#they could have pulled this off if it was treated like an avoidable tragedy that was everyone's fault? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

janekfan · 2 years

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“L’Lady.”

The Zoroark ambush had been quite successful. Ingo didn’t blame them. Due to the bad weather, they’d inadvertently wandered into their territory and he couldn’t fault them for protecting their young.

Especially considering the bad blood between his adopted clan and the entire species.

Nor did he blame Lady Sneasler for the parallel set of ragged claw marks tearing through the ratty sleeve of his uniform. The pack had the audacity to attack a Noble and her Warden and Lady Sneasler had become blinded in her anger. The poison made his forearm throb, having thrown it up in self defense to catch the attack when a well placed illusion caught the corner of her eye.

In the ensuing silence, yips and howls marked the Zoroarks’ retreat.

The wild might in her heaving chest and raised hackles terrified him and only instinct kept Ingo in place, hands still raised as the realization struck her like a well placed Tackle.

“It is alright.” Soothing, voice soft and low. “I am. Unharmed.” Mostly. The wound was small compared to what tragedy could have happened and he had supplies to treat it back at his tent. But more immediately, his Noble was panicking. Eyes wide and scared, claws trembling. “Let us depart this place and return to our home station.” She flinched away from his touch with a whine. “It was an accident, Lady. One we will avoid in the future. I know you meant no harm.” The temperature was getting to him, the chill in the air biting his lungs with every breath and nipping at his fingertips. And they had yet to reorient themselves. “Now, please help me in finding the way back. Little Lady and M are too small for this cold and cannot assist us.” Ingo spoke firmly, heart pounding, while the poison being pushed forcefully through his veins began to make itself known in the weird, heavy feeling in his limbs. “My Lady!” Raising his voice against her felt wrong, but it wouldn’t be long now before he couldn't walk. It was enough to shake her out of her stupor and she lifted her face to the wind, drawing in the scents around them before pointing decisively. “Bravo! Excellent work!”

It turned out they hadn’t been far off course in the first place. Merely turned around in the snow and further confused by the illusions of the pack of surprised Pokemon they’d blundered into. Even so, Ingo was exhausted and aching by the time his modest yurt came into view.

“Sleep well, my Lady.” He tipped his hat, injured arm tucked behind his back, and waited patiently for her customary departing ruffling of his head. Instead, she regarded him with guilt for a long, attenuated moment before bounding off in the direction of her den and Ingo let the full brunt of just how poorly he felt crash into him with all the weight and force of an oncoming train. No matter; he could deal with this. Then he would work on reassuring his Noble that he harbored no ill will and didn’t blame her for the injury.

Ingo shrugged out of his bulky coat, examining the clean tear and decided to conduct repairs later when an unexpected wash of nausea rolled through him. Before continuing with his rudimentary assessment, Ingo chewed thoughtfully on a slice of dried Pecha berry before taking a long pull from his water skin. He popped another sliver into his mouth and examined the slashes in his Pearl clan tunic. Thankfully, he had another that would suffice until he had the wherewithal to sew this one up. Another bite and he was already feeling a bit better for the natural antitoxin steadily doing its job. Next, he peeled himself out of the black, skintight layer to get at the thin line no longer even leaking blood. Lord Sinnoh, this could have been so much worse. His adrenaline soaked scent must have blocked the metallic tang because he wouldn’t normally have been able to fool her so easily.

Still, infection was a very real possibility out here, so despite the weariness tugging at his eyelids, Ingo cleaned it thoroughly before applying a salve and wrapping it securely. Safety first and all that. He nibbled on the last wedge, releasing his two partners for a meal and bedtime. Little Lady immediately noticed the bandage and Mirage was sniffing the fruit in his hand. The tent was filled with squeaks and barks of worry.

“I am fine. Your mother and I were waylaid by wild Pokemon which is why your dinner is so late.” Ingo explained while preparing their bowls. “This is a minor injury and I have already treated it.” He had to lavish the pair of them with pets and ply them with reassurances before they were settled enough to eat and Ingo bid them good night, groaning with the bliss of finally laying his tired body down to sleep.

It was late morning when Ingo woke up with M and Little Lady snuggled up to his side. Comfortably warm, he could ignore the general feeling of malaise reminiscent of the onset of a minor illness. He’d take it easy today, obviously still recovering from the effects of the poisoning received the night before, and not willing to push himself and risk the ire of both Noble and Clan Leader. After a light breakfast, Ingo stepped into the bright noon sun and raised his Celestica flute, playing specifically for Lady Sneasler’s particular ear.

Whole minutes passed and Ingo wondered aloud if she was engaged with something else, when Little Lady perked up, gesturing to the small copse of trees just at the edge of the area he’d claimed for his own.

“My Lady!” He greeted her enthusiastically, but was no less confused when she didn’t come any closer. “I see. You are still upset about yesterday.” No answer, but she did look away from him, gaze cast melancholy to the ground. “I understand losing control in that way must have frightened you.” Her growl reached him and he was undeterred. She could deny it all she wanted; her body language was speaking plainly for her. “I will continue in my duties and give you the space you require, but as my duties extend to your wellbeing, I will be checking on you regardless. In time, this memory will fade.” Ingo always marveled at the expressiveness of Pokemon and she was no exception. She was agonizing over the incident. “We will be alright. I promise.”

And she was gone.

Little Lady chirruped in question, looking between him and where her mother had stood just seconds before and far too perceptive for her own good. Ingo sighed and explained, enduring the scolding and subsequent investigation of his arm. Tender, but the Pecha berry seemed to have worked its magic and he wasn’t experiencing any acute poisoning symptoms.

Days passed. Lady Sneasler kept her distance. Wouldn’t come near him but for the call of his flute and even then, only to be of assistance with tasks she deemed too dangerous for them to handle alone; straying alphas and the like. Never to keep his company.

It was.

Unexpectedly lonely.

Today though, something was different. Worse, really, and as the hours wore on, Ingo wore out and he trudged back much earlier than he normally would, snuggling down into his futon after feeding his Pokemon.

“Just tired, M.” Mirage wasn’t convinced, that much he could tell, and neither was Little Lady. “I will rest and repair. Be, be running on all cylinders soon.” He’d looked for more berries when the nausea returned, but being so late in the season he’d been out of luck and without the energy to stray very far Ingo turned to home.

He woke with no appetite. A pounding head, body aches. Ingo checked his arm, doing his best to ignore the large, worried eyes of his partners, and noted it was healing into a clean, fine scar. Scrubbing his hands down his face, Ingo blinked hard to dispel a wave of dizziness. He wasn’t well. Felt like he was moving through water, sluggish and slow.

It was becoming clear his Lady’s poison was too strong for the antidote he’d taken. Shaky and weak, Ingo laid back down, shivering.

“Snea?”

“Rua?”

“You mustn’t tell your mother.”

“Nea!” Anger flashed in her eyes and Mirage’s aura flared dark.

“Please understand, I would not ask if. If I did not think it was for the best.” He didn’t have the breath to continue, instead laying on his back and letting the ceiling swirl around above him. “My cab will sort this out on its own and she, she already–” he missed her. The purpose she gave him. Her companionship. What if their relationship couldn’t recover from this? Why wasn’t he paying more attention? If he’d been faster, smarter? He could have prevented this from even happening! It wouldn’t be a fun ride by any means, but he was confident he’d be fine with a few days of rest. He’d rather that pain, than the pain of losing his Noble. Little Lady nuzzled his face, licking away the tears he didn’t even realize were falling. “A bit more time. Please, this will, it will pass.” And everything will go back to the way it was supposed to be. They comforted him as best they could, curling up with him to keep him warm.

The low grade fever spiked in the evening and despite drinking all the water he could hold, Ingo’s mouth was dry as Jumpluff fluff. He alternated between lava hot and glacial cold, resisting when M tugged the blankets up or Little Lady replaced the cold cloth.

“M…M…s’so h’hot.” He endured their scolding, their pleas. Curling up tight to shiver uncontrollably, begging them not to give him away in between bouts of his rambling babble. In his more lucid moments Ingo forced himself to eat and forced himself to keep it down, reassured his partners and apologized for the burden he’d become. “Soon. Another day. Two at most.” He could barely stand, muscles spasming painfully and often.

More and more he slept, plagued by nightmares, memories? Bolting awake. Shadows congealed. Slipping down canvas walls, pooling on the floor, he’d drown. Drown if he stayed here and let the dark have him.

Something flickered in the corner of his eye but when he turned to look there was nothing there, there was never anything there. Dizzy, he gasped for oxygen and found none, striking out with an uncoordinated arm in an attempt to catch himself as he fell into the sticky penumbra at his feet. Danger, escape. His Pokemon–where? Who? Why couldn’t he remember? Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he hold onto anything good? Please let them have escaped.

Pleasepleaseplease

Howling woke him. Barking and hissing. Sharp glistening claws in a blizzard of white and black and red tracing glowing paths through both dust and dim light. Climbing in and out of invisible chasms like fissures in the crust of the world, here for his blood and vying for his throat. In a churning mass of unquenchable wrath, the deafening curse of their voices in unison cut through the air like a scream. One or one hundred, the Zoroark moved in concert with each other, taking the place of one another seamlessly, seething in a crooked maelstrom of ruinous energy that became worse with every passing moment and Ingo recognized something of himself in every glittering, toothy grin.

Inescapable, but he had to try, had to keep his promises, cling to a life he didn’t understand, hadn’t wanted, needed like he needed air in his lungs. Dashing in and out of the fog and smoke, cleaving his skin, razors marking him over and over and over; brazen and bold and braver than he could ever be because they were infinite and he. And he.

Was alone

ever alone

one half.

Run. Run. Run.

As they tugged and pulled and tried to keep him trapped in this endless dark.

Finally, Ingo stumbled into a landscape lit up by the moon. Powdery drifts glistened like diamonds, banishing the shadows one after another as they tried to pursue him. Rent in two by the light and sweet Sinnoh, the relief was like wine as Ingo fell, panting, into the snow, blissful cold on his hot, hot skin.

Safe, at least for a moment.

A borderless length of time passed and Ingo would be hard pressed to tell anyone what occurred within. It was a haze of hurting and being touched by unfamiliar hands. Moved whether he wanted it to happen or not. Horrible tinctures poured down his throat that made him shed silent tears because no one would listen to his warnings about the danger they were all in. The things hiding in darkness and shadow. He was useless, frightened, confused. Glimpses of a familiar white coat caused him to weep and worry in turns because he was sorry, so, so sorry that he’d done this, even if he didn’t have enough memories to be sure what ‘this’ was. Cool cloths soothed some of the blistering heat and there were moments in between the suffering where he was sure he’d never again open his eyes.

But he did.

And he felt dreadful. So sick. Still pained and barely able to lift a finger. Gently, as though he might break, a damp cloth swept over his hot face and across his brow, sweeping the embarrassment trickling slow down his cheeks away.

“Ingo?” Soft and kind and he did Melli the courtesy of tipping his face toward him but didn’t remember much after that.

“You should’ve told me.” Ingo listed weakly where he sat with his partners in his lap, wrung out and still so, so tired, but with sense enough to feel ashamed. After a strict regimen of teas, potions, and elixirs crafted by Melli’s expert hands, Ingo appeared to be on the mend, albeit slowly. Lord Electrode’s Warden explained for what was probably the dozenth time, seeing as Ingo couldn’t hold a thought in his head for longer than a moment when he first started coming out of it, that he’d succumbed to Lady Sneasler’s poison. “It isn’t like your beloved Sneasels, you great fool.” He’d sighed, forcing a cup of something bitter into his hands. “A Noble Pokemon such as your Lady is deadly even in the smallest of doses."

“Thought…”

“Well, I highly doubt that.” Melli scoffed, but it was a soft thing, tempered by understanding. “Imagine my surprise waking up to your delinquents clawing at my door.” A put upon sigh. “Doubt I shall ever get the marks out.” One of his soft hands found its way to Ingo’s forehead. “Still feverish, but you should be out of danger. Take your medicine.”

“Thank you.”

“We found you in the snow.” Wholly ignoring Ingo’s gratitude, Melli continued puttering around the yurt, organizing myriad supplies. Making up his bedroll. How many days–? “Who goes wandering around in the dead of night dressed in naught but a yukata? One might ask.” Ingo could guess. Melli’s voice took on a thoughtful tone. “My Lord Electrode and I. We are no strangers to accidental injuries. Temper and strength; well you can imagine. But we learned. Just like you will learn.”

“Why are you being so kind?”

“The Great Melli is always kind.” Ingo didn’t bother to argue. “In time, you will become immune, as all Sneasler Wardens have had to. In the meantime,” he pulled out his own flute and Ingo’s chest went tight. “This has gone on long enough.”

Even just hearing her arguing with Melli through the thin walls made Ingo anxious and he buried his fingers in M’s silky fur, staying grounded in the familiar texture. Little Lady kept up a comforting purr, reassuring him that everything would be alright.

Ingo had his doubts.

As a Warden he’d been coming up pretty short.

He jumped when the door snapped open, regretting it when his head swam.

“You should talk.” Melli gestured for the young ones to follow him. “We will be outside if you need us.” To Lady Sneasler, the other Warden bowed. “Try not to distress him?” And with a flourish, he’d gone, leaving them alone.

“Sit, please, my Lady.” She didn’t often join him inside, preferring her wide open skies and craggy cliffs, but she obliged, worry warring with anger in her expression. “I will be fine, but. Will we?”

“Sler.”

“I do not regret asking them to keep the secret.” It was the truth and she growled at that, gesturing widely in the small space, freezing immediately when her claws arced too close to Ingo before withdrawing slowly. “I thought it would make things between us worse and I greatly underestimated your poison. Had you been a mere Sneasel, no doubt I would have recovered quickly.” Ingo forced himself to sit straight despite the exhaustion tugging at his limbs. “I will not make the same mistake again.” He felt more than heard her rumbling as it traveled through the floor. She was angry with him. With herself. “Warden Melli said we would learn and I trust his wisdom. I will not behave in this way again, please–” hot tears stung his eyes. The weight of his failures was pressing the air from his body. “I do not fear you and it, it hurts to see you fear yourself, so please.”

Don’t abandon me.

“You will not hurt me. You would never.” She huffed, throwing a scornful look in his direction, imploring him to look at himself and the damage she’d wrought. At this, Ingo climbed to his feet, the weakness in him so profound he very nearly swooned. Lady Sneasler was shouting now, discarding her silent wrath like a tattered coat, torn between rebuke and admonition and while Ingo agreed with her that he should not be standing, he had to do something. Even if it was just losing feeling in his legs such that she had no choice but to catch him, or watch him knock what little memory he did retain clean out of his head. “See?” Breathless, giddy, as she held him, still loudly reprimanding his questionable decisions, while gently maneuvering him back into bed. Shadow swept across Ingo’s vision and he fought to stay awake.

“Snea, snea…” She soothed, as if he were one of her unruly children, grooming his face with a sandpaper tongue as he was pulled under by the tide.

“You are both too headstrong for your own good.” Melli was preparing the raw materials for several strong doses of antitoxin and Ingo was doing his utmost to learn quickly. It was difficult with the other Warden’s grandstanding, but he couldn’t deny the truth of it. “If you would but learn from the fine example, nay, the gift of perfection, myself and Lord Electrode provide you, we’d all be in a far better place. Really though, it’s a wonder you’ve turned out to be a half-decent Warden in the first place, having fallen into the lap of the Pearl Clan.”

“Indeed.” Things were as they should be with Lady Sneasler on her mountain and responding to his flute again, and his partner Pokemon curled up close to the fire, tuckered after battling Melli’s for a few exciting rounds. Other than a lingering fatigue, Ingo felt almost back to normal and had gone on his rounds earlier in the day, determined that he’d never be caught like this again. If not for his own sake, for his Noble. She deserved better than that.

“Really, the time I waste coming to your rescue time and again. It’s almost as if you’re seeking out my attention.” Melli’s expressive hands stopped moving as though he was struck with a sudden thought, lips curling up in a delighted and mischievous grin. “Oh, Warden!” The Delcatty that got the cream. “Is that what this has all been about?”

Oh dear.

"All this fuss, I'm flattered, truly."

Oh dear.

"Warden Melli, I assure you!" Though he couldn’t deny spending this time together had been more than pleasant, Ingo would never want to imply, or, or impose?

“Next time the mood strikes, just visit.” Melli offered Ingo a warm and genuine smile, a bit shy and surprisingly apprehensive as he peered from beneath dark lashes. “My door is always open.”

#mellingo #warden ingo #warden melli #poison #nobori #pla #pokemon legends arceus #tsubaki #lady sneasler #sneasel #little lady #zorua #zoruark #hurt/comfort #slow burn #fever #caretaking #ingo making bad choices #submas

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the-arctic-commune · 2 years

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So, one of the interesting things about Dream SMP and in general livestreamed collaborative storytelling is that it is at its heart a very new form of media. By virtue of the constraints and motivations provided by the “camera” here, the conventions of similar storytelling don’t necessarily apply.

Now, the extent to which this is true has been overstated in the past, and I don’t want to examine livestreamed storytelling as too fundamentally innovative. But there are a few things about the livestreaming format that are interesting in how they violate standard assumptions!

One in particular is the treatment of death. Now, this is Minecraft death, so frequently it’s very funny and not very important. However, sometimes in collaborative storytelling, death is important, and so it’s compelling to ask how the medium treats it.

Here, specifically, I’m going to compare DSMP to the kind of blockbuster Marvel action movies that theaters are flooded with. Now, how many times in those movies do you see this?

youtube

That’s an entire building being crashed into and potentially falling down. That’s a skyscraper presumably housing thousands of people. And it’s just... casually destroyed for set dressing and we move on.

This trope in action movies, where massive spectacular destruction to infrastructure is relatively harmless, is caused by the camera. The camera does not track people in the building; if they do die, they die off-screen and we never see them. The camera tells us not to care, so we avoid the realities of conflicts of this scale in order to have fun looking at explosions.

(Note that the camera could tell us to care, and especially in movies consciously critiquing the all-powerful superhero, sometimes does. But frequently, it does not)

Now, how does the camera treat death in Minecraft? Well, it’s interesting, because the chat displays death messages. And not only that, but it directly assigns blame with the “was killed by X” part. You have to be fairly careful and clever to kill someone in a way that doesn’t trigger an announcement of your fault to the entire server.

So if someone is streaming? The camera is always on death. It isn’t possible for even the most innocuous of deaths to escape mention. When there is a tragedy, the record is writ there large for everyone to see.

When grand, action-movie events like Doomsday and the Red Festival happen, there’s no way to have spectacle without also having a spotlight on death. There’s a tension here: actors are trying to emulate the kind of awesome fights we see in film, but the camera can’t pull back and avoid the consequences of those fights. The audience can’t be left to thoughtlessly appreciate the action; we have to acknowledge the casualties.

