready when I want to talk about this and talk about all the lies when I’m ready. There’s going to be a day when I’ve come to terms with this, and I’m going to ask you to just lay out the rest of the lies and the secrets so that we can just get them out of the way and move on, so that we can go back to who we were. Don’t you miss that, Aaron? Being us? Traveling the country together, working random cases, looking into each other’s eyes and just falling in love over and over again. I know I do. So, the best thing we can do is just work towards being those people again. It’s going to take everything we have individually and together, but I know in my heart that we can do it if we just try. Agreed?” He nodded silently. “Then, stop worrying about me leaving, and worry about making it up to me and helping us move on.”

He removed his hold on Scarlet, letting her just rest against his chest so that he could reach for my face and hold me between his palms. “How did I get so lucky?” I didn’t say anything. “How did I manage to convince the one person in the world that I love most to love me and not run away from me?”

“You didn’t have to convince me, Aaron. You never have. I fell in love with you because I see who you are and who you can be, and I am… astonished. I fell in love with you because the feel of your touch makes my knees weak and my heart race. Why would I give all of this up just because you were an idiot?”

He chuckled. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah. You did. And you’re going to keep hearing it for a while, so get used to it.”

He leaned in and kissed me gently. “I will.”

----

After that night, Hotch took off a few days to be with the family. We ended up falling asleep on the couch or in the nursery every night while holding Scarlet and Jack. It was… a process getting used to calling her Scarlet and not Emily, but it almost felt necessary now that Prentiss was back. We weren’t going to change Scarlet’s legal name or anything because I still stood by my decision to name our daughter after Prentiss, but we also knew that it would get too confusing to keep calling both of them Emily all the time. Besides, Scarlet was still a beautiful name, and I thought it fit our daughter perfectly. It didn’t matter what her name or nickname was because she was still ours and she was still perfect in every single way.

Hotch seemed to catch onto the habit faster than I did, though, probably because he had been away for so long that the name Emily hadn’t stuck in his mind yet in relation to our daughter. When we called while he was away, we’d talk about her, but he’d mostly dance around her name. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it, but knowing what I knew now, I realized that it was because he also felt awkward calling her Emily when he knew that Emily Prentiss was still out there, waiting to come home.

Explaining it to Jack was somewhat complicated. We weren’t going to force him to call her Scarlet, of course. Emily was still his sister, and that was what he knew. But we didn’t want him to get confused when we would start calling her Scarlet all the time. He said he understood, and he was going to try, but, as expected, he kept forgetting, and we really didn’t blame him. It was going to be a one step at a time kind of thing with him, and we were fine taking it at his pace. He was still young, and the decision was his, honestly. Mostly, tough, I think he was simply happy to have his dad back. He couldn’t care less about Emily or Scarlet or whatever. He had never been away from his dad that long, even with Foyet.

Three months was a long time to be away from our family. A lot had changed at work— especially my temporary promotion— more had changed around the house. Jack was doing really well in school and in soccer, he hardly even needed my help with homework anymore. And Scarlet was trying to walk. She could get up on her feet, and I was absolutely terrified that Hotch was going to miss that first step, but by some miracle, she had held out until he walked through that door for the first time in months. He lifted her out of her crib, held and kissed her while she giggled and kicked at him, and he refused to let her go for the longest time. Eventually, she started getting fussy, so we sat down with her on the floor while she played with her toys. That was when she stood up, grabbed her stuffed animal elephant, then slowly waddled over to Hotch before dropping it in his lap and falling over. He caught her and the two of us were entirely shell shocked. It was like she knew we were waiting for us to be together again to see that little miracle together. Somehow, she made sure to save that special moment for the time when the two of us could witness it side by side.

Besides that, though, there was still so much he missed. I mean, the little things that never seemed important out of context or before the fact, but when they happened… I wished that Hotch was there for all of them. Hell, I even wished that he were there for the nights when Scarlet was sick that Hotch was there just to help out or have those little moments. It sounded stupid, but it was a part of watching and helping Scarlet grow up. He had already missed out on that, and I wasn’t sure when, or if, he could ever make up for it.

On Thursday afternoon, though, he finally had a chance to make that first step towards getting back into the mindset of being the hands on, caring parent he always was. We had a parent/teacher conference set up with Jack’s school to check in on how he was doing. Thursday was the only available day that we could manage to fit into all of the teachers’ schedules. Hotch had been hoping to get back to work by Thursday, to talk with Strauss about getting back into the field and transitioning the unit chief power back over to himself because I really didn’t want to keep it. It was nice while I had it, but it wasn’t my place. Hotch was the real leader of our team, and everyone knew it, even Strauss. But we had to postpone his return just by a few hours so that we could go handle this first.

Really, we just had to meet with Jack’s home room teacher the most. She was the central part of Jack’s education, and she knew the most about how he was doing in school. That being said, there was still his gym teacher, art teacher, and music teacher to meet with, though, of course, those meetings weren’t necessarily going to be that long. Actually, they only took about ten minutes each— if that. But the meeting with his home room teacher, Mrs. McKee, was a little longer than just that, which was expected.

She handed both me and Hotch copies of Jack’s current report card and some of his best homework assignments (all of which I helped with, but I wasn’t about to admit that). “Jack’s doing really well, I’m pleased to say.” She smiled at us as we looked everything over. “He’s reading a lot, writing more than expected, he’s drawing. He’s incredibly good at drawing. Sometimes he’ll get distracted and start doodling during class, but he’ll always stop when I ask him to. He’s extremely creative.”

That was good. Truth be told, I was always worried about Jack. Especially since Haley, I wasn’t sure how Jack was going to turn out. I was terrified that he’d get quiet, shy, mundane, and stagnant. Despite how hard he worked on homework at home, and he went above and beyond at soccer, I never knew how things were going at school, which was where he spent most of his time. Hearing from his teacher that things were actually alright was a huge relief. The fact that he was drawing and was excited about learning, I was so happy. It honestly meant that I hadn’t fucked anything up while Hotch was gone. That might have been extremely selfish of me to think, but I couldn’t help myself. It petrified me to think that I fucked up our son… But I didn’t. At least, not yet. There was still a lifetime to make mistakes— though I prayed I never would.

“As for socially, Jack gets along with the other kids, he doesn’t argue with his teachers, and he participates in class as much as possible. Truthfully, Jack’s one of my best students, but don’t tell the other parents,” Mrs. McKee laughed. We chuckled with her, too. “I’m impressed by Jack, but I’m also worried.” Our smiles fell. I grabbed Hotch’s hand. “Jack’s been getting picked on by another kid named Paul—”

“Paul Cain?” I questioned, my brow raising. Mrs. McKee nodded. “I don’t understand.” I shook my head in confusion, looking to the side at Hotch. “Paul’s been coming over for playdates over the past few weeks. Jack said that they were friends.”

“How long has this been going on?” Hotch inquired.

“About a month,” the teacher replied.

“I don’t…” I hesitated.

I had no clue. Jack seemed so happy when Paul was around, and it seemed like Paul was interested in being Jack’s friend. Why would Paul be picking on Jack this whole time and they’d keep acting like they were friends while around me? Why would Jack want to hang out with his bully? This made no sense. Not to mention, how did I not see it and profile it? I mean, that was my fucking job, right, and I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.

“The good news is,” Mrs. McKee continued, “I’ve separated them, and I’ve talked to Paul’s parents, too. It seems like keeping them apart has helped, and I’m keeping a close eye on it. I’m just worried that Jack might be letting Paul bully him outside of school. Why? I’m… I’m not sure. I was sort of hoping you guys would be able to find out.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

Hotch agreed. “We’ll have to talk with him. Will you let us know if anything changes?”

Mrs. McKee nodded. “As soon as there’s any kind of update—good or bad—I’ll be sure to call you two.”

“Thank you so much.”

Hotch and I stood. As we collected all of Jack’s papers up, Hotch asked if we could keep them to look over and hang up on the fridge, to which Mrs. McKee agreed to with a bright smile, and then Hotch took my hand. We thanked her again and then headed out so that we could finally drive to work. Though, I stopped when we stepped outside of the school.

I sighed and took a slow seat onto the bench nearby. Hotch hesitated a moment before sitting next to me. On one hand, Jack was doing really well in school. He clearly had an interest in learning, and he was creative, and the reading that Hotch had been doing with him at home since getting back was making a difference already. On the other hand, someone was bullying my son. After everything we had been through, I didn’t need to add bullying to the list of things wrong with Jack’s childhood. Maybe it was time to put him back into therapy? We thought that after about three years since Haley’s death, Jack had moved on enough that he didn’t need consistent counseling. In fact, it seemed like receiving therapy for that fateful day was only causing Jack to relive it over and over again, whereas he had forgotten most of the bad since leaving therapy. But if he was getting bullied… Maybe he just needed someone to talk to. I thought that I could be that person for him, but maybe he was just too scared to come forward about it.

Did I really fail that much as a mother? Did my son feel like he couldn’t come to me about something going wrong in his life? Was there more going on than just the bullying? How about the good news? How much had I missed out on because Jack just didn’t know how to communicate with me? But I should have known, anyhow. We were profilers. The whole time Hotch was gone, I never once noticed any changes in Jack’s behavior. We would notice if something were bothering our son, right; so how the hell did we miss this?

“He’s doing the superhero thing,” Hotch finally whispered while nudging my shoulder with his playfully. I cocked a brow as I looked at him. “He’s trying to be the bigger person by making friends with the bad guy.”

“Doesn’t the superhero usually kill the bad guy?”

“Well, okay… We’ll call him Peter Parker and Paul Cain can be Harry Osborn.”

I chuckled. “Sure.”

“He’ll be fine. I’ll talk to him tonight, see if I can pry anything out of him, and then we’ll go from there.”

“Is it bad that I want to hurt a seven year old just because he hurt our son?”

This time, Hotch chuckled. “As long as you don’t actually do it.”

I sighed and rested my head on his shoulder. We interlocked our fingers again as I snuggled against him as close as I could. It probably wasn’t the time to reminisce, but I truly did miss just sitting with him, feeling how warm his body was, listening to his steady breathing and his constant heartbeat in his chest. It felt like home. And then, like usual, his phone started ringing. I rolled my eyes and sat up.

“JJ, what is it?” he asked after answering it. “Shit…” He sighed. “Okay. Thanks for the heads up. We’ll be in soon.” He hung up. After a moment of sitting in his own thoughts, he draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close again. “Strauss is looking for us. She wants to talk about the Senate’s meeting.”

I hid my face against him to keep my worry from him. Since Doyle, I had been taking a lot of heat from a Senate council that had been investigating our unit because of me. Because of the decisions that I made while appointed as Unit Chief, the entire team was taking a hit, and they all had to come up with answers and excuses on my behalf. When we first got word about the investigation, I offered to quit. I was the one who knew the risks involved with my decisions, I knew that I would have to answer for what happened, but I never thought in a million years that the team would be questioned, too. I wanted to make it easy. I knew that if I just left quietly, the Senate council would leave us alone, and things for the BAU could return to normal. I just wanted normalcy again. Or at least some reminiscence of it since we technically never had any kind of normalcy in our lives.

“We’ll face this and Jack the same way we face everything… together.” He kissed the top of my head.

I was so scared that I was going to get fired. Back when I offered to quit, Hotch begged me not to, just as he always did, and so he helped me deal with taking the heat from the aftermath of the Doyle case. But now it was out of my hands. Someone telling me that I was going to lose the BAU vs leaving it of my own volition was absolutely terrifying.

“You think the CIA will take me?” I joked. Hotch didn’t laugh. “Sorry…” I just thought that the parallel between us and my parents would be funny to him, but it turned out that it wasn’t. “That was in bad taste.”

When his phone buzzed again in his pocket, this time with a text, Hotch gently shimmied me off of him so that he could stand up. He spun on his heels so that he was facing me. “Let’s do it.” He held his hand out, and I took it, letting him pull me to my feet. “And I’d rather you go to the NSA.” He smiled.

I hit his arm playfully. “I’d rather die.”

“Don’t be hyperbolic, Agent Hotchner,” he whispered while leaning in.

“Yes, Sir…” I hardly got the words out before kissing him desperately.

----

Everyone watched us as we walked by their desks to head towards Strauss’s office, yet no one said anything. Even Rossi came out of his office on the balcony to eye us. Hotch and I kept moving, though, our heads held high, a fair distance between us so that we were still somewhat obeying our office rules about our relationship—not that anybody would’ve cared by this point. The rules were initially created when we first started dating, but now we were four months into being together… No one would’ve cared if we held hands casually while walking through the bullpen. Still, there was some amount of professionalism that Hotch liked to keep while we were in Quantico, and that was to maintain respect and ensure that everyone’s focus stayed on the cases instead of gossiping about us. Maybe one day that would change, though.

When we arrived at Strauss’s office, I knocked on her door and waited for her invitation to enter. After hearing it, I pushed the door open and stepped in. Strauss was sitting at her desk, removing her reading glasses so that she could look up at me, and she was sitting back in her chair to get more comfortable. She asked me where Hotch was, and I told her that he was waiting just outside in the hallway. She then said she wanted to speak with us at the same time.

I beckoned Hotch in, to which he looked shocked, which I didn’t blame him for. Usually, Strauss liked to meet with us one-on-one because it was a scare tactic, and it was easier for her to gain the upper hand in the conversation, but not this time. I felt like I should have been more wary than I was.

Hotch and I stood directly in front of her, the door closed behind us, a few feet of distance between us, our hands at our sides, our gazes glued to her. I hadn’t been much of a rebel back in high school, but Hotch sure was, so I wondered if this was what it felt like to be sent to the principal’s office. Not that I would ever ask him that. He hated talking about his past and the shitty decision he made back then when he was just acting out because his father was abusive, and his mother was absent. Honestly, I couldn’t blame him. At least he was raising Jack and Scarlet the exact opposite to ensure that they had the best childhoods and lives imaginable. It was just another thing I loved about him and his maturity.

“The Senate Committee concluded their investigation today,” Strauss began.

I felt my stomach churn. More than anything, I just wanted to reach for Hotch and hold on for dear life, praying that he wouldn’t let me fall over if I passed out or threw up everywhere. But I couldn’t. At least not in front of Strauss, the one person who tried to ruin our careers after she found out that we were dating. Even though she had come around since then, and she was deterred by the fact that Cody loved us and told her that our relationship wasn’t enough reason to fire us—especially since we got married— Despite all of that, Strauss and I still didn’t get along. I doubt that we ever would.

“They’ve decided that the BAU will remain intact and untouched.”

I let out a sigh of relief.

“But they want Agent Greenaway demoted and Agent Hotchner reinstated as the Unit Chief.”

“I’m not fired?” I questioned.

“Not yet.”

I looked at Hotch, both of us smiling, reassured by how the situation turned out.

“However, I’m quietly suspending the two of you for another three days—at least.”

My smile dropped and I immediately turned to glare at her. “What? Why? I thought they cleared us—”

“They did.” She threw her hands up defensively. “But this is the only way I can make sure that you stay home and just spend time with your family, and not think about work.” My jaw dropped. “After everything, I think the longer you guys have to get your house in order, the better agents you’ll be out in the field.” My jaw dropped even further. “But if I find out that you’re still working during the three days, I’m going to keep adding time off. Understood?”

For once in her life, Section Chief Erin Strauss was actually trying to be helpful. She was looking out for us. For once in my life, I felt myself actually relax around her and smile in her direction.

She ignored my politeness by turning back to her work—faking that she didn’t actually appreciate our gratefulness. “I’ll see you two in three days. Get out of here.”

We knew that she meant it playfully, yet we still weren’t going to stick around long enough to argue it. She had been incredibly kind giving us this offer, and there was really no point in fighting it, so Hotch opened her office door for me, and we both hurried out into the hall.

“What the hell just happened?” I inquired, baffled.

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

I smiled. “Three days.”

He was still in shock. “Three days.”

I cupped his chin with my fingers to make him look at me and snap him out of his trance. “Let’s go home.”

He smiled. “I love you.” He tried to lean in for a kiss, but I playfully dodged him and started shuffling down the hallway to head back towards the BAU. “Brat,” I heard him mumble under his breath before following me.

As we headed through the bullpen, leaving the way we came, no one was watching us this time around. Rossi had JJ in his office, the two of them chatting behind closed doors, and Morgan was gone to probably gossip with Garcia in her office. So, Hotch and I kept walking.

“Hey. Where are you guys headed?” Prentiss questioned, hurrying over before we could push past the glass doors.

We stopped and turned to face her. I smiled. “Strauss suspended us for three days.”

Her face fell. “What? Why? I thought everything was squared away with the—”

“She’s giving us time to be with our family.”

“Oh,” she said with a smile. “Good. I’m glad.” We both nodded at her. “So, then, what’s wrong with Jack?” I cocked a brow at her. “I mean, you guys were at his parent/teacher conference this morning, and now you don’t look too excited to get back to him. So, what gives?”

Hotch licked his lips to hide a smirk. We didn’t like to be profiled, but when it happened by accident, it was always impressive. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t easy to profile—I knew that better than anyone—but Prentiss caught it almost immediately. Nine months away couldn’t change her. She knew us like the back of her hand because we were family. Family knows when something was wrong. That was how I knew something was first wrong with the Doyle case and her leaving. That was why she was our family.

“There’s a kid in his class who’s being mean to him,” Hotch answered. “And Jack’s solution is to befriend him.”

Prentiss laughed, “Aw.” I smiled and chuckled with her. I missed her laugh. It wasn’t often that she cracked a smile, the same way Hotch hardly ever did either, but when they smiled, it was like the whole world lit up. “That’s the cutest… and saddest thing I’ve ever heard. What are you going to do?”

“We, um, haven’t figured that part out yet,” I said.

Hotch nodded an agreement. “He didn’t come to us about it, and we don’t want to pressure him into fessing up to keeping secrets from us—”

“He didn’t tell you this was happening?” Prentiss asked with furrowed brows. We both shook our heads. “He wants to solve it himself…”

“Yeah, but isn’t that our job?” I asked. “Aren’t we supposed to protect him?”

“Of course. But sometimes you can’t. Sometimes the best thing you can do is show him that he doesn’t have to face it alone.”

Emily Prentiss, giving us parenting advice? I never saw it coming. Not that it was a bad thing, though. In fact, it was actually pretty nice, especially considering that she hadn’t been around long enough to give any kind of advice with Scarlet before. So, I would take it with Jack. For now. Maybe if I just encouraged her to keep at it, she wouldn’t leave again, and I’d have her around forever to give us sound advice with the kids.

As Hotch and her finished discussing Jack while I zoned out, I snapped out of my thoughts to interrupt and say, “Em, do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

They both paused, and she looked incredibly taken aback. For a moment, she exchanged a glance with Hotch, trying to gauge if he had been a part of this deal or not, and if he hadn’t been, then what did he think of her coming over for dinner? She had never been over before. At least, not on her own. But now that she was back since Doyle was gone, I wanted to make up for all of the lost time. I told her just before I lost her that I felt like I underappreciated her. I wasn’t going to let that continue. No matter what it would take, I would value Emily Prentiss, and I would never, ever take her for granted again—not when I knew what it was like to not have her in my life at all.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Okay.”

“Seven?”

“Sure.”

I smiled and took Hotch’s hand—a relieving feeling. “We’ll see you then.”

“Yeah…”

I started tugging at Hotch’s hand, eager to just get back home with him and to utilize the next few days that Strauss had given us to just spend time with our daughter. Our little bug—as I started calling her. My little man and my lil’ bug. I could live with the idea of just spending another few days with them and not having to think about work. That wasn’t to say that I didn’t want to go back. I still did. I think that going back to work would actually help Hotch and I get over the tension that was brewing between us ever since he came back from the Middle East.

But I kept tugging because it was nice to have him back at home. I liked that it could just be us again, and I could focus on forgiving him a little bit at a time. Someday soon, this whole thing would be a memory lost in the back of my brain, but it would always be there, lingering and waiting for its chance to work its way back to the front of my thoughts as ammunition against Hotch in whatever argument we could possibly be having. But right now, it was all I thought about. 24/7. Prentiss this, Prentiss that. You betrayed me, asshole, and I hate you for it. But I also love you more than anything in the world, and I can’t lose you. Which only makes me hate you more.

I kept pulling him towards the elevator as we waved goodbye to Emily.

I wasn’t going to let us turn into him and Haley. I wasn’t going to let us fail the way she let their relationship fail. I loved my husband, my son, and my daughter too much to just call it quits—even though this should have been the last time he lied to me and pissed me off. If I knew better, I should have called it quits with him the second Emily came sauntering back into the roundtable room. I should have taken the kids and left. But then I wouldn’t’ve been any different than Haley, and as shitty as it was to think—especially since she wasn’t around anymore to defend her memory—I didn’t want to turn into her. That was perhaps my worst fear. So, maybe staying with Hotch through all of this was less about us, but I supposed some kind of point to a dead woman…

I pulled Hotch into the elevator before I could keep thinking about it.

When we got home, without hesitating, I ran upstairs to the nursery while Hotch paid the babysitter to leave early. We thought that we were officially getting back to work, and Jessica wasn’t free to watch the kids, so we hired a nanny ahead of time to start watching the kids—just like Hotch and I always said we would. Only, now we were home… and we were asking her to leave early and not come back for a few days… We would’ve been lucky if she came back at all.