And I think that’s interesting.

#words #dream SMP #lore analysis

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chemicalbrew · 2 years

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2022 game list

2022. Truly, the year of uhh. I'm glad that not only can I write this post in the first place, but I have at least a few banger games to report on as well.

Thank Aidios, the list is much shorter than the '21 one. And due to this short length, it's going to be in order, just like my first list!

Shoutout to the three games I decided to cut (Head AS Code\Birth ME Code and Atelier Ryza) - they basically ensured that this year would have been off to a rough start. The former two are a pale imitation of the thrill of Zero Escape that I sought to replicate (complete with an unhealthy amount of innuendos) and the latter... turned out to just not be my kind of game, like, at all. I stared Ryza in the face and thought 'oh god, is this what is considered a fun protagonist these days??'

I was, in fact, impressed, that these games were logged this year and not an eternity ago... 2022 has been kinda rough :(

I'm still looking forward to the third ABiMe game, if only to laugh at it hysterically. I love how much the first two games upset me.

Honorable (maybe) mentions: CrossCode (PC, 2018) [♪ Battle 2]

On the surface, this is a game made for me. Incredible pixel art (even down to the squeaky clean UI), witty writing, a charming silent protagonist, a creative plot hook (I mean, have you seen an RPG try its best and mostly succeed at replicating an MMO game?)… but there is one problem.

It's also a platformer. That's all I need to say.

Ironically, this wouldn't be a problem if I didn't like the rest of the game so much - one of the things CrossCode does best is the distinction between the optional and the required. I didn't have to spend hours trying to make sense of the maps or execute somewhat brutal (for me, someone who is very much prone to avoiding platformers that require any semblance of skill) platforming challenges, but... I also did.

I know, I know - it's more telling of the problems I personally have when I play games than anything else, but at the same time, the way the game is structured meant that it gradually became more and more overwhelming for me, as most platformers do (see also: Celeste, Cave Story, etc...). So I ended up dropping it!

Which sucks, because, as I mentioned, everything else about CrossCode is super fun! The frantic battle system (that makes me think of early Ys, but on steroids) encourages you to mow enemies in your path down as efficiently as you can with the skills you yourself get to choose, the side quests do just enough to pull you into the world, the mystery of the very nature of our protagonist is mostly intriguing, and the music is everything you could want from a modern game that takes inspiration from the old, if I'm being honest. I find myself thinking about it a lot outside of the game, and while I was playing, it was a treat to look forward to new tracks.

I was totally ready to fall head over heels for this game, and in the end, I didn't even get to see the plot twist that every review seems to be so upset about! It's a tragedy, really.

Live A Live (Switch, 2022)

You might think I’m refusing to include the usual OST highlight because I personally didn’t think much of the soundtrack (and a lot of the tracks I did like ended up kinda overplayed), but no, I’m doing it because a) the remade OST is consistently taken down everywhere (thanks Square) and b) the remake doesn’t have an option to switch between SNES music and arrangements of it. If I had to put something in its place, it would easily be Select-A-Live, though. Simple, elegant, encompassing of the game’s main draw.

Anyway! Have you ever seen a game that prides itself on being as creative as it is compact (that has been remade maybe just a bit too faithfully)... and then throws all of its pride away in the final act? Cause honestly, this is as succinct of a description for Live A Live as I can muster.

What makes this game unique and seemingly ever enduring in the hearts of fans is how it wasn’t afraid to toy with what RPGs of the distant year of 1994 seemed to represent while also being a sort of love letter and time capsule to stories, tropes and themes of wildly varying sorts. The diversity here - from a wordless story of a caveman learning the joys of love to a straight up Street Fighter-turned-RPG boss rush to a futuristic narrative about duty and humanism and how these two things can clash with one another to... well, you get the point - is genuinely impressive, and with it, it’s easy to see how and why this game, even while being painfully niche, paved way to quite a few modern darlings of the genre.

The intrigue and joy born of brevity makes the subsequent twist even more impressive... in how far removed it feels from the rest of the game. The different paths converging, being forced to fight boundless hatred across time and space... borne of what could be described as either a tragedy worth mourning or a narrative so pathetic it makes everything the game spent the past 20 hours setting up feel insignificant in retrospect, no matter how tightly and lovingly executed it actually was, both in terms of gameplay and narrative.

At first I couldn’t believe the game dared return to the very early makings of the genre it so lovingly subverted. Then I was delightfully surprised - for the last time, as layers of subversion doubled in on themselves. The hero never saved the princess. The world collapses around him as he gets set up by his close friend (who was also, to make matters worse and\or more contrived, cheating on him... with the princess) and exiled from the world he knew, and as the Shakespearean antics of this chapter get cranked up to eleven, everyone the hero has known ends up dead for one tragic reason or another, which makes him do such a sharp 180 on the path of good that... he resolves to spread hate. Across time and space. Yup, the cause of literally everything you had to resolve up until now was a guy with no coping mechanisms who shouldn’t even be aware of half the places his incarnations end up in. It’s... a bit ridiculous.

And, in terms of gameplay, his chapter is aggressively old-school, with its ‘unique’ gimmick literally being random encounters, the exclusion of which I had been ready to praise the game for before this point. If Live A Live wanted me to appreciate what good it had earlier, it succeeded in the worst way possible.

Even starting the final stretch of the game feels strange - unless you choose the ~evil~ path, which, admittedly, is a genuinely wonderful spin on things I wish other games would recreate. Where else do you get to be the big final boss, beautiful sprites and everything, seven times in a row, with your goal being to ruin the lives you fought so hard to preserve just a few hours earlier? Maybe it’s just me, but there’s something weirdly enjoyable about getting to actually exploit movesets that the AI would use against you with a deliberate weakness. Otherwise, you pick up right where the hopeful ending you painstakingly earned left off, and watch your character of choice whisked away into the world of previously mentioned tragic villain with no rhyme or reason.

From there, you must grapple with random encounters (made awkward with each of the previous characters’ movesets being carefully tailored for their own chapters, but not the semi-random pool of enemies present in this final section) and level design you’ve seen in many other games, while putting together a party comprised of characters who have no reason to know one another, whose sweet little arc ended hours ago. All to Defeat The Big Bad For Real This Time, I Promise?

I suppose that’s not how it actually ends, given the game’s previous well-constructed messages about love and community and righteous anger and all. But holy shit, the drop of quality I got to witness over the climax of the game, no matter how purposeful or cheeky, makes me want to do anything but find that out. I’m fine with how self-contained the initial stories were, and I don’t think this game needed a tacked-on ‘thread it together‘ ending.

There must be something wrong with your game if the most memorable thing its final stretch has to offer is... how gorgeous it looks. Especially since the rest of the game is not really a slouch in that department either - the ‘HD-2D‘ style ends up being the perfect happy medium between being faithful to the original and breathing life into it. Too bad it’s genuinely the only consistently good aspect of this game.

10. Grimm’s Hollow (PC, 2019) [♪ First Reaping]

This one was sitting in my backlog for a year and a half, and I honestly have no idea why - I barely even remember how I came across this gem, which is weird. I mean, it’s free on Steam (which is surprising to me considering the quality), cute, has multiple endings, talks about death and grief in that bittersweet way that never fails to restore my faith in humanity...

And best of all, it’s purple. >:) Well, not all of it, but like 80% of this game’s aesthetic is based on my favorite color, which was probably why I got interested in the first place. I wasn’t expecting to see a solid, if a little condensed, storyline about coping with loss and change and learning to make new connections in life and afterlife behind such a simple front, coupled with a neat battle system (and a couple bangers to accompany those battles!) that combines ATB and simple QTEs together in that solid way that vividly reminded me of playing Mario RPG in the kitchen, somehow. It’s sooo nice, at least for the short amount of time the game asks of you! Plus, there’s a decent amount of exploration, no random encounters, and you can just feel the amount of care put into everything. It’s a great way to spend an evening or two, honestly.

The endings you can get range from sweetness of closure to either the protagonist and\or deuteragonist to simple screens that could have passed for game over screens, but it’s fine. Literally the only noticeable flaw this little game has is how it refuses to make clear that you lock yourself out of half the endings by maxing your skill tree! I would have had no idea had I not randomly seen it online.

9. Unreal Life (PC, 2020) [♪ Dance Hall Crisis]

*this game is niche enough that the OST is not on YouTube, I'm linking directly to an mp3 instead. And no, the rest of the soundtrack is not remotely like this track, but who cares? It's my favorite, and I love how the very nature of this piece - being somewhat laid-back out-of-context, but standing out as a faster-paced backdrop for some of the more relatively intense scenes when seen in the game's entirety - says more about the nature of the whole experience than one might expect.

Unreal Life is so true to its name that it comes elegantly close to betraying the core of its story and setup with a mere glimpse at its title... but it manages to make its twist layered just well enough to leave the players satisfied and intrigued, not disappointed. The dreamy pixel art (I'm not sure if I would call this the greatest art seen in a game, but it's obvious that the person who made it all is skilled at converting the limitations of the style into genuine beauty), carefully crafted to convey just the right amount of detail in any given object so they come together in memorable set pieces, and the somber, almost nondescript a lot of the time, music, completes the experience that the game has to offer, every element further selling the feeling of uncertainty, loss and struggle beneath the wonderful sights and strange occurrences driving your curiosity.

I haven't mentioned a lot about how the game plays yet, mostly because it almost always felt secondary to experiencing the world. You walk around. You click on things. You talk to things. You get items and use them. It's a point and click, but instead of a mouse, you have Hal. A 'walk and click', if you will. And there's a lot of walking - almost annoyingly so, I would say, but it adds to the mood. It forces you to sit back and take in what the game throws at you.

The one unique thing the game does is the aforementioned memories - you're able to compare the past and present as experienced by inanimate objects in the world, and it is how you find the majority of clues you need. However, even this doesn't require much thought from you - the information you gain is plain to see, and characters comment on it as well.

The two characters right at the forefront are humans - a young girl in a pure white gown named Hal and another woman, miss Sakura, whose disappearance drives Hal forward across the whole story for reasons not even she can ascertain, imbuing the simple plot hook with a mysterious air. We see Hal struggling to piece together her place in a strange, dreamlike world that alternates between being almost conveniently welcoming and full of painful memories bubbling to the surface, but is always pervaded with a feeling of otherness... But the secondary characters that stand out in this game are all strangely unique - if you try to look at what people remembered most about Unreal Life, you'll likely see lots of talk about... a penguin? a dog? a traffic light?.. Yeah, if you ever wanted to have feelings about inanimate objects and talking animals, this game is for you.

For me, Zero was definitely the highlight of the game, for reasons quite simple - I just like casually rude characters that have changes of heart for the better. Especially if they're a piece of AI manifesting themself as an eyeball (insert AI: The Somnium Files-esque AI\eye joke here for me).

Despite the appeal characters like Zero hold, every piece of this world is, in truth, made in service to the main character - it's Hal's growth you and the other characters observe across the game, it's her thoughts (the ones you can literally access in-game) and memories she magically obtains from objects that move the game forward, and it's her reunion with Miss Sakura that completes it - in ways both expected by that point and surprising at the same time. I liked Hal because the game justifies almost everything about her by the time the end credits roll - you may feel like rolling your eyes at another 'silent, shy, hurt, naive, needs to grow and eventually does' sort of protagonist, but Hal overcomes the challenges set in front of her and within her with a pleasant sort of grace that would, I'd wager, make even the most skeptical players resonate with the image the game paints of her bit by bit.

Through Hal, the game wants to make you think about what you can do, what you want to do. Her struggles, both in the world she's trapped in and the one she came from, are meant to motivate and reassure you - you, too, in time, will know how to accept yourself, to live and contribute to the world. This isn't anything new or fresh by any means, but there's a reason topics like this are so enduring across media. Because there's always someone who needs to hear this in a way that resonates with them personally. And even though I didn't feel that resonance while playing, I appreciated the wonderful execution, even more so when I remembered that this is an indie game at the end of the day. It's kind of a cliche to bring this sorta thing up, I know, but recalling that the wonderful art was done by one person makes my heart swell, okay? You have to respect this game for coming from someone's heart and soul.

...and hey, what other game will give you a jar containing infinite shrimps? That's kinda a dream come true by itself, isn't it?

8. Shantae and the Pirate's Curse (PC, 2014) [♪ Scuttle Town]

Normally this game would get very similar treatment to CrossCode, being a platformer as well (or more accurately, a Metroidvania that takes just enough cues from 2D Zelda, in my opinion), but... I actually had a blast with Pirate's Curse?! Surprising everyone, me most of all. What stars had to align for such a miracle, making me blaze through a kind of game I usually steer clear from (enough that I was hesitant to play it for about a year, despite a hearty recommendation)?

Well... A lot of them, actually. I appreciated the straightforward level\area designs (more so than is probably usual in the genre these days, I feel. My favorite was Propeller Town, because I loved the way the pirate hat\'glider' handled in general) that nonetheless have just enough well-hidden collectibles inside, making repeat trips enjoyable, coupled with the freedom of movement you gain in this game as you progress (with the cannon at the end giving a quadruple jump and being able to dash and glide at the same time... it's so fun to blow through stuff that used to give you trouble with all those tools working together!).

I adored the mixture of pixel sprites (which are animated in such a lively way that it can be legitimately hard to stop staring at how everything moves) and proper character art, even if it took a bit of getting used to. And for the most part, I enjoyed the characters themselves, which do just enough for the game to give you an excuse to saunter around the world, while giving you the feeling of this adventure being a piece of something with a history (i.e. Squid Baron being self-aware and everything Shantae and Risky have going on - it doesn't have to be complicated to be fun).

But of course, the jewel on top for me personally has to be the soundtrack. There's the aforementioned Scuttle Town, which has managed to conquer my brain in ways few VGM pieces do, but also plenty more to enjoy besides that. The peppy and catchy music works in tandem with the cute visuals to ensure the player enjoys themself and remembers the experience fondly - and it really pays off!

Now, it's not like the game was without flaw - there's barely anything that qualifies as fast travel (aside from the usual 'warp back to town' item that doesn't work when you would need it most), which leads to some excess backtracking being involved; and the writing is nothing to write home about, aside from the aforementioned sense of continuity and some funky fourth wall breaks here and there. But in my heart, both of these can be excused - Curse is very much trying to carry that old-school game spirit within itself, and I didn't exactly play it to be wowed by a grand story. For the most part, the game achieved what it had set out to do, and impressed me enough to consider playing at least one more Shantae in the future, so it's hard for me to call it anything but a success!

7. 13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim (Switch port, 2019-2022) [♪ Brat Overflow]

This is one of my favorite video game title screens, if we’re being honest. Everything about it just works - seeing the protagonists stand together against the literally looming threat, with what turns out to be their true hope right in front of them, with muffled sounds of siren-like voices and machinery as an accompaniment.

And then, a mysterious blue light flashes by, and our protagonist - well, one of them, turns to face the camera with an almost inviting expression on his face, as the song fully fades in together with the game’s logo. Yes, this is what 13 Sentinels is about - just another game about teens and young adults saving their doomed world from an inhuman threat. Somehow.

Or so it would seem, because a core part of this experience is watching the layers and layers of fuckery unveil themselves. ‘Oh, okay, so this is a time travel story!‘ Nope... I mean, kinda... ‘Oh, I get it, they’re teleporting!‘ Nope. ‘Oh, so the protagonists are all aliens, huh?‘ NOPE, it was a post-apocalyptic story all along!

‘Hm, I guess it really is just about beating the monstrosities, huh?‘ Not even that, that was just a side effect of lazy coding in the simulation that fifteen researchers forced their infinite clones into so they could survive on their way to infinite inhabitable planets. Which means that in the process of saving themselves, humans committed a very, well, human error that caused more problems than it solved, but in the end, reached their goal. This is how the game manages to both ask the fundamental question of ‘why bother with anything‘ and answer it in a defiantly hopeful fashion in one fell swoop.

So basically, the moral of this game is both ‘check your code before you commit‘ and ‘humans will stand proud in a vicious cycle of death and rebirth to protect the world and people they love‘. That’s both nifty and fucking nuts.

Of course, this is a small, surface level observation, and it doesn’t begin to cover everything that’s going on here. There’s cloning, a talking cat, androids, high school shenanigans, nanomachines, a gay awakening or two, a fucking shitload of artificial intelligence, identity crises of multiple kinds, and far more cheesy romance than was probably necessary (I guess 60% of this is set in a Japanese high school, but still... everything was dreadfully predictable lol)... There’s so much going on that, apparently, even the writer himself talked about struggling to keep the mysteries together in his head!! And a huge chunk of the story didn’t make it in because of time and budget constraints, with some of it only being explained in the game’s own information analysis section! (It honestly really shows, especially when you see the ending being set in the simulation and not the real world.) Like, let me tell you, when it comes to being convoluted, 13 Sentinels can give basically any game a run for its money!!!

So, then, why did I, someone who hates having convoluted jargon shoved down her throat, stick with it? Simple: I was lured in. Playing the story sections of this game is like watching a painting come to life, for many reasons. The gorgeous set pieces provided (with INCREDIBLE lighting. Screenshots don’t even do justice to how stunning this game is, because the lighting in these sections consistently blows your mind.), top-notch voice acting (made even more impressive by the fact that it was recorded outside of any studio, honestly) and the titular 13 protagonists’ growth arcs (turns out, they grew both as people and in the literal sense, ha)... It all makes for a very immersive experience - before you know it, you’re shouting at the screen as you get hammered by the numerous reveals this plot has in store for you... or watch Hijiyama lose his ability to think about anything but yakisoba pan.

Sure, the protagonists are often playing by the tropes, and, as mentioned earlier, the relationships between them are a mixed bag, but out of such a huge selection and\or mess of a story, everyone’s bound to find some part they enjoy. Personally, I’d say Ei’s story about finding one’s identity anew (immediately after committing murder) while falling in love with a schoolgirl next door (who definitely didn’t want to be involved in anything resembling a crime, especially one concerning her alternate self, but oh, she’ll do anything for his man, including becoming a schoolgirl with a giant robot.) was my favorite - again, just the right tropes and mood for me! >:) And in general, there are countless little details that show how much care intended to go into this game, making sure every protagonist’s story lines up or simply making it all more believable, ironically enough. In an alternate world where the developers had more time and resources... this whole cast might have been one of the greatest in video games (there was lots of build-up material planned and cut), but as is, they’re just good.