I gasped playfully when I saw Scarlet in her crib, kicking her legs up and out in response to seeing me and hearing my voice. “Hi, my baby.” I giggled and cooed to her as I gently picked her up. “Did you miss me?” I kissed her cheek. She grabbed onto my hair and started pulling at it, something she was obsessed with now that her hands had more movement to them.

Hotch came running in, too, just as breathless as I had been because he was so excited to see her. We only left a couple of hours ago, yet being away from her during that time felt like a thousand years. I just wanted to hold her always. But then again, so did Hotch, and he hadn’t been able to hold her as long as I had, so I had to give her up to him when he approached and outstretched his arms for her. She immediately started laughing and grabbing at his face. She loved doing that, even though his beard was gone again and there was nothing to hold onto.

Hotch slowly sat down on the ground. When he was settled, he gently let Scarlet settle on his lap so that he could accept her pacifier and toys from me as I handed them to him. She cooed as she started sucking on her pacifier. As I grabbed the koala stuffed animal that Prentiss left for her before… well… leaving, I supposed… I sat down beside Hotch, holding onto his shoulder for balance. I groaned as I relaxed.

“You good?” he questioned while taking the koala from me.

I nodded. “Long day.”

“Yeah, well, things seem to be looking up now.”

“I’m… I’m actually grateful this time around for Strauss suspending us.”

Hotch chuckled again. “I thought I wanted to get right back into the field, but after spending those three days at home with you, Scar, and Jack…” He chuckled lightly again. “I’m grateful, too.” He rested his head on my shoulder, making my heart melt in my chest. “I love you.”

I kissed his hair. “I love you, too.”

Hotch lifted Scarlet off his lap when she got too squirmy, giving her space to try to crawl around on her own. She wasn’t very good at it, but she tried her best. At least she was still too young to start walking yet so I never had to worry about Hotch missing that, or her first words. All we had to worry about right now was helping her crawl around and not fall on her face when her arms slipped under her. So, while we were sitting there, Hotch started working on getting her to crawl towards him by holding the koala up as an enticing prize.

She giggled and moved to him a little bit before slipping, just like I assumed she would. I caught her. When she was up on her hands again, she made another attempt, but then she tried reaching out for the toy, forgetting that her arms were the only things holding her up, so she slipped again. I laughed and caught her again.

“She’ll get good at it eventually,” Hotch said. “She’ll be a track star or something one day, I’m calling it now.”

“Our son, the soccer star; Our daughter, the track star. And where do academics fit into that?”

“As long as they get good grades, work their hardest, and come to us when they need help, I don’t care…” He handed the koala to her. “We’ll worry about getting them into the Academy later.”

I laughed loudly. “Come on, Hotch. The Academy?”

“I mean, your parents work for the government, we work for the government, what are the odds that they don’t?”

“What are the odds you don’t force Jack into joining the Academy?”

Hotch squinted at me. “I would do no such thing.”

“Mhm,” I answered sarcastically.

I was just giving him a hard time, to be fair. Scarlet was just too young for us to be planning out her future because we didn’t even know what she liked. We could joke all day that she would be a track star or that she would follow in our footsteps at the Academy, but until she was older, and we would get to know her, we couldn’t actually know that for sure. As for Jack, however, I would have been shocked if he didn’t think about joining the FBI. He always looked up to his father like he was a superhero. I mean, growing up, he literally said we were superheroes, he said that our job was saving the world, and he even went as far to choose dressing up as his father over fucking Spiderman for Halloween! There was no way Jack wasn’t going to consider it. I knew that I wanted him to focus on school right now and being a kid, but come college, it was entirely possible that the conversation was going to come up. Three generations of Greenaway/Hotchners in the FBI? We would be fucking legendary.

“Oh—She’s got it!” Hotch cheered while watching Scarlet crawl around the room towards the beanbag chair across from us. “Future track star, baby,” he said to me as he flung his arm around my shoulders, “what did I tell you?”

I shook my head sarcastically at him. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am… so lucky…” He turned and cupped my chin with his free hand, making me look up at him as he pressed into me for a gentle, loving kiss. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

“Mhm.” I pressed into him a little more.

“I love you,” he mumbled against my lips.

“I love you, too—”

We parted when Scarlet threw her koala as a tantrum for not getting attention anymore, and then she started to cry.

“Well, now we know where she gets her neediness from,” he joked while standing to pick her up and set her down in her crib again.

I laid down on the floor. “Yeah. You.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you say, Agent Hotchner.”

“I thought I’m always right, Agent Hotchner.”

“You are.” He knelt beside me, then straddled my waist. “You always are.” He kissed me again. “And you always will be.”

I could forget that I was mad at him for just another hour or so… So, I tangled my fingers in his hair before pulling him close.

----

The doorbell rang while Hotch and I were trading places in front of the stove in the kitchen. I sighed as I wiped my hands clean on his apron, then turned to run for the front door,

Prentiss perked up when she saw me. “Hey!” And then she started giggling. “You’ve got a lil’ something’…” She pointed at her own nose, referencing that I must have had food there from when I was running around in the kitchen.

I quickly wiped my face with my sleeves. “Better?”

“Better.”

I widened the doorway, ushering her inside. As she stepped in, Emily handed me the bottle of wine that she brought for us as a polite thank you gift for having her over. I accepted it and showed her to the kitchen. Hotch was pulling the food out of the oven, setting it on hotplates, and stressing over trying not to burn himself in the process when we entered.

As he and Emily exchanged welcomes, I grabbed a corkscrew, and I asked Hotch if he could grab three glasses for us. He set his hot pads down before reaching into the cupboard for the glasses. Emily passed them to me.

“Where are the kids?” she asked.

I handed her the first full glass. “Scarlet’s passed out upstairs, and Jack’s eating dinner at a friend’s house.”

“Ryan Locke’s?”

“How did you know?”

“I kept my tabs on you guys while I was gone. Jack likes going to Ryan’s house after soccer practices.” She nudged my shoulder playfully before taking a sip of her wine, then heading to the dining room to sit down.

I exchanged a quick glance with Hotch, my eyes squinting into a short, accusing glare. He raised his hands in innocence. I shook my head at him, then grabbed our wine glasses and took them to the dining room as Hotch plated dinner for us. When he was ready, he juggled all of the plates in his hands and on his arms, slowly making his way out to the dining room, holding everything out for me so that I could help him before he could drop everything. He quietly thanked me.

He sat down beside me after giving Prentiss her food, too.

“How is it being back?” I asked.

She shrugged. “It’s… different. I’m adjusting well, but Reid and Morgan are still really mad at me.”

I shook my head. “Morgan isn’t mad. I think he’s confused, and he’s trying to deal with the fact that he mourned something that wasn’t real, but he’ll come around—They both will. It’ll just take some time.”

“I know, but I just wish things could go back to normal.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing that they aren’t. Means you can start over.”

“When did you get all wise with advice?” Emily laughed.

“I think we all changed a lot while you were gone. Don’t you think?” No one said anything. “You gave us parenting advice earlier,” I said behind my forkful of salad. “Did you realize?”

Prentiss’s face fell. “I’m so sorry—”

“No. Don’t be. It was nice.”

She smiled at me before looking down at her plate. “Have you talked to Jack about it yet?”

“Not yet,” Hotch answered. “I will, though, tonight.”

“What are you going to say?”

“I’ve got a trick up my sleeve.”

The three of us snickered.

Suddenly, we could hear Scarlet crying bloody murder on the baby monitor next to my left wrist. I quickly turned it down. I sighed as I started moving my seat back so that I could head upstairs to calm her down, but Hotch pushed his hand out flat, ordering me to stay and offering that he could handle it. I smiled shortly at him. As he continued on his way up to Scarlet’s bedroom, I settled back in my seat and picked up my glass of wine. Emily eyed me as she finished her dinner. She pushed the plate further up on the table so that she could lean forward. I watched her carefully.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

“I missed you, too.”

She shook her head. “No. I mean, I really missed you, Y/N. It killed me every day to know that you didn’t know the truth, and that you named your little girl after me because you thought that I was—”

“I don’t regret it, Em.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re still one of my best friends.”

“Even after everything I did?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

Hotch’s footsteps echoed through the house as he came back downstairs—a lot slower than the way he had gone up. I turned to see him coming into the living room, carrying Scarlet who was quietly fussing in his arms. He stepped to sit down, but Emily stopped him in his tracks with a question we hadn’t anticipated.

“Can I hold her?”

Hotch hesitated for a second, watching me, trying to gauge if I was at all opposed to the idea. I, of course, didn’t have any qualms with it. So, Hotch carefully handed Scarlet over.

“She’s going to be hard to chase around when she’s older,” Emily said while playing with Scarlet’s kicking feet. “She loves to squirm now… Imagine what she’ll be like when she’s on her feet.”

Hotch let out an exhausted chuckle. “Yeah. We were joking earlier that she’ll be a track star.”

Emily nodded.

Hotch threw his arm around the back of my seat as I leaned forward to keep eating. “Morgan’ll get to chase her around when she’s little, though. He’s always insisted, so we’re going to indulge him.”

“I’ll chip in on that.”

“Yeah?” I questioned.

She nodded. “Of course.”

I leaned back in my seat and put a comforting, innocent hand on Hotch’s thigh. He moved his hand from holding the back of my chair to resting on my far shoulder so that he could pull me close, tucking me under his arm and against his chest.

“You know,” I began slowly and carefully, trying to change the conversation as smoothly as possible, “she technically doesn’t have a godmother.”

Emily cocked a brow at us. “What?”

“Well, when she was born, we knew that we wanted Morgan to be her godfather, but her godmother… Well, she was gone before we got to ask if she wanted to be Scarlet’s godmother. So, we left the spot officially open, but, technically, I suppose, Jessica was her godmother.”

“’Was’?”

“You’re back now, so…”

Her jaw dropped somewhat. “You’re kidding.” I shook my head, then waited as she looked down at Scarlet. “Me?” She looked back up at me. “Are you… Are you sure?”

I nodded. “It was the original plan, so we might as well make it official now.”

Scarlet yawned and stretched in her sleep. Emily laughed down at her, making sure that she wasn’t loud enough to wake her. When she started snoring, however, Hotch slid his arm off of me, stood, and went to take Scarlet back so that he could take her back upstairs.

Since dinner was done, Emily helped me collect the dishes and take them to the kitchen, but at that point, I decided to kick her out. There was no way in hell she was going to help me clean up when she was a guest in our own home. Besides, Hotch and I had the next few days off, which meant we could afford to stay up late and sleep in tomorrow; but Emily, on the other hand, still had to be up bright and early in the morning in order to get to work on time. So, it was time for her to leave. Hotch and I ushered her to the door, insisting that if she ever needed anything, she could come to us, and she returned the favor with a bright smile while slipping into her coat.

“Good luck with Jack,” she said.

We smiled and thanked her, then Hotch opened the door for her. As she stepped outside and started towards her car, Hotch snaked his arm around my waist, and we both waved goodbye to her until she was in her car and driving around the corner. Hotch kissed my cheek and closed the door.

“Leave the dishes,” he pleaded against my skin.

I tucked into his side even more, a physical reaction to how desperate I suddenly felt for him. “You have to talk to Jack, baby…”

He turned and his hands started wandering up and down my sides, slowly feeling me up. “I know,” he pouted, “but afterwards—”

“You have three days ahead of you to do whatever you want with me.” I escaped his arms before things could progress out of control. “Go talk to your son.”

He squinted at me. “I’m counting this.”

“Counting?”

“As a bratty act.”

My eyes widened. “No, wait, that’s not—”

“Fair?” He smirked and towered over me. “Too bad.” He kissed my nose before turning to head upstairs.

I waited a few moments, staring at the kitchen, debating if I should go and do them now or leave them and regret not doing them in the morning. But we didn’t have work. I could do them whenever… I could afford to just let them sit there overnight… Besides, I was curious as to what was going on with Jack, so parent instincts took over, and I decided to head upstairs to listen in on what Hotch had to say to him.

I tip-toed down the hallway, creeping around the floorboards that I learned had a tendency to squeak. Jack and Hotch were whispering in his bedroom, and the closer I got, the better I could hear them. Hotch was talking about something new he wanted to try out with Jack in order to connect with Haley. I peeked my head in to see what they were talking about, that was when I saw Hotch lighting a candle before handing it to Jack.

“This candle represents Mom…” Hotch explained, keeping a careful eye on the flame. “Whenever you feel like you want to talk to her— whatever it might be about, I want you to tell me so that I can come light this for you and you can talk to her through this candle.”

“Why, though?” Jack asked.

“Because I know how much you miss her. I miss her, too. Every day. And I know that I wish I could still talk to her sometimes, so I think that it would be good for us to do this.”

“But won’t it make you sad?”

Hotch’s shoulders fell. “Buddy, you could never make me sad. Every day, I wake up and I see you, and I’m reminded of the great job Mom did with you, and I’m very proud of you both. I just think that if we start doing this every now and again, Mom can help us.”

“Like with what?”

“Well,” Hotch shrugged, “you know, like, if you’re having a bad day, or something.”

“But I have Y/N.”

“I know you do, buddy; but sometimes it’s just nice to get some advice from your mom, right?” Hotch hesitated for a second while he sucked in a deep breath. “Mrs. McKee told me and Y/N today that Paul’s been mean to you. And we know that you didn’t want to tell us because you don’t want us to worry about you and you want to try to handle it on your own, but sometimes it’s good to talk about these things with someone— especially someone you love. Sometimes there are things that you don’t want to tell me or Y/N, and that’s fine, but you should tell someone, so maybe that someone should be your mom through this candle. Does that make sense?” Jack nodded. “Good…” Hotch brushed Jack’s hair back slightly. “Try something like this.” He leaned forward towards the candle in Jack’s hands and said, “Mom, look over Jack. Be there when he needs it. I love you.” He leaned away from the candle, “Why don’t you give it a shot?”

Jack wiggled under his blankets as he tried to find a comfortable position to sit in again. When he was settled, Jack leaned towards the flame, just like his dad did, and he whispered, “Mom, look over Dad, Y/N, and Emily for me.” He was using his grown-up voice to sound more like his dad. “And don’t forget to tell Dad that I want that new Lego set for my birthday.”

I chuckled quietly from the doorway, but not loud enough for them to hear.

“Of course,” Hotch nodded, also chuckling. “Is that all?”

“And I love you.”

“Good job, buddy,” Hotch complimented after taking the candle from Jack. He blew the flame out and set it on Jack’s bedside table so that it would always be with him, no matter what. With one hand, Hotch blindly turned off the lamp beside him while kissing Jack’s forehead.

“Night, Dad.”

Hotch pushed himself to his feet, “Good night and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“Can you ask Y/N to come tuck me in, too?”

“Yeah. Of course, I can.”

I heard Hotch walking out of the room, and before I could turn to dash down the hall to be less suspicious, he came out and caught me standing there. I giggled when his lips turned up into a smile. Before he could expose my eavesdropping, I grabbed his forearm, and I pulled him towards me and out of the doorway, pressing him against the wall so that Jack would never know we were still there.

“Were you snooping?” he whispered. I nodded and hid my face against his chest. “I think he’s going to be okay.”

“Me, too.” I hugged him tightly. “But now we have to get him that fucking Lego set.”

He let out a laugh that was a little too loud, forcing me to quickly cover his mouth and shush him. After a moment, he peeled my hand away. “You should go tuck him in.”

“You look up that Lego set, I’ll tuck him in.”

“Deal.” He kissed my lips before sneaking out of my arms and heading down the hallway to go get ready for bed in our room.

When he was out of sight, I purposefully stepped on one of the loud, creaking planks on the ground to let Jack know that I was approaching—and to trick him into thinking that I hadn’t been standing there the whole time. He was snuggled under his covers, watching the doorway eagerly for me. When he spotted me, he perked up, all excited to get a kiss and a hug goodnight. How did I get so damn lucky to have a kid like him?

“Oh, boy,” I groaned while sitting down on the edge of his mattress. I pouted and feigned exhaustion for him—not that it was hard to fake, to be honest. “What if I just…” I started falling forward until I crashed against his bed, purposefully taking up a lot of space compared to him. “I think I’ll just fall asleep here.” I rolled over somewhat and flailed my arms about to really get in his personal space.

“Mom!” he protested through a loud laugh. I started snoring loudly. “Dad! Help!” Still snoring and keeping my eyes screwed shut, I tapped my hand around aimlessly until I found his tickle spot and started going for it just to keep him quiet so that he wouldn’t wake up Scarlet in the next room. “Mom— please—” he begged through the giggles. I started snoring louder. Finally, the kid got smart by grabbing Red from his other side and started hitting me in the head with it.

“Ouch,” I said, stopping my attack on him just to rub my head. “Touché, Jack Hotchner. You win this round.” I pushed myself upright and moved back to the edge of the bed so that Jack could get settled again. “Yeah, I think this bed’s too small for me anyhow.” I smiled at the way he was still giggling while trying to catch his breath. “My little man,” I cooed, pulling the covers up to his chin, “I love you so much.”

He cuddled Red close to himself. “I love you, too, Mom.”

I leaned down to kiss his forehead. “My little superhero.” I sat up. “Should I be concerned about Paul? Do I need to go all Luke Skywalker on him?” I held my hands up like I was using a lightsaber to deflect a bunch of laser bullets. “’Cause I will.”

“That’s not how Luke—” Jack rolled his eyes. “I’m okay. I promise.”

“Pinkie promise or I won’t believe you.” We held out our pinkies simultaneously before interlocking them tightly. I squinted at him. “Okay. Fine.” I kissed his hand quickly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Night, little man.” I released him and started making my way out of his bedroom.

“Night, Mom.”

I turned off his lights then slowly closed the door.

------

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322 @rousethemouse @sunshinepower17 @weexinling @pettttyyyc@ Braty-angel

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

VII. Try Again

Summary: Reconciliation has arrived. And it hurts. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Phew! I got one more chapter for ya and then we’ll be finished, my loves.

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

You watch Sam take off into the crowd and groan lightly at the way he almost resembles the road runner from those old Saturday morning cartoons, billowing dust clouds behind him and all. Steve clears his throat beside you and finally, you turn begrudgingly to regard him.

It’s been three weeks since the parking lot catastrophe, and almost two months since you’ve broken up. He stands now, blocking the sun, so that you’re eclipsed by the cool shade of his figure. It feels ominous, like a foreshadowing of how he might always be someone who takes the light but gives the shade. In this moment, you are both thankful and wary of the shade.

“Hey,” his voice is soft and careful. “I uh--- just wanted to say hi.”

“Yep, you said it.” You smile back, so that any passerby or watcher might interpret the look as one of warmth; no one is close enough to hear the stiff tone. But, to make polite conversation, since he did stalk you all this way, you ask, “Sarah with you?”

Steve points to the popsicle truck where Sarah bounces on her feet with Marnie holding onto her hand. There is a baseball cap on her head and a slight residue of pasty sunscreen on her arms that are quickly becoming ruddy in the sun.

It’s a little disappointing to see her like this, attached to her babysitter’s hip rather than her father’s. You’ve always wondered what the point of having a child was if parents don’t consistently spend time with them. It seems hypocritical that Steve and Peggy’s relationship fell apart because of her inability to spend time with Sarah—but here he is, too: not spending time with Sarah.

As if he could read your souring look, Steve shoves his hands in his pocket.

“I took your advice, you know.”

Your eyes flicker up to his as he kicks at a patch of vibrant green grass inattentively, “She’s been seeing a counselor... there’s-- as you said, lots of discussion. About the divorce. It’s getting better.”

A family comes up behind you to grab a piece of pie, so you and Steve find the right moment to move away from the front of the dessert table, taking your conversation away from possible eavesdropping ears. Chatter rises from the background, full of laughter and children's joyful shrieking. Popsicles shine in the daytime sun, sugary ice in dazzling and flamboyant hues, waving in the air as their owners run across the lawn. Colorful celebration flags flop noisily in the wind, adding their own percussion.

“And I… listened to the other thing you said, too.”

Sarah calls and waves to you from the line, pointing to the menu. You wave back with your best excited teacher face.

There’s no memory of that conversation sparking in your mind. You’re sure you’ve always thought so because he works so damn much—but can’t recall when it came up until your eyes begin to roam over the faded shirt stretched tightly over his chest. Speckled and gray, and perplexingly familiar. “What th—"

Suddenly the hazy sensation of your knees softly thumping against wood cabinets doors rushes into your mind. Soft grunts. A breathy laugh and low moans.

Oh.

Embarrassment creeps over your cheeks when you remember the last time you saw that shirt.

No, it wasn’t much of a conversation then, rather, more like a plead—a sigh passing your lips to encourage his hands as they slid over your body. The shirt, that Monday, had stayed on you for the rest of the day, even as Steve aligned his hips behind yours on the other side of the mirror.

You remember, too, its hem being rucked up when he took you back to bed again only a few hours later, sunlight pouring over you both and illuminating the thread-bare stipples of grey and white as he busied himself between your thighs. Steve couldn’t stop grinning each time he mentioned, “I really like this shirt on you,” even as his face was pressed into your lap.

The same grin graces his mouth now as you pull the brim of your hat down over your face once more. It’s a futile attempt to shield yourself from him and his knowing look, catching you in that burning memory.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“I know this isn’t the best time...”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You hiss, but Sarah comes flying back with two popsicles in her hand, one melted orange drop splattering on your knee.

“Sorry!” She laughs before pushing it to Steve’s face, “Here you go, Daddy!!”

Then, she’s off again, tugging Marnie along as she finds Christine Parsons in the distance and jumps into her arms. It makes your heart hurt just a little, how easy it is for children to find solace in new caretakers. Even Sarah, whom you’ve grown so close to and spent personal time with, has seem to have forgotten all about you.

You can’t blame her, though, because it’s only the third week of class and all you think about every second of the day are your own twenty-four litter of students. Such is life in an elementary school. At least she’s not proclaiming her hatred for her teacher anymore.

But you watch Sarah dance around Christine now, tossing a beanbag in the air and catching it clumsily. In the small timespan of three weeks, she’s shot up another inch—growing so quickly from the already rapid change during the summer break. Her face has shifted slightly, elongating, nose becoming less round and taller, so many little details that add up to one seemingly giant transformation.

Yes. You understand Peggy Carter’s envy.

A bead of sweat trickles down your neck. Steve hands you the popsicle in his fist and you take it without thinking.

“I hired Sam after we--- you know, well…” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “I realized my life needed some reupholstering. I had been too comfortable—falling into complacency, when I should have been paying more attention to the things that really matter.” His mouth turns into a forlorn crescent.

You glare, turning side to side, catching the eyes of the crowd shifting all around looking at the conversation that seems too serious to be in the middle of a bustling school picnic. He really has no sense at all, you think. Big, dumb, man.

Big, dumb, stupid, man.

Steve, unaware because he’s a big, dumb, stupid man, sighs as if he’s holding the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. “You told me you loved me, do you remember?”

To your right, a mother stops midway while reaching for a cut of brownie and you can see her eyes widen briefly before she quickly grabs the fudge square and plops it on her plate. She shuffles a little further away, but still in earshot as she pretends to look for another dessert for her tray. You think about saying something, but your eyes glaze over, trying to find the particular memory he’s referencing, instead.

No. Nothing. A cold trail slips down your palm and you realize the popsicle in your hand is dripping orange all the way down to your wrist.

Steve produces a tissue from his pocket and begins dabbing the melted ice away.

“I got ya.”

Your uninvited and eavesdropping audience member opens her mouth in a small round shape. Her eyebrows slope together as she absently places her hand to her chest, as if saying “aw.” Steve is tenderly wiping the bright orange trickle from your skin before he motions from the popsicle to your chin.

“You gonna eat that?”

When you stand too shocked and frankly flabbergasted to respond, he takes the opportunity to grab it and stick it in his own mouth, crunching the ice between his teeth and sucking the stick dry. A drop of sugar water lands in his beard.

“Huh--” He muses, “Thas pretty good!”

Your teeth gnash together in an attempt to push your suddenly growing smile away. Your eyes slip shut, frustrated with him. What the fuck, you think. Why is he like this? A smile weasels its way onto your face, tugging the left side of your mouth upward into a lopsided grin before you bite it down.

The mom, now taking an inordinate about of time to get a plate of dessert, smiles too.

“Is that a yes?” Steve whispers, peering down into your eyes. “You remember?”

“No.” You respond. “You’re being annoying. And messy.”

“Really?” He laughs, “Is that the best you got?”

Now you are glaring, because no, you’ve got so much more. He seems to pick up the cue and puts his hands up defensively. Then, out of reflex, Steve wipes your hand one more time for good measure. “Sorry, shouldn’t push it. Hey...” his voice grows softer now, and he leans in until you’re both sure the mother who is – goddamn it, still there—can no longer hear.

“Please give me another chance. Please, sweetheart. I really do love you.”

“Steve,” You snap, “That’s not something you say lightly. And it’s not something you say when you’re desperate, either. I have to go, and you should too because your daughter needs to spend time with you and not her babysitter, don’t you think?”

A sad smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah,” he admits, “Yeah. That’s why I hired Sam. He’s really good, you know? I wanted to show him the ropes around our fundraising events, but he’s been at the shop for almost a month now.”

It makes you pause.

“I’ve started taking off on the weekends. Come in just a few times—Wednesdays, for inventory. Fridays to prep for the Sunday rush. This is the first time I’ve called Marnie in almost a week.”

He looks so proud of himself, but he tucks his chin to his chest and regards you with shy eyes like a student waiting for a prize. Even his hands are inside his pockets again and he rocks back and forth on his heels, teeth tugging his heavy bottom lip gently. Big blue eyes. Stupid pretty eyelashes. Steven Grant Rogers knows exactly what he’s doing.

You begin to dig around in your purse in retaliation. Your fingers touch the edge of your phone—no, that’s not what you want. So, you continue to search as he waits.

Truly, you’re very proud of him-- beyond thrilled that he’s taken your advice to heart and has put Sarah first. Over at a game of cornhole, she cheers and claps when her teacher makes a beanbag in. Three weeks ago, that little girl was falling apart and cursing all of second grade.

The idea of him, finally not waking up at three in the morning and working until he literally drops seventeen hours later sweeps over your chest like a soothing current. You remember how exhausted he always was when you’d see him—and it was only summertime. His workload doubled with Sarah during the schoolyear. You remember coming over for spaghetti, and him, about to burst into tears while rolling meatballs.

It makes you relieved to know he would finally be taking care of not just his daughter, but himself as well.

Yes, you’re very proud of him.

Your fingers finally catch what you've been searching for. Slowly, with a ruinous smile, you peel off the points from the thin sheet of plastic and take it out of your purse.

“Congratulations, Steven,” you announce, sticking a quarter-sized and iridescent gold star over his chest. You hold up two thumbs and push them under his nose. “A-plus. Would you like a high-five, too?”

No, you’re not going to let him get away with his shit so easily.

Down the table, three more women have congregated, and they clap and cheer when Steve chuckles and leans his head back in mock defeat.

It’s four-thirty and you are slathering aloe vera on your shoulders when a knock pounds at your door. “No!” You yell, “Go away, Steve!”

You avoided him for the rest of the PTA Picnic, mingling with parents and your colleagues instead, but every time you would accidentally find his eyes over the yard, he’d smile at you. A few times, he actually waved. The star sticker, meant to be an insult, he wore as a badge of honor.

Big. Dumb. Stupid. Man.

Eventually, it got to the point where other people (other, other people, not just the eavesdropping mothers) noticed too. After the third person of the day asked if you were seeing Steve Rogers, you excused yourself and went home to nurse your growing sunburns.

“C’mon, hon!” Steve calls from the door, exceedingly pathetic.

“Fuck off!” Even though a laugh might escape.

“Sarah’s here!”

You yelp, because the f-bomb is fine and dandy, but not to her ears. When you yank the door open, wet glistening shoulders and all, ready to apologize... there’s no one there but Steve and two dozen roses freckled with baby’s breath and pearly wax flowers. Your arms cross and you think you might put your fist right through that outrageous arrangement. “Are you serious?”

Steve peeks over the massive amount of deep red and a river of words tumbles out.

“Yeah, Sam was positive that he clocked a flowers-and-chocolate girl from meeting you just one time and wouldn’t let me go without these. Figured it couldn’t hurt... but I got you something else...” He pulls a brown paper bag from behind his back and dangles it one-strapped from his pointer finger.

Two loaves of banana bread sit sandwiched next to each other inside- not even wrapped, just embedded in crinkled confetti-colored butcher paper. On top, a similarly colored scrap has scrawled in rushed and sloppy all-caps handwriting: UNLIMITED BANANA BREAD-- CAP&CO!

“You’re such an idiot.” You berate.

“I know!” Steve cries, “I know! I know! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, please let me come in so I can talk to you. God, please? Even if it’s just so you can yell at me some more?”

“I am not yelling at you.” You retort, but let him in, anyway. “You’ll know when I’m yelling.”

Steve sits cautiously on the couch, places your gifts on the coffee table, and then looks around curiously. Things are a little different since he’s been here last. There are more plants, and you’ve gotten a little square bookshelf positioned in the corner of the room by the T.V. The kitchen even hangs a few wooden panels with abstract strokes and your corkboard of polaroid photos has been changed out for small doodles and tiny watercolor pieces.

He realizes, as he peeks over into the dining room, that you’ve been painting in his absence. Each picture is more refined than the last, as if you’ve been practicing. His little hobby that he pressed upon you hastily, you’ve taken to heart and improved on, even though he’s been gone.

It probably hurt so bad, he thinks, to have those paints in your house, to be reminded of him. Steve shuts his eyes and counts to ten. He doesn’t deserve you, but he wants you. He wants you so much.

“So?” You ask, brow furrowed on the sofa chair to his right. Now that he’s physically inside your apartment, the mood has changed considerably. The snarky banter in public and goading at the door has transformed into solemn and dead air. You don’t know what he might say, and even worse, you don’t know what it is you’ll do in return.

It’s easy. So easy to care for him. So easy to fall back into that routine of being with Steve Rogers.

But he’s shown you that he finds it easy to return to Peggy, too. And you— the easiest one of them all, will just forgive him for it? Your breath sticks to your lungs and refuses to come out. If you could go back to that day in bed and have pleaded with him not to pick up the phone, you probably would.

No, that’s too simple. It’s childish, and naïve, too.

“I’m sorry.” Steve finally speaks into the silence of your living room. His hands are folded over his knees, and he is looking at you like he is trying to bury those words inside your body. He calls your name. “Baby, I am so sorry. I am so goddamn sorry.”

It hurts. It hurts all over, but you won’t let him see you cry. “Okay.” You reply tepidly. Sorry isn’t enough.

“The truth is, I made a mistake. A really big mistake, and what’s worse is, I was too scared to admit it. I could think up of a million reasons why —about Peggy, or Sarah… It’s… so hard.” Steve puts his head in his hands, “The hard thing is that I have always been… stubborn. I was stubborn enough to move Sarah here by myself. I was stubborn to think that I could raise her on my own. Obviously, I couldn’t; I was falling apart, working too much, didn’t know how to talk to my daughter… and hadn’t spoken to Peggy in months. God, I hated being away from Sarah. And when an easy road made its presence known to me— I went right for it.”

You want to focus on his words, because you know he means them, but a part of you begins to disengage to ease your own suffering.

“You got caught right up in the middle of it.” Steve whispers, choked on his sentences. “I wanted to badly to make my family work again, I didn’t realize that family doesn’t need to mean… what I think it means. It can be anything. And love can be anything.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Steve?”

The both of you are in tears now. Your breath comes out in short and sharp puffs as you try to contain the pooling wells of your eyes. Steve’s own face is flushed pink, as wipes his cheeks with the heel of his palm.

“Honey,” he stutters, “I love you. I love you so much. I know your love and it’s wonderful.”

“Y-you didn’t even c-call— I’m not— I’m not a fucking back up plan, Steve!”

He rushes off the couch in a fumble of noisy limbs and falls to your feet on his knees. You retreat into the cushion of the sofa chair, legs drawn and wrap your arms around yourself. Instinctively, you want to be protected from the hurt-- from him. You’re a jumble of wracked sobs and groans as your head begins to pound.

“I know you’re not.” His arms wrap around yours, digging behind your back as he shifts to move onto the seat as well. You’re an absolute mess, completely shattered into pieces in his embrace, jaw clenched and frozen as your eyes leak all the way down to your neck.

Steve holds on tighter, buries his head into your neck where droplets run down your shoulder and onto your back. He rubs your spine gently, shushing your cries.

He feels so warm and good to lean into. And in this moment of weakness and sadness, all you want is that warmth again, just for a single minute— even if it’s foolish.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was afraid and stupid. I thought it would be easier to go back to something I had already known, but I know now that being with you is what I really want. Your love is a wonderful thing. I’m so sorry I ruined it.”

He says it into the top of your head, his warm breath washing over you with each exhale. Steve pulls you to his chest and you can hear his heart hammering in his ribcage. Your own is near identical to his, deafeningly loud in the quiet rest of the apartment. His hands rub up and down your arms.

“Could you love me again?” He asks softly. “Could you try? I won’t let you down this time... I swear.”

His words are sweet like the very honey he stirs into his recipes. They slide down his tongue and out his mouth and soak you in their sticky, syrupy promise. You pull away and look into his eyes, red and blue, glassy and crawling with veins. He wipes a tear from your cheek, and you do the same to him.

Everything is fuzzy. You feel worn down and scattered about, pieces of you lost and trying to find each other.

The two of you sit there, looking at one another on the tiny sofa couch. Then, distractedly, you sniff.

“Where is Sarah?”

Steve erupts into a sharp, wet, laugh before he inhales and blinks his tears away, “God, I thought you were going to headbutt me.” He admits.

“She’s with Marnie at a movie. I asked her to give me an hour and a half before dinner. Time’s almost up.” When you hum softly, he takes the opportunity to press his nose against yours. When you sigh, he does it again before sliding his lips over your mouth.

“I love you.” He whispers against your cheek. One then the other, he places kisses over your face. “I love you.” Your tongue sits swollen in your mouth, unable to find the right words for this moment. “I’d never say it if I didn’t mean it.”

You feel both heavy and weightless, wavering between acceptance and denial. “I--I don’t know, Steve.” You whisper.

“Let’s try again, baby,” he pleads, trailing his lips over your jaw, the two of you scrunched up like pretzels, legs entwined, arms linked and gripped tight.

It’s obvious why clichés like breakup sex and secret relationships are exciting. The aspect of having a potentially glorious thing one last time is a thrill. This, too-- this apologetic, tender, intimacy-- is thrilling. Steve Rogers, torn open and laid bare for you, waiting for you, pleading for you, makes your stomach flip and sink.

He smells like sandalwood and pine. Clean shampoo and summer sun. You try to swallow the deadened weight of your tongue away, but it only grows larger.

Finally, you sigh, wipe your face one last time, and wipe his eyes too. With a crooked smile, you say, “Let’s go get Sarah.”

The car ride to Steve’s house is as quiet as a funeral. Your radio remains off the whole time and your brain is wiped completely blank by sheer emotional exhaustion. Any time a thought of whether you’ve done the right or wrong thing arises, it turns into snowy static and disappears. Maybe you’re a saint. Or an idiot. Maybe idiots can also be saints, and maybe that’s what you are.

What you really want is to stop feeling so much. The ache has subsided but its now replaced by unease laced with a steady drumbeat of something that resembles elation. You can’t help but feel excited again, because Steve is here. Steve is back. Steve has promised. And you hope he will deliver. Your chest thumps noisily and at light speed when you remember how happy he made you just a few months ago.

The reality of that approaching happiness resurrects itself inside of you, taking off on eagerly flapping wings.

Yet, the concerned part of you still stands planted on the earth, arrow raised and nocked, waiting to loose the bolt to shoot that bird down.

The two of them watch each other guardedly as they grow further and further apart.

You turn off the engine and meet him on the sidewalk where he stands waiting patiently. Marnie’s car isn’t here yet, so he leads you inside by the hand and brings you a glass of water, observing you all the while.

“What?” You ask hoarsely after a big gulp.

He smiles—wide, blindingly white, reminiscent of the old wallpaper on your phone. “Just glad you’re here.” He says, suddenly shy.

“Yeah,” You reply sadly, “Me too. I think.”

Steve takes the glass from your hand and sets it on the countertop. “It’s okay.” He whispers, tugging lightly on your finger like a lost child, “It’s okay.”

A knock from the front door pulls your attention away and you can hear Sarah chattering on the other side. Marnie opens the door with her spare key and Sarah leads here in with a half-eaten bag of popcorn clutched to her chest. She does look so tall now, you think, and older with her hair pulled back into a ponytail and her jawline beginning to angle just slightly more like her father’s.

“Hi daddy!” She says in-between a crunching mouthful, and then pauses when she sees you behind her father. “Hi!!! Wow! Are you gonna stay for a sleepover? Daddy doesn’t work tomorrow! Can we go somewhere?”

She places the bag on the nearest counter and runs over to where you stand by the coffee table, jumping right up into your arms.

You stumble, because she’s even bigger than the last time she did it, and your life flashes before your eyes.

This time, because he was expecting it, Steve catches you against his chest and sets you right. Marnie smiles and waves goodbye from the doorway.

You wash dishes side-by-side in the kitchen after Steve tucks Sarah into bed at eight. She’s worn out from spending her day outside and running around so much that over dinner you watched her nearly doze off while eating her vegetables.

Steve had made dinner with fluffy brown rice and sautéed shrimp and lemon zest. On the side, he steamed summer squash and cut fresh slices of sweet peppers. Once more, you and Sarah set the dinner table and poured the drinks while he arranged the plates.

Dessert was simple: plump, blood red cherries from the farmer’s market. Sarah splashed burgundy over her shirt, and you dabbed some vinegar on it before rinsing it out for her in the restroom. Her nose had scrunched up at the smell and she pretended to barf until she actually dry heaved a little.

Huh. Second grade, you thought, as you backed away from her.

Patting the dishes dry, you stack them neatly into their respective cabinets before washing your own hands. Steve brushes a strand of your hair away from your face and leads you back to the couch where it’s safe: neither too forward nor too modest. Appropriate enough for two adults to talk while Sarah sleeps in her room with the door cracked.

Her bedtime playlist slips down the hall as a tinny, melodic voice. The lights are dimmed low, just enough for the two of you to see each other and not much else.

His hands sandwich yours and he places them in his lap. As he turns to look at you, the lamp behind his head illuminates his long hair, casting radiance all around him. Your breath quickens.

Big. Stupid. Beautiful. Man.

“You know what I thought the first time I met you?” He asks suddenly, a sly smile growing on his face. You frown. The hand on top of yours brushes over your knuckles, fingers rubbing back and forth slowly as he continues, “I thought—”

“I was too young.” You interject, rolling your eyes at the memory of his crass words at Open House.

“Yes.” He laughs. “I did think you were too young. Inexperienced. I had this idea of what a teacher should have been… But then—” he snickers again suddenly, clapping his hand over yours, “then you handed me your resume and flicked me off at the same time.”

You grin, because yeah, you remember that, too. It was a pretty audacious move on your part, but he had really pissed you off. “Is that what won you over?”

“Yeah. It really was. It was impressive—your resume, and your middle finger.”

“I didn’t like you very much when I met you.” You admit, “Didn’t like you … for a long time.”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart.” Steve chuckles, “You would literally run away from me. I had to chase you down with a plate of food-- with specially made banana bread! Jesus, that recipe was so hard.”

“Well, Steve Rogers,” You sigh, “Thank God I like you now.”

“Not God,” Steve corrects, “Thank Bucky. He really set me straight— twice.”

Steve told you once over a conversation all about Bucky and Natasha, the two old friends you briefly met in early June. Bucky was the one who had encouraged Steve to ask you in the first place. You remember replying how you’d have to thank him next time you see him for giving Steve the idea. Apparently, you’ll have to thank him again, too.

“He pretty much yelled at me for twenty minutes after… you know.”

“You deserved it.” You say.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, “I really did.”

Then, after a moment of silence, because both of you are unsure where to take this conversation next—too soon to apologize again and too soon to start acting like nothing is wrong again, Steve clears his throat.

“I talked to Peggy, after the airport.” He says carefully, as if the very mention of her name might make you burst into tears. You’re pleasantly surprised when it doesn’t, but again, it wasn’t her you had been upset with. So, you nod quietly and wait for him to continue.

“I think... we’re all on the same page.”

“Which page is that?”

“That you’re too good for me.”

It’s supposed to come out as a humorous thing, a thing you would laugh at and tell him the opposite. He even holds his breath in wait for the moment when your laugh would escape in a joyful exhale, but instead you glare. “I’m just a person.” You say grimly, and he doesn’t quite understand why the joke that was supposed to be funny has suddenly turned serious.

“I’m just a person. Not a substitute. Not a replacement guardian. Not an idea of a lover or mother or--”

“Woah!” And then the tears are falling down your face again and Steve’s chest feels like it might break open. “Honey, I don’t love you as anyone but yourself. I love you as the caring teacher. The… new painter?” He offers you a sweet smile, “The funny, beautiful, glorious, and gracious girlfriend…”

“My girlfriend?” He asks bashfully.

A small laugh escapes as you wipe your eyes, “Don’t forget I’m good in bed, too.” You tack on jokingly.

Steve puts his forehead in his hand, “Jeez, you gotta meet Bucky again. You two are two of a kind.”

He peeks at you between his fingers. A slow, tender gaze, full of affection and promise. Steve bites his bottom lip, looks at you with hooded eyes and takes a deep breath in. His tongue rubs against the edge of his teeth. “Can’t wait to spend time with just you.” He says in a single quick breath. “I want to make you feel better, baby.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “Don’t disappoint me, Rogers.”

The comment that is meant to be a joke flips on its head. Steve surges forward and tucks both arms under yours, pressing his chest to your chest, burying his face into your neck. “I won’t.” He murmurs, pained. His beard tickles when it scrapes against your skin, but his hot breath wicks it away.

“I won’t ever again.”

“Okay, Steve” You sigh, cheek resting on his head, “Okay.”