The last part that pieces 13 Sentinels together is its battle mode, where you actually get to control the ✨giant robots✨ directly and save the world. It’s a simple mix of real-time combat and tower defense, with little nuggets of quality character banter and lore files being your real reward for engaging with it. I mean, if you like this sort of thing, you won’t be feeling robbed or anything - each character has unique skills, and the game encourages you to experiment with your loadout... there’s even multiple difficulty levels and an ‘endless’ mode you unlock after the main story! But to me, the core appeal was in how mindless most of it was - number go big, kaiju explode, yippee... And then the final two stages turned my simple strategies on their head and sucked the fun out of the whole experience at the crucial moment when the story, for the most part, pieced itself together and I was feeling pumped! Oh well, ultimately, before I hit the roadblock, I was having fun putting on a show for Yuki-chan. :p

The soundtrack of this game is something I really appreciate, as well. Well, not all of it - the story section’s music didn’t leave much of an impression on me, but the battle music... Why, yes, I love bashing manufactured robots’ heads in while dynamic electronic music with juicy bass blares in my speakers!!! In fact, hearing LYSINE randomly in a Youtube video was enough to spark my interest in this game in the first place. It’s absolutely one of the greatest highlights of my personal experience.

Ultimately, this is another passion project that came close to biting off more than it could chew, but the effort put in ended up shining through in almost every aspect. This was a strangely unique experience for me, one that made me reevaluate, at least a little bit, what I actually like about games I play. It might not stick with me in ways most other stories do, but I’m thankful to have (almost) completed it anyway!!

6-5. Ace Attorney: Dual Destinies (3DS\Android, 2013) [♪ Difficult People]

Ace Attorney: Spirit of Justice (Android, 2016) [♪ Dance of Devotion]

Look, I made the fifth and sixth mainline entries take fifth and sixth place, I'm a genius. (not really) Prepare for a somewhat nonsensical ramble as I try to piece together my far too numerous thoughts on them!

My favorite thing about these games might be how controversial they became\are in the eyes of the fanbase. If you ask some of the more invested people, they'll spare no quarter in trying to convince you how the change in the writing staff is the greatest blight on Ace Attorney as a whole... and then you play the games, and it goes a little something like this ('I pray for your ass' is 100% accurate, can confirm).

What I'm trying to say is... AA5 and 6 are surprisingly... good? Or, more accurately, not bad? Just different. I can understand how I have an inherently unusual perspective compared to long-time fans just by knowing in advance about the reason these games never quite feel the same as even their direct predecessor (cause, again, a lot of it is due to the original writer being forced to work on spinoffs at that time), but even then, I don't think being unaware would have changed my opinion too much. It's clear Yamazaki and co. had put some thought into these games, and besides that, it's just strange seeing the games bashed because of the new person at the helm, given that he also handled the fan favorite Investigations games (and yeah, I love them too, but I think in the end I appreciate the mainline games more).

Also, story-wise, AA4 was pretty weak; I'm sure things would have been different had it received a proper sequel that it clearly planned to build up to instead of the soft reboot that we ultimately got, but on its own it never stood out to me, probably because I don't seek serious affairs rife with a moody and inconsistent air from this particular series, so I was never upset with having to see those lingering threads go down the drain in the first place. I never really understood the allure behind the characters of Apollo (the most normalest guy in the world) and Trucy (who I think just exists to force a dichotomy between the changes Phoenix went through and his decidedly still soft heart), either, so I didn't really feel like there was anything to massacre in 5/6 (except for Phoenix - he truly had no reason to return to law, ever, and his presence sours both sequels and strips them of potential just about everywhere. The time we had to spend with him could have been used to explore Athena or Apollo's childhoods!!)

A lot of the problems DD and SoJ show - the struggle to have a proper story to tell, the dated humor (that naturally works better in these games, since they're more recent - Retinz's haughty 'I'll do anything for those clicks, baby' attitude in particular is a decent impression of what is just close enough to what would probably be called being an influencer in the modern day), the drawn-out trials such as 5-3 and 6-3 or 6-5... they all existed in some way or another even before Apollo Justice. Of course, that doesn't mean we can absolve the games completely of these flaws, but they shouldn't be unfairly judged, either. It's why I prefer to focus on the things I did enjoy here, even if DD has remarkably few of them.

You see, I initially was ready to declare Dual Destinies my new favorite game - Athena's introduction made quite a splash (truly, a multilingual neurodivergent icon the series did not know it needed), the shift in music style was intriguing, and Simon became my most beloved prosecutor in the whole series almost instantly (and for better or worse, he still is.) I also liked the unusual linearity this game has, just because I like things decently straightforward in my games.

As AA5 dragged on, however, the linearity felt more like a flaw than an asset, serving only to make the game feel empty. Other cracks started to show as well - the decision to split screentime between three protagonists harming each of them in turn (even if it was fun seeing how the Space Center linked Apollo and Athena before they even knew each other, it felt forced more than anything due to lack of a setup), the multitude of directions they try to take the game's prosecutor in and inevitably fail to capture the aura this 'archetype' had in previous games, resulting in a character that does barely enough for the story and leaves you eager for more (assuming you don't straight up dismiss him and his edgy attitude), the weakest soundtrack in the series, the unsubtle development of Athena's character (along with similarly blunt theming around 'the dark age of the law' and such, which I can only assume was done in an attempt to make the game easier for newcomers to approach... even though this is the fifth game in a storied and normally interconnected series... huh?)... things like that piled on quickly and soured my impression a hell of a lot. At least I had Simon in all his glory to keep me going - just like someone on Backloggd said, he 'deserved a better debut game than this'.

So in the end Dual Destinies turned out to be a lovable mess, the first half of it testing your patience and the second offering a payoff that's only enjoyable if you are invested in a character that, to many, pales in comparison to the series' past (I loved him, though, so by extension, I can’t help but like his whole game). Ah, and you can spend money to defend an orca, which is more fun to talk about than actually experience. What about Spirit of Justice?

To put it bluntly, it's also a mess, arguably a bigger one. But discussion of this specific entry deserves to have more nuance than this - if Dual Destinies is like having to dig through layers of dirt before chancing upon a solid chunk of gold, Spirit of Justice is like eating a burger that's serviceable, but it has bits of your favorite sauce all over the place, so you can't help but be tempted to finish eating the whole thing, even if it is in actuality mediocre. So let us ask the question once again - what about Spirit of Justice made it ultimately more enjoyable than its predecessor?

The simple answer is that Dual Destinies, being middle-of-the-road in most respects, unintentionally does a great job of lowering your expectations for whatever comes next. Because of this, my opinion on Spirit often changed drastically while I played it - I liked it overall, but I felt like my enjoyment of it went against basic logic. Again, it was like eating your favorite piece of fast food - you know it's not exactly good for you, and you feel baffled about how much joy it brings you, but you can't stop yourself from feeling that joy.

My thought process while playing the majority of Spirit was something like ‘well, this story may be absurd sometimes, and the land of Khura'in, a setting created out of desperation to fix that was not broken before the new writers worked themselves into a strange corner, is just a bit shy of an affront to the audience’s intelligence... it continues to make a mess little by little of both pre-established character arcs and those of newcomers, and this is probably just the surface of a sizable list of reasons this game could be rightfully considered a disappointment by some… but guess what? There’s just enough remnants of squandered potential that, fortunately or not, the game has me hooked’.

That remained the case until the credits rolled and I stared at the phone screen with waves of a strange mixture of regret and satisfaction. To say that this is a weird way to end an entire series is frankly an understatement.

But in general, Spirit tries its hardest to appeal to the player on many fronts at once. The 3D models and animations’ quality has increased noticeably compared to their first attempt with Dual Destinies (and a lot of the witnesses are a joy to interact with as characters, too), the investigation sections, for the most part, are more substantial and thought-out than the previous game (you actually have to think about how to progress sometimes, wow!!), the attempt to have a story with a bigger scale is, if nothing else, something to be admired, and the soundtrack... why, it might be the best in all of Ace Attorney.

Music as a whole here is lots more memorable and moody, with many tracks for events based in Khura'in having a sort of specific somber and mysterious feel to them never seen in the series' past, and pieces that play while court is in session lending trials a resolute and somewhat desperate air (the cross-examination music in particular is my favorite across the whole series.), fitting of the stakes continuing to rise as you make your way through the story.

Yeah, that's right - they actually made another attempt to make an overarching plot work in an Ace Attorney game! And, as mentioned earlier, they tried to expand its scope beyond things we've seen before! Not to mention the countless characters from series' past they could not and would not let go of... and all of these things had to compete for space in a game, that, while being the longest in the franchise by a large margin, is constrained not only by series' tradition, having only five cases to unfold the story in, but also by just how much filler there is.

While Turnabout Storyteller is my favorite case in the series, period (the banter between prosecutors is great, most of the jokes land, and it has a great witness with well-handled DID representation in Uendo), it has little to say about what’s going on in the world at large, and I could talk forever about how flawed the parts of the story that do concern that are (I decided to cut all that inane rambling from this post, jeez).

So, it’s no wonder people have debates on the quality of this game to this day, especially its controversial handling of characters both old and new. Athena having all development of her character reversed, Apollo getting a contradictory backstory to bend the plot to the writers’ needs, and Nahyuta having his character arc compressed so much that his heel turn ends up being nonsensical, among many other things, like how in court, he manages to alternate between clean, sensible logic and running down the defense with raw insults, which continues to go on for three more cases barely unabated... It’s a mess from the word go, but there’s some heart in it, and it tried something new. That’s why it’s a game that I think will haunt me for a long time.

4. Panel de Pon\Tetris Attack (SNES, 1995) [♪ Thiana's Stage]

What could give a game that is about nothing but matching blocks by color such a high position? The fact that it has so much more to offer than just blocks. ...and the fact that I like match three games. With a caveat.

Said caveat is that I'm actually not overly familiar with games of that sort - I've barely played Bejeweled or whatever else might come to your mind when you think of the genre. Instead, there is a certain series of games called The Treasures of Montezuma that holds a weirdly special place in my heart.

When I was less than ten years old, I was glued to the PC screen, watching my mom and dad take turns obliterating colorful pieces on the screen to really repetitive music, and now here I am, an actual adult, doing the same thing to relax and pass the time. In fact, I made it a point to go through that series one by one over the course of this year, as a sort of nostalgic boredom killer, watching the games hit their stride and fall from grace after the first three entries (cash grab lol).

The things that made that series different from what I would usually see in the genre (and that ultimately made the whole family love that goddamn series for years) were as follows:

you can move other pieces while the ones you already matched are disappearing;

you're incentivized to plan ahead in one way or another to execute massive combos;

there's a fair number of different modes with the same core mechanics to keep things from getting stale.

Sound familiar? Yup, Pon hits all of these points just as well, with a puzzle mode and a VS mode that is a plain joy to play with someone else and delivers some satisfying challenge if you go through it on your own!

But not only does it play in a completely different way when you get down to it, it also (gasp!) has great, poppy visuals and music that is not repetitive! And it has multiplayer! I was not expecting to love a game that just randomly grabbed my attention with its bright and fuzzy game cover standing out in the list of (pithy) NSO offerings (RIP🥺) as much as I did. But it was too well-made not to!

Another important thing is that Pon is probably a hallmark of 'easy to understand, hard to master'. Sure, matching blocks is, as mentioned, not the hardest thing to comprehend in the world, but the unique thing about Pon is that said blocks come from the bottom, not top. You have almost complete reign over them - you can swap any two blocks that are next to each other horizontally, or make one of them fall down from an empty space.

This allows you to not only match blocks in threes one by one, but, more importantly, to set them up so they fall down and clear themselves in chains as well (or set up columns so that you clear 4 or 5 blocks at once all on your own, instead of praying to RNG to give you such a combination). Learning to set up and execute chains is far and away the most important part of this game, and it's what makes it unique, because, thanks to the aforementioned restrictions, the process is different from both other match-threes and games like Tetris and Puyo Puyo (neither of which I actually really like, so imagine my surprise when Pon consumed my soul for a few months...).

A successful play session of Pon requires many things - the knowledge of how chains are set up and executed, the reflexes to actually follow through on the execution, the ability to adapt to the random wall of blocks thrown at you, the understanding of how garbage blocks work in VS... The things people pull off at competitive level still seem like a fever dream to me, and even though I kind of feel like I got as far as I could in terms of skill, in the grandest scheme of things I'm probably barely above a beginner.

And yet, the game leaves you free to play at any speed you want, with most modes also offering you three difficulty levels - and the lowest settings make blocks crawl slower than a turtle. This kind of accessibility, combined with cute music and actually unreasonably pretty and sweet character art, makes this one of the most welcoming games I've ever seen - and I never have a bad time when I decide to sit down with a music playlist of my choice and just crawl my way up from minimum speed to... the actual maximum (99) on Easy or about halfway there (I maybe only broke 60 once or twice) on Hard.

So, basically, this might be the Chrono Trigger of puzzle games for me. I still think to myself about how badly I want to play it on a proper SNES controller now and then.

PS.

3. Trails of Cold Steel (PC, 2017) [♪ Investigation]

It's funny, I ended up posting about two Trails games at once, and yet, I made it a point for myself to take a long break between the two - an action that is, in general, greatly advisable, since Cold Steel manages to feel familiar and strange at the same time, and playing it without tempering your expectations can lead to ruin. Its high placing among the other games of the year is well-deserved, but compared to the rest of the series, in most areas, it falls short - this is a good RPG, but a barely acceptable Trails game. Not in the least because the protagonist's role can be aptly summed up with this (one of my favorite videos ever, I think.).

There are just enough things about this game that are consistently enjoyable and still feel (mostly) worthy of the high standards set by the series' predecessors that I managed to plow through it beginning-to-end in three and a half weeks, which is definitely comparable with my previous series track record (maybe even surprising myself a little.). The setting's structure takes cues from both Sky (with separate locations that you get to visit and thoroughly explore for a chapter that together make up the whole of a region) and Crossbell (with Trista and Thors Military Academy serving as a hub-like place where you get to observe fellow students' progress throughout the year) for an interesting attempt to shake things up a little and convey the growing sense of scale that surrounds Erebonia as a whole.

The shift to 3D, for the most part, is... inoffensive? There are two specific losses that came about as a result of it that I can't help but mourn (one is expressive character portraits, the other is the disappearance of our good old friend the battle grid, which demolished what little importance the MOV stat had in one fell swoop.), but as a whole, it's a very appropriate change and executed just well enough to not ruin whatever immersion you might have. And that's good enough, since graphics were never the series' biggest draw...

But the soundtracks are definitely one of them. The music in this game is a little hit-or-miss at times, especially compared to a game like Azure (at worst it just does its job, at best it haunts you at night - I guess I'm just being picky because of my experience with Trails ¯\_(ツ)_/¯), but it definitely manages to feel unique compared to previous entries by trying to go in a more 'orchestral' direction. There's a lot to like, even if it doesn't feel like it measures up to the past at times - at least a few battle themes are bangers as usual, and this game probably has the greatest amount of gorgeous and atmospheric field tracks you just can't get enough of. But for every track I genuinely love, there's always one or two, especially when it comes to battle music, that made me think 'okay, this is neat, but it's definitely not the same any more :('. Not to say it's bad, it's just... good at being different, I guess.

The NPCs, especially the ones around Thors (I love Beryl, Mint and Linde) and the ones that end up travelling places alongside you (most notably Annabelle and the classic duo of Ricky and Anton), also manage to bring joy whenever they appear. The more static ones suffer from the same problem they did in Azure - they serve more as set pieces than anything else at times, and they're part of the bigger issue that is this game trying to draw from what is, seemingly, more modern anime tropes. Man, that hurts to type. You could say that that sorta thing plagued the series since forever, but nowhere is it more noticeable than here.

It also, naturally, affects the story and its pacing, as well as the more prominent characters. I used to fear the school setting would ruin what the series has been building up towards, and it sorta did, but the crux of the problem is really the repetitiveness of it all. Start the month, do quests around the academy, explore the schoolhouse (half of which is basically a waste of time), go on a field study the next day, act a mediator to resolve a conflict in your class, watch tensions in the country rise in some way (very slowly), help out to mitigate that, go home, repeat for 70% of the game... eventually it all starts to feel like Groundhog Day or something.

That feeling is not helped by some characters feeling more like gimmicks than people - while I appreciate what the game managed to show about, say, Elliot's family or Gaius' connection to his homeland, at the same time it tries its damnedest to reduce them to 🎶 and 💨 respectively. And then there's Alisa, who manages to have a somewhat impressive arc about gaining independence and starting to find purpose in life (which matches Rean neatly, because half his deal is also searching for it. It's cool.)... but she has literally the worst introduction that feels as if it wants to ruin your impression of her (I've had enough girls falling on top of guys and vice versa for a lifetime, thanks). It's almost impressive how much fluctuation there is in how the members of Class VII are handled, especially when you remember it has someone like Emma whose whole deal is... well, maybe she'll tell us in the next game. They really want you to play the next game.

Even the characters I ended up actually enjoying (Jusis and Fie, mostly) got my attention in a way that feels... surface-level. Sure, this game can give someone a decent arc when it wants to (we love us some found family-lite), but it's not quite enough. Yet another way in which this game leaves you hungry for more.

Speaking of scale, it ends up feeling off on two fronts. One, the game resorts to telling you about it rather than showing it most of the time. Erebonia's capital is supposed to have a population that's two and a half times bigger than Crossbell's, and yet the 'half' of Heimdallr that you get to explore never really measures up to that expectation. It's fun to walk around there in its own right, but the writing surrounding the place creates a strange sense of dissonance... I don't know, I don't like how much that specifically felt like a reach.

Two, this game being concurrent with Zero\Azure is an interesting choice, but at the same time it feels like a taunt. Azure left us on a tense parting note, but instead of getting to explore the resolution of a goddamn occupation, we travel back in time to go to a military school. Yeah, great. It's especially silly hearing some NPCs freak out over the events that led to it all and how it affects them (most of which you are expected to already be familiar enough with), while the main story wants the player and the main characters to cast it all away and enjoy some festival.

I get it, and it's actually quite an appropriate thing to do given their position as literal students, but it's still quite ridiculous, and even the way all the endgame happenings undermine this sense of security you were told to upkeep is too sudden and strange to actually be enjoyable. (not to mention the final final boss that came out of nowhere... *grumble grumble*)

They really want you to play the next game. And the thing is, I will... next year... But only because I'm still waiting for the previous plot thread to resolve itself. And because Trails gameplay is Trails gameplay, no matter how many changes it goes through. (I ended up skimming over this particular matter, but all you really need to know is that the game balance here is particularly skewed, making random encounters feel like mere tissue to tear through and boss fights feel drawn out and easily won.)

2-1. Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Switch, 2017) [♪ Our Hope] XBC2: Torna ~ The Golden Country (Switch, 2018) [♪ Battle!!] Xenoblade Chronicles: Definitive Edition (Switch, 2020) [♪ Where the Ancestors Sleep]

(yesss, I get to use my own gifs!! Consistent tagging sure pays off)

Xenoblade made me realize for the umpteenth time how much I love JRPGs. Xenoblade introduced me to the latest and greatest of characters I just love putting in the mental microwave. Xenoblade helped me meet lots of wonderful people. Xenoblade was there for me when I actually felt like utter shit trying to think about the future.