Last Chapter

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #modern au #fanfiction #reader insert #slow like honey heli0s

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canumoveurseatup-no · 5 years

Text

i’m leaving soon

summary: sometimes there’s only one way to handle things, it may suck but you feel it in your gut that it has to be this way.

word count: 2.7k

pairing: thor x black!asgardian!reader

warnings: endgame spoilers if you still haven’t seen it, death, sacrifice

—————

You were all Thor had left. You were his last smudge of sanity, his voice of reason. You always had been, from kids to centuries later.

So you made sure to stay up with him to hold him, comfort him, talk to him the night before the time heist went down.

“You deserve to see everyone, my love,” you pet his long beard, loving it’s volume and how some areas are darker than the other, “They will not care how you look for they are your loved ones. They will understand,”

He knew you had a point, but he felt disgusting with how he let himself go, he felt disgusting with how you were still utterly in love with him looking like this. But that let him know you were probably more in love with him than he could compare to, though he felt that was impossible, Thor would do anything for you.

“Are you sure you can’t come with me instead of the rabbit?,” he sighed. He’d feel a lot better if you were with him than another desolate planet. You deserved to see your kingdom once again too.

You kissed his lips and gave an airy laugh “Take pictures for me,”

“We can show them to our heirs one day,” he smiled hopefully. You and Thor always wanted children but everytime you guys thought you were ready, something came up.

“When this is over,” you place his hand on your belly and he runs his hand over it, hoping one day you swell with your children, “Maybe we can finally settle down and try,”

Thor always kissed you with an insurmountable amount of love and each time it still surprised you than the last.

“I love the sound of that,”

————

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling uneasy. You suffered from a restless sleep and the dreams that occurred were unsettling to say the least. All that showed over and over was a hooded figure and a huge cliff but you shook it off as it happening due to you eating before bed, doing so always causes weird dreams for you.

“All right, lets suit up!,” you heard Steve across the way. Thor was stalking around chugging beers from a six back.

“My love,” you called out to him with a little smile, “If you wanna see me, better hurry, I’m leaving soon,”

You always said that to him before going into a battle. He always always busy doing something else and it never failed to get his attention.

His knees buckled at your smile. He threw the beers to the side and rushed over to you, hands fast to be placed on your cheeks to pull you into a searing kiss.

“Tell me love is endless,” he muttered.

“My love for you will never have an end,”

He hated that you had to go with Clint and Natasha. His eyes welled at the thoughts of not only going back home but going back home with out you. You two always had the plan of doing a better job at ruling than his father and his mother loved you as if you came from her loins. She knew for long that you would one day be Thor’s wife and when she found out he proposed, she was over the moon and guided your footsteps to be a better queen than she.

You tasted the salty tears on his cheek and gave a small smile.

“That’s what a year long headache does to you,” he whispered. It’s clearly been longer than that, but you knew he would try to dumb down his emotions until everyone was almost ready, “I’m not okay, I feel so scattered,”

“As anyone else would feel, my love. But this is our final fight. Avenge everyone- for he will pay for what he’s done, again,”

He didn’t want to go without you, he wanted you by his side for one last walk around your kingdom before it fell to ashes. One last walk on the bridge... one last talk to his mom.

“It’s go time,” Tony clapped and you felt Thor’s grip tighten on you.

“Come back to me, my lady,” he whispered hastily, “Don’t leave me, can’t handle another bout of déjà vu “

You gave one last kiss before you two walked to the platform, “I will always find my way back to you,” you stood by Natasha and Clint, while he stood by Rocket.

“See ya in a minute,” Natasha smiled. But you didn’t miss the looks of uncertainty on the faces of Nebula and Tony. Before you could acknowledge it, Bruce had already hit the button and sent you to your respective time lines.

————

“What the hell is this place,” Clint muttered.

You never understood mortals and their rhetorical questions.

“What you seek lies in front of you, as do what you fear,”

You all turn around and step away from the voice that came from the shadows. Out stepped the hooded person and suddenly your choppy dreams made sense.

“Welcome, Natasha, daughter of Ivan, Clint, son of Edith. and Y/N... daughter of Heimdall,”

It hurt to hear his name but you’d be damned if you let that impact you right now.

Natasha was ready to fight but took it upon herself to ask the questions, “Who are you?”

The figure lifted his head and you all frowned at him but this was too important to assess his looks.

“Consider me a guide. To you, and to all who seek the soul stone,”

This should be easy enough right? It’s just a stone... but you of all people should know things are never just.. ‘easy enough’. There was always an ultimatum.

“Oh, good. Tell us where it is, then we'll be on our way,”

You turned around and walked the the cliff, “Ah, liebchen . If only it were that easy,” you spoke for the stone keeper. You recalled those words in your dreams. You miss the look everyone gave you as you just continued to look down.

It was a long way down.

“What you seek lies in front of you. As does that which you fear,” he repeats. He leads Nat and Clint to he edge with you and you could feel the tears welling.

“The stones down there,” it finally clicked for Natasha. Clint’s jaw clenched and he cursed under his breath.

“For two of you. For the other, in order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. An everlasting exchange. A soul for a soul,”

It hits you all like a ton of bricks.

You and Natasha take a seat before her and Clint go at it.

“Whatever it takes, remember?,”

They make a fool of themselves fighting and crying until you had enough and waved your hand to fling them back from the edge before standing up.

“Enough!,” you’d had enough of the theatrics. Things had to get done and no one had time for a game of ping pong.

This was your task.

“Sorry there’s no way out, my love,” you whispered to the wind, knowing it would get to Thor in no time.

“Y/N! what are you doing?,” Clint tried to grab your arm but you simply pin him to the ground of the huge stone you all stood on without even touching him.

“I- I’m doing what’s right,” you turn to look the two. being held back by your power so they can’t stop you. It has to be this way, it only makes sense for it to be this way, it appeared in your dreams.

“I-it won’t work for you! You’re not mortal,” he tried to reason.

“Rules of mortality or immortality do not apply here,” the stone keeper grumbled.

“You can’t leave Thor like this. You’re all he has,” Natasha pleaded. But it fell on deaf ears.

You choked at the mention of his name, if only there were some other way but this was the way. This was the one chance to win that Tony talked about.

“It’s our only way to win,”

—————

Thor and Rocket got the stone when he heard your whisper in his ear.

“Sorry there’s no way out, my love”

“If you need me, wanna see me... you better hurry,” your voice was broken, scared, “Because I’m leaving soon.

He stopped in his tracks and looked around for you but you were nowhere to be seen, not until he was seeing things through your eyes.

“Listen before I go, for I don’t have much time,”

Rocket looked at Thor to see his eyes were no longer their lightening blue... they were the color of the golden setting sun one would watch on a beach...much like yours, he had no idea what was going on but the way Thor was breathing heavily was indication that things were not okay.

“None... of what happened is your fault, my love,”

“Y/N, no,” he whimpered.

“I know you feel that these things wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t around but that’s not true. You don’t have some curse where everything that you come in contact with crumbles,”

His eyes were moving fast. All he could see was a sky of heavy purples, blues and pinks. He could hear Natasha and Clint shouting out you from behind to not do this... to let one of them do it and he hated to be selfish and admit that they were right.

It shouldn’t be you.

“You are a ray of sunshine, even on the greyest of days. You are allowed to grieve but do not blame yourself for a series of unfortunate events that were destined to happen millenniums before you were born,”

Rocket stepped back when Thor shouted in tears, all it was was a bunch of “no no no” and “please”

“I can’t lose you too,”

“You will never lose me... I am eternally within you... our love is endless,” he could hear your cries, the sniffles, he practically heard your heart breaking.

“I’m sorry our heirs never saw their kingdom,”

He was brought back to reality when he could no longer see things from your eyes and was standing in front of the team again. Stones in their hand. He was fast to fall on his knees and turned red with a shout of your name. So loud it shook the compound and the ground beneath them.

“It should have been one of you!,”

Clint and Natasha knew he was hurting but that didn’t mean his words didn’t have an impact. They wished they did more, but their combat was no match for your goddess essence.

“Where’s Y/N?,” Steve asked. He looked at Thor’s red face, bolts of electricity glinting in his eyes.

“On Vormir,” Nebula began, “The only way to get the soul stone is with a sacrifice... and that sacrifice is a soul, one willing to do what is right,”

—————

Surrounded by orange and lying in shallow water, you wake up with a gasp.

You sit up and scan the area. Only thing in sight was a pavilion and a figure standing under it.

“Father,” you croaked out, “Father, what is this place?,”

You run to him and smile when he turned to you. Oh how you’ve missed him.

“The place where our souls come to rest when all is said and done,”

He pulls you in his arms and you take in his scent of saffron and sandalwood.

“Which leads me to question... what has lead you here,”

He saw you coming... he just didn’t know how.

“I did what was right,” you swallowed your tears, “I did what I had to do to help defeat Thanos but I left my love in the process... I added to his pain,”

You felt guilty for having to leave him in such a way. You told him you’d come back, you broke your promise.

“Neither of you is without the other. Come,” he held your hand tight in his, “Time to be with everyone,”

————————

Thor was blood thirsty during the final battle. He barely held it together at the funeral they had for you.

The last remaining piece of him was gone and he was going to do everything in his power to avenge every broken piece that Thanos took from him.

For his people, for Loki, Heimdall. He lost them on his journey here. For Bucky, Sam, T’Challa and his people, Peter, Wanda... all because he didn’t go for the head. It was all his fault, in his mind that is. He was a ticking time bomb and Tony wouldn’t even give him the chance to try the gauntlet.

Portals appeared everywhere and the fallen had risen, ready to fight. He stood there waiting to hear your voice, to see your smile, to see your golden armor, hair braided back, with your father’s staff in hand.

But you weren’t there... so he fought for the both of you.

“M-Mr. Thor, sir,” Peter said quickly, “Sh-she.. Y/N wanted you to know she never meant to leave on such terms. She loves you and never wants you to doubt that,”

He knows you, you probably think he hates but he could never hate you. He’s lost everyone in a tragic way so he can only expect so much, he wasn’t nat at you. He was mad at the world, the universe... himself. He wishes he told you ‘I love you more’, he wishes he held your hand more, done more of everything no amount of ‘more’ could heal this.

He kept fighting. He’d never stop fighting for you. Though it wouldn’t bring you back, it wouldn’t make your death in vain, just for some mortals you barely know. He had your favorite barrette, in the shape of a sun, in his breast plate under his armor.

So you’d be fighting with him.

He had Steve and Tony by his side, not letting up, even with deep gashes and blurry vision.

The end was getting close and he had made up his mind long ago. He looked to Valkyrie and she knew what he was planning to do. She knew there was no changing his mind, the attempts to stop him would be futile.

“The people will love their new king. You will be the leader they need,”

She tried not to shed tears. She’d grown close to the God and his wife. Now both were leaving her behind, but she wouldn’t let you two down.

The gauntlet fell at his feet after it was taken off Thanos’ hand. Thor didn’t need to question, there was no second guessing and no turning back. He didn’t have time to beg anyone to let him be the martyr and he sure as hell didn’t have time for the answer ‘no’.

“You’ve taken enough from me,” he growled. Thor was feeling so much at once. He was scared to die, afraid of being in pain, but he was tired, tired of constantly fighting, relieved that this would be it, he could rest and be with his loved ones. Excited because he’d get to be with you soon, to hold you, love you endlessly.

“Thor, no!,” Tony shouted, but Strange held up his finger... this was the one.

Thor envisioned your smile, your laugh, you kicking his ass in training from kids to grown. He was hurting, he was terrified. But if he did this, he could be with you again.

He practically felt your arms wrap around him in a welcoming hug and that was it.

“I won’t let you take anything else,”

————

He was scorned by the snap. He was beginning to lose all feeling and he knew, the fight was over. What once was the compound covered in bright green grass, surrounded by pretty trees was now covered in soot and rubble, smoke clouds sat high above them... was hard to tell they were still even on Earth.

“N-no, c’mon buddy, don’t do this,” Bruce shook Thor, trying to keep him awake. He can’t let his friend die like this, he can’t let his friend die. The one who fought for him to be saved from a foreign planet, a friend who believed in him no matter what form he was in.

“Let him rest,” Valkyrie set her hand in the shoulder of the green man, “He deserves to be home,”

Thor was on his last leg when he saw you.

Everyone saw you in his eyes.. They saw the way his eyes glinted gold before dimming dull. You were wearing a yellow dress that flowed in the wind, a bright glow behind you, hand stretched out for him.

“Time to go home, my love,”

————————

that shit hurted 🥴

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE HIGHLY ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED!

tags: @blackreaders-assemble @mbaku-babygirl @dumbchick @warmchick @vozit @veryhellshdia @spideys-wife @here-for-your-bullshit @valkyriesnymph @persephones24 @alyssaj23 @mokacoconut @xye-weirdo @chonisberonica @eratotalles @micki-smiles @disaster-rose @valentinevirgo @retroxvailles @crawlingnightmares @hisxblackxqueen

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kleml · 4 years

Text

Geralt’s Curse

Title: Geralt’s curse

Ship: implied OMP/Geralt

Prompt day: 3 Curse, 1 Ostracism

Medium: Netflix, Books

Warnings: verbal abuse

Summary: My take on book Geralt's lifestory, as if he'd look like Henry Cavill his own life. Blaviken is based on the books too (where I'd say Renfri was kinda just as evil as Stregobor).

Timeline is all wrong, witchers are not hated per se, Kaer Morhen still stands.

Geralt is around 30 during Blaviken.

Word count: 2698

Author’s notes: Planned as crack, turned out more serious. Please criticize :)

@geraltwhumpweek

...

They loved to call him pretty.

Other wolves.

People in the villages.

Partners he took to bed, smiling and tracing his face features.

And as much as it should have been great to be considered beautiful, it was a big obstacle in his life.

All the kids brought to Kaer Morhen underwent the Trials. Trials of Grasses took place as soon as they got strong enough.

From the "before" Geralt remembered lots of food. That it was nice and cozy to sleep among the other kids, even though many kicked under the blankets or snored, catching runny nose in the cold castle corridors. He remembered there were many of them, so many they had huge kid tables, and that they were washed in groups by adults who promised to cut their hair if they continue to complain about the process.

He remembered thinking his mom will return and take him back. Same did the others, telling stories about their parents. How they loved them and read stories to put them to bed.

It was a blur.

Geralt didn't remember much.

The white hair, the heightened senses, quickened reaction and constant hunger - all of it came after the Trials. But he was sure his face stayed the same. His hands looked just as they looked before too, and the scars on his knees were still there, even though he wasn't sure how he got them. He also didn't feel like he himself changed in any way.

When he lost all memories so terrible his mind couldn't stand to keep them.

When common big beds became smaller, and suddenly there was only a handful of them sitting at the table.

When they made them eat sickening mushrooms and drink strange juice before they were allowed to eat normal food.

When he started his life as a witcher.

And it wasn't all bad. There was a lot of training. They learned how to fight, how to survive, how to recover. They studied all the creatures big and small, writing, reading and some manners.

He was ten, when he woke up with hair gone all white at the roots, paler skin and sense of smell so sharp his head got dizzy.

Some teachers treated them harshly. Others knew how to make studying exciting.

Autumns were the best time of the year. Traveling wolves returned home, bringing sweets and stories, laughter and tons of food, more than Kaer Morhen's fields and gardens could ever provide.

It wasn't until he turned fourteen that he got called pretty for the first time.

Extra Trials meant he had to be better. Meant he was better at many things, mastering challenges faster than others. It was all fun and games until the other

boys started to hate him for it.

"Ksemir! Hold your stance! You're doing it again!"

They were sparring with training blades, circling each other in the yard. Geralt huffed his hair that started falling out of the tail onto his face, and waited while the teacher explained things again.

"You cannot do that. You just cant, you don't have enough speed nor strength to pull it off. You should be staring less at the adults' training. Concentrate on what I'm telling you. Hey! Are you even listening?"

Ksemir was, indeed, staring at older wolves, dancing with proper swords further from them. Varin, the second fencing instructor who prepared to the Trial of Medallion, screamed at them every single time they made a mistake, and Geralt silently wished to stay fourteen for a little longer. Vesemir was on the Path this year, taking his time off teaching, and they had a replacement, Lestek. He was trying to kick some sense into Ksemir, but failed because of young age and compassion.

"Geralt did it but a minute ago!" another boy screamed. It was Ivur. Geralt didn't like Ivur and Ivur didn't like him back.

"You're not listening again. Geralt is faster, he can do that without getting hit. For the rest of you, it's too risky, hence, don't fucking do it!" Lestek was getting angry.

Geralt raised an eyebrow to Ivur and shrugged.

"Why is he always so fucking special?!"

"I'm not special, you just suck at fencing," Geralt got offended.

"Oh excuse me, and you suck at making potions. Do you think you'll stay this pretty long if you don't know how to treat your wounds?" Ksemir pointed back.

"What?" Geralt knew he looked fine, but what it had to do with anything? Why call him that as an insult?

"He's not gonna be a witcher, he's gonna be a whore like his mother. Look, he even grew his hair like a girl," Ivur jumped over and tried to jerk the tail Geralt's been growing for several years to be more like Vesemir. Vesemir was swell and ladies liked him a lot.

"Kids, shut up! What are you even talking about? Ivur, sit back!"

Geralt didn't pay any attention to that, stretching out to hit Ivur in the face.

It was ugly and quick. Ivur managed to rip off some of Geralt’s hair and received a slap across his cheek and nose.

"Look, he even fights like a girl!" Ivur cried out with a nosebleed.

Geralt got even angrier. And his head hurt. He threw his blade without looking in the direction of Ksemir and rushed away, heading to the tower.

"Geralt, come back at once. You're grounded!"

"Fuck off!"

Maybe he was pretty. Maybe he was special. He didn’t ask for that, nor he asked to be grouped with Ivur and Ksemir today.

Eskel said Ivur was jealous because he himself was ugly as shit, and his mother actually was a whore. Eskel also told Geralt he did sometimes act like he was better than all of them.

It took him time to think it over - during the punishment was as good as ever. He decided he wanted to be not only better, but the best. Learn potions. Learn to braid his hair so no one would be able to touch it. Learn to fight so good no one will ever get in his reach.

Felix got back the next autumn. They had sex on the very night he returned, and it was so much better than jerking off alone. Felix kissed him and fucked him and called him pretty. And Geralt didn't mind, because Felix was beautiful too. He maybe fell in love with him, lighting up with a smile every time he spotted familiar red hair in the halls, and that love lived in him for several years. They stilled called him pretty and special. Felix rubbed his nose over Geralt’s neck and asked “so what?”

"You'll make it. They trained you well, didn't they?" Felix said, and Geralt believed him.

Trial of Medallion only left four of them alive. Ivur died. Geralt didn't feel sorry.

They started to study signs after that, their medallions humming on their chests warm and pleasant. Eskel suddenly turned out genius at it.

Geralt forgot about potions and started to spend more time in the library, reading Monster books and History. He copied the stories about knights on their writing classes. Kaer Morhen only had so many books in the library because witchers wrote them themselves, page after page. Geralt did it well enough they even let him copy a small bestiary with drawings.

He trained more. Got good enough they let him enter their annual fighting contest, with witchers of all ages competing in front of others. He had learned enough potion recipes to survive. How to help wounded people and wounded witchers. Funnily, he also got excellent at scything, making sure Kaer Morhen's horses always had enough grass for the winter.

The first time he's been to a contract with a mentor, it went well. The first time he went to clean a wyvern in the mountains, he came back with not a drop of blood.

When he turned seventeen, Geralt met Felix. He had no idea why they never spoke before. Felix was five years older and has already spent his first year on the Path. They spent evenings on the castle walls, talking about everything, starting with the stars and ending with the upcoming Trial.

He could not make a Quen just as steady as Eskel's, but his Heliotrope worked well, and it's not like there were many bruxas out there.

With a newly chosen name (sadly not the one he wished for), he was ready. Or so he thought. Because aldermen had different opinion.

"Alderman Mislaw? You've written you have harpies nesting nearby. I can..."

"Do they have girl witchers too, now? Get out of my sight! Thank god a normal witcher already took care of them."

Maybe he had to break his nose of something.

"Sorry, what?"

"I'm here about your contract. It says you have a wraith. I can help."

"Sorry, boy, I guess I wasn't clear enough. Get the hell out of here."

"But it's a wraith. You need a witcher for that, I know how to deal with them. You are the contract issuer, right?"

"And a witcher we'll wait for. You are no witcher."

"I am! You see my medallion?"

"I don't care who they give those to these days, but you look younger than my son, and he's fifteen. Get out and stop wasting my fucking time."

The son was taller than Geralt and had a small beard. At fifteen. Kids these days...

"I've killed a cockatrice just a mile away from here. Is there a reward for it?"

"A cockatrice?"

"Skoffin? Kurolishek? I don't know how you call it, but it's there, too big to carry here. I have its feathers and claws with me, if we could just walk..."

"You say you killed our skoffin? Sorry lad, don't believe you. He's a tough one, our skoffin. And you should better go ask for a place in a brothel. All better than to try and portray a witcher. Feathers, huh. I can take those from my chicken and say I killed a skoffin too!"

He had to buy a horse. Absolutely had to. Or get better knives, suitable for ripping off cockatrices' heads.