There is no way anyone should be surprised about this placement. For months, I’ve been struggling to describe just what makes this series so great, because the thing is, it’s just about everything. The games look great and offer you lots of vibrant fantastical vistas to explore, they manage to combine intriguing characters with compelling settings, they have incredibly diverse soundtracks, they break the universe in half in multiple ways before folding it back together and leaving you full of hope. That last thing is why I’m putting them all together here, instead of being needlessly petty and leaving one of them behind - while it’s true I initially found myself preferring 2 to 1 and still think it’s the more... ‘welcoming’ game out of the two, it’s their combined existence that serves to propel them to heights equal to my all-time favorites.

Just like with the other... half a dozen games on this list, I could go on forever about the details I find interesting to think about, or the things that surprised or infuriated me, or just... the battle system of Xenoblade 2 alone... But the one thing that matters is, I’m glad I gave these games a chance exactly when I did. It was precisely the right moment that made them resonate in that unique way that I think we all seek out in media.

The future

I had this section planned out roughly for '21, so what I'll do this time is mix together the lists for both years. Here's the first year's list, woeful as it is:

Ys IX: Monstrum Nox

Ys vs. Trails in the Sky

Dinosaur - patch still isn't out at the time of writing.

Legend of Heroes II: Dragon Slayer

Tokyo Xanadu - played the first two chapters or so, ended up beating Trails first

Popful Mail

Trails of Cold Steel

AI: Somnium Files

Sakuna: Of Rice and Ruin

WarioWare: Touched

3DS Etrian Odyssey

Atelier series

Now for more relevant predictions, mostly obvious given the current list:

Trails of Cold Steel II

Great Ace Attorney, with the rest of CS being at least after this

Xenoblade Chronicles 3

Dead Cells (I have high hopes for the relatively recent updates)

Final Fantasy VII Remake

#yearly game list #long post #flashing gif #zero.txt #aa #trails #xcode #< i think that was the tag back when i was hopeful about the game #xb #13s #im posting it two weeks early screw it #if you read the tags first be warned i do not do xenoblade justice in this post #trust me i tried and i just couldn't Word #guess i should be happy i didn't have to do the same with ct

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imaginativeamateur · 3 years

Note

can you do 30 with kakashi and a fem reader pls 🥺🤲 I love your work and am so happy for you regarding your follower milestone, congrats !!

[Kakashi Hatake X Reader] The Power of Love

|200 Followers Event|

Prompt: 30 — "I mean it."

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x fem!Reader

Note: Aloha, I'm back!!! Thanks for the request and the cheers😝 Okay, this one is AHHH, the title :DD This one is very sentimental but playful at the same time. There's like some serious talk but also entertaining moments, too. Without further ado, please enjoy!

Constant requests that you get married were sent in your way for the past several months. Your parents were tired of having to wait to see you bring a man home, but you had no intention to comply. The topic would come up to the table during dinner every now and then, with your mother furrowing in her brows and your father sighing in distress. On your part, you played cool, soothing them that you just found a guy and dismissing the matter with a feigned grin.

Everything would be ordinary, much to your own liking until your parents secretly signed you up for a match-matching service. You had a big argument that night but they smugly smiled and ensured that you would fall in love with him immediately. It was ridiculous.

“You’d be head over heels in no time, Y/N,” your mother said.

“Like she knows who he is,” you mumbled, scoffing on your way back to your apartment.

Though you completely shut the door to the new romance—the guy that you presumably knew nothing about—you woke up earlier than usual, earlier than you should. You blamed it on your neighbor’s child crying but you discerned that you were being irrational. The whole situation was aberrant. You purposefully threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt that was too worn out for a first date. Still, you could not be any more careless, the last thing you wanted was to get the man to generate some form of adoration for you. You checked yourself in the mirror and made sure that you looked representable nonetheless.

The sun was already high up in the sky when you locked your door and tiredly dropped the keys into your handbag, storming to the destination with angry steps. It was your day off and you could have spent your time on something much more meaningful, training, for example. Kakashi-senpai said you still needed to hone your close combat skills. You pursed your lips at the thought of the Hatake, feeling even more enraged and annoyed. The said Shinobi was a nice guy, he was gentle and mannered with everyone but you. He treated you like his kid, bossing you around, requesting you to dig through the shelves of bookstores to find the limited edition of Icha Icha that was recently published. But you did not quit being his subordinate. Kakashi had everything that you needed to harness, from his skills to knowledge, and you would never let such a golden opportunity go wasted.

Being with him for two long years brought you many benefits and visible improvements, one of them being your patience. You were short-tempered and Kakashi was just the perfect tame to your boiling climate. The silver-haired veteran knew you were cantankerous on some days, like today, when you were having an involuntary sunbathing session, and would always be later than he usually would. Over the drenching months, you grew indifferent to his tardiness, adapted to his peculiar conscience of time, and no longer rambled when he arrived. He would come up with the most bizarre excuses to get away with it, and at first, you were furious about it, but you found them somewhat adorable now.

You smiled, wondering why you were recalling your moments with Kakashi when you were waiting for your date to come. You bit the inner side of your cheek when you realized your patience was running thin—it reminded you of your silver-haired senpai. Releasing a shaky breath, you calmed yourself down, assuring that you would apologize to the man that it was merely a misunderstanding with your parents that they signed you up for today. You rubbed the surface of the table with your fingers and let your thoughts carried you away at the moment, unconsciously drumming the rhythm of your favorite song—his favorite song that you grew accustomed to after years of the very special silver-haired occupying your day.

“You seem nervous.”

Your head perked at the unexpectedly familiar voice, “Kakashi-senpai?”

The silver-haired settled himself in the opposite seat with ease, “Good morning, Y/N.”

“What are you doing here?” You did not bother to greet him back properly due to the tremendous shock being registered into your system.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to… to,” you came to a halt, fumbling with the hem of your shirt when you found it impossible to continue. It was embarrassing.

“Blind date?” He questioned, quirking a brow.

Your cheeks heated up in modesty, unable to answer his beseech.

“That seems like a yes,” Kakashi leaned back, enjoying your flustered state, “I’m here for a blind date, too.”

“A what?”

“A blind date,” he repeated without failing to lose his composure.

It took you several seconds to comprehend the whole situation, then you shifted in your chair, propping your elbows onto the table to hide your blush, “This is such an… interesting encounter. But I won’t change my mind.”

You were fairly absolute with the plan to turn the whole thing down, despite whoever was your date, despite it being Kakashi Hatake. You did not want to risk the bond that took you so long to form with him and the trust that he enlisted you upon. You could not.

“I also came resolute,” he made a simple, yet down-to-earth statement. Kakashi caught your eyes and challenged, “What do you want to do after a coffee date?”

“No,” you jerked away, “what are you saying? Are you okay, senpai?”

“We’re on a date and you still call me senpai?”

“Look, we’re not going to do this, we can’t, Kakashi,” you tried to explain but to no avail.

The silver-haired smugly smiled, “Good, Kakashi sounds much nicer.”

“I’m not joking,” you cleared your throat and glared at him.

“Neither am I, Y/N. I mean it.”

Your lips fell apart as the coherence in your mind shattered into bits and pieces. Kakashi silently observed the fleeting expressions that you made, waiting for your response.

“I don’t know,” you stuttered. You knew who Kakashi was and the tragedy of your occupation. The two of you did not deserve anyone’s love, for once that you held the chance of breaking their heart. You looked away from his eyes to conceal the wavering of your emotions, “I never thought about life in that way. I don’t need a man in my life, that’s what I’d like to believe. I don’t want anyone to feel battered when I’m gone.”

“I hate it to see those I love cry and mourn, too,” he mumbled. You listened attentively as though it was yourself confessing to the dark. Kakashi continued, “I only live for a certain amount of time but I have been constantly filling it with despair and loneliness. There were things that I want to do and people that I want to love, but because of my fear of hurting them, I didn’t. But after the massive loss that I’ve experienced, everything was different, I understood how painful regret actually is.”

Tears began to well in your eyes the more his words dropped. You balled your fists, blinking profusely to prevent the warm droplets from escaping. Kakashi noticed your quiet sobs, running his fingers over your trembling hands, loosening your grip, and interlacing your fingers with his. You released a heavy sigh and pulled both your hands back, wiping away your tears as quickly as when they fell and dampened the fabric of your jeans.

“You’re not at the bottom of agony when you lose someone important,” Kakashi breathed, “it’s when you feel empty after they’ve left and mourning on what you could’ve done when they were still with you.”

Your sobs eventually assuaged as you chewed on his words. The silver-haired distracted himself by stirring the liquid of his drink, but he was in no state to enjoy its taste. He already said everything he wanted to say, and the decision was now fully on your shoulders. But by your lack of response, he was sure that you did not see your relationship taking another form—the way that he wished. He abruptly stood up from his seat, fleeting on his feet, “Let’s forget about what’s happened. I mean I still respect you as my teammate, Y/N. Don’t forget our meeting tomorrow.”

“No-no, Kakashi-senpai, wait,” you moved, hastily shoving your hands in his direction, gripping his wrist like a vice. You hung your head low to avoid his investigating gaze as you spoke, “I do.”

His gears in his head turned, and Kakashi smiled with satisfaction, “You do what?”

Your heart was beating frantically in your chest, so fast that you felt its rapid pumps in your throat. You stuttered out, voice growing quieter the more you expressed, “I-I want to go out with you, senpai—”

“Drop the ‘senpai’ already,” he playfully hissed and you grinned, certain that you just made the best choice of your life. Kakashi leaned down and rested his chin on your shoulder blade, snuggling his face into your neck, “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for letting me love you.”

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

Taglist: @dai-tsukki-desu @thenightfallingstar @iam-gaaras-loveintrest @animepickle7 @tirzamisu @rinnegankakashi

#kakashi hatake x you #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi x y/n #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi hatake #kakashi hatake x y/n #hatake kakashi x you #hatake kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake imagine #naruto x reader #kakashi imagines #kakashi fluff #kakashi fanfiction

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anika-ann · 3 years

Text

Just a Human (S.R.)

Type: mini-series turned one-shot, SHIELD recruit!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 8750

Summary: Being a SHIELD recruit was a dream come true, especially with people like Sergeant Barnes or Captain Rogers offering an input to your class’ training.

It was also hard work for many different reasons. One of them being all those guys around; not all of them were exactly fit to become heroes, simply because they were not good people.

Maybe you shouldn’t have pointed it out so openly though. Then again, what would the world turn into if you kept your mouth shut when feeling like speaking up?

WARNINGS: so-so graphic description of assault almost turned sexual, violence and a bit of blood, boys being boys in a real bad way, language

A/N: Steve Rogers vs assholes, round 2. Also, ‘you’ vs. assholes. And Bucky in the mix.

A/N: This was originally posted as a miniseries on AO3, but now edited, I decided to thrown it in as a long, sort-of three part one-shot. Enjoy and mind the warnings.

(gif source dailymcugifs, divider by firefly-graphics)

A Handful of Spite

“Can you believe the fucking nerve on him?!” Henry hissed, punching the bag harder and catching your attention. The statement was followed by his companion nodding grimly.

You tried to ignore the walking testosterone jerks; you never liked either Henry or Jim. The reason was simple – they were, as you loved to remind people, an advertisement on toxic masculinity. Bullies on top of that. The kind of people you wanted to avoid at all costs.

You weren’t that lucky to have that chance though.

So instead, you scoffed under your breath and continued your sit-ups series. You had more important things to do than wonder about what they were talking about this time.

It was your regular training session with the other SHIELD recruits led by Sergeant Barnes – which--- oh my. When joining the academy, you had no clue that the director’s ‘you’ll be learning from the best’ meant that of all things; trained by the more-than-once-believed-late James Buchanan Barnes. Everyone here knew his story – or at least some of it. The brainwashing. The murders. His heroics to make up for them as much as he could. His everlasting friendship and a nickname that was tied to it. Bucky; the very best friend of the oh-so-praised Captain America.

Oh, speaking of which, he joined the sessions too. You were being trained by not one, but two supersoldiers slash war heroes. You couldn’t believe this was your life sometimes, but you were not one to dwell on it. You just accepted it as a fact. An abso-fucking-lutely incredible fact.

“He’s just a fucker, man. Forget about Barnes, you have Cassie in your pocket. Just ‘cause he’s all sticky sweet on her doesn’t mean she’ll suck his-“

You made a disgusting face, pushing harder to tune out the conversation. You wanted to gag and at the same time, your blood was boiling.

Could there be a jerk who was objectifying women more than Jim? A guy who was using his lower brain more frequently than him? Doubtful. You really wanted to throw up at rubbish that was leaving his mouth.

Not to mention that he was throwing dirt on Sergeant Barnes who absolutely didn’t deserve it.

“-he’s like that to all of them. The chicks. And they fucking dig him, it’s disgusting. He makes the poor brainwashed kicked puppy face, reminding the sob story of his and they’re all dropping to their knees I swear…” Jim continued, practically spitting the venomous words.

You squeezed your eyes shut, half furious and half guilty; the sergeant did have a heart-breaking backstory and many girls were making eyes on him, their hearts softened by the tragedy and his bravery, yes. And you couldn’t say it wasn’t moving you as well, filling you with compassion – but compassion only. Obviously, Sergeant Barnes was objectively a very attractive man too, but what they were saying… ugh.

He didn’t deserve these insults; he was not trying anything on anyone, he wasn’t offering his ‘sob story’, actually being rather secretive about it for obvious and no doubt painful reasons. He couldn’t really couldn’t be blamed for the girls fawning over him a bit more because of it, could he? What was he supposed to do? Stop breathing? Stop doing what he chose to be his job?

It wasn’t his problem – and thank god for that – that these two assholes had egos the size of Texas and couldn’t handle a little competition.

Seriously. Walking testosterone-filled jerks. You seriously considered moving from the station you had been given, eyeing Captain Rogers, checking if he would notice.

“Well, he’s not. Getting. Any. From. My. Chick. Asshole!”

The bag swung wildly under Henry’s blows despite Jim holding it. You laid off, taking your fifteen second break.

“I bet he’s fucking them all on side. Always so… so soft on them. I bet he’s leaving all the hard shit for bed,” Jim snorted, somewhere between angry at him competition and amused at his own crude joke.

You were gonna puke. You were sure of it.

“And he’s too hard on us. Showing off for them. I would fucking want to see him holding up against us without that metal arm-“

You had enough. You sat up sharply, panting, your face flushed, unsure whether it was from the exercise or the exchange you were listening to.

“Are you serious?!” you hissed their way, earning their shocked glances.

And then, Jim’s face twisted in annoyance and disgust.

“Oh geez, you’re one of them, aren’t you?” he snarked, rolling his eyes. “The fangirls.”

More heat burned in your cheeks. You weren’t kidding anyone; both the sergeant and the captain had showed up in your not so innocent dreams, but you were only human, alright. There was only so much time you could spend with two very fine men like them in one room, a bit sweaty and rough (or just slightly gentler with the ladies) until your brain reacted. Mostly to the captain. Not the point.

But actually crossing the line? Being a part of the thing they were describing if it ever existed? Waiting in the line until one of them picked you for the evening with a promise to do it again after they… Jesus what, tried all the others? No, thank you. You had some dignity left.

Also, you simply couldn’t imagine them doing such thing. Raised in a different era, tried by war and pain and lost, yet remaining the great men they were? Just nope.

“No! Jesus, are you even listening to yourself?” you hissed, minding your volume. You hoped that the low hum of voice in the room, of others working out, giving each other pointers and the noise of the machines would offer you a cover from the rest of your companion.

“What, you wanna tell me they’re not going easy on you? On any chick, really?”

“Yeah, well, maybe because they don’t actually want to break our bones during training. Supersoldiers. Superstrength. Does that ring a bell?” you pointed out, reaching for your water bottle, hoping either of your trainers would forgive you when seeing you only took a sec to have a sip.

Henry scoffed, leaning onto the bag. “Sounds like someone has a crush…”

You couldn’t help the motion of your hands, inconspicuously throwing them in the air in frustration.

Why were you even speaking to them? You should have kept your mouth shut!

“Oh go to hell, Ulrich! You’re just jealous and scared that your girl whom you treat like a piece of shit will run off,” you murmured, wiping your forehead off sweat.

“Yeah, because they’re sure pulling their punches with guys too,” Jim complained again, rolling his eyes as Henry now watched you, eyes narrowed in anger – oh you hit a nail on the head, alright.

You couldn’t but mirror Jim’s action, deciding to stick to Devil’s advocate, because…. yeah, because it wasn’t fair to either Rogers or Barnes. They were good people and didn’t deserve this.

“So they’re not beating the shit out of us like they do with you, get over it.”

“They’re humiliating us! Showing off their big muscles, trying to impress all the chicks-“

You chuckled incredulously as they actually admitted the real reason behind their bitching so openly; as if you hadn’t known the whole time. Ego. Ohhh, the ego was bruised. Call 911, CPR is gonna be needed! God, how did they even live with ego this big? Compensating for something?

“They’re doing their job. Training. Yes, they go a bit harder on you, because your physiology can take it. Did it ever occur to you that they have bigger problems than entering a pissing contest with you just so they could steal the girls? Jeez… just… maybe try to be less of assholes and the girls will be into you too… ”

You missed the hard look Henry gave you, laying down again, this time on your belly to work on your back.

You wheezed when a knee suddenly dug into your back, violently and painfully knocking the air out of your lungs. Before you could react, one of your arms was twisted behind your back, Henry’s voice raspy right into your ear, low and dangerous.

“Listen, you little bitch, you don’t get to talk to me like that. Understand? Huh?”

He was so proving your point, but you didn’t have the time You tried to breathe in properly, and free your arm while pushing up on the free one, your muscles burning with the effort. Shit, he was heavy. You wheezed again instead of the answer.

“Can’t hear you, sweetie. What was that?”

Peripherally, you could see heavy boots approaching rapidly, making a quick guess of who that could be. You gritted your teeth, tears of humiliation pricking your eyes. You were not about to give Henry the satisfaction of proving his point of your trainers being sweet on all the girls even if this so wasn’t that.

“Screw. You,” you let out with the last oxygen left, grabbing his left calf and sharply tugging to the very same side. A half-second later when his weight of you eased just a fraction, you threw your body to the left as well, adding a jerk of your legs.

Both of you rolled over, him ending up under you and you quickly spun away, gasping, desperately fighting for air. As it burned your windpipe, it was as painful as welcomed. Little spots danced inf ornt of your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away – luckily for you, Henry didn’t dare to attack you again.

You shook your head before pushing to sit up, only to meet with Captain Rogers’s strict gaze.

“What the hell is going on in here?” he demanded, sharp blue eyes flickering between the three of you.

Maybe you were hallucinating, but he seemed to be murdering Henry with his eyes. Uh-uh. You would have been glad he was, hadn’t Henry been talking about favouritism only few moments ago. You pushed up simultaneously with him and you both stood straight, facing the captain.

“Apologies, sir,” you stated mechanically, his gaze immediately shifting to you. Your heart stopped. Oh wow, you would swear the blue of his irises was on fire. You gulped. “We had a slight disagreement with Mr. Ulrich. I’m aware I shouldn’t have been talking to him in the first place. I’ll take whatever punishment is given to me.”

“Yeah, I bet you’d liked taking a punishment from him, wouldn’t you…” Jim muttered under his breath, making your gut twist in disgust.

Was he ever not thinking about sex? You prayed the captain didn’t hear him and you had to stop yourself from shooting Jim a murderous glare.

“I don’t think that’s necessary. Consider it a warning. Mr. Ulrich? You have something to add before you take a few laps?”

You could literally hear Henry’s blood boiling. You opened your mouth to ask for the same punishment, not wanting to have his point proved. You never got the chance to speak.

“No, sir. I only don’t understand why I’m the only one being punished,” Henry questioned innocently and you gritted your teeth.

Maybe because you attacked me, you dickhead?

Captain glared at him for a moment before his gaze shifted to Jim. “You’re not. Mr. Larkin is following your example.”

You pressed your lips together, this time to stop a smile threatening to spread on your lips. God, who knew America’s Golden Boy could get that sassy? You cleared your throat.

“If I might speak, sir, I deserve to run the laps as well,” you noted carefully, earning a curious expression from your superior. You could tell he wavered, a strange spark appearing in his eyes.

You desperately wanted him to let you run too even if you breathing was still a bit difficult; because otherwise Henry would be proved right. Yeah, nope.

“Very well, then. Ten laps around the gym, recruits. Then you move to the station free at the moment. Go. Don’t let it happen again.”

The three of you nodded dutifully and picked up a pace. For some reason, you could feel the captain’s eyes on you while he walked back to assisting his friend with hand-to-hand training. You glimpsed the sergeant leaning to him, probably asking what was that about, but the blond just shook his head.

Towards the eighth lap, you were being overpassed by Henry and Jim, who ran together; faster than you, whether you liked it or not.

“This isn’t over, bitch,” his hateful hiss reached your ears and you picked up speed stubbornly, not showing them that they might intimidate you even for a second.

They wished.

Even when leaving the room after the session was finished, you would swear there was a pair of blue eyes burning a hole to the back of your head. You hoped that you’d soon be free of the captain’s attention.

You sure didn’t want him to watch too closely. You didn’t need him behind your back to see mistakes you sometimes made just like anybody else. Also, it would be harder to admire and ogle him; you did that occasionally, okay. You were just a human, after all.

A Handful of Mistakes

Shauna, your roommate and bestie from science division of SHIELD, was very patient listening to your lament about guys being dicks; she was awesome like that.

So you vigorously vented your frustration with male population, rolled your eyes when mimicking the silent threat of ‘this not being over’, had a very unhealthy piece of cake at the cafeteria that afternoon and moved on.

You should have known better.

Henry’s words came haunting you few days later; which was too bad, because you had already forgotten about them, until the very moment they had punched you to the face.

…or rather to your shoulder and it wasn’t even a punch, more like one of those bumps people did, especially when they were being jerks, shoving you too hard for you to believe it was an accident.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” you threw over your shoulder sarcastically, continuing your way to the women’s locker room.

In hindsight, that was probably mistake number one; ignoring Henry and not starting a fight right there, not to mention being mouthy.

To be fair, you had no interest in further interaction; you were exhausted from the training, you were sticky and sweaty and all you craved was a shower. You would have just gone to have one at your dorm, but Shauna was having a hot date and you didn’t want to step on her toes. So you had taken your toiletries with you, using the showers near the gym.

Using the gym shower; mistake number two. It meant all of the students being gone by the time you emerged in fresh homey clothes, hair dripping water, because you hated hair-dryers and avoided them unless they were completely necessary.

You had spent much longer in the shower than needed, allowing your muscles to completely relax under the spray of water. That was mistake number three.

The fourth mistake was your pride. When you saw Henry, Jim, George (at least you thought, you weren’t sure, not having many classes with him) and Frank in the corridor, clearly waiting for you, since they bounced off the wall they had been resting against when you appeared, you should have probably been smarter and scream for help right away.

But no, you were being Miss Future Agent and you weren’t intimidated by four equivalents of high school jocks. Yep, this one was definitely the biggest mistake of yours.

“Fellas,” you beckoned to them, passing them gracefully, your bag over your shoulder along with the wet towel.

You barely made a few steps before a hand gripped your arm, harshly tugging you back. Your heart jumped into your throat, but you tried your best not to let it show. You turned to Henry, looking at his face, head tilted back just slightly due to his height.

“Is there a problem, Ulrich?” you asked calmly, earning a lift of his eyebrows at your tone.

“You know there is. I told you it was not over.”

You tried to ignore your pulse skyrocketing and the panic rising in your gut. You were not that stupid – you understood the implications. You knew that with four guys slowly circling you, you would have to fight bites and nails if it came to it and probably still lose. Sometimes it was just better to walk away and swallow your pride; a concept Henry and Jim clearly didn’t understand.

You jerked from Ulrich’s grip, still hoping you could walk away and call it day.

“It is over for me. Now if you’ll excuse me…“

Yes, you were being naïve thinking it would work.

The bag was torn away from your shoulder, your fingers automatically letting go to stay attached to your hand. You gritted your teeth, blood slowly reaching the boiling point.

Also, maybe you were more than just a bit afraid. Not that you would ever admit it to them.

Henry’s hand reached for your chin and your snatched it away in disgust before he could even make contact with your skin. Amusement dances in his eyes along with a flash of anger.

“Oh, kitty has claws?”

You felt another hand on your backside, sending a shudder up your spine, so you grabbed it, shoving it away as well.

Jim. Why weren’t you surprised? Pigs. What the fuck was their problem?

“I’ll let you know when I meet any. Now get out of my way,” you spat, your gut twisting as a sly grin spread on Henry’s face and he made a step right into your route.

“Or what? You’ll scratch, kitty? Or you’ll scream? Like a little girl?” he mocked you in high-pitched voice, his face lowering to yours so you were only inches apart.

“Bet you’d like that,” you murmured, narrowing your eyes when his breath with an unmistakable hint of alcohol fanned over your face. “No, I’ll offer you a breath-mint, because honestly you should do something about your breath.”

Yep, that was the mistake no.5 and definitely an enormous one.

You heard one of the guys chuckle, but you never got to enjoy the thrill of victory.

Out of blue, there was something around your neck, the weight of the towel shifting (add that to the mistake list) and your body flew backwards, colliding with a male one. George was it?

Your hands went to instinctively grab after the towel crushing your throat, but suddenly they were wrested down and pinned to your sides by strong arms. Jim had caught one, Henry another. Fucking cowards.

With your breath coming out short with both lack of oxygen and rising fear, your pulse thundering in your ears, you tried to jerk from their grip, but they wouldn’t budge, having an undeniable advantage.

Oh fuck, fuck, you were so fucked.

“Sassy little mouth, aren’t we?” Henry hummed, wry expression on his ugly face. “So dirty, feels like we should wash it with something. Who wants to go first, fellas?”

Loud alarm bells rang in your head, icy shiver running down your spine, stomach turning over.

Oh no, you don’t.

Your knee snapped up on instinct to gain the momentum, followed by a swift low kick to Jim’s knee.

He yelped and let go of your arm, allowing you to send an elbow straight to George’s face; and finally, your airways were free as the assault as the towel trap loosened.

You coughed, fighting for oxygen and mindlessly threw the item away to have at least one arm free.

“Bitch!” one of the men yelled; you weren’t sure which one, but you didn’t waste time thinking too much. Survival instinct took over.

Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes and you barely silenced the scream when Henry took advantage of your hesitation, twisting your arm behind your back. Fuck he really had a thing for that, didn’t he?

You tried to kick him, but someone else’s leg somehow managed to swept their leg under yours and you fell on your knees. Sharp tug on your hair caused you to cry out and obediently tilt your head back. Few tears escaped you, but you pushed up in attempt to get up again.

A kick coming from behind threw your body forwards and you nearly fell on your face when Henry finally let go of you. You tasted blood as you bit your cheek, but you managed to at least land on your shoulder instead of face-planting.

It still hurt like a bitch, but at least you still had all your teeth… or you thought so, not having time to check. Catching a movement from the corner of your eye, you managed to roll over before a kick to your side could hit you with full force. Frank’s foot only brushed you, but you were sure you’d have a bruise as a souvenir anyway.

A punch landed next to your face when you dodged it in the last moment, someone grabbing your legs and holding them together. Between your efforts to free them, you didn’t have time to chase away the body suddenly holding your arms as well.

“Fuck--- she’s a handful.”

A ragged battle cry erupted from your throat as you tried to jerk your body from their grip on pure instinct, every self-defence move you had ever learned flying of the window.

“More fun to break her, don’t you think?” Henry purred, his hand sneaking around your waist under the hem of your t-shirt.

Your head spun like crazy at the skin-to-skin contact and nausea hitting you hard. You wanted to puke and scream and punch and you couldn’t make yourself to do either, tears rolling down your cheeks as your body convulsed in a desperate attempt to break free.

There was ringing in your ears, disorienting you, but aware of the hand suddenly covering your mouth you tried to bite it on instinct holding you down.

“Oh-ho, biting!“ you heard, strangely muffled as if you were under water.

“I like them feisty-“

“Playing hard to get!”

“Shit, SHIT-“

The pressure on your legs eased all of sudden and you immediately kicked with all you had, catching the rising figure in the calf, knocking them off balance.

“Fuck!”

You would swear the floor vibrated, but in must have only been your mind playing tricks on you. George disappeared from your field of blurry vision; you only saw a fist sending him flying sideways.

Yep, your mind was fucking making up things, because there was no way he could have been thrown away like this by a single punch. You weren’t complaining; the relief the illusion provided was almost blissful.

Henry’s body weight vanished as well in nearly supersonic speed as if he wanted to escape the illusion. So you did the first thing that came to your mind; with your hands free, you grabbed his ankle, stopping him from running away. Which, thinking about it, was stupid, because only a moment before, you would have given anything to get him the fuck away from you.

He kicked back blindly, but his sole never met with your body – he was dragged away and… and lifted to the air as if he weighted nothing.

Blinking your tears away, your fuzzy mind cleared.

Only to reveal a very muscled and very much pissed off blond slamming Henry against a wall and then letting his suddenly unconscious body slide down.

You gasped, your eyes catching a glimpse of the fourth figure – Frank – several feet away, running for his life.

“Buck?!” came a shout and before you could question it, a metal arm emerged from behind the corner, stopping Frank dead as he rushed straight into it.

“Yep?!” the dark-haired supersoldier yelled back, sounding almost amused.

What the hell was happening? What the hell just happened?!

You blood sizzled in your veins, loud and rapid thump-thump-thump banging in your ears, face damp with several shed tears, body aching and your mind fucking racing.

You heard a whimper on your left, automatically turning to the sound. It left Jim’s lips, his form crumbled on the floor, struggling to stand up.

The captain’s knee seemed to come out of nowhere, digging into Jim’s back and pinning him down again before you even registered a movement.

“Is it fucking over now?”

“Steve, let him be. Not worth it,” Barnes’ voice tried to reason, sounding rather growly, but not nearly as loud as before. He approached your group in rapid pace and Rogers scoffed and let go.

You gulped at sergeant’s angry grimace, crazily convinced he was angry with you for all the mistakes you made that lead to this; but his expression softened when his gaze fell on you.

“Hey there,” he greeted you almost casually, holding out a hand to help you up. “Can you stand?”

You blinked several times at the suddenly dispassionate tone, even if you still sensed something bubbling under it. You shook off the thought and accepted the offered hand – the flesh one. The detail didn’t escape you, your bran in overdrive. Of course he hadn’t offered you the metal arm. He didn’t want to scare you. He was thoughtful like that-

-or not. The strength he dragged you up with was way too much for you, more so when combined with the speed and your state. You stumbled over your feet, a wave of dizziness messing with your balance.

You awaited the upcoming reunion with the floor, unable to stop the fall, but it never happened. Before you could as much as reel, gentle hands supported you in a firm grip, pleasantly warm against your bare arms.

“Whoa, take it easy,” Rogers’ voice warned you, soothing. For some reason, it felt more like ‘I got you,’ instead of ‘take it easy.’

You took a deep breath, Barnes’ hand letting go of yours as he semi-voluntarily handed you over to his friend.

“You’re bleeding from your mouth.”

Thanks for the reminder, I noticed.

You swallowed the snarky remark, well-aware of the sergeant’s care. You fought against the urge to spit the blood out.

“Is fine…” you muttered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Bit my cheek. I’m pretty sure I—“ you quickly ran your tongue over your teeth just to confirm your theory, “-still have all of my teeth.”

Sergeant Barnes gave you a tiny smile, the worried crinkle that had found its way between his brows disappearing.

“Whatever you say.”

His gaze flickered to something behind your head, probably in order of exchanging a wordless conversation with your still present crutch. Not that you were complaining. The weight of what had happened was slowly settling on your shoulders and you were grateful for any support – and who were you kidding, Captain America made for a pretty reliable support.

“Why don’t we leave you in pu- Cap’s capable hands while I-“ Barnes’ jaw clenched, pale eyes scanning the four bodies on the floor, calculating. “-take out the trash?”

You nearly choked at the choice of his words, wincing. Captain Rogers’ hands squeezed your shoulders reassuringly and you nodded, not sure what else to do.

You didn’t want to look at Henry. Or Jim. Or their loyal companions.

So when the captain carefully spun you on your heels, you didn’t protest and your feet started moving on autopilot in the direction he had set.

“You okay to walk without support?” he asked softly, a stark contrast to the voice you remembered from earlier or from the training sessions.

You knew that if you said yes, he would let go of you. Honestly, his touch felt damn nice, firm and yet somewhat gentle, a pleasant contrast to harsh fingers of the men who had the nerve to attack you – you had to swallow bile rising to your mouth at the awfully fresh memory. Fuck, it had been so close, just a minute later and--- you shook your head mentally and tried your best to erase this memory from existence.

You decided not to abuse the kindness the captain was offering. After several indulging steps, you quietly confirmed he could release you. You found out that sensing his large frame by your side as if he was your bodyguard was nearly as comforting. Nearly.

You didn’t have the strength admonish yourself for basking the light of his protective persona. Future agent of not, you still had the right to want to feel secure at times.

After all, you were only human.

A Handful of Truths

You didn’t realize you were shaking until a blanket was tossed over your shoulders.

You were sitting on a short couch in what looked like a cosy office, hair still damp, body finally registering the ache caused by previous events, just like your brain was slowly taking in what had happened.

Captain Rogers, whose courtesy was to escort you from the hellhole you had been attacked in, had clearly took it as a personal mission to take care of your injuries; it hadn’t dawned to you until you were seated and your mind helpfully supplied you with ‘This isn’t the infirmary’.

He pulled a swivel chair to sit face to face with you, a box of medical supplies left open on the coffee table at your side. You didn’t realize he had moved the chair or dug the box from god-knew-where until the items were simply there.

“How do you feel?” he inquired, attentive eyes scanning your hunched form. You instinctively curled onto yourself, snuggling further into the blanket. You knew you should come up with an answer, but your brain started to hurt with the effort to do so. “I guess that’s fair. Can you tell me what hurts the most?”

You quickly glanced at his openly kind face, his baby blues still watching for any reaction that would clue him. Your throat went dry at the compassion of display and you had to swallow before speaking – and think. What hurt the most…?

You didn’t know what possessed you to tell him what you did, but it came out before you could stop yourself.

“My pride,” you croaked, causing his eyebrows jump just like the corner of his lips.

“That’s probably fair too. Then again, I’d rather know about something I can fix.”

You felt your body relax a little at his informal tone – you might even say a jovial one, but you could still sense too much worry behind it to call it that. You attempted a tiny smile at least to show him that you were more or less fine – you weren’t – and brilliantly failed.

“Landed on my shoulder. Probably gonna have a bruise on my side from when… when they kicked me. Ribs and arms might be a bit tender for few days, ‘cause they were heavy as they--- they’re heavy,” you voice wavered as you saw the muscles on the captain’s forearms clench and his hands curled up in fists. You sheepishly looked up to his face. “I got lucky.”

His eyebrows rose again in a ‘figures’ manner as he leaned back to the chair.

“Nothing else apart from that, your cheek and your pride?”

“I’m a little cold, but you took care of that,” you admitted, taking a deep breath in as you tugged on the blanket pointedly.

Despite what you were saying, you didn’t feel okay, the tremble never quite leaving your body. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. You stared at your knight in shining armour, gathering courage to do what was needed. You tried your best to meet his gaze, feeling so small and embarrassingly weak in front of him.

“Could have been much worse if you haven’t showed up. Thank you.”

He pressed his lips together, shaking his head. He leaned in, his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t faster... I should have kept closer eye on Ulrich,” he muttered under his breath, making you wonder if you only imagined it. “Your pride shouldn’t be hurt. You held yourself against them just fine.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the honestly his voice held – and you were honestly grateful for the slight shift of attention. Oh. Had he forgotten how things had been when he had arrived?

You weren’t sure whether you should remind him. You definitely didn’t want to remind yourself, but before you could solve your little dilemma, he clarified.

“You haven’t started training the combat against multiple opponents yet. Let alone four opponents, all of them having both height and weight advantage. You couldn’t exactly go all Black Widow on them if no one showed you how.”

He accented his words with a reassuring smile and you almost believed him. The shivers finally eased, most likely thanks to the warm treatment you were being given in all senses of the word. The inner cold gradually melted and you were left in nothing but pleasant warmth.

Mentally, you patted your pride gently on its head; you couldn’t quite disagree with him. No matter how helpless you had felt earlier and how ashamed for it you were, the truth was you were still learning. You weren’t a finished agent yet.

You breathed in and out, avoiding the gaze that was still on you. It felt like a freaking brand with how intense it was. You couldn’t say you hated it necessarily, you only wished you at least didn’t look so pathetic. No make-up, probably red with a smudge on blood somewhere, perhaps with some bruising already forming, hair wet and messy. You absently ran your fingers through it in attempt to fix it a bit as if it could help.

What had you been talking about? Right… those assholes being cowards and coming at your four against one.

“I… I just fucking hate bullies,” you grumbled darkly, your hand immediately covering your mouth when you realized what you had said. Oh. Language. Still your superior you’re talking to, no matter how nice. “Sorry. Please, pretend you didn’t hear the f-word. I just hate bullies, period.”

“I might have sworn earlier too, so let’s call it even,” the captain offered, one corner of his lips raised. Oh. He had, hadn’t he? ‘Is it fucking over now?’ What did that even mean? “And so I heard.”