It took time, but he got there. Started to be recognised around Kaedwin. Used connections other witchers had, spreading their tale about people the same way people talked about them. Geralt had a good reputation and almost felt he became a bit of a knight from those tales he loved once.

And Blaviken stayed that way. Even with the massacre that happened on the market, people were safe. Stregobor left, Renfri was dead as well as her henchmen. People will bury them, clean the blood off the streets, forget it ever happened and live their life in peace, as earlier.

But it all changed so much after Blaviken. So much he never thought it could.

Blaviken used to be a nice place. A place with friends, with good folk who were friendly on the streets and treated wounded witchers well. Caldemeyn, the alderman, knew him thanks to several contracts and always made sure he had a place to stay. It was a peaceful town. No serious monsters around.

There were no real monsters in the world. Only the ones created by humans and humans themselves.

Geralt trailed away, deeply affected by the turn of events. He didn't care about Stregobor's fate. He didn't care that Caldemeyn despised what he had done. But Renfri, the Shrike, and her choices... He only had himself to blame, really. Blame the hope, the belief he had in people. He trusted her to leave town, trusted her to step back and be reasonable. And now he had blood all over his hands, hers and of those murderers, she brought with her.

It wasn't his fault. She had her chance to leave. She was the once making the wrong decision.

Roach got left in a nearby village. He walked there, buried in his thoughts, happy that all the potions and possessions were there, and that he had a paper about that donkey will be returned with him. Getting problems in the village as well would have been a nightmare.

It felt like a dream. The cozy evening they had a night before with alderman and his wife, Marilka asking stupid questions five-year-olds asked. The sex. The morning, the realization.

Snow was late this year, so he made it in time. The castle met him with familiar noise, hugs, warm bathhouse, cellars full of grain and wine, and children, jumping around in excitement. His story about what happened only got one reaction: advice to stay the fuck away from humans, Geralt, when will you learn. It was home, warm evenings, the silence of the land covered in snow and nights not so silent. When the spring came, he almost forgot about it, pushed far enough away not to think.

Eskel, Emir and Geralt left together. They took a contract together too, taking care of a huge and mad troll near Ard Carraigh, and split up, deciding to meet in several months in Tridam, to make a run for Kovir with its never-ending gold.

It was a good year. Until Geralt got to Tridam, as planned.

Roach, his good old Roach, smelled familiar and grounding. Geralt explained the donkey cart situation, thought about everything for a moment, collected his stuff and rode away, now to Holopole instead of Yspaden. After Blaviken, he wanted to spend the winter home.

The nickname followed him from a town to town. Ironically, he was now known as a Butcher in the northern part of Nothern kingdoms, the areas surrounding Kaer Morhen. In Temeria, Lyria and Cintra people didn't care much. Maybe Vesemir was right all those years ago, and saying he was from Rivia was indeed a good choice. He now spent most of his time further and further from home, avoiding the villages who's managed to learn the word of mouth. Only fifteen years later he passed by Blaviken, heading up to Kovir. Rode his horse cautiously and listened carefully to people murmuring around.

"Geralt! You're here too. Come over, join. Lech, this is Geralt, Geralt, Lech is a genius in gwent. You need to play with him. I lost twice already, and his cards aren't even good! Come."

It was good to see Emir again. The Path was lonely, but with other witchers around, it was easy to feel included. Normal.

Lech was already drunk and sent Geralt a wink.

"How bout strip gwent?"

Geralt smiled, unsure of what to answer. He set his saddlebags down, planning to sit down next to Emir on the bench, when someone pushed him forward. The push was strong enough that the table shattered, making Emir's ale fall on the floor.

"What the fuck," Geralt muttered and turned around.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing? I payed for that!" Emir raised to stand.

"We don’t want him here."

"What do you mean?" Geralt held Emir's shoulder.

"I mean, we don't want your kind here!" the man, who appeared sober and pissed, spit on the ground between them. It attracted attention and the tavern turned almost silent, deafening after the noise it usually produced.

"What do you mean, our kind?" Emir has met some witcher-haters, but he wasn't in the mood.

"I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to him," the man pointed to Geralt. "He killed half a village in Blaviken. Everybody knows that. A witcher with white hair. He's a monster! A butcher!" the man screamed.

The murmur around got louder.

"Hey, it's my brother you're talking about! Geralt is a decent man!"

"But I haven't... I killed the Shrike. Blaviken was safe," Geralt muttered.

"I've heard that too!" a woman from the crowd screamed suddenly. "My son was there, he helped to bury the bodies. It was a massacre!"

One by one, food started to hit them. The man pushed Geralt again, and suddenly the whole tavern became a pitfall. Geralt grabbed his bags and squished through to the exit door, followed by Emir screaming out blusters back. They had to run to their horses, axiing them and as many people around as they could, and abandoned the Tridam on full gallop, hearing the screams thrown their way.

"This is the Butcher of Blaviken," the village boy whispered to a girl who looked like his sister.

"Are you sure?" the girl whispered back.

"Yes. It's him. White hair, you see, pale as a witcher, and the two swords."

The girl's eyes went round as she blushed.

"Oh. I just didn't expect him to be so pretty."

Geralt hid his smile by lowering his head. Well, maybe it wasn't a curse after all.

There was a man standing behind him with a determined look on his face.

#geraltwhumpweek #he's not really suffering here #but i tried #pretty geralt #kaer morhen #or at least some descriptions of it #hard witcher fate #lol #did i really write this

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buckskinblues · 4 years

Text

I feel like a lot of people need to re-evaluate how they treat random Christians just because they have baggage. Listen, I get it. You don’t know how much I get it. But a complete stranger practicing their faith, who hasn’t said anything negative to you or about anyone, isn’t out to get you. The bible quotes they put on their social media aren’t going to make you bleed. They may be annoying and even cringe inducing (I know, I know I hate seeing all the bad edits on Facebook and people saying they’ll pray for me/someone/whatever but I solve this by simply not using Facebook because fuck Facebook seriously). But being Christian doesn’t make someone a bigot--being ignorant and hateful does. And it’s time people stopped thinking it was #woke to act like they’re the same thing. It isn’t acceptable behavior towards anyone of any other religion, so don’t make an exception here.

Like, I grew up in the Bible Belt™. My mom became Pentecostal/Apostolic when I was very young because my dad’s side of the family was (even though my dad never went to church or anything). If you were a girl you couldn’t wear pants, your skirts had to be below the knee, you couldn’t have more than two fingers from the collarbone of chest showing, you couldn’t wear sleeveless shirts, you couldn’t wear makeup or pierce your ears or paint your nails, you couldn’t cut your hair, if you wore jewelry it had to be very minimal and since you couldn’t get anything pierced it was usually just a necklace, if you were a boy you had to keep your hair short and be clean shaven (older guys could have a bit of a beard if it was groomed well). We didn’t just go to church. Church was every Sunday...two times every Sunday. A morning service and an evening service (and then people would usually go out to eat and socialize with other church goers on Sundays and by the time that was all over it was basically time for church again so it was like a church day all day long). But you also had one service on Saturday too! And open prayer night on Wednesdays. And you had to get dressed up in nice clothes for every single one. In the summer kids would be sent to church camp. Every year there was a big meeting where a bunch of people from all over a certain region would go travel to all go...to church together. It was just all church all the time. And the services usually lasted at least two hours. Sunday school and those dumb Christmas plays the kids do, cookouts at the church, church functions--you eat, sleep, live, and breathe church. All your friends go to church, all the social functions are connected to church. Church church church church church this word has no meaning anymore. It’s just noise.

I remember mom going through our clothes and throwing away all the pants we used to have because we weren’t allowed to wear them anymore. It’s one of my earliest memories. I remember always being excited to go to grandma’s house because she wasn’t religious later on in life (and even then she’d never been in any type so strict) and she’d let me play dress up and put on lipstick she no longer wore that often. Things that to some people on Tumblr would be a sign of “enforcing gender roles” but was liberating to me, in a way, because it was an aspect of femininity and “growing up” that was kept from me otherwise.

Harry fucking Potter was banned for being witchcraft. These people saw JKR as a literal evil witch in bed with the devil. I shit you not. It’s actually kind of ironic because the fanbase these days might be inclined to agree even if they’re only being hyperbolic. Pokemon was banned. Yu-Gi-Oh! was banned. I remember finding a YGO card somehow and feeling like I had stumbled across an occult artifact. The pull of the taboo was strong but it also felt like it was literally dangerous somehow because it was hammered in so much that these things were bad and would make you bad (now I have some YGO cards of my own...mostly just to have them. I don’t even play the game that much and I really suck at it). Later on when my mom let me read the Harry Potter books I had to keep them hidden from my dad and that side of the family for the time I was still forced to be in contact with them. I had to treat these shitty books like they were fucking contraband.

I remember when my mom was trying to go through a divorce, because she found out my dad was a pedophile (and that’s a whole other can of worms because a lot of the guys on his side of the family were also child molesters), the pastor at our church basically told her that she should stay with him because it’d be easy for him to find another wife. I remember how after the divorce we left the church because everyone looked down on my mom for leaving her husband and we “backslid”. All the people we’d ever known and had connections with just turned on us. The entirety of my dad’s side of the family pretty much disowned me even though I was their family. I don’t really care though because they pretty much all sucked. I found out a few years ago that my paternal grandma died. I didn’t give a shit.

I remember forgetting my dad had visitation on Wednesdays, and spending a lot of time earlier in the day painting my nails (something my mom let me do now that we weren’t part of the church but my dad--despite not going to church or ever praying or anything--still expected me to follow). And rushing inside from playing when I saw his truck coming and racing to wash it all off, shaking, because I was terrified of what would happen if he found out a little girl thought it was fun to have tacky red nails.

And my first exposure to what “being gay” was, was the story of my mom’s friend from the church whose husband “just left her one day and ran off with another man”. I don’t know his side of the story to this day but years later I suspect there is much more nuance to it than “man betrays his wife by suddenly deciding to be a sodomite out of the clear blue”. Everyone saw this woman as a victim of betrayal. But now I say “good for him”. He fucked off to Florida and never looked back. Wise.

It was backwards and suffocating. Growing up out in the middle of nowhere stuck in this environment (and on top of that autistic/ADHD and later on I’d discover bisexual) was...not good. So I get the baggage. I understand it on a visceral level. To this day I don’t go to church. I always refuse whenever my mom and step-dad go even if I know they go to a nice one that’s only on Sundays, and only for an hour, and people attend in casual wear. When people ask I simply say I’m not religious.

I could go on forever with weird and disturbing anecdotes like this. But I just really want to illustrate that I get it, I get it, I get it.

My point is that none of this shit I had to go through justifies me being hateful in turn to people just living their life and having a faith. Not all Christians are insane Pentecostals who think Harry Potter will turn your children into devil worshippers. So the next time you see a bible quote pop up on your Facebook, just sigh and keep scrolling. I really don’t see that much of a difference between Karen quoting Psalms whatever number and Becky posting an emoji spell likes charge reblogs cast or something.

#personal bullshit #writing this out also has made me realize......that wow i #i really repress a lot of fucked up shit

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sourwolfstories · 6 years

Note

Hey! Can you rec some sterek soulmate! Fics pls? Thank you so much

Marked by Verya

The name of a person’s soulmate appears on their skin, in that person’s handwriting, at the age of twenty. Derek has been wondering for the past several years, what kind of name is Mieczyslaw?

Body Language by LadyMerlin

In an alternate universe, soulmates exist, and they can communicate with each other by writing on their own skin.

The catch? No one knows their soulmates’ name. It could literally be anyone under the sun, and Stiles just doesn’t have that kind of patience.

Ink Me by AsagiStilinski

Derek is never going to find his soulmate, because there’s no way in hell there exists a man named Mieczyslaw in Beacon Hills

Then Erica hires Stiles

Beat by Kalira

Derek’s heartsong isn’t quite normal, but he’s always loved the drumming beat that winds through his dreams. He didn’t expect to find that its origin, his other half, has been waiting right in front of him.

Accidents Happen by pyrrhical (anoyo)

Settling a soul bond was exactly as romantic as the movies made it seem: a simple kiss.

As it so happened, CPR worked, too.

Fate Thinks It’s Funny by AsagiStilinski

In a world where everyone has their soulmate’s first words to them printed on their wrists, Derek and Stiles end up with some of the worst: “Oh God please help” and “Derek” respectively

To be fair, their first meeting is almost as ridiculous as it sounds like it would be

Take My Mind, Take My Pain by LessonsFromMoths

Soulmate AU where you have a black stain where your soulmate is supposed to touch you for the first time and it turns to millions of colors once they do.Stiles was born with a very visible black palm on his cheek.

Three Marks by sanam

“And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off—And suddenly it was done.Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt.”

Derek and Stiles learn that bonding is probably best done with ridiculous amounts of video games and maybe a little bit of time.

In Name Only by Cobrilee

In a world where no one finds out who their soulmate is until after they get married, Stiles concocts the perfect scheme: marry his long-time client, Derek Hale…

You know. Just to find out who he should be marrying.

There’s no way this could go wrong.

Yeah, Pass The Salt, Stiles by CallieB

Yeah, pass the salt, Stiles.

They’re not particularly inspiring words. Not like the long stream of goo spilling over Scotty’s arm. But somewhere, Stiles’ soulmate is out there, waiting to say them to him.

If only he could stop thinking about the mysterious hot stranger he met in the woods.

A Second Chance at First Impressions by Cobrilee

Derek grew up with the world’s most embarrassing soulmark, which is honestly not the best first impression his soulmate could make. Then he meets the guy, and all of a sudden the soulmark doesn’t matter quite so much after all.

spice up your life! by callunavulgari

“I said,” the girl drawls, setting her elbow down in a saucer of ketchup and grimacing. “That this whole soulmate thing is fucking stupid. You’re supposed to find someone based off of the music they’re listening to? How would you even know what was really stuck in your head and what was in theirs? It’s complete shit.”

Derek, who has had everything from Dancing Queen to the Barney theme song stuck in his head all night, winces, and says abruptly, “I think my soulmate is in middle school.”

Secondhand Soulmate by AnnoyinglyCute, Inell

Not always, not even most of the time, but sometimes – 24% of the time, statistically speaking – people meet their soulmates and live happily ever after.

THIS isn’t that story.

This is the story of Stiles Stilinski, whose soulmate died before he was born. This is the story of all the sorrows and heartache Stiles experienced, all the bullying and oppression from those who should know better but didn’t. This is also the story of the friendships Stiles made along the way, of the battles he fought – and won – and the love that endured through it all.

I Was Present While You Were Unconscious by CharWright5

Stiles had often thought about how he’d meet his soul mate, the literal muscular man of his dreams. He just didn’t ever imagine finding him on Facebook where a friend had shared a news article about a werewolf John Doe in a coma after a car wreck four hours out of town. And he also didn’t expect to bond and fall in love with the guy’s family before ever saying two words to him out loud.

Written in the Stars by Quixoticity

Derek Hale is a lucky guy. He’s got a great family, good friends, and a fulfilling job as a tattoo artist.

He’s also one of the twenty-five per cent of the population born with a soul mark.

He likes his life, but he’s waiting for his soul-match. The odds of meeting them aren’t great but hey, Derek’s a lucky guy. He has faith.

He can’t believe how good his luck really is when one day his soul-match wanders right into his studio, all long limbs and copper eyes. There’s just one problem: Stiles is there to get his soul mark covered up. Permanently.

94%, Dude by eeyore9990

The guy was really too young for the leather daddy aesthetic, but with the leather and the more-beard-than stubble and the eyebrows… Yeah, he was kinda working the hot grumpy leather daddy biker gang leader look.

And Stiles liked it.

***

For the prompt: Sterek soul mark fic wherein marks never match, they just line up perfectly to be a shape.

Marks and Mics by DLanaDHZ

Hale siblings Derek and Laura have been hired to run security for Stiles Stilinski’s music tour. Business as usual, except someone is trying really hard to prove they’re incapable and hurt Stiles. Derek finds himself curious about Stiles’ bitter attitude and a strange illness that plagues the singer. And on top of that, Derek’s soulmate remains elusive.

Worth Waiting For by yodasyoyo

Stiles slumps further in his desk chair, and stares disconsolately out of his bedroom window. Perhaps he should be celebrating. After all, this afternoon a soulmark appeared on his wrist revealing the name of his soulmate.

He has a soulmate.

Fuck. He scrubs one hand across his face.

This is a disaster.

Covered in Fur and (Your) Words by OverMyFreckledBody

People that said that the words on your skin - the first ones from your soulmate - didn’t matter or affect your life were big fat liars. Stiles is one hundred percent sure he wouldn’t have started creating costumes if it weren’t for the words What the hell kind of costume is that? on his arm. He’s also sure that if he never got into the hobby, he would never have met the man who said them.

Model Material by dobrien

Prompt: Soulmates AU where any tattoos one half of the soulmate pairing get show up on the other person’s body. Can be taken in any direction the author wants but no suicide etc.Model/Soulmate AU: Stiles finds out who his soulmate is and he’s willing to do what it takes to meet them, even if that means becoming a model for Alpha Fashion Magazine.

The Possibility of Silence and the Reality of Sound by crossroadswrite

Derek grew up knowing that soulmates are something to be cherished, so when he got a voice in his head, childish thoughts and flashes of color and objects, he’d excitedly jumped on his mother’s bed to tell her. She had smiled, ruffled his hair and told him how she was proud of him, even though Derek hadn’t really done anything.

I’m Lost In You by matildajones

He knows he should move but a part of him still feels paralyzed. He has clear feelings of not being able to move his body, of not being able to even blink.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, and he clambers to his feet, feeling dizzy. He easily finds a mirror in the room and then the most gorgeous eyes stare back at him. They’re a sea-green instead of the normal brown that he’s used to.

He’s looking at his soulmate.

–

Stiles wakes up in his soulmate’s body, on his twenty-second birthday, with blurry memories of the past year. Derek doesn’t wake up at all.

There’s a cup with his name on it by hellodickspeight

The sight before him is breathtaking. Wide opened whiskey eyes searching above his head, pink lips slightly parted, tongue wetting them as he considers his choice, messy brown hair sticking in every direction, moles dotting a pale skin, Derek can’t wait to ask for his name.

A soulmate AU where people have the first name of their soulmates written on their body.

Of Soulmates, Pseudonyms and Misunderstandings by halcyon1993

Ever since he asked his mother one evening why she had his dad’s name tattooed on the inside of her left wrist, Derek has dreamed of finding his soulmate. There’s only one problem—the name that appears on his wrist on his eighteenth birthday is something he can’t even read.

Soul-Mark by PaigeRhiann

His wolf purrs happily because it has taken eighteen years and getting his family killed to finally discover the name of his promised. The person he’s destined to be with. Or, as Werewolves call it – Mate.

“Genim S.” He repeats

“That’s a really fucking weird name” Laura snorts, turning back to the movie.

“Yeah, it is” he nods.

Connected by readridinghood

After the death of his wife, Stiles finds himself left alone with their three children, struggling to keep from being sucked into a void of grief and despair that her death left him with. Knowing his children are safe in the pack’s arms under Derek’s watchful eyes, he struggles to regain his footing. What do you do when the world keeps tumbling over you and what you’ve thought of as fact no longer holds true? As the world comes back into focus, so does the love for Derek he thought he’d long since conquered and now with his eyes open, what he thought was the end of him, is only a new beginning.A decade after he fell in love with Stiles, countless days of keeping himself restrained while building a friendship with him, Derek finds out with absolute certainty that Stiles is his mate. You only mate once in your life, so how is it that Stiles was mated to Sophia, his wife and mother of his three children, the woman he is grieving the loss of at the same moment that Derek makes his discovery.

An Unpredictable Amount of Turtles by skoosiepants

Stiles says, “I have a five year plan. A five year plan to popularity that will tank the minute I meet this guy.”

“I feel like you’re exaggerating,” Scott says, but Scott has a katana-wielding badass waiting for him at the other end of the rainbow, and Stiles has terrariums.

Or—

A soulmate au with turtles and angst.

Soul McMates by distortedreality

The black script magically inked onto Stiles’ skin at birth declares that the first thing he’ll say to his soulmate is “welcome to McDonalds, how may I help you”.

Stiles’ life was clearly destined to be a fucking joke from the start.

Who’s the Loser Now? by Scavenger

Stiles just expects to run and swim, hopefully come at least third place, and then go home. The universe has other plans.

To Leave A Mark by Fanfiction_is_Literature

Stiles Stilinski was born with a strange mark on his skin that resembled a paw print. No one thought much about it since birthmarks weren’t rare, but Stiles started to notice it change as he got older.

Derek Hale was a rare werewolf: the kind with a soulmark on his skin. But as tragedy struck both him and his mate, his interest dwindled in finding him or her. That is, until he started to notice similar changes from his mark in a certain teenaged boy with an alarming amount of moles.

Or: The Soulmate AU where soulmates are rare and get tattoo-looking marks on their skins that describe their mate.

Sparks (Your Touch) by stilesanderek (minxxx)

Stiles has always dreamed of imprinting. Of touching someone for the first time and feeling his world changing right then and there. Of knowing that that person would love you and be with you until the day you die. And yet nothing could have prepared him for with whom he finally imprints.