“What?” you yelped, your mind racing again in search for the meaning behind his words.

“I mean… I heard you. When you were defending Bucky, in the gym. I’m pretty sure your exact words were about a ‘pissing contest’.”

“Oh god,” you breathed out, your face no doubt set aflame. He had heard you; that was why he had said he should have kept a closer eye on Henry. Oh. Ohhhh.

Also, did he just say ‘pissing’?

“You weren’t wrong by the way. But… neither were them.”

You blinked in surprise. What? “About?”

You knew he didn’t mean the sleeping around with recruits, your gut was screaming that at you, because they wouldn’t, but still, you rather asked for clarification. If he didn’t mean that part, which one then?

“Ladies do fall over for Bucky,” he hummed with a lopsided smile, a playful twinkle in his eyes. It did something to your belly, a strange familiar shift that was very inappropriate, but hell, people needed to cut you some slack. He was impossible not to ogle and you didn’t have the energy to control your reaction after today’s events. “And I don’t really pull my punches when I’m training those two in particular.”

“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself and think better of it.

His gaze bored into yours, burning with intensity and with a glint of something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I don’t like bullies either.”

Did he lean in even more or were you so focused on his face it only seemed closer?

You weren’t able to look away. His blue eyes simply locked you in, not allowing you to escape. The strangest thing was that it wasn’t scary. It should be, he was— he was a freaking captain, your superior, a superior to a lot of people, which you were constantly forgetting ever since he had saved you from falling on your ass in the hallway and you had to remember that.

Before you could though, your racing mind packed up and let your body, your mouth to be precise, act without supervision.

“Not trying to impress the ladies then, huh?”

His tiny sheepish smile cut off the uprising panic in your chest when you realized how bold of you was to say that. He lowered his gaze, giving a subtle shrug. “Guess I wouldn’t want one falling for guy’s muscles and a show-off of dominance.”

“What for then? Honesty? Sincerity? Kind eyes? Strong moral compass?” you heard yourself prying, internally horrified how far you had come when saying that. Your face was drained of colour when it clicked. You were literally naming things you liked about him, absolutely shamelessly putting them in the open. Oh shit. Fix it, fix it, fix it! “…the sass?”

His eyes went wide and he burst out laughing so loud it startled you for a second, especially as he threw his head back with the outburst. Then you reluctantly joined him, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

“The sass!” he howled, unable to hold back another fit of laughter and when you peeked at him through between your fingers, you saw his palm resting against his chest as if it could help him stop laughing.

Just like that, blood rushed back into your cheeks.

“Oh god, I made it worse!” you cried out, wishing for the earth to swallow you, frantically looking around for the fastest escape route. “Oh my god, I have to switch schools now… excuse me-“

You hastily got up from your seat, but a quick hand snatched yours, pulling you back.

You stumbled, landing ungracefully right back in your place, this time without the blanket. Captain Rogers was watching you with the corners of his lips high, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Sorry for grabbing you like that. But no, please. Stay.”

Your throat closed off when you heard his soft plea, only traces of humour in it. Yeah, you bet he hadn’t met anyone with such big mouth for a while, so he thought it was better to keep the comic around.

“Captain Rogers, I-I- what I said, it was completely out of line-“ you stuttered, only to be interrupted.

“Were you making it up?” he questioned.

You gulped, your mind screaming at you to say yes to save you the humiliation. And yet, with the cerulean irises staring into your eyes, your mouth did the exact opposite.

“No.”

Dammit.

“Then why would you go?” he questioned softly. His hand still didn’t leave yours, only easing the grip into a kinder one. You felt like a brand was being burned into your skin. A pleasant one, so you didn’t retreat. Oh, you’d never. But what on Earth was he getting at? “We need someone honest like you. People who stand up for others, even if only to defend their honour. That is the kind of people who should be in this line of work. The good ones.”

You opened your mouth, no sound coming out as his speech shook you to your core, tickling your stomach pleasantly along with your pride. His words seemed to be coming from heart, genuine, which was not helping your blood pressure and suddenly wobbling limbs.

“Even when they have potty mouth and put their foot in it? ‘Cause I seem to excel in that.”

“Especially then,” he chuckled and you could tell there was no pinch of a lie in it.

Something was in the air, crackling deliciously, and you liked it. You wouldn’t be able to describe it properly, the feeling simply too unique, but it was tickling your fancy so weren’t about to complain.

“O-okay. Thank you, Captain,” you whispered, revelling in the sight of the gentle curve of his lips.

“You started with the compliments, Agent.”

And just like that, you wanted to run for your life again, drowning in embarrassment.

What were you even still doing here? Complimenting him? Enjoying his touch? Flirting with him?

Were you nuts?!

Him, a captain— no, the captain. And you, an agent--- hell, you were not even an agent yet!

The captain whose eyes flickered to not-an-agent’s lips for the shortest of moments, widening a fraction before returning to her eyes.

Oh, now you were definitely going nuts. You were hallucinating. You must have hit your head too. He wasn’t into you and you being into him was very stupid.

You should go.

…any moment now.

…just get off your ass for god’s sake-

“Can I ask you something?”

You blinked yourself back to reality, shushing the voice in your head, curious smile appearing on your lips involuntarily. The softness of his voice felt better than the blanket before and you wanted to cocoon yourself in it, postponing the leaving plans to never.

“Sure,” you replied, the smile remaining on your face despite your better judgement.

He lowered his eyes to your joined hands, his thumb running over the back of your hand in a feather-light touch. You heart positively stopped at the moment, your breath hitching. Holy shit, what was he doing?

“This, does it… do you hate it?” he whispered the question, not meeting your eyes as if he was too shy, which was… ridiculous. He had no reason to be shy.

It still felt like a shot through your heart – a nice one, though, it that was possible. The words combined with the way they were spoken, it stirred something in your belly, warming it up and you couldn’t deny it anymore.

You really wanted this man; whatever this was, it was getting beyond a silly crush. Also, for some reason, it seemed as if he was trying to tell you he was interested too, which you thought was pretty freaking crazy.

“Stay honest, please,” he pleaded when you didn’t answer right away.

Did you hate it? The chastest display of affection if you dared to call it that? Your mind raced, trying to figure out why on earth he would ask that. Because the only reason you had come up with so far was completely impossible.

“No,” you said simply, earning a brief glance up before he looked down again. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Good. That’s good… and would you… I’m aware this is out of line and I—I want you to answer truthfully without fearing the consequences-…“

It was your turn to swallow loudly, because what? What did he want to ask that he considered it out of line? He was your superior – you could think of thousand ways of how you could get out of line, but him? And why should you fear the consequences?! Did he want you to help him to hide a body?

That’s not it and you know it. You know what he wants to ask, you rational side admonished you.

Oh please, shut up. Since when you switched sides?

“O-okay. What— what is it-- Steve?” you stuttered out, freezing when his name left your lips and his head snapped up, his hand giving yours a squeeze. Oh boy.

“Would you possibly say you like it?” he blurted out and your brain went to overdrive at the hope behind his expression.

Huh. He really just asked that. Oh shit. Oh wow. Your jaw fell into your lap – only figuratively, you hoped –, your ears buzzing, your blood bursting in excitement.

Oh yeah, you understood why he mentioned the consequences. Either you could say no and you’d fear he might treat you differently or you could say yes and you’d ‘fear’ he might treat you differently.

The fire in your insides burned hotter at the idea of the latter.

His hand slowly left yours, giving you a simple choice you still couldn’t believe you were given.

Holy shit. What do you even say to something like that? Coming from someone like him? Your brain froze as you only managed to stare.

Did his— did the corners of his lips turn down? Was that sadness pooling in the sea of blue of his eyes?

Oh no, you don’t.

“Y-yes,” you admitted sheepishly, closing your eyes at the heaviness of your confession.

You could feel the weight on your shoulders as silence fell, only interrupted by your soft breathing that sounded ominously loud.

Your fingers twitched when his warm palm covered them again, your lips parting in surprise. You kept your eyes closed, indulging the strange moment. His free hand caressed your other as well, the gentlest of touches, tender, contrasting with rough callouses on his fingers.

“I like it too.”

At that, you gathered enough courage to look at him, only to see him inspecting your face closely, observing your reactions. It shocked you that it wasn’t uncomfortable as you would expect; must have been the kindness and wonder in his gaze. You forced your lips to curl up in a tiniest smile. Steve smiled back with same hesitance, his face lighting up.

He looked like a boy next door (making it to a modelling agency), shining eyes and happy grin forming on his lips. He was more gorgeous than ever.

Still keeping your hands, he raised his right one, his knuckles brushing your unharmed cheek. The gesture was so tender it brought tears into your eyes, causing him quickly retreat.

“Sorry-“

You shook your head with a self-deprecating chuckle, squeezing his fingers before he could let go of you completely.

“It’s not you—I mean… it is you,” you babbled nonsensically, taking a breath to gather your thoughts. “It’s just— that was really sweet. No, that’s not-“ Not the right word. “It was beautiful. I swear I never felt so…” loved “-cared for in my life.”

He frowned, a shadow of pain running over his face. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I know that today was… unpleasant.”

Seeing his reluctance and discomfort, you went for the first thing that came up to your mind. You straightened up and pressed a light kiss on his cheek, withdrawing much slowly because once you were in his orbit, it was hard to leave.

His breath hitched, his eyes glued to you intently, flickering to your lips again.

“You didn’t upset me, Steve. That’s the last thing you could do with that,” you assured him, face still inches from his. His name rolled off your tongue easily this time, even though it still left your heart fluttering.

“And if I asked you to have dinner with me?”

Your stomach twisted in a pleasant knot at that suggestion, your lizard brain already thinking about having a dessert for a second; and you weren’t thinking cake or ice-cream.

Yeah, barely. This was a guy ready to treat you right, you were sure of it. He certainly wasn’t about to kiss you now, not afar what happened today, he might go for it after the dinner and that was only if you got lucky enough. You swallowed the disappointment at the idea, quickly shaking it off.

Make up your goddamn mind, woman. You should be glad that men who weren’t thinking with their lower brain still existed and one of those was clearly interested in you, which… yeah, what the hell, that might take a while getting used to. Add the fact that he was being incredibly considerate of how you might feel after being assaulted and you had a winner of your heart. You realized you were actually happy he wouldn’t try anything even nearly ‘funny’.

You were fine with hand-holding and brushes of his fingers on your face, which honestly, the tenderness behind that gesture made you toes curl. You didn’t care much if that made you a freaking sap.

“Still not upset,” you gave an answer at last, deciding he probably liked when you were a bit cheeky.

He offered a closed lipped smile in response, confirming your theory.

“Does that count like a yes?”

You shrugged, the corners of your lips twitching. You had no idea when the change had happened, but all you wanted now was to giggle. And maybe snuggle, but you weren’t about to say that out loud.

“You tell me.”

He licked his lips and shook his head as he retreated. Before you could protest – or have a heart attack, because the motion of his tongue attracted your gaze like a magnet, setting your core on fire –, he sat beside you, leaving enough space in case you didn’t like it.

You liked it, subtly moving an inch closer to his side. Damn, he radiated warmth. Maybe just a bit closer…?

“Cheeky dame, aren’t you?” Steve more stated than asked, reaching for the blanket pooled around you to cover you again.

You didn’t realize you had goosebumps before his hands gently tugged you in, careful not to touch you where you could consider it inappropriate.

Yeah, forget about any funny business any time soon.

You huffed. “Clearly. It did get me into trouble before.”

His eyes darkened a bit, his face noticeably falling.

No, nope, bad move, miss not-an-agent.

“I should walk you back to your dorm,” he remarked, already rising to his feet.

You first reaction was to say no, because you weren’t ready to say goodbye yet. Your second was to say no also, because Shauna probably still had her hot date.

Instead, your hand shot up to catch his, effectively stopping him. He froze before returning to his seat, tiny question mark in a place of his face right next to his soft smile.

You cleared your throat, deciding to give him the latter reason.

“Uhm… my roommate has a date. If I go there, I’ll probably find a sock on the doorknob,” you admitted, biting your lip when he raised an eyebrow and relaxed to the cushions.

“People still do that?”

You chuckled, the fact that not only he was a captain, but also Captain America, which meant he was about hundred years old, hitting you like a train.

“Yeah, people still do that,” you assured him, amused.

He pouted, which you found unfairly adorable and… kissable. Nope, later.

“Sure, make fun of the old man…” he uttered, but a spark of laughter lighted up in his irises, so you assessed he wasn’t too offended. He was most likely used to the teasing.

As an idea of interpreting his words differently popped in your mind, you grinned.

“Is that a permission to make fun of Sergeant Barnes?” you pried playfully, sending Steve into another surprised fit of laughter, not unlike when you had complimented his sass. Your heart swelled at the joyful picture of him and the prospect of seeing more of it in future.

Due to his laughter, you didn’t hear he knock on the door if there was any n the first place. The door simply swung open, revealing the other supersoldier. Speak of the Devil…

Seeing his friend, Steve burst out laughing once more. Sergeant Barnes closed the door with a puzzled look.

You just shrugged in response, opening your mouth without a sound coming out and he took in the scene in front of him again, a smirk appearing on his lips. Under that gaze, you felt your face heat up. You could only imagine how that looked like, Steve cosily close to you, laughing, your hand right next to his thigh as his outburst had sent it sliding from his hand.

The smirk on the supersoldier’s face only deepened when he noticed how flustered he had made you.

“Punk?” he questioned and Steve wheezed once more, raising a palm in the sergeant’s direction, turning to you first.

He offered you a hand to shake. Confused, you accepted as his eyes twinkling in mischief bored into yours.

“Deal,” he mouthed, sending your lips twitching, and only then he shifted his attention to his friend. “Buck?”

The supersoldier had his eyes narrowed, watching you suspiciously.

“I’m gonna regret sending you with her instead of doing it the other way around, aren’t I?” he stated, not actually asking as his gaze flickered between the two of you.

His expression pushed you over the edge and the giggle building up in your chest for the last few minutes finally broke free. You simply couldn’t contain it anymore despite having two superiors in the room. Steve gave you a warm smile as the sound left your lips, clearly not bothered by it.

You hoped you’d be forgiven by Sergeant Barnes as well. After all, you were just human.

“Yeah, Buck, I think you are.”

S.R. masterlist

Sorry for the cavities at the end. Or should I say ‘you’re welcome’? Whatever works for you :))

Thank you for reading!

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mersuperwholocked-lowlife · 3 years

Text

Too Late For An Apology

Word Count: 1,823

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Reader

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader; John Winchester x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: angst, slight torture, slight TW: abuse, but doesn’t go too in depth

A/N: i’m sorry my posting schedule sucks now oof

A/N 2: Thanks to my fav bitch @tragedy-of-sorts for reading and also for being my fav

A/N 3: The reader’s like six years younger than Dean, two younger than Sam

Masterlist

You heard your doorbell ringing in the middle of the night, while you shot your head up, looking at the clock next to you. It was 3 in the morning. You frowned slightly, reaching for your gun before slipping out of bed, looking through the eyehole.

“Dad?” you opened the door, revealing your father showing up in front of you.

“Hey, (Y/N),” you wrapped your arms around John, still in shock.

“Dad, what are you doing here? And at this time?” he walked into your apartment before you closed the door, turning on the lights.

“I have a lead. Hunting the demon that killed your mother. I’ll need your help,” he started.

You felt chills going down your spine.

“Where are Sam and Dean?” you asked.

“Sam went away to college, and Dean’s off somewhere, on a hunt probably,” he replied.

“Wouldn't either of them be able to help you better? I haven't hunted in two years, Dad,” you kept your voice low.

“They can’t know. They’ll mess everything up, you know how your brothers are. We leave tomorrow, okay?” you nodded your head softly, before going to pack your bag, getting ready for the big hunt.

---

“That’s totally unfair! (Y/N) doesn't have to train! (Y/N) doesn’t have to do anything!” you could hear Dean yelling at John, while you hid behind the door of Bobby’s house. You held a drawing in your hands, one that you made of yourself with your siblings and father.

“She is a child!” John yelled back.

“She’s twelve! When me and Sam were twelve you would force us to hunt! You never let us rest? I hate (Y/N) and I hate how you give her special treatment all the damn time!” tears welled up in your eyes as you crumpled the paper, stuffing it into your bag before sneaking back upstairs.

---

“Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you and Dad for?” you kept your gaze on your bed sheets in your hospital room, hearing Dean yell at you.

“I tried to-”

“Not only do you abandon us, now you’re back, and with Dad, and never thought it was important to tell us?” he yelled.

You frowned slightly before realization hit you. They never knew why you left.

“I’m sorry,” you clenched your jaw.

He groaned, frustrated.

“Get ready, we’re leaving,” he slammed the door shut as he walked out of your hospital room.

---

“I saw your journal in the trash can, (Y/N),” John sat down next to you in your bed.

“I’m kind of over the whole drawing thing,” you lied, shaking your head.

“What happened?” John asked.

“Nothing happened, I just don't like it anymore,” you shrugged, turning back to your schoolwork.

“Just like that?” he questioned.

“I want to go on a hunt,” you said.

“What? (Y/N)...”

“I’m sure, Dad,” you interrupted him.

“Fine. We’ll start your training tomorrow,” he agreed.

He kissed your forehead and left, before you laid on your bed, digging your face in your pillow.

---

You held back a sob, watching John’s body burst into flames. There was silence between the three of you, while you stood a distance away from them.

“Sam,” your voice was barely above a whisper.

“Let’s go,” he walked away from you, while he and Dean headed back to the car.

Your tears fell down your face, as you let out a shaky breath.

“(Y/N)!” Sam yelled.

“I-I’m coming,” you followed them back to the car, keeping your head low.

---

Your vision was blurry as you sat in the chair, a rope tied to your hands painfully. There was blood dripping from your wounds as you cried out in pain.

“Just tell us where he is,” the vampire grabbed your hair, pulling your head up.

“No!” you screamed.

Your face was covered with dried tears, new ones forming. Your eye was bruised.

“You’re gonna talk, kid. Sooner or later,” you felt his fangs enter the skin on your neck as you whimpered. Your body was too weak to move.

“Just let me go, please,” you begged.

You could barely keep your eyes open, crying softly.

---

“What happened to your eye?” Dean walked past you, noticing the darkened skin around your left eye.

“Don't worry about it,” you shook your head, avoiding eye contact with him.

You knew he didn't remember what he did to you last night.

“Me and Sam are going on a hunt,” he said.

“Just you and Sam?” you asked.

“(Y/N), you know you’ll just end up slowing us down. If we need you, we’ll call you,” he replied.

“Right,” you nodded your head softly.

After the two of them left, you ran to your room, stuffing all your belongings into a duffel bag.

Now was finally your chance to leave them. They always hated you, it didn't matter that you were their sister. Your black eye is the least they've done to you while drunk, and you knew you had to leave.

You stood at the door, looking down at the bunker before shaking your head. It was time to go.

---

“Dad?” you opened your eyes, scrunching them as the fluorescent hospital light blinded you.

“(Y/N),” he let out a breath of relief, wrapping his arms around you as you winced.

“You’re not hunting ever again,” your eyes watered slightly as you nodded your head.

“I’m going to set you up with an apartment. You’re leaving this life,” you frowned.

“Dad, no-”

“Yes, (Y/N). You were tortured for information. I am trying to keep you safe, do not argue with me,” he raised his voice slightly.

“How come you never treat Sam and Dean like this?” you scoffed.

“They’re not my daughter. You are,” he said.

“That’s not an excuse. They’re still my brothers. They are still your sons,” you crossed your arms together.

“Enough, (Y/N). I’ll be back in the morning to get you,” he said.

“Dad,” he closed the door, leaving your room while you sighed, slumping in your bed.

---

“Babe? Are you home? I’ve been stuck at work all day, and I know we’re late to pick up…” you dropped your bag on the floor, Sam and Dean standing in front of you while you entered your house.

“Your husband and kid are out,” Dean spoke.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you were sure to take a step back.

“We could ask you the same thing, you know,” Sam scoffed.

“You left us again. You abandoned us again,” Dean clenched his fist in anger as you tensed, feeling fear run throughout your veins.

“I don't… why are you guys here?” your voice was softer as you scratched the back of your neck.

“You can't be here, you’re a danger to my family,” you could feel the nervousness in your veins as you stood firmly. You’ve spent too long afraid of them.

“You son of a bitch. What the hell are we then?!” Dean yelled.

You flinched slightly.

“Why did you leave, (Y/N)? Why did you run away?” Sam’s voice was slightly calmer, anger still evident.

“I couldn't take both of your crap anymore,” you shook your head.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean scoffed.

“The day I left, you asked me how I got that black eye. Because you didn't remember giving it to me that previous night,” you dug your nails into your palm, trying to hold back your tears. Dean immediately scoffed, shaking his head.

“You’re lying,” he said.

“All my life, the two of you have despised everything about me,” you started.

“(Y/N),” Sam opened his mouth.

“Shut up!” you yelled.

You saw a surprised look on both of their faces.

“I never noticed it until I was twelve. I drew a picture for you, Dean. It was a picture of all of us, Mom included. I wanted to give it to you until I overheard you talking with Dad. Y-You told him how much you hated… how much you hated me,” you let a tear fall down your face, as Dean’s softened.

“I always tried to do whatever I could to get you two to like me, or at least to not hate me. But nothing I ever did was good enough,” you sniffled.

“That doesn't change the fact that you abandoned us,” Dean tried to defend himself.

“The first time I left was because a vampire was trying to use me to get to Dad. He didn't want that for me, and so he took me out of the life, at least until he got a lead on Azazel,” you clenched your jaw, letting out a shaky breath.

“T-The… you and Sam used to get really, really drunk. You’d never remember it in the morning. You would h-hurt me. I covered up so many bruises because I didn't want to upset you two,” your voice broke slightly as you looked at Dean.

There were visible tears in his and Sam’s eyes.

“I never knew why you hated me so much. W-Was it because Dad treated me differently? Was it because I’m the youngest? Was it because I reminded you of Mom? Was it because… was it jealousy?” Dean took a step forward, while you quickly took a step back.

“(Y/N), we never meant… We never meant to hurt you,” Sam’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“That’s all you have? Really?” you scoffed.

“Sam, just… (Y/N). Listen to me,” Dean started.

“I was jealous of you. Dad always treated you differently, always treated you specially. I was stupid, and wrong. Every time I did anything for Dad, I would only get into more trouble. Whenever you disobeyed him, he would ignore it. I’ve been jealous of you my whole life. Even now. Y-You have a kid, you have a family. You got out. I’m sorry, kid. I’m so sorry for everything,” you wiped away your tears as you kept a strong face on.

“I need you both to leave,” you said.

“I’m sorry-” Dean said.

“The door. I need you both to leave. Now,” you shook your head.

“(Y/N)...”

“You’re about 34 years too late for an apology. I want you to leave. Don't come back here, stay away from me and my family,” the two of them looked at you in shock, before walking to your front door, while you held it open to them.

Dean gave you a small hug, while you remained stiff.

“Take care of yourself, kiddo,” he gave you a small smile, before walking out of your house.

You closed the door behind the two of them, immediately falling to the ground as you let out a loud sob, feeling your heart racing as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Your sobs died down as you leaned against the door, wrapping your arms around yourself. You needed to stay strong, and they needed to stay away.

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midknight-hour · 3 years

Text

y’all remember this

bc i was bored and couldn’t sleep last night so i made a littol drabble. it’s not much and i’ll probably actually work on a story at some point but i thought i’d share to the riddlebat stans <3

btw this is literally a mash up of any canon i enjoy <333333333333 it’s my fanfic and i get to choose the backstory and ships

— — — — — —

It wasn’t often that Edward was allowed to watch television at home. His father would kill him if he even saw him near the thing, of course. He couldn’t be trusted with such expensive items with his lack of sense. Though it seemed as though everyone in the city was currently tuned into the news… all because their royal family had been slain.

It had dominated the public sphere since the moment the press caught news of the killings. Martha and Thomas Wayne, Gotham’s saviors, had been gunned down in a back alley in front of their own son. It was a tragedy, though clearly one the news was choosing to sensationalize for their own gain.

Or at least that was what Ed had surmised.

He’d been following the story intently, sneaking into the living room late at night to watch the news as his father slept on the couch. The ceremonies and court hearings. The crime itself, and the manhunt that went on without any sort of breakthrough for days. The media treated it like some sort of twisted crime thriller, or a mystery novel. No sympathy, just unabashed curiosity. No stone was left unturned as they pried into the personal lives and final days of the deceased.

The funeral was mostly attended by cameras and anchormen, the young Wayne boy sitting in front beside the old butler of the house. It was a replay, obviously. The midday sun, barely visible behind the dull rain clouds, a stark contrast to the pitch black night he was currently enveloped in.

The procession was grim, the burial quiet, but that was all that the bereaved were allowed before the storm of questioning began.

“Bruce Wayne! Over here!”

“Mr. Wayne! A word, please!”

“Sir- Sir! Are you the legal guardian of the boy? I’d like to speak with him.”

The older man seemed to be attempting to guard Bruce from the onslaught of camera flashes and clamoring voices, but there wasn’t much he could do as they began the treacherous walk back to the limousine. It made Edward feel sick. He couldn’t imagine how he would have felt if things had been so hectic on the day of his mother’s burial. Though perhaps his own father had been enough of a spectacle to make up for it. Either way, he felt a deep connection to the other boy, even through the screen.

The Wayne boy was still being cornered by the hounds, each question being barked somehow worse than the last.

“Who are you wearing?” “Do you have any family coming to the manor to claim you?” “Bruce Wayne! How are you feeling about your inheritance? How much did your parents leave you?”

“Please…. Just leave me alone.”

Edward’s blood ran cold.

“I just want to go home.”

No. It can’t be.

“Get out of the way!” The boy snapped, his sadness morphing in anger at the frothing crowds. And just like that, he was whisked away by a police officer to his vehicle to avoid any further confrontation. And the clip ended.

Now, one would expect Edward to be feeling nauseous simply due of the exploitation of someone his age at such a vulnerable time. Which he was, partly. It was despicable. But it wasn’t the main reason he felt like throwing up as he stumbled back to his room and slammed the door behind him.

He locked himself in his bedroom, ignoring the sounds of his waking father down the hall. Then he fumbled with the edges of his shirt as he pulled it up and over his head, reading the dark lines embedded in his skin, across his chest just like it had always been.

“Please, just leave me alone.”

After years of his life assuming his soulmate would be rightfully disgusted by him in their meeting moments…

“I just want to go home.”

— — —

Bruce was a drastically a different person then he had been in his youth.

As he stood vigilant in his superhero’s fortress, which Alfred had lovingly nicknamed his “bat cave,” he thought back to that day in the cemetery. The way his anger had suddenly surged, like a wave. Over the years he had learned to aim his anger and vengeful spirit at something more productive, starting out with the task of finding his parents’ killer. Though when that didn’t pan out, he found it in himself to instead focus on the public good. To prevent others from feeling that same pain he still held in his heart. But unsurprisingly enough, that made him a lot of enemies.

He had been on the case of a rather curious criminal the past few days, one which seemed to have some sort of vendetta against the law. He merely went by the name of E. Nigma, and he had been terrorizing the GCPD by hacking into theur systems to release sensitive information to the masses, despite any and all security measures put in place.

He’d left cryptic hints as he went- some mentioned him by name. “The Batman.” Others were addressed to Gordon or Bullock. Each was mysterious, and vague, though seemed to allude to a bigger picture. Names of specific officers had been sprinkled throughout by means of codes and ciphers, so he’d been holed up in his cave researching each named figure on the GCPD’s archives.

He had some of the most advanced technology in the world at his disposal, and his main computer was no different, so he hadn’t expected this so-called enigma to find his way into his system any time soon. But then again, underestimating the enemy was so often the folly of confident heroes.

All at once, just as Bruce felt like he was beginning to get somewhere, the monitor went dead.

There was a sharp ringing in the air as the speakers crackled around him, a deep, malicious laugh pouring around him. The screen sporadically began to flash- off, on, off on, before a single, pixelated, green question mark floated in the middle of the dark plane before him.

“Riddle me this, detective~”

Oh.

Well.

This is going to be interesting.

#riddlebat #soulmate au

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thefemdomenchantress · 3 years

Text

The Enchantress: the Century Woman

The hero has a specific maneuver for whenever he encounters a sudden possible threat. He does not react offensively, not willing to bear the tragedy of slaying somebody who meant no harm. He simply raises his shield in a manner that anybody would recognize as a threatening way. This defensive maneuver protected him if the possible threat was, indeed, a threat, but allowed non-combatants a chance to explain themselves.

This maneuver was not perfect as it was still possible to interpret the raising of the shield as a promise of battle, but nine times out of ten it prevented an unnecessary fight against a non-combatant.

This time, however, the noncombatant...attacked.

The hero has spent ten minutes fighting the being: a humanoid woman twice as tall as any man. A creature the hero has never seen before in his travels...

Her visage is unnerving. Eyes larger than normal. Her hair silver, but with bright orange ends, and a some evidence of blue strands. Large shoulders beneath her gown of royal blue, and large tentacles for arms that she uses to bludgeon the hero around the abandoned house. Instead of buttons or lace the front of her gown seems a sideways jaw full of sharp fangs. The rare moments the hero got to see her legs beneath her full length gown he saw two long, muscular thighs and calves.

But her voice... her voice is that of a regular woman in her fifties or so. Her cries of battle hold no malice, only fury.

The hero would parry and escape her blows, but he finds himself unable to harm her. His instincts tell him she is fighting out of fear and indignity. He is an intruder, after all.

Hero: Please! Let’s stop fighting! I’m sorry for intruding, I was only here on a job!

The blows stop. The creature woman looks at him. The hero lowers his sword, but does not leave himself unprotected. His shield remains up.

Hero: Recently... the will of the owner of this estate, a duke who died one year ago, has been read. His family was shocked that this summer villa was left not to his descendants but to an unknown woman. I was hired by the family to investigate...

The large eyes of the creature grow at the mention of the duke.

Hero: . . . Is the woman you?

The creature nods. The hero lowers his sword slightly.

Hero: . . . You’re a shape shifter?

She nods again. She sits down on a tall desk, letting documents drop to the floor. It creaks slightly against her weight. She mutters...

Shape Shifter: My lord... left me this house...

Hero: He also left you four hundred silk bills. Enough to live on for quite some time...

The shape shifter looks up at the hero.

Shape Shifter: Money, too? I’m...

She sobs into her tentacles. She seems so human despite her appearance. The hero places his sword against the wall and reaches for a pouch full of money. He approaches the shape shifter but she is too distracted to take the money

Hero: . . .My lady. . . Just to clear things up, may I ask. . . What is your relationship to the late duke and his family?

She calms down, although her story is told between sobs.

Shape Shifter: I have no... no relationships to his family... They have no knowledge of me... I... I was... His alone...

She stands up and ceases her crying. She looks down at the hero.

Hero: This form... is it your original form?

Shape Shifter: No. I am a century changeling. An immortal race who live our eternal lives in one hundred year cycles. At the beginning of each of our one hundred years we take new shapes... But I can not change perfectly. With each form we take there are parts we cannot discard until the end of the century, where we shed our old forms and begin anew...

Hero: Then what is this form?

The changeling smirks.

Shape Shifter: Would you believe me if I told you that fifty years ago I took the form of a regular woman? I was homeless and the duke found out about my race. He took me in, allowed me to stay in this estate, as long as he lived. All he wanted out of me... was my body...

Hero: You... were his mistress...

Shape Shifter: You’re too flattering. He treated me as more of a concubine... Not that I minded...

The hero cannot believe the story. But the way the tall changeling towers over him... Her strange large shoulders were off putting at first, but now that she stands over him they make her look regal...

Her gown is modest, but he notices her rather large bosom...

But everything else! The large eyes... The tentacles... The teeth dress...

Shape Shifter: You have questions... At first he was a plain man... But soon he began to realize the potential of my powers in our sex lives...

Hero: Oh Gods...

Shape Shifter: You know how bizarre men can get. Vanilla sex began to bore him after our first ten years together... He had wants, and needs. I was a good concubine. With just a little encouragement and prying I made him admit some of his fetishes. They were tame at first... He wanted me taller... Shapely, muscular thighs... But as he grew bolder his fetishes morphed. Encouraged by my shape shifting, he wanted stranger things. Tentacles. Technicolor hair...

Hero: That’s almost reasonable compared to the... the um...

Shape Shifter: The dress? Yes, for some reason he wanted my gowns to “swallow him” into sex. Strange and perverse, but I complied.

The changeling’s dress mouth “opens up,” revealing her shapely nude body beneath. The sight causes the hero’s imagination to stir. He shifts awkwardly, hoping the shape shifter does not notice.

Shape Shifter: At first my shoulders were just a natural consequence to support the tentacles, but he soon wanted me to keep them... I never understood that. I suppose it was in fashion for queens and princesses to wear padding beneath their shoulders a few decades ago. He must have been watching those royal dames... The dirty old pervert...

She pronounces “pervert” with a strange fondness...

Shape Shifter: With each strange fetish my body was permanently changed. Large eyes, small fangs, a long dextrous tongue... Now I have become... THIS as a result. I did this all for him, but I was fine. I was fine because he loved it. He lavished my body with praise, and drew such satisfaction from it, and I felt loved. And now he’s gone, and I’m stuck like this.

She wraps her body with her tentacles, as though ashamed... And although she is crying and the hero desperately wishes otherwise, her monstrous form has begun to captivate him...

Her shapely hips, her bright eyes, the handsome curvatures of her mature and aged face...

And as for the parts of her that are not human...

her tentacles are thick and powerful...

her height so domineering...

her bizarre dress that opens and closes like a mouth, so dangerous and yet there was something exciting and arousing at how it can turn from modest but form fitting to lewd and revealing... and could gobble him up...

the shape of her large, muscular shoulders were the hardest to latch onto, but the hero has found himself aroused even by them, longing to touch them...

Shape Shifter: I can’t leave this house! I can’t change into something normal now. I’m trapped. Even with the money he’s left me. For a year I came close to cursing his name. How could I not? I never knew he cared enough about me to mention me in his will... I... There’s no one out there who could appreciate this body but him... No one can love this bundle of strange, ghastly fetishes... My only hope being that it is almost time for my form to renew...

The hero’s body seems to disagree. Behind his shield he hides a barely controlled erection. He takes a step back, praying she will not notice... Notice that he is weakening...

Hero: I’m sure it’ll all work out...

Not good. The changeling looks down at the hero. She noticed the nervousness in his voice. Her tentacles unravel around her body, her gown opens slightly. She approaches him...

Shape Shifter: Young man...

Her tentacle easily whips his shield away... He tries to hide but she holds him still... She gets a good look at his blushing face... and very visible lump in his pants...

Shape Shifter: It can’t be...

The hero can see her nude body within the toothy split of her dress... The duke must have at one point had normal desires, as her breasts are large, though they droop and there are visible veins like any regular human at a certain age. But they are still beautiful...

Her waist is large and round...

Her legs are muscular as tree trunks.

The hero is utterly captivated. The changeling’s “grotesque” and “inhuman” face that he once feared looks down at him. There is a light smirk, a brightness in her large eyes...

Shape Shifter: Young man... please take off your clothes...

The hero’s panic and attempt to flee is short lived as the tentacles bind around his limbs tight. He can’t resist as she pulls him closer... Her dress’s mouth opens wide and he sees her bare body.

Shape Shifter: I can’t believe you, boy... You’re just as depraved as my young lord, and at such a young age...

She pulls his face to hers and kisses him. Her long and dexterous tongue invades him and it is wonderful. He squeals in protest, but also in passion.

Her tentacles pull his pants down, his shirt off... His belt falls to the ground with a clunk of tools and coin pouches. His light armor and trousers as well. His bare body is pulled toward the grotesque and horribly arousing body.

He passes through the dress’s jaw. The teeth, although sharp, are pointed inward. His restrained body comfortably slips right in, but could never get out. He ceases struggling, partly to avoid being hurt by the fearsome gown mouth, but also because his entire front half is pressed against the shape shifter’s gorgeous feminine body and he can think no more...

Her breasts smother him, his cock pointed to the side, pressed against her crotch, his balls bullied and teased by the tips of her tentacles... She allows his hands to cling to her muscly shoulders. He can feel the smooth skin, the hills of strong muscles...

Finally, she lets his cock slip into her vagina.

But it feels different... the inside of her vagina is... tighter. Tighter than normal... And ribbed... And her hips begin to vibrate inhumanly fast... She whispers into his ears...

Shape Shifter: Oops... I did not mention, did I? As he grew older his cock needed more... support...

The hero is not paying any attention as he is too busy screaming in ecstasy...

But she slows down before he cums...

Shape Shifter: How resilient are you, boy?

She looks down at his face half buried in her cleavage. His eyes, moist from passion, meets hers. Large, wide, and bright. He becomes lost in them.

Shape Shifter: It doesn’t matter... I’ll make you last.

She brings her prisoner up to the bedrooms.

*** *** ***

It is mostly riding. Her heavy weight atop his small human body, her form expertly molded to squeeze pleasure out of an old man... The hero’s young and perfectly virile body stood no chance.

She pries out his fetishes, his secrets, and takes advantage. Her strange, seemingly disgusting body, is a perfect match for his repressed imagination... Binding tentacles, a hungry gown, and mighty muscles... The hero is defeated against all of these.