Or in which when Stiles gets promoted to detective, he gets a new partner, Laura Hale, with whom he instantly becomes best friend and who he thinks is the most perfect person to step into his life, the only problem being that her brother Derek hates his guts.

Countdown by actingup

0000d 00h 00m 37s

He always imagined meeting his soul mate would take forever; that time would slow down and he would see them walking towards him, he would know without a doubt who it was. It might have been someone he’s seen before but never talked to, or it might be a complete stranger that he never would have guessed. He didn’t imagine it in front of about a hundred people, maybe two-hundred, at a Dolphin show.

soulmates tbh by bleep0bleep

“It’s been five months,” Derek says darkly. “Why am I still getting these proposals? You know these are probably all fake marks.”

Five months since the paparazzi had snapped that photo of him with the overzealous fan tugging at his shirt, five months since millions of people on the Internet realized that the birthmark revealed was in fact, the mark, five months Derek was inundated by claims from people who desperately wanted him to believe that they were his soul-mate.

Soulseeker by alisvolatpropiis

Sighing, Stiles reaches for Derek’s big hands, cradled in his broad lap, his skin lighting up even more at Derek’s touch. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, preparing himself to look for Derek’s soulmate. Whoever you are, he thinks, you better be worth him.

#answered #anonymous #sterek #sterek fic rec #sterek fanfic #sterek fanfiction #soulmates au

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flve-hargreeves · 4 years

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( chris wood, 28, he/him ) class is in session for ANSEM WARBECK. their resume says they’re a WITCH and they’ve been teaching MENTAL MAGIC at the academy for THREE YEARS. the psychological report says they are LETHARGIC and CONTEMPTUOUS, but they’re also IRONWILLED and COMPASSIONATE. we wish them good luck in the new school year.

— * | ansem warbeck is the oldest child of ragnor and celena warbeck. he has a twin brother named arson and while they are identical, they couldn’t be more different. both ragnor and celena are influential members of the magical community and always prided themselves on having a stellar reputation. stellar isn’t quite so stellar though; they are morally gray. they never get into dark magic themselves, but their family has profited heavily from it over the years. ( think … war profiteers, i guess. they never get their hands dirty but they have plenty of blood money ). arson is the dutiful son, the good son, and ansem’s always been the disappointment who couldn’t live up to their expectations. ( the michael bluth )

ansem was never good at doing what he was told and rebelled against the behaviours his parents tried to ingrain in him. he never listened, always liked to do his own thing, and never bought into the whole ‘pureblood supremacy’ thing that they tried to drill into his head. so what if they came from an old witch family? la creme de la crop? magic was magic. he figured if you could do it, you were just as good as anyone else. ( his family disagreed. ) he started at arcanas when he was eleven, like his descendants before him, and was a member of house aquis.

personality wise, ansem is sharp, sarcastic, and doesn’t have a high tolerance for people. the list of people he dislikes is longer than those he likes. he likes to have a good laugh ( sometimes at the expense of others ) and isn’t one to take on responsibility. ironic, given he’s now teaching at the school he used to go to. for someone as intelligent as he is, he does the least amount of work possible and does well but never really exceeds his own expectations. he’s incredibly lazy and can usually be found snacking or napping around the school.

shortly after graduation he worked as a for hire curse breaker. if there was a hex you couldn’t undo, or a curse on your family name, he was the guy you called to fix it. he was good too. it was only after a curse backfired and nearly killed him that he got scared and backed out of it. the fear was greater than the love he had. arcanas was safe, a reminder of good days (and far far away from his family) so he was happy to ya yeet out of the real world. less than a year after graduation, he was enrolled at a magical college and eventually became a mental magic teacher.

another point of irony, given how much he claims to hate people, is the story of how a twenty/twenty one year old mess accidentally adopted an eleven year old. it was an assignment from one of the teachers or housemasters, a mentorship program between tenth and first years. he was assigned jade brantley and at first ? oh boy did he hate her. or rather, the responsibility he felt towards her. it became pretty evident the more he got to know her that they were put together for a reason. her family had sent her to arcanas without so much as a second look and couldn’t have cared less if they ever saw her again. she stayed behind at the school for christmas, as did he to avoid tense family dinners with the warbecks, and that was when their mentorship started to become more like family.

by the end of the year, he looked at her like — his kid, if he was being honest. it was kind of terrifying, wanting to protect another person from the realities of their life, but he knew it was the right decision to make. it helped that his partner agreed; they’d come to care about jade in those months too, and they both knew it was the right call. he contacted her parents, assumed temporary guardianship, and she moved in with them that summer after they graduated. ( the individual that set all of this up, the cheeky bastard, sent them a potted plant as a housewarming gift. a plant that would have needed to have been potted SIX MONTHS EARLIER. he’d be mad about getting played if he wasn’t so happy. )

they formally adopted jade a few years later. they were already family in everything but blood and name — it was simply a formality. the three of them — four, if you counted jessica the cat ( famously known for stepping on faces ) — had been more of a family than any of his blood relatives had ever been. he’s never regretted his choices.

that being said, things weren’t always happy. he and his partner fought a lot, sometimes over nothing and couldn’t remember why they ever loved each other in the first place. but this isn't a story about vindictive exes, it's about two people that do love each other, probably always will, but just didn't love being together anymore. they're excellent co-parents to their adopted daughter and they're working their way back to being best friends even though it's a little awkward. they split up roughly three years ago, shortly after ansem started teaching at arcanas.

he was a bit of a mess that first year, i won’t lie. he probably drank too much, smoked like a chimney, and was trying to remember how to be a person instead of 1/2 of a couple. he’d been with his partner almost his entire life, it was a process — discovering himself again. he eventually started seeing jude montague ( who, ironically, he’d always had a schoolboy crush on when he was a student ) who also taught at the school. one thing led to another and they’ve recently taken things to the next level: they got married. ansem’s still a little terrified this one is going to go belly up too, that he’s going to mess things up, but they’re still in the newlywed phase so he’s not quite as pessimistic on their outlook. it also helps that his family hates jude: 1. he’s much older, even without the whole phoenix thing, 2. he’s not a pureblood witch who comes from a good family name, and 3. he’s a man. yeah, celena warbeck was not happy and threatened to cut him off. she didn’t, of course, but his father hasn’t spoken a single word to him ever since they got married. it’s a game now, trying to see if he can say or do something to make him break. so far, he hasn’t won.

when he’s not staying at arcanas, watching over his water demons, he’s at his house nearby. now that he’s married jude, however, the clan ( bc ansem doesn’t go anywhere without jade, jessica, and by extension kit ) will be moving into his definitely-haunted house nearby. it’s an old victorian, fits jude’s goth boy aesthetic perfectly, and tbh as long as it has decent wifi and an espresso machine? he’ll be fine.

he’s been teaching mental magic at arcanas academy for three years, so connections can be assumed with other staff members and students !! he’s also been the housemaster for aquis, who he refers to as his water demons, so that’s opportunities for connections too! ( there’s also a 99% chance he calls all of his students by pokemon names. sorry not sorry. ) he’s your typical panic first, think logically later, type person, so if he heard about the orb being stolen he’d fear for their inevitable demise. y’know, chaotic and assuming the worst case scenario from the get go.

so that’s basically him in essence. see some quick stats below for more tidbits.

— * | BASICS !

NAME: — ansem ragnorius warbeck.

NICKNAME(S): — ansem.

PRONOUNS: —he/him.

AGE/DOB: — twenty seven / july 25th. ( he’s almost 28, so don’t @ me )

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: — pansexual.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: — panromantic.

ETHNICITY: — caucasian.

NATIONALITY: — british.

HOMETOWN: — manchester, uk.

EDUCATION: — he previously attended arcanas, aquis house. four years @ a magical college near aurora / arcanas school.

— * | PERSONALITY !

STAR SIGN: — leo.

PERSONALITY TYPE: — ESTP.

ALIGNMENT: — chaotic neutral.

PHOBIA(S): — enclosed spaces, clowns, snakes.

VICE(S): — cynicism, impatience, vindictiveness, spitefulness.

VIRTUE(S): — accountability, candor, realism, honesty, loyalty.

— * | RELATIONS !

PARENT(S): — ragnor and celena warbeck.

SIBLING(S): — arson warbeck ( twin brother. )

SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): — married.

— * | PHYSICAL !

FACECLAIM: — chris wood.

HEIGHT: — 6'0.

WEIGHT: — 71kg.

EYE COLOR: — brown.

HAIR COLOR: — brown.

GLASSES/CONTACTS: — n/a.

TATTOOS: — n/a.

PIERCINGS: — n/a.

SCARS: — jagged scar across his collarbone.

— * | MEDICAL !

ALLERGIES: — shellfish.

SMOKING/ALCOHOL/DRUGS: — former smoker. he hasn’t had a cigarette in approx. 112 days. he drinks more than he should. no drug use.

DIAGNOSES: — n/a.

BLOOD TYPE: — universal donor.

***

AESTHETICS:

NEATLY TRIMMED BEARD, LAZY SMIRKS, SARCASTIC QUIPS. THE MICHAEL BLUTH. REAL LIFE NATHAN DRAKE. BLEEDS COFFEE NOT BLOOD. UNHEALTHY OBSESSION WITH TEEN MAGAZINE QUIZZES.

CONNECTIONS

students with an aptitude for mental magic that he provides additional / advanced work for to challenge them. (2/2) dominic masters & rome hawks.

students who need extra help in one or more of the aspects of his curriculum. this would include after hours help, extra assignments, or one on one attention if they were struggling with concepts (1/4): ella bloom.

students that give him a hard time in class for one reason or another. could be people who sleep in class, talk back, distract others, etc. (1/??): morgan stife.

the unholy trinity: fellow teachers who like to get together and be chaotic, shittalk their students, and forget they’re not seventeen anymore bc they’re fucking idiots who like to troll (2/2): maximus & reserved

fellow teachers who like to get together and drink wine after stressful days, or just when they feel like it tbh. (1/????) maxwell gray.

a rival/enemy from when he was @ arcanas who now also works at arcanas. he can’t remember why they don’t like each other but he’s dedicated to the feud. it’s petty, he knows, but he sucks at admitting he’s wrong. (0/1)

ex-wife. see wanted connections. (0/1)

childhood friend. fellow witches who would have hung around people who were haughty and thought they were better than everyone else. ansem’s parents thought they were hot shit so maybe their parents felt the same. they both rebelled against what their parents wanted for them and it bonded them. (0/1)

partner in crime. (28 years old) this person was very different from ansem. different species, a little more serious, the kind of person you wouldn’t expect to be friends with him. they’re probably the only reason ansem even passed his exams, forced to study, and he forced this friend to actually have fun and live a little. they’re still close but maybe fell out of touch over the years. this person would be new to arcanas as a staff member, or teacher, but would be an alumnus preferably from house aquis but could be any.

others to be added when it isn’t 2am and my brains fried.

#arcanas:intro

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creator-zee · 5 years

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133

I could hardly blend in in this form, so I was forced to wait. To wait until dark, until I was just another monster in the shadows. I saw the tall man, handsome, some may call him, but I didn’t see that. All I saw was the red target painted on his back. He was going to die tonight and he was going to die by my hand. He was walking on a side street, completely deserted except for himself - and me. I slipped out of the alley I was watching from and slipped into his shadow. I was a mere foot from him, and yet he had no idea. Cat and mouse. He was the mouse. I was the cat. And he had no idea.

I pounced.

I covered his mouth with one hand and wrapped one arm around his chest, lifting him up and dragging him into a deserted alley. His screams were muffled by my hand. I slammed him into the wall, knocking him out. I dropped his limp body before crouching over it and ripping out his throat. I slashed my claws, once, twice, across his chest. Blood poured out of him. He was dead.

I leveled my gaze with the man across from me. He was short and stoutly, sporting a large bushy beard. I didn’t know him, but he was the only other sober person at this bar. How he could stand to be sober around all these drunken idiots was beyond me? He clearly wasn’t a vampire, like me, and unable to get drunk, so I couldn’t understand his choice. Most sober people don’t go to bars alone.

“What do you want?” He growled.

“Nothing.” I raised my hand in the sign for surrender.

“Stop staring at me then.” He grumbled.

I nodded and slid off my stool. I didn;t need to get into another fight. I clearly wasn’t going to find anyone here capable of giving consent so I might as well move on. I left a five for the bartender on the bar and slipped through the throngs of people and out the door. I breathed in the fresh air and turned down the street.

I let out a gasp as the air was shoved out of my lungs. A large furry mass pinned me to the wall. I felt it bite me on the neck and I returned the favor, gagging as the taste of werewolf blood filled my mouth. At least it caused them to let me go. I shoved them off me. It wasn’t the full moon. How was a werewolf shifted? Were they newly turned? Why attack a vampire?

They stared at me for a split second before running further into the alley. I gave chase. I was fast, but so were they. I could barely stay on their trail, much less close the gap. I gave up, when we left the city and entered the rolling hills covered with woods. It wasn’t worth it. It was just one bite. It would heal by morning. I covered my hand over the bite. It was bleeding a surprising amount. I would probably need blood. Great. Wonderful. I pulled out my phone and looked up the nearest blood bank. I can’t say I miss the days where I had to kill for food, but it was certainly more convenient. But, I suppose that’s the price for no longer being staked or burned on sight.

I walked in the sliding glass doors, blinking at the harsh white of the room. I groaned when I saw the line. I went over to the little machine and took a number. 436. They were “now serving” 395. I take back what I said earlier. I miss the old days. I sat in a chair next to a little old lady, and occupied myself with a game on my phone, one hand still pressed over my bleeding neck. Weird. Why hadn’t it stopped yet?

“Are you going to go to the police?” The lady asked. It took me a second to realize that she was talking to me.

“What?” I asked, somewhat stupidly.

“Are you going to report whoever bit you?” She asked again.

I shook my head, immediately regretting it when the bite began bleeding more. “No. It’s just one bite. It’s not worth the effort.”

I shrunk under her penetrating gaze. “Besides, the human police don’t like vampires. Especially, not ones with records. They wouldn’t take it seriously. What’s the harm after all. It’s just a vampire who can heal. Not a big deal when you're dealing with homicides”

“Ah, racism.” The little old lady said. “Never goes away, just changes. I should know.”

I turned to her interested, when you live forever you begin to collect stories. Yours, others. THis sounded like an interesting story.

“Do tell.” I said, perhaps too eagerly.

“Oh really,” She laughed. “A young man like you would humor an old lady.

I chuckled. “Careful who you call young. I might be older than your mother.”

Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Perhaps, but I doubt that.”

“So, you’re story...” I prompted.

“Ah yes... well, when I was a young girl...”

I listened attentively to her story of growing up black in the rural south. Unfortunately, I had heard many stories like hers, but I still appreciated the small differences, filing it away in my brain. I was almost sad when I had to go when my number was called. I walked up to the counter, looking at the sleep-deprived human. If only they trusted vampires (whose natural clock was nocturnal) instead of forcing humans to work graveyard hours.

“What can I do for you?” The exhausted human asked, mechanically.

“Two blood packs please.”

“That will be ten dollars.” He informs me, typing something on the screen in front of him.

I regretfully hand over 10 dollars. Another thing about the old days. Never had to pay for food.

“Thank you, please come again.” He says and hands me my order.

I nod and leave. I glance over at where the old lady had been sitting, but she’s gone. I shrug and leave, opening one of the blood bags and greedily slurping it down. I remove my hand from the wound. It’s finally stopped bleeding and I can feel the skin knitting itself back together I ran my fingers over the freshly healed tissue, feeling the slight raise of a scar. Well damn. That sucks. I don’t normally scar. I sighed and quickly downed the second blood bag before throwing both away. I made my way back to my apartment. It was almost sunrise. I was exhausted.

Cup of coffee in hand, I stared at the gruesome murder scene before me. A man was lying face up in a pool of his own blood. His throat had been ripped out and claw marks were racked against his chest. His forehead was also covered in blood. Judging from the blood on the wall, his head had been slammed against it. A medical examiner was crouched over the body.

“These bites are definitely from a werewolf.” She said, looking up at me.

“But, last night wasn’t a full moon.” I pointed out.

She stood and shrugged. “Could’ve been newly turned. When they are first bitten, they transform.”

I sighed. “Anything else that will help us identify the killer, since I doubt we will just find a werewolf running around town.”

“They weren’t very careful, so it’s possible they left some DNA behind. I will look into it.” She told me, crouching back down.”

“Do we have an ID on the victim?” I asked.

An officer to my right shook his head. “Nope. We are going to run his DNA and fingerprints too.”

“Thank you.” I told them, turning away, and heading back to my car. I would look into the victim back at the office, maybe I would find some hints of who he was and who would want him dead. If this wasn’t just a random kill caused from the first shift. Some days I wish I didn’t work in the supernatural unit. I sat down at my desk, and sighed. I began looking up missing person reports and cross-referencing them to see if any matched the victim. No luck. So this guy was a nobody.

My phone rang. I picked it up.

“Hello, detective?”

“Yes?”

“We found a business card on the victim, for a ‘Mike the Magician.’ I’m sending you a picture of the card. That might be a place to start. We also found his phone. We sent it to our Torres for her to open it up”

“Thank you.” I hung up the phone. I opened my email. A new file had been sent. I opened it up. It was a picture of a business card. I called the number. No luck. No answer.

I sighed. Maybe Torres would find something to help me ID this guy. My phone rang again. It was Torres.

“Please tell me you have something.” I said. “I’ve reached a dead end with trying to figure out who this guy is.”

“I’ve got something. Someone called his phone just a few seconds ago. I’m tracking the number now.”

“Great.”

“Not so great Detective. It’s your number.”

“Oh, so he’s Mike the Magician. I just called the business card they found in his pocket.”

“Oh, well, he hasn't made any recent calls or texts or emails. His phone is basically bare bones. I’m not sure why he has it.”

“For his company?” I suggested. “I’m going to look into it. Keeping trying to dig something up.”

“Of course. I’ll call you if I find anything.”

She hung up and I sighed. Great. Another dead end. I looked up Mike the Magician, but only found references to a different Magic Mike who looked nothing like the victim. I sighed again as I closed the tab. I was getting nowhere.

I called Torres back. “Hey, Torres. I’ve got nothing on his business card.”

“Nothing on his phone either, and forensics came back. His fingerprints and DNA don;t match anything in the system.”

“Great, so we have nothing.”

“We do also have the DNA of the werewolf, but it doesn’t match anything either.”

“Let me know if you have any more leads. I’m going to go get lunch.”

“Will do.”

I hung up, grabbing my jacket and leaving the office. Dead end after dead end. Not even an ID on the victim. Only thing we know about the killer is that they’re a werewolf, recently turned. Makes sense that their DNA wouldn’t match anything. It changes when someone is turned. I pulled my jacket tighter against the brisk air as I walked down the street. I buried the lower half of my face in the collar to protect it from the cold. As such, I was staring down at the sidewalk and caught completely unawares when a large figure suddenly appeared in my peripheral. I startled, stepping backwards and looking up. I froze for a split-second as my eyes landed on the large, gray, humanoid form of a werewolf.

“You’re under arrest.” I said, pulling out my gun.

The werewolf looked at me with an unreadable expression, but raised their hands in surrender.

I holstered my gun, and pulled out my handcuffs, turning the werewolf around and tightening them.

“Come on, let’s go.” I said. We were barely a block from the police station. No need to call a car to pick them up.

I walked them through the front doors, addressing the shocked officers. “Finally found a suspect.”

Two of them took the werewolf away and put him in an interrogation room.

“Can you get a DNA sample from him?” I asked them, and they nodded. Maybe this case wouldn’t be so hard after all. I just had to show that the DNA matched, and I was home free. Luck seemed to be on my side.

Luck was not on my side. The DNA didn’t match. I was still keeping the werewolf though. If they weren’t our killer, but were still recently turned, then they had to have been turned by a different werewolf, perhaps the killer. Unfortunately, this meant I had to wait until the werewolf could talk. And, depending on when they were bitten, that might be several hours. Assuming they were bit after the murder last night, then that places the time of being bit around midnight. The first shift generally lasts around 24 hours, so we had some time to wait. I would continue looking for other leads in the meantime.

Maybe somebody could identify the body. Maybe it was time I let the media have at it and wait for someone to come to us demanding us to figure out how their -blank- was killed.

I picked up my phone. “Hey, Bruno. Can you get the media to publish something about this recent werewolf murder. We’re hoping someone can ID the body.”

“Yeah, I can do that for you detective. If anyone knows this person, we’ll find ‘em.”

“Thanks again Bruno.” I hung up the phone, and pulled out the current file on the murder. There wasn’t much, except an autopsy report. I grabbed it and began looking through it. Nothing seemed particularly notable. I sighed again. How was I supposed to find a killer? Even if someone had seen something the killer wouldn’t be a furry beast for much longer, and it's almost impossible to ID werewolves when they’re in different forms. I would just have to hope that this wolf could give me something.

One minute I was asleep, the next I was in agony. Then I was at gunpoint. And, now, now I’m in an interrogation room, staring at a pile of clothes waiting for the shift to wear off. I didn’t understand. I was a vampire, how had I been turned into a werewolf. It shouldn’t be possible for a werewolf to turn me. I’d never heard of it before. But apparently it was possible. And I was not happy about it. When I found that werewolf I was going to rip his head off. Wait, I had bitten him. If I was like this now, then would he be a vampire. That’d be a nice surprise for him. He should have fun dealing with that hunger. It wouldn’t go away, not tomorrow, not ever.

I still wanted to rip his head off.

As soon as they let me go, I am finding that douchebag and ripping his head off. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t kill him, but it would still be satisfying as hell.

I had only intended to turn another, so that the suspicion would be placed on them, but this had worked better than I ever could have imagined. The vampire had bit me back and freed me of my curse. I was human again, at least human form. I was a vampire now, but that was manageable. I could finally go back in town.

Walking around the streets, I relished in the small things. The wind on my face, the clothes on my body, and the wonderful feeling of people not cowering in fear. I walked into a small coffee shop and ordered a cup of tea, something I hadn’t been able to do in months.

I sat back in the chair and picked up the newspaper, reading it. Yet another simple task that had been stolen from me. I almost spat out my tea as I read an article headline. John Doe killed by Werewolf - Police requesting any help with the investigation or IDing the body.

I suppose I hadn’t exactly been subtle, but it was still frightening. The police were looking for me. It was unfair, no police ever looked for him. No one ever wanted justice for me, now they just want it against me. I finished the rest of my tea and threw down the newspaper, storming out of the quiet cafe.

They wouldn’t find me. No one could ID me, because I wasn’t a werewolf anymore. Y DNA wouldn’t match. They had no evidence. I would not unfairly pay for simply doing justice.

The shift finally wore off. It wasn’t nearly as painful the second time, but I didn’t like the fact that there was a window into the room. I hurriedly pulled back on my clothes to maintain some semblance of modesty. The door opened. A lady walked in, the same one who held me at gunpoint.

“I’m Detective Sallow. I have a few questions for you regarding a murder that took place last night at about midnigt.” She introduced.

I glared at her, unimpressed. “So why do you think it’s me?”

“The victim was killed by a werewolf. It’s not the full moon, so the only one who could’ve done it is a freshly turned werewolf.” She explained.

“Well, I didn’t do it. As of yesterday, or Friday, I don’t know what day it is, I was a vampire. I didn’t know it was possible for a werewolf bite to turn a vampire.” I shot back, irritated.

“We know you didn’t do it.” She decided to finally tell me. “You’re DNA doesn’t match. We think whoever turned you is our guy.”

“Well, by now he’s probably a vampire. I bit him in self-defense. If im like this now, he’s probably a vampire.” I told her, shrugging.

She sighed. “You said you used to be a vampire. What does a newly turned vampire do?”

“Kill.” I said plainly. “They’ll be hungry. Most try to resist but that only lasts about a day. Considering he’s already killed I’d say you’ll be finding another body soon.”

“Do you know anything that could help us find him? Do you know Mike the Magician?” She pressed.

“He ran into the forest last night when I chased after him. If you didn’t get any reports of a naked man coming back into town, I’d assume he had stuff out there. Might be worth a shot looking.” I suggested.

“Thank you. “ She said, and stood to leave, but turned back to me. “Why didn’t you ever file for assault last night when he bit you?”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you really that naive? The human police places priorities on humans, not vampires who heal in minutes. How much effort would have gone into an investigation on who assaulted me?”

She didn’t answer, just stood up and opened the door. “You’re free to go. Please call us if you have anymore information.”

I didn’t respond just walked out the door, and back to my apartment. It was the middle of the day and I had been up for hours. It was long past my bedtime. I would worry about finding this douchebag later.

I woke to someone practically beating down my door with their knocking. It was only slightly less annoying then waking up because I was shifting into a werewolf. Despite being forced to wake up for centuries I still hated it. I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the door, opening it.

“What could you possibly need at this time of day?” I demanded.

“One, it’s almost 10pm. And two, I wanted to see my boyfriend. Is that a crime?” The intruder explained.

I blinked my eyes and actually registered who I was yelling at. It was Blake my significant other, or as I liked to jokingly call them, my goyfriend.

I opened the door, letting them in. “Sorry Blake I’ve had a weird past couple of days.”

They walked inside. “I’m always up for a story.”

I waved them into my living room. “Well, it’s a weird one.”

“Now you have to tell it.” They joked, sitting down.

“Well friday night a crazy werewolf attacked my and bit me, and I bit them back. And now I’m a werewolf and they are probably a vampire. But they commited a murder a few hours before turning me and alfmost framed me for it, anf im on a revenge path trying to find this idiot so I can rip his head off.” I explained.

“Wow. That’s a lot to take in.” They said, stricken. “I didn’t know that vampires could be turned into werewolves or vice-versa.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t either.”

“I could turn you back?” They suggested. “And help you figure out how to catch this guy.”

“Really? That’d be awesome.” I said, excited. I really wasn’t looking forward to being a werewolf for the rest of my days.

“Yeah?” They said, slightly uncertain. “I just have to bite you, right?”

“I think so.” I held out my wrist, pushing up my sleeve. “Here.”

“This is so weird.” They commented, but bit down anyways. I flinched, but it was relatively quick, if not painless.

“Thank you.” I repeated. “It will probably take a few hours to take effect, but let’s go see what we can find on this bobolyne.”

“You know you’re angry when you slip into a old-english insults.” They joked.

I just scowled good-naturedly in return. “I’m going to get dressed real quick, feel free to help yourself to anything.”

I made my way to my bedroom and quickly threw on some more acceptable clothes than pajamas and joined Blake again in my living room area I stopped in my bathroom real quick to throw a hasty bandage around my wrist, and then pulled my shirt’s sleeve down over it. I patted my pockets to make sure I had my phone and wallet and keys, threw on my jacket, and I was ready to go.

“Ready Blake?” I asked.

“Yep.” They nodded.

I grabbed their hand and pulled them out the door, briefly pausing to lock the door.

“I was thinking that we should start at where he bit me and then go from there.” I suggested.

Blake smiled. “This is your murder quest Eddie, you can take the lead.”

“Why thank you, kind mir.” I joked.

“You really need to just stop combining words when you can’t think of a gender neutral term.” Blake chastised, but they were grinning. “Eventually, you’re going to accidentally call me something that’s actually a word, like a broom.”

“But that’s the fun.” I returned. “But how would I end up calling you a broom?”

“Bride and groom.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So, we’re getting married?”

Blake sighed and answered sarcastically. “I don’t know. We’ve only been dating a century. We should definitely wait another for good measure. You know it takes three centuries to properly get to know someone.”

“Shut up.” I complained, elbowing them. “In my defense, it's only been legal the past eight years.”

“Technically,” Blake began, still with a silly grin. “We aren’t the same gender so it was never illegal.”

“Shut up.” I muttered. “Oh look, we’re here.”

“I see a grand total of.... Nothing.” Blake commented, looking around.

I also looked around, and had to agree. I pointed down the alley. “They ran that way when I shoved them off after biting them.”

“Lead the way.” Blake said, bowing dramatically.

I chuckled at them. “Come on you goofball. Keep your eyes peeled.”

We walked in silence for a while, I was trying to think of other ways to find this son of a bitch, but i was coming up blank.

“Found something.” Blake said.

I turned to look at them and follow their gaze. A dark splotch on the wall.

“Blood.” Blake explained, “from your bite probably.”

“Can you track it?” I asked. “Is there more?”

“I can try.” They shrugged.

“That’s all I can ask.” I told them.

They smiled, and we began following the trail.

The hunger was growing. It was gnawing. I should’ve expected it. I didn’t. I had no idea how strong it was. Every person who walked by could be my next meal. I wanted to lungs to kill, to feed. I wanted it so badly, and it disgusted me. They didn’t deserve to die. I didn’t want to kill them. Yes, I had killed Blaise, but he had deserved it. He wasn’t innocent, not like these people.

Were any of them truly innocent? How different was Blaise from these people?

Very different. Very, very different. He had to be. He was terrible, horrible. He deserved to die. He got what was coming. Justice. It was justice. I would get away with it because it was justice. He deserved to die. He had to. He definitely did. He wasn’t like these people. I did the right thing, killing him.

Didn’t I?

I had decided to take the silver werewolf’s advice and check out the woods, while Torres continued looking for any more leads into the who the victim was. In hindsight I realized to woods were very large and finding one possible existing campsite was a longshot, but as I had no other leads. This was my best bet. I had recruited the help of the forest rangers, and they were currently searching through the woods while I waited with the lead ranger at the truck to hear anything.

“We found a vampire and a uh, ex-vampire, now werewolf, soon to be vampire, in the woods poking around an old campsite.” Crackled through the radio and the ranger looked up at me.

“Sound familiar?” She asked.

I nodded. “I think so. Thanks.”

She nodded to me. “I'll have Ben here take you to them.”

“Thanks again.” I said as I followed Ben through the woods.

All the trees looked the same to me, but Ben seemed confident as he went through the woods. His confidence wasn’t misguided as we soon ended up in a small clearing around the remains of a fire joined by four other people, two rangers, the werewolf from yesterday, and someone else (presumably the vampire).

“Who’s this?” I asked, pointing to the stranger.

The werewolf replied. “My partner.”

“Names?” I sighed.

“I’m Edmond, they’re Blake.” The werewolf said shortly.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked.

Edmond raised his eyebrows. “Looking for the fool who bit me. He’s not here, and none of his stuff is here. He probably won’t come back now that he’s not in beast form.”

“Great.” I muttered. “More nothing. Without his belongings we can’t use dogs to track him.”

“Who’d this guy kill again?” Blake asked.

I turned to them. “We don’t know. Some ‘Mike the Magician.’ But, we can’t find any trace that he even existed.”

“That’s because his name isn’t Mike.” They said, and I turned to them in surprise.

“What? You know the guy?”

They waved me off. “Know is a strong word. I met him once, maybe 10 years ago, in a casino. He was cheating, using magic to rig the bets and get a bunch of money.”

“What’s his real name?” I demanded.

“Uh, Blaise, I think. Like I said, I didn’t know him, but he used the pseudonym Mike so that anyone who caught onto him couldn’t follow.” Blake shrugged.

“How do you know his name?” I asked, confused.

They shrugged again. “I asked, he was drunk, he slipped up. Said something like ‘I’m the great Blaise Deermouth how could you not recognize me?’ And then he continued to ramble on about his great exploits as a witch.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” I repeated. “This helps a lot. If we can look into the victim we can figure out who might want him dead.”

Finally, I had something. I called Torres. “Hey Torres, can you look into a Blaise Deermouth. We think that’s our vic.”

“Yeah, of course detective. I’ll call you if I find anything.”

My hands shook, I was trembling all over. I needed to kill. I needed to feed. Every pumping heart was just food. I needed it. I needed it but I don't want to. I don’t want to kill them. I don’t want to kill. I don’t want to kill. I don’t want to kill. I don’t want to. I don’t want to.

But I did. I did and it was wonderful and terrible. He deserved. He killed my family. He cursed me. He needed to die. I needed justice.

Was it justice? The police were justice. I wasn’t police.

It was though. It was justice. Sometimes the police are wrong. Justice. Justice. I was was justice. I was just. I had done the right thing.

Had I?

Did he not deserve a fair trial? Did I not deserve a fair trial?

No. I wasn’t him. I wouldn’t kill again. I only killed for justice.

I needed to kill. I needed to feed. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I wasn’t a murderer.

On the drive back to the station, Torres called again.

“I got something good detective.”

“Hit me with it.” I said, impatient. Finally, something.

“Blaise was arrested just three months ago in a casino for magical manipulation. The person who caught him was a croupier, a dealer, at the casino. Blaise escaped late Thursday night, police are still unsure how.” She paused, but quickly continued. “And guess what? The dealer, he was a werewolf. He may be our killer.”

I suppressed a groan. “That’s a lot of good information torres, but the dealer can’t be our killer. Our guy was freshly turned.”

“Dammit, you’re right.” She groaned. “I thought I was onto something I even found a newspaper article talking about how the dealers family’s house was burned down by an unknown cause. They never found the dealer’s body.”

“Thank you anyways Torres. Can you keep digging to see who else this guy might have pissed off?”

“Course.” She sighed and hung up.

I groaned. Another lead down the drain. And the dealer really seemed like he could be the guy, but of course he couldn’t be.

Blood. Blood everywhere. On my hands. On my face. On my clothes. All over the sidewalk. All over the body.

I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. I tried not to. I wasn’t him. I wasn’t Blaise. I wasn’t a killer. He was. I wasn’t. I was getting revenge for my family and for myself. He deserved to die. This person didn’t.

I didn’t fight it as the cop shoved me against his car and tightened the wrists around my cuffs. I deserved it. That person shouldn’t have died. I wasn’t a killer. Blaise was justice. They couldn’t connect me. I was a different species. I would get my justice and this person would get theirs. Blaise got his. Did he? Did he really though?

Blake and I were cuddling on the couch watching Criminal Brains on Zetflix, when my phone started ringing. I regretfully had to shift out of my comfortable position to reach my cell phone which was discarded on the coffee table.

“No, let it ring.” Blake complained, grabbing me and holding me to them.

“It might be important.” I told them. “I have to get it.”

“I know.” They groaned. “Fine.” They let me go, and I grabbed my phone, answering it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Edmond?”

“Yeah?” I answered hesitantly. “Who’s this?”

“Torres, from the police station.”

“How’d you get this number?” I interrupted.

“It’s in your file. The detective wanted me to call and let you know we found a possible suspect. Thought you and your boyfriend-”

“They’re my partner.” I corrected.

“Right, sorry. Your partner might want to come in.”

“Tell the detective thanks. We’ll be right down.” I hung up.

I turned to Blake, who was currently sprawled on the couch. “Sorry, but you have to get up.”

“I know, I know.” They groaned. “Time for head-ripping-off.”

“Unfortunately, that’s slightly illegal so I can’t do that in the middle of a police station.” I sighed with drama. “I guess I missed that chance.”

Blake raised their eyebrow. “Oh no, how will you ever continue?”

“I really have no idea.” I continued, then broke into a laugh. “Come on, let’s go down to the station.”

Why was I in an interrogation room? They had a billion witnesses seeing me kill the dude. They know I did it. Why wasn’t I already in jail.

A detective walked in and sat down across from me, setting a case file down in front of me. “What did you do Kenelm Dark?”

What was her angle? “You know what I did. I didn’t mean too. I didn’t want to.”

“You didn’t want to do what?” She repeated.

“Kill that man.” I finally said, giving in.

She set two pictures in front of me. The first was of the man from a few hours ago and the second was, was Blaise. What? They couldn’t know.

I pointed to the first. “This one of course. The second was killed by a werewolf.”

“We happen to know that Blaise Deermouth was killed by a werewolf who was then turned into a vampire. Judging by your lack of control, you were newly turned.” She said.

I felt the panic growing. They couldn’t take my justice away from me. Was it justice?

“So you just picked any freshly turned vampire off the street, you’re going to need more evidence than that.” I pressed.

“We have some.” She said calmly, as she slid a picture in front of me. It was a picture of a bite pattern. “If you would so kindly show me the bite left by the person who turned you. If you are really innocent then it won’t match.”

I was cornered. They knew. I exploded.

“It was justice.” I spat. “He murdered my whole family, burnt them to the ground. He cursed me. Forced me to be in beast form everyday except the full moon. He escaped scot free, and I lost everything. He deserved to die. What I did was justice. I’ll admit the second man was a mistake and I deserve to go to jail for that, but not the first one. I was getting justice. You fight for justice. Don’t take my justice away from me.”

She hesitated a second before calmly responding. “What you did was not justice. It was wrong. You will have a lot of time to think about that while you’re rotting away in a cell.”

She gathered her papers and walked out of the room. I realized seconds later why. I had given her what she needed, a confession. I was done for. I would be rotting away in a cell.

I rose with an ashy taste in my mouth, and a single-minded goal. I barely spared a glance at the hooded figure next to me as I stood. It was time for revenge. That god-forsaken wolf would die.

I marched out the door, up the stairs, and down the street, ignoring the cires off shock, disgust, and outrage that followed me. I walked to the police station where I stood at the door, my hand raised.

Fire. Fire. Fire.

Fire spewed out my hands and caught onto the building. It quickly spread, fueled by my magic.They would all die, but most importantly that filthy beast.

Blake and I stood, watching through the one-sided glass at the man currently sitting cuffed inside. He looked so weak and frail. I was surprised he was the same beast from friday. But, he had confessed. He had done it. The bite mark they asked me to do, forced him into it. I had to give credit to the detective on that one. It was pretty ingenious.

Blake elbowed me. “I guess you really missed your opportunity. He’s going away for life.”

I shrugged, smiling at them. “I may have, but life in prison is infinitely worse.”

“And how would you know that?” They teased, knowing full well the answer.

I humoured them anyways. “Beleive it or not homosexuality used to be a crime. And my defense of ‘they’re not a male, they’re non-binary’ was apparently not an adequate defense.”

“Apparently.” Blake sighed, grabbing my hand. “Come on, let’s go home. I want to finish that episode.”

“You’ve watched it five times already.” I complained, but let them tug me out of the police station.

“It’s still good.” They defended.

I just smiled, giving into their antics.

#mystery #gay #nonbinary #vampire #werewolf #human #detective #murder #murder mystery #finished #writing #not edited #long

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astronauts-diaries · 5 years

Text

I am a template, or maybe a knockoff

I know you are not here to stay.

But I know you know I want it that way.

Wish I could just be with you all the time.

I'm ok (that's a lie).

May I have the chance to be introduced again?

I wonder if you would still kiss me on the cheek.

Or if you would notice when I'm gone.

Don't take it personally, girl. Either ways.

You've been acting kind of weird, is it on purpose?

Just to find out if I can fall out of love?

What with the noises or the singing or the annoying things you've come up with.

Don't leave aside the tickling games or the times we rolled over the grass.

Never forgetting.

Give up?

Can you let go something that wasn't even yours?

The particular smell.

Your stripped gray sweater you used the first time I hugged you.

A kiss when I called you handsome.

Laughs while I can't shut my mouth and swallow. I mumble.

Squeeze my cheeks as I try to contain my laughter and the liquid.

I don't know from where you've got such an imagination.

But I love it.

At times I crave it.

I watch movies and series and listen to songs. They all remind me of the moments that to you and I belong. I wish I could know if you go through the same. While I read books about love, or see someone kiss. Do you think of me?

I would bet a lot you don't.

There's no way we're a match. But to me, you're more than that. The whole experience of getting through some new, as you said once.

Would it be daring to ask if you mind lending me your sweatshirt? I'm cold at night. I might be wanting your company to be hanging on my waist as the sun goes down and I gently remind you how soft you are; and I start to deeply fall for your eyes once again.

I want to do it all over again.

And again.

Again.

Hold me, darling. On the right side, because the left one seems to not be suited for your anatomy. I have this strange thing, I'm fitted to certain people in certain ways. The two pieces of a mold. Replicate that afternoon were we just laid to speak nothing at all, but say everything with our gaze.

I could be days and nights and dusks and dawns writing about you and how you make me happy but anxious. It happened that once you sucked my energy. But I wouldn't mind, you enjoy spending time with me.

Come by my side tonight, read me the letters and the texts I have inspired, let me know by your own voice how special I am. Guess with ink it lasts longer. Words are carried by the wind in the end.

If it was on me, I would already had taken you to Monterrey. Or Durango, or Saltillo and all over the country. It would be amazing to see that peace in your stare, making memories at every new place you step into. I'm dying to tell that I want to be by your side during that gap year.

I know we ain't gonna be forever. I'm conscious about that. But you should know that I'm enjoying every second of it. The kissing, the bites, the grabbing. The way you hold me and how your hands travel by my back. Oh, your hands. Let me hold them one last time. I love to play with your fingers and how you compare yours to mine.

Hold me tighter every time. Until I'm out of breath and I can find the reason why. Maybe it was too harsh, or you accepted to go on a trip or you asked to marry me. Even as a game, your answer is affirmative.

I should stop romanticizing everything that you do. Your words won't heal my anxiousness. But certainly they will soothe it.

So, today I was thinking about our break up. Yes, the one that never happened because we were actually never together. Curious, isn't it? And I discovered I wouldn't ever be sad with the idea of us splitting. I walked through the same places we've been before, and for my surprise I wasn't able to shed a single tear. Actually, I felt happy. Couldn't help to laugh a bit with the pistachios. I can stand being without you. The deal is, I am angry at myself for loving you this much.

Remember that time when you said you didn't want to hurt me? Now it is too late, honey.

I'm always thinking. You know it. My mind can't just stay still. You ask what am I up to. Can't say it, it might ruin the moment. I run my fingers through your arm, it tickles a bit. But I love just to caress you. And your beard, and your neck, and look into your eyes once more.

I lay beside you, next to your heart beat. The best position to listen to your deepness. I love this place, you know? I don't want it to end. You run your fingers through my baby hairs and down, they just won't settle. Such as the butterflies that I get everytime we kiss. And kiss. And kiss. Until I'm tired and my lips are dry, but I don't mind.

I don't mind who else you've kissed, but how you've learnt to kiss me.

Like this. Lying between here and eternity. Wonderful sky and a fresh breeze, me in your arms. Make it last.

It has been a while since I haven't written about you. But lately you've got me thinking. Like, a lot, to be honest.

I close my eyes and open them wide. That's the way I'm keeping the record of one of the best days of my life. You don't know how much I thank that bench and the trees, whom week after week are witnessing feelings that were kept in secret inside of me. And they grow with them, one branch at the time. One hug. One kiss.

They joke about me carrying your child, but I wouldn't mind. I can't help it with the way you look at me. Your smile. Your laugh. Ugh. I simply can't deal with you.

In a world in which time doesn't run that fast. Wouldn't care to be late, as long as you're still with me.

As I sit alone in the crowd, the guitar playing in the background, talking to the moon; I can't help to think about your first times. Your first smile, your first steps and words, your first day of elementary school and your first love. Your first fight, your first beer, the first time someone broke your heart. All those of which I haven't been part of and I'm dying to know about. I don't want to think about those things. I dwell on that Thursday we first kissed, or that day I hugged you first. Holding your hand, saying how much I care, promising we'll stay there. All the sharing.

I was thinking of our first conversations. The one when you ask me what do I usually do on Saturdays. Who could have imagined, that some after, we would be spending almost all of them together?

I have a love hate relationship with your silence. And the way you look at me when it happens. How you raise your eyebrow and it seems you deeply look into my thoughts. And then you laugh. It scares me. Look at me more often, with that tender look that goes beyond of what I know about myself.

Everybody leaves. You will do it too, eventually. I try to not hold on to you or anything, I've been betrayed so much that it hurts. But I'm already missing you.

Saying your name out loud so I can fall sleep. Until it's a whisper where you can hardly recognize a sound. As my feelings fade and disappear. I wanted to kiss you again.

What is the meaning of everything? Of that December after noon? The kiss in the dark? Pointing out my laughter is cute? Holding on to my waist and whispering "te quiero"? What is the meaning of those kisses and those evenings together? Us, cooking lunch in my kitchen, sneaking out of our responsibility? What is the meaning of you looking at me with apparently no reason at all?

I just want to run. And kiss you. Please?

What I like is, that actually, we already had things in common. Is awesome to meet someone once you've grown some. Or more.

It all started to crumble the last day that I saw you. I had some vodkas on top, and was singing off my lungs. I opened your conversation, it was blank of course. Wanting to let you know so much stuff that is simply unnecessary. I think I'll let go. As you've done.

I had to hang a "do not disturb" sign in my heart. I promise that was the last time.

I won't bother again.

31 may

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welcometophu · 5 years

Text

Extra: someone to haul him back

At the end of Missed Fortunes, Pawel sends a message to Carolyn that he’s leaving to look into something. But he’ll be back for Into the Split, and I decided to write a wee short piece about his absence and return, from the perspective of his neighbor, Emily.

someone to haul him back PG, ~4k words, Gen (Pawel, Emily, Conor, Alan, John)

“It’s only been a few days, John. We’re doing fine.” Emily has half an ear on the phone and the other half tuned to the background sounds in her house. Alan and Conor are up in Alan’s room and, despite the no magic rule, the lights have flickered three times since they got home from school. As the power blinks one more time, she sighs. “Excuse me, hang on.” She covers the mouthpiece of the phone, lowering it away from her mouth.

“Alan! Conor! Whatever you are doing that’s affecting the electricity, cut it out! Conor, you promised! Alan, Conor’s a guest and he can go somewhere else if he needs to!” She moves her hand, brings the phone back to her ear. “I’m not actually going to kick him out, John. You know that and I know that, and I’m sure they know that. We’re all just pretending.”

“I understand,” John murmurs. Emily’s positive he called from work; she can hear papers shuffling in the background, and the occasional tapping of a keyboard. “But still, it’s Wednesday, and he left Conor with you on Sunday. Have you heard from Pawel?”

Thuds across the ceiling, then a distinct pause before the next series of thuds down the stairs. Emily watches as the boys leap from three stairs above the landing trying to outdo each other in how far they can go. Conor shimmers in mid-air, and she’s positive his flight is enhanced by unconscious magic.

“No,” she admits, as the boys both skid to a stop in front of her. “Have you?”

“Is that Conor?” John asks, and Emily knows that means he hasn’t. “Put me on speaker.”

“Dziadziu!” Conor yells out as Emily presses the button.

“Conor.” John’s voice is low and deep. Even. Calm.

Pawel’s told Emily that he takes after his mother more than his father, and it’s times like this when Emily can see it clearly. And Conor’s exactly like Pawel. She wonders sometimes how John handles it, his son and grandson so different in personality from himself.

“Hullo, Grandpa Szczek!” Alan yells. He bumps shoulders with Conor. “I’m going to go get us juice and crackers. Come back upstairs when you’re done. We need to finish our homework. Hey mom, can we go over to the park after we’re done? It’s not raining and Addison said she’s going to walk her dog later.”

“Finish your homework first, then we’ll talk.” Emily’s all too used to the way Alan and Conor distract each other. “Show me finished work. And sooner is better; you can’t go if it’s too close to when your dad comes home and dinner’s on the table.”

“Conor, hurry up!” Alan admonishes before rushing off to the kitchen.

Conor watches him go, then reaches for the phone. Emily places it in his hands and hesitates, not sure if she should stick around.

No. John called her, and he’s on speaker. They’ll tell her if they want her to go.

She drops into the recliner and sits back, hands folded.

“How’s school?” John asks.

Conor paces as he talks, his free hand moving fluidly, gesturing between the air and the phone. Emily can almost see a trail of crackles in the air. “History sucks. I hate memorizing things, but Alan’s really good at it so he helps me. We’re doing fractions in math and that’s really easy. Marjorie’s still really stupid—”

“Conor.”

He cuts off at the sound of John’s voice. Conor stands there, one hand fixed in the air, his eyes wide. “Uninformed,” Conor says darkly. “I know I’m not supposed to call people stupid but I don’t know what else to say when she doesn’t listen and she doesn’t learn and everything she says is really mean and uninformed.”

Silence for a long moment. Emily’s met John several times, and she can easily imagine the patient but disappointed look he gives Conor. She’s sure Conor can imagine it too, from the way he squirms.

“Maybe she’s learning from someone else,” John says quietly. “There are a lot of people in this world, Conor, and they don’t all have the same beliefs.”

“But some things are just wrong!” Conor protests, his expression falling when John responds with silence again.

“Some things are wrong,” John agrees finally, “but there are other things which are, in the end, at least partly opinion. Some opinions may be kinder to others, but you can’t call someone stupid for having a different opinion.”

“She said a bad thing about religion,” Conor said. “And about me marrying Alan last fall.”

Emily had honestly thought that would blow over. She thought that they’d have their schoolyard wedding, and everything would go back to their usual friendship, like all third grade crushes. But her son and Conor had been steadfast in calling each other husbands since then. She isn’t sure if it’s their way of presenting a united front in magic and queerness, or if they’ve been close for so long that they honestly can’t see a future without each other.

They’re nine years old. There’s still so much future ahead.

“Teach her gently, Conor,” John says. “I grew up in a place where people said terrible things about me and my family, because my father spoke broken English, and my mother didn’t speak English at all. I got into fights when I was your age, and it took me a long time to realize that the only thing that fighting ever taught anyone was how to fight.”

Conor makes a disgruntled noise.

“Tell me about your science project,” John says. “Pawel mentioned that you’ve got a fair coming up in April.”

It’s a good way to reroute him, and Conor quickly shifts topics, explaining in detail how they’ve been teaching the classroom mouse to run through a maze. John mm-hms once in a while, but overall he lets Conor chatter on until Alan returns and nudges Conor with his foot. Alan’s hands are full with two brimming glasses of juice and a bowl of crackers, and Conor takes one of the glasses and drinks it between words.

“I have to go do homework, Dziadziu,” Conor says. “You can have Emily back now. I love you!” He sets the phone down on the table next to Emily, then kisses the air in the direction of it. There’s the distinct sound of a smacking kiss being sent back.

“Be good for Emily,” John admonishes.

Conor laughs, racing from the room and halfway up the stairs before he yells out, “I’m always good!”

Emily picks up the phone, but doesn’t bother taking it off of speaker. “It’s been a little chaotic,” she admits, once again answering his very first question about how things have been going since Pawel abruptly dropped Conor off on Sunday. “But then, it always is. Those two feed on each other, and I think it isn’t just emotional. Conor’s energy has been higher every day, and today I swear I can see the sparks when he moves. I wish I knew more about their magic, and how it works. I might want to reach out to that commune in Vermont that Pawel mentioned.”

“Mm,” John murmurs. “Or, if Pawel’s going to be gone for a long time, I could come get Conor. He could take a few days off school, have a small vacation with me, and get himself back under control. If it looks like it’s going to be longer, I can arrange for him to join a class here.”

“I hate the idea of uprooting him,” Emily says. She doesn’t need to think about it; she knows that it would be traumatic, and even when Conor says everything’s fine, she knows he’s worried about Pawel. “He and Alan lean on each other. Maybe it’s a little co-dependent, but I know I can rely on them to keep each other moving forward. Conor needs his stability right now. Besides, you aren’t any more comfortable with the magic than I am.” It’s not meant to be a jab, just a simple statement of fact.

After all, Conor is in a strange grey area of Talent, in that he probably inherited it from Pawel, but his father is Emergent, not Lineage. And Alan is purely Emergent. If Pawel’s theory is right, Alan’s Talent Emerged as strongly and as young as it did due to his friendship with Conor.

But Pawel didn’t Emerge until after he’d left John’s home to come to Unity.

“We’re both in the dark sometimes,” Emily says quietly, and John mm-hms his agreement.

There are thumps upstairs, but the lights stay steady, and Emily exhales. The sound of the game system starting up is distinct, and while Alan has it up too loud, she doesn’t mind right now, since she can tell what he’s doing. She knows they’re safe. She just hopes they’ve finished their homework, not decided to ignore it completely.

A door slams outside, and Emily reaches for the phone, heading for the door. “It sounds like Eric’s home early. Good, he can cook, while I walk over to the park with the boys. With the mood they’re in, I’m not sure I want them go—oh.” She stops as soon as she gets the door open, because Pawel is right there, his scraggly beard even thicker after the few days away, his eyes rimmed with dark circles.

“Emily?” John asks.

“Dad.” Pawel takes a step forward, stumbling on the threshold.

Emily drops the phone to reach for him, catching him when he sags into her arms, leaning heavily against her. She can’t move like this, carrying his weight, but she can hold him here, waiting for him to regain his stability.

John’s voice is distant, muffled and indistinct with the phone face down on the floor.

“I’m okay,” Pawel murmurs, but when he stands he wavers on his feet.

“No, you’re not,” Emily mutters back. She gets an arm around him, wedging herself under his shoulder. “John,” she calls out, raising her voice for the phone on the floor. “Let me get Pawel onto the couch, then I’ll grab the phone again.”

It takes a moment to do that, leaving Pawel slumped in the middle of the couch, his head tipped back, before she goes to slam the front door and retrieve the phone. She’s surprised Conor hasn’t made an appearance by the time she joins Pawel on the couch, but then, the music from the game seems to have gotten louder. It’s a contrast to Pawel’s low, ragged breath, offering a dissonant counterpoint with the distant sound of cheerful rolling tunes speckled with scattered beeps.

“Well?” John asks.

Pawel groans. “Dad, there are times when I swear you have some kind of prescience. What are the chances that you’d be on the phone when I got here?”

“Pretty high, since you’ve been gone for three days with no word,” John says dryly. “It’s Wednesday, son. I wanted to check in and see if Emily needed anything, since you left Conor there on Sunday.”

“We’ve been fine,” Emily assures him. There’s a shimmer in the air by the stairs, and the volume of the game system has dropped again slightly, but still no sign of the boys themselves. “The boys claimed they were doing their homework so they could go to the park, but either they’ve finished, or they’ve decided not to worry about the park to see a friend and a dog.” She raises her voice slightly. “Because no dogs or playtime until homework is done.”

The volume cuts abruptly. Pawel snorts.

“Do you remember the house on High Road?” John asks. The sudden shift in subject makes no sense to Emily, but Pawel leans forward, focused on the phone.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “We lived there until I was what… ten? We moved the year before Mom died.”

“You loved that house,” John says quietly. “It had a huge back yard, and there wasn’t a fence, but it had a high hemlock hedge across the back, and pine trees down the sides. They were hollow enough that you could fit under the trees, and between the hemlocks in the hedge. Your mother was a small enough woman that she fit, too. You’d go hunting fairies together in the backyard.”

Pawel reaches down, undoes the laces on his shoes and pushes them off. When he sits back, he sags into the cushions.

Emily mimes drinking, and he shakes his head, gestures at the phone where John is still talking.

“Your mom used to say the house was haunted,” John says. “Sylvia was—she was a creative woman, your mom. Taught you to believe in magic.”

“Turned out she was right,” Pawel points out.

John huffs. “Yes, she was. Been thinking, and I figure maybe she was right about the house being haunted, too. We moved because she couldn’t be in that house any more. She said the girl who slept in your room was so sad, she cried all night and kept her awake. I thought—well, I figured it’d be better for her to move, then. She talked about Leanne like she was real. I remember her saying that Leanne would never hurt you, but that she might hurt someone else, if she was trying to protect you.”

Pawel’s brow furrows. “Dad. Leanne was my imaginary friend when I was a kid.”

“I know, son. I know. And when your mom was diagnosed not long after we moved, well, I just figured that her getting confused was part of it.” John exhales, a low, long sound. “Thinking back on it, though, with everything you’ve told me, I have to wonder if Leanne was just as real as you. And if Sylvia saw more in her than even you did. I wonder sometimes if Sylvia knew more, maybe even instinctively, and if she would’ve been better with all this magic than I am.”

There’s a small pause, and John coughs. “Anyway. I have a point in this. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when you’ve gotten in too deep, son. Back then I thought that maybe your mom imagined things because she was sick. These days, I’m starting to wonder if she got sick because she saw things, and they ate her up from the inside.”

A thin sliver of cold crawls up Emily’s spine. She reaches out, one hand on Pawel’s arm, and feels the shudder that runs through him as well.

“I’m—” Pawel cuts off when Emily squeezes his arm hard. He glances at the shimmer in the air by the stairs, then back to her. “I’m going be fine, Dad,” he says firmly. “I’m taking care of myself, and I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re lying about that last bit,” John mutters dryly. “You’re still figuring this all out, aren’t you.” The words are flat, not a question at all.

He’s definitely lying. Emily’s known Pawel a long time, and she knows the face he makes when he’s struggling to hold back the truth. She also suspects he hasn’t bathed in days, and his eyes are sunken like he needs gallons of water to rehydrate.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, John,” she says.

“You going to tell us what sent you off on a hunt for information this time, son?” John asks.

The tension slips from Pawel’s body when John doesn’t keep pushing at the subject of his health. “A substantiated rumor,” he says quietly, glancing toward the stairs. “But I couldn’t get much more than that. I suspect that I may need to go to the source, which I think is somewhere in Eastern Europe. I need more detail than that, so I figured I’d come home for more research first.”

John coughs encouragingly, and Emily gestures. Pawel leans forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed.

“I found a reference to a ritual that was supposedly performed decades ago—long before the Emergence—in order to banish Deathstalkers from the world,” Pawel says quietly. “I was able to determine that the Mages that had performed the ritual were from a group living northeast of San Antonio. The families were primarily descended from people who had—” He cuts off when John coughs again. “Yes, Dad?”

“Without the history lecture,” John says carefully. “We’re not students sitting in a lecture hall.”

“There were Mages who’d been plagued by a rash of Deathstalkers something like thirty or forty years ago, and they developed a ritual based on texts from their ancestors. It was supposed to banish Deathstalkers. I think something may have gone differently than they expected,” Pawel says dryly. “But without access to those original texts, which this community no longer has, I can’t figure out exactly what they intended to do. It’s possible that they accomplished exactly what they intended, but current problems we’re having are an unforeseen side-effect. Also, this group was very careful about separating discussions of Deathstalkers, Shadowwalkers, and Soulstealers, which is something I think Carolyn will be interested in for her thesis.”

“What does this mean in the context of what you’ve been overworking yourself for?” John asks. “And when will you be able to take a break? Come visit. Isn’t the school on break soon?”

“Next week, but I can’t leave right now.”

“You need a holiday.”

“I need to fix this, Dad.” Pawel’s voice rises to a shout. The shimmer by the stairs fades, and the door to Alan’s room slams open.

“Dad!” Conor races down the stairs, tackling Pawel on the couch. He climbs into his lap, arms around him, curls in close. Alan follows more slowly, but he echoes Conor’s body language, settling himself in Emily’s lap as if he’s still a toddler, his head resting on her shoulder.

“Conor.” Pawel exhales his name.

“Think about it,” John says darkly. “I can see that I can’t convince you right now, but you need to stop before you run into a wall. You have a child to take care of, and if you can’t make him your priority—”

Pawel makes a strangled noise as Conor wraps his arms around his neck and burrows in close. “I know, Dad,” he manages to say, as he pats Conor on the back. “I haven’t lost sight of my parental duties. Believe me, I am absolutely aware of how many people, Conor included, are counting on me for guidance.”

“Conor.” John raises his voice.

Conor loosens his grip on Pawel, slides off his lap to sit next to him. “Yeah, Dziadziu?”

“If you are at all worried about your father, at any time, you call Emily first, and me next,” John says firmly. “Pawel, if you’re going to act like a child, then I’m going to treat you like one.”

“Jesus, Dad, I’m not acting like—”

“If you can’t take care of yourself, someone has to.” John speaks over him, and Emily sits back, wincing as Alan tightens his hold on her.

Silence, for long enough that Conor swallows audibly before speaking. “Yes, Dziadziu,” he says soberly. “If Dad starts chasing Shadows or stops shaving again, or gets all grey and exhausted, I’ll call you.”

“How many of those things has he already done?”

“All of them.”

“Conor. Stop.” Pawel closes his eyes, sinks back. “It’s not that bad, Dad.”

“We’ll all take care of him,” Emily says. “I know I’m in over my head with this, and I know Pawel feels like he has a responsibility to his students. John, you’d understand if you met them. From what I’ve heard, some of them make it look like Pawel’s the adult who considers each move before leaping.”

Conor snickers.

“When you were a child, your mother and I used to say that someday you’d have a child just like yourself to raise,” John murmurs. “I didn’t mean for you to find a whole campus of them. And Pawel, if you think they’re just children, then so are you. You’re not all that much older than them. Remember, you can’t save them all. And you can’t live their lives for them. If they are so damned determined to leap off a bridge without checking for sharks in the water, they need to learn their lessons.”

Pawel blinks his eyes open, his jaw set. “You’re the one who taught me the importance of every kid like me having a safety net, Dad. Or someone to grab their shirt and haul them back from the edge.”

It resonates with Emily, that every child needs a safety net. She might be older than Pawel, but she’s not all that far out from her rebellious teenage years. “My folks had the attitude that they’d let me leap without looking, but they’d be there to pick up the pieces if everything fell apart,” she says quietly. “Pawel, we’re here to help you pick up the pieces, and you’ll be there if those kids need you. But you really do need to prioritize yourself first. Give yourself some time to recover over break, then meet up with them when they’re all back. You’ll be rested, they’ll have some time to think, and maybe you can come up with a sane plan then.”

“And if he doesn’t, you’ll tell me,” John says.

“Yes, I will,” Conor offers.

“Suppose that’ll have to do.”

“Message received and heard, Dad,” Pawel says. He scrubs a hand through his hair, ending up with it at the base of his head, holding on like he’s trying to keep himself still. “I think you’re right. A little time to rest and relax and process is what we all need.”

“Conor, I’m trusting you to keep him to his word,” John says, and Conor shouts his agreement.

Pawel picks up the phone after that, walking into the kitchen with it while the boys head back upstairs. Emily doesn’t try to overhear the conversation, simply waits until she hears the soft thunk of Pawel setting the phone down. When he returns, he has two bottles of beer, and Emily takes one so Pawel won’t be drinking alone.

They clink the necks of the bottles together, and each take a long gulp.

“A week and a half of rest before you go back to saving the world?” Emily asks. When Pawel gives her a guilty look, she sets her bottle down so she can clasp his hand instead, squeezing tightly for a moment. “I’ve known you a while now, and I don’t see you letting this go. Just… let us help you. Me and Eric, and whoever else you need. If you and Conor need to go up to that place in Vermont, and you want me and Alan to go with you, just let me know. We can make it work. You’re our friend, Pawel, but you’re as good as family.”

Pawel squeezes his eyes shut, grips her hand tightly in return. “Okay,” he says without looking at her. “When the time comes to try to save the world again, I’ll make sure you know what I’m doing.”

“That’s not what I said.” Emily gives him a dark look, but she knows to take what she can get. There’s nothing Emily can do to change Pawel’s mind. All she can do is support him and Conor the best she can, and pick up the pieces when it’s over if it’s needed. “I’ll be there for you,” she says quietly.

He squeezes her fingers. “Thanks,” he says.

Emily gets the feeling it’s a one day at a time kind of situation. She’s just glad that the next bad day is more than a week out. She’s pretty sure Pawel’s going to need all the rest he can get before then.

#phu extra #welcome to phu #welcometophu #pawel szczek #conor szczek

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