Her vagina feels like a sex toy, designed for pleasure. But make no mistake, it is fully sensitive and she feels everything. In fact, she cums more than he does. She does not let him become too excited, letting him orgasm at the end of one hour long cycles of play.

They have sex long into the night, all the way to morning...

*** *** ***

The hero is exhausted, his eyes open with difficulty. She strokes his hair lovingly with her tentacle...

Shape Shifter: I didn’t believe there was a man in the world who would get hard for me like this... let alone one so passionate...

She chuckles.

Shape Shifter: I almost don’t want to let you leave.

She stands up. The hero watches as she retrieves the bag of money she inherited. She smiles at him.

Shape Shifter: Boy... tell the family of my lord they may have this house. I will need it no longer. I’ll be taking the money, however.

Her body begins to glow as bright as fire.

Shape Shifter: Thank you. For letting this form experience lust one last time.

There is a prolonged flash, and then it dies down. Her body is the size of a normal human now. She is silvery, with no face aside from two glowing eyes. Featureless and sexless and beautiful. Holding her pouch of in her hand she gives a curt nod and walks toward the exit.

The century changeling leaves to begin its next century.

The End

***

[This is how I picture sex with an alien would be like]

#NOT SFW #changeling #the enchantress

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bibliocratic · 3 years

Note

I come bearing a sort-of fic idea! (Only if you feel inspired to use it, of course 😊) Back in ep 101, Martin figures out that/where the Stranger has taken Jon, and goes all BAMF to save him, using either Web powers or his developing Backup Archivist powers to do it. (Dealer's choice) Some of that sweet sweet emotional h/c...

Dearest anon, this fic has been so long in the writing, and it’s only distantly related to what you asked for. Hope you like it regardless. :)

Set in an S3 AU, implied JonMartin. Tim-centric.

Content warnings for strongly implied graphic violence, canonical S3 captivity and imprisonment, hospitals and hospitalisation. Rated T for language and implied violence

Jon’s skittering, sprawl-legged slam against the archive door startles Tim from the shadowed walkways of his reveries.

The tilted legs of his chair thump back in a slap to the floor. Almost physically wrenched into the now, there’s a snapback to Tim’s spine, a vice-clench knot tightening in his jaw. His mood cranking up from frosty to furious.

“The fuck?” he barks at the intrusion. His snarling primed with teeth, his temper clawed to rend. He’s up and standing, whereas Jon’s practically handing off the door handle, the impact of his arrival almost knocking his legs out like ten pins from under him. An ugly, airless heaving of his chest. His eyes bloodshot, wild. In the weeks since Tim saw him, his hair has grown out unwashed and limp. His skin shimmering wrong in the light in a way that’s oddly greasy.

He’s a shattering mannequin of a man tending to ruin but Tim’s long pared down his own capacity for compassion. He loads up his questions in their chambers, and he knows where to place emphasis, where to press at the bruising, the soft-tissue targets; where the hell have you been, oh wait, don’t fucking bother, why would you even tell us anything anyway huh, because you don’t even trust us. So why the bloody hell should we care where you go galivanting off to for weeks without a word, fine by us, just fucking peachy.

“Martin,” Jon rasps out finally. His words floundering beached in his mouth, and Tim has never seen this particular mania, this bruise-sick shade of pathetic desperation. “T-tim, please, help, please, god, i-i-it’s Martin.”

Jon’s spasming, quivering hands are staining brown with blood.

“He wouldn’t have just left! Not – not like – like this!”

“You mean without saying anything. Not sharing with the class. I dunno, Martin, sounds exactly like something he’d have done. Classic Jon.”

“I’m telling you, something’s wrong!”

“Ha – everything’s wrong. Narrow it down.”

“You know what I mean! Something’s… He should be here, is all I’m saying, and Elias, well he’s useless but he – he knows something, I’m sure of it. We have to do something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Find him!”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found. Huh, what about that? Maybe he’s finally managed to fuck off and leave here, legged it and left the rest of us to rot.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“We should – ”

“No. No, listen, Martin. This isn’t a team sport. Jon made his choice to go this alone. If he’s gone off somewhere, then that’s on him. There’s no ‘we’.”

“There used to be.”

Martin didn’t come in for work, and Tim assumed he’d left. Just like Jon.

He’d stewed in that betrayal, pacing lupine and furious, bricking up the walls of himself with his self-righteous anger. Because he’d been right, hadn’t he, he’d been vindicated in his bitterness, because of course Martin had left scurrying after Jon, of course there was never any loyalty to Tim despite his pretensions to their friendship. Of course, Martin hadn’t fucking stayed, and Tim was glad he was gone, free of his nagging and needling and whining.

Tim was acquitted in all his furies, every one of his poisonous doubts. The rose-thorns of his betrayals tore deeper, and he let the wounds fester.

Elias arrives in the aftermath.

Jon collapsed not too long ago. Shock and dehydration and whatever the hell happened to him threaded through him like blood poisoning. He’d babbled to the ambulance crews, his tongue a senseless oracle of clowns and skin and blood. They’d given him a shock blanket, the foil treating the light around them erratically, but he kept shaking it off and trying to stand, dressed in grubby boxers, an overlong coat, the fabric worn to grey at the pockets and stretched to billowing at the chest, clearly belonging to Martin.

It was hard for Tim to hate him like that, even as he’d barked at Jon to stay down. Jon’s face a theatre mask of ghoulish blood, begging the paramedics to help Martin, manic and spiralling.

The old bastard had had a heart after all.

There’s a bank of chairs outside the part of the ward where they’re keeping Jon. He’s pin-cushioned with IV’s, a set of machines monitoring his vitals. He wakes fitfully, and every waking is a pitiful confusion before he sinks back under.

Martin’s still in surgery.

Elias, deigning to leave his ivory tower, his face formed in an impeccable replica of concern. He wants to speak to Jon. To have, as he put it, ‘a private word’. He talks a precisely ordered stream of bullshit in his infuriatingly reasonable tone, about all this being such a terrible tragedy, such a blow to their little family, if only they’d known. Poor Martin, of course, what a horrible ordeal, we’ll naturally help him with recovery, cover any time off, no expense considered.

Tim watches his mouth move, and knows in his gut that Elias could have stopped all this.

That he chose not to.

Elias doesn’t get within a hundred feet of Jon. Tim makes sure of it.

Jon does not speak for days. Delirious and distraught. Martin’s condition worsens, then stabilises, then lingers at critical. There are several more operations, and Tim does not know what they are doing, only that they are reforming a heap of blood and bone back into a person.

Tim wants to know what happened. Where Jon went, where Martin found him, who he needs to hate.

Tim learns to temper his frustration, the desire for knowing that curls at the bottom of his stomach. It is not a natural wanting, and it’s a spiteful, gleeful action, to deny that rot within him.

“Tim?”

“Stay still, boss,” Tim says. “You’ll pull everything out.”

Jon doesn’t say anything more for a long while. Tim shifts uneasy on the chair provided, thinking, hoping that Jon might have sunk back into sleep, when:

“Martin? Is he…?”

Jon turns his head to look at him. His eyes wide, beseeching, wet with fear. Wanting Tim to make this all ok.

Jon’s eyes in this light are a lot like Danny’s. Tim sucks back a hard breath, and doesn’t meet his gaze, and he knows that only distresses Jon further, who will take the avoidance as a death knell, as a punishment he is expecting to have earned.

“He’s alive, boss,” Tim says eventually. The words hard won. “He’s… he’ll be alright.”

That could be a lie. He doesn’t know much these days.

“Th-there was a room,” Jon stammers one day. He’s sat up, pillows stuffed behind his back. Tim’s bought him an apple juice carton like you buy for children, and he hasn’t touched it, even to push the plastic straw through the top.

His fingers at his lap twist, twist, twist.

“It must have been a … a factory floor, or something. One of those old textile mills or something, up near Manchester. It used to have those big machines for spinning cotton, there were big, discoloured spaces on the boards where they would have sat. There were columns, load-bearing, every fifty feet or so, and t-the chair that they – they had me tied to was anchored against one of those s-so it didn’t – so I couldn’t move it, or knock it over. I-I don’t know how long I was… I.” Jon stops, out of breath. “I don’t even know the date.”

Tim tells him. Jon blinks, and murmurs ‘oh’ like it’s not what he was expecting. His hands are shaking. Tim should reach out, shouldn’t he, it should not be this difficult to provide comfort.

His hands have forgotten how easily reassurance used to come to him.

“Th-they didn’t, they didn’t hurt me. Not, well, not exactly, I-I-I mean, it wasn’t – they wanted me unharmed.” Jon’s voice has crept small and crouched, words tuck under his tongue. “They were waiting. For the right time. They were going to t-take my, um, my skin. For their – for the ritual.”

“Christ.” Tim hisses out, because that is fucked, this whole thing is fucked. How the hell is this the way their lives have turned.

Only Jon’s fingers, his restless hands make noise for the next minute.

“I don’t know how Martin found me,” Jon says.

Tim has a creeping suspicion. It’s the same thing that helps Tim spits out exactly the right seeds to allow hurt to take root. What told Martin that there was something wrong. He could call it intuition, but that’s not how their world works.

Gifts, of a sort. For their faithful service at the temple of their all-seeing god.

“He tried to get me out. Snuck in somehow, cut the ropes with this – huh, this battered old kitchen knife. But I couldn’t… they’d had me tied to the chair for so long that standing up was… I couldn’t walk, and it’s my fault, he was half-carrying me but – I slowed him down, a-and then Nikola came back. And I couldn’t do, I couldn’t do anything, there’s never anything I can do, and they pulled me away and I. I tried, Tim, I-I tried, and I wasn’t… please, Tim, you’ve got to believe I tried to stop them.”

Jon’s fingers are moving to fist in his hair, yanking, tugging, his spine moving to fold himself over.

“Stop,” Tim says sharply. Trying to loosen Jon’s clenched hold.

“I tried, I tried – everything, I offered them anything they wanted, and they just kept – I-I-I tried, Tim.”

“I know,” Tim replies. Quieter. Softer. Separating Jon’s hands from his hair, pressing them back down to his lap, his burnt one held over the other pocked with worm scars. Tim doesn’t move his own away from the fragile tower they’ve made. “I – I know, Jon.”

“Martin – there was more of them. It was easy for them, to hurt him until he stopped struggling. They didn’t tie him up, they knew they didn’t need to. A-and Nikola, she was… she s-s-smiled as they pushed him over onto his back. She – she kept smiling. And she said they didn’t need the two of us. That they could have a bit of fun, a bit of – ” Jon’s voice chokes horrified. “A bit of practise. And wouldn’t I like that. To watch. To give the Eye something to look at.”

Jon crumples into tears then. In on himself like a disintegrating star. Tim feels cold and distant for a moment as he watches this shipwreck as though through the porthole of another boat. Listening to Jon’s hitching sobbing from elsewhere.

The rage is burning off him to reveal something plain and hideous in its humanity, and Tim hates it.

Jon falls apart, and Tim stays.

“You know your Archivist killed them all? He’s got a bit of a temper on him after all. Must be all that repression.”

The newest form of the Distortion still smiles like a headache. Her fingers curve corkscrewing. Tim, who is trying to get a Snickers from the vending machine two wards along from Jon, whips his head around to glower at the unwelcome visitor.

“What do you want?”

The Distortion, who has previously called themselves Michael, and is now still Michael but not entirely, whose face has refracted into a different form – there’s been a sort of change in management, if you like, except, well, that’s not really it at all, but do feel free to call me Helen.

“I was hoping for a teeny bit of gratitude. I was the gallant rescue, after that assistant of yours blundered in and made such a pig’s ear of it.”

Tim snarls. The Distortion’s expression wavers displeased.

“Ooh, touchy, alright. Calm down, firecracker. I bought them both back breathing for you. Your Archivist would be still strapped to a chair in Stockport if it wasn’t for me, to say nothing of that woebegone assistant. Blood all over my carpets.”

Tim ignores her. The glint in her eyes suggests she’s disappointed not to have riled him up.

“What now then?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about the Circus for a while! Dear Jonathan’s seen to that quite splendidly. Knew he had it in him. Although, I suspect, even he didn’t know he could. The Circus was always good at pushing too far.”

“And you. What about you?”

The Distortion’s smile reflects a hundred alternatives.

“Oh, I’m just waiting to see what happens next.”

Tim’s thoughts have been straying to Danny a lot. Naturally, all things considered, his trauma’s head reared high and made horrifically manifest.

Jon is not like Danny was, too stiff and self-conscious in his own bones. But Danny’s skin had been lit up with that same live-wire intensity that last night, smeared in shadows and exhaustion and tears that shone foreign on his cheeks. Tim had not recognised the crying, silent, shaking stranger in his room, just as he barely recognises Jon.

Watching him finally fall apart holds no victory for any of them.

Martin is not like Danny was. Taller, for one, wound-up over tight in his own clockwork of fears. He’d be about Danny’s age though. Maybe.

Danny went back to the Covent Garden Theatre, alone, and the being that had then gone by the name of Joseph Grimaldi had torn off his skin as easily as wrapping paper.

Martin went alone. He didn’t ask Tim for help, because he knew Tim would have said no, and there’s an ashy shame coating his tongue, knowing it would have been true.

It’s powerlessness that’s snarled him up in barbed wire, toothless and immobile. Tim’s felt powerless for a long time. That is not going to stop.

But his anger hasn’t protected him. Hasn’t protected Jon. Certainly hasn’t protected Martin.

Jon is not in bed when Tim goes back during visiting hours. The nurse directs him to another ward, indicating in few words that this jaunt was neither encouraged nor advised, but the patient was not one to be dissuaded.

Sounds like Jon.

The man himself has dressed erratically in the spares Tim bought. A t-shirt that is divorced from his own style, the colouring drawing him over-sallow, the jeans too short and trailing above his ankle. He’s squashed himself into a chair, his back folded like a shepherd’s crook, his scatter-shot energy spent into exhaustion. His hand in Martin’s wrapped one.

Martin’s awake. The ministrations of the Circus left his face mostly alone, clear enough for tubing to be threaded into his nostrils and down his throat but the bandaging is extensive. Tim would have thought he’d be away with the fairies on morphine by now, and rightly so, but his jaw sets imperious when he sees Tim. He doesn’t let go of Jon’s hand.

“You doing alright there, Marto?” Tim asks. There is another chair nearby that’s been left by a visitor long gone, and he drags it over. Tim chooses to keep his voice low, chooses to squash the anger that sparks up in him at the violence done to Martin’s body.

“What does it look like?” Martin replies. Not snapping, no wisp of anger there, but there’s a pained whipcord strain to his response, a forced pace to his breathing.

“I thought they’d have you on the good stuff,” Tim says after a moment.

Martin gestures with imprecise movements at a remote off to his right, a grey blocky shape with buttons, hooked up to some sort of patient-controlled analgesia machine.

“You not taken any?”

Martin, as best as he can, shakes his head.

“Why?”

“I just don’t want to, alright?”

Tim doesn’t push. The silence between the two of them is protracted, uncomfortable, but Tim can stand to learn some patience.

Martin’s eyes are watery, clearly trying to push through the pain. Jon sleeps on.

“He won’t tell me,” Martin says. “But it’s bad. I know it’s bad. Right?”

“Yes.”

Martin deserves his honesty. Tim doesn’t know how long Martin suffered on that factory floor until Jon ripped the Circus’ sawdust out with his fury. Long enough for the bandages to coat his arms and legs and back like lacquer, changed multiple times a day to make sure the skin grafts take, and the stitching holds.

Tim should have been there. Like he should have been there for Danny.

“God, Martin,” he says, and he’s surprised to find his throat has clenched tight. “It’s… I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? I went and got myself…” Martin trails off, swallows with difficulty. “I did this, it was all, all me. Fat lot of good it did.”

“You don’t know that…” Tim starts, but Martin looks at him and he seethes without raising his voice.

“What good’s come out of this then? Go on, Tim, tell me. I’m a – I’m a mess, and what the fuck do I have to show for it. What the fuck have any of us gained from this? I just fucked up, and it – I thought I was going to die. And worse, I thought they mightn’t let me, that they might take what they left as scraps a-a-and – ” Martin’s jaw clacks shut as he pushes down his distress.

“You saved Jon.”

“I didn’t though. The bloody – the bloody door monster showed up and did that simply fine without my help!”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what you changed. God, Martin, this whole, this entire thing is all so, it’s fucked, right, it’s…” Tim’s voice wobbles, cracks. “But you tried to do something. You tried to help. And I’m – I’m so sorry you did it alone.”

Martin doesn’t leap to forgiveness. But he nods and Tim puts his hand on the wrappings up his arm and he doesn’t move away.

“What now?” he asks after a moment.

“I don’t know.”

Martin closes his eyes.

“I’m tired,” he confesses. “I’m just so tired of all… all this.”

“We’ll think of something,” Tim says. Finding that he means it. It’s not a promise, but it’s as good as he’s able to offer these days. “You should take some of that morphine. It’ll… it’ll help.”

“It makes me feel out of it. Like, sluggish. And everything’s far away.”

“That means it’s working, Marto,” Tim says, trying for light-hearted, but Martin’s shaking his head, and the shivering is back in his hands. A wide and trembling glaze to his expression.

“If they come back…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I’ll stay,” Tim says. Pats Martin’s arm in a way he hopes conveys reassurance.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Martin nods. Tim helps him grasp the grey remote, push down the button. It’s not long before Martin’s drifted off.

Tim sits there for a long while, thinking about the future.

#tma #tim stoker #fic #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #cw violence #cw implied torture #cw hospitals #hurt/comfort #the magnus archives

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heyitssmiller · 4 years

Text

Clandestine: Chapter Four

The espionage boys go to Slytherin. Chaos ensues.

Content Warning: Some violence towards the end.

@lumosinlove

Clandestine Masterlist

Finn reached over the center console of the car to grab some M&Ms from the bag in Logan’s lap. Logan slapped his hand away playfully, not taking his eyes off the Slytherin police station they were parked down the road from. “Why don’t you eat your own snacks?”

“They’re salty and I wanted something sweet.” Finn said with a shrug, popping one of the candies into his mouth and grinning.

Leo sighed from the backseat, letting his head rest against the window with a thunk. He stared out at the full moon as a lonely cloud passed in front of it, moving fast. It was the most interesting thing he’d seen all night. “Why didn’t y’all tell me stakeouts were so boring? This is horrible.”

“But we’ve learned so much already!”

Finn got an arched blond eyebrow in response. “Have we?”

“We’re downtown, so we’re going to have to be extra careful about being seen. Shift change is at 6 pm, so we need to avoid that time frame as much as we can. There’s fewer people on the night shift, so our best bet is to wait until nighttime.” Logan rattled off, still not looking away from the building. “There’s a side door on the west side of the building, so that’ll be your best bet when you need to break in. I can see at least one security camera there, so Loops is going to need to help you out.”

Finn motioned to Logan dramatically. “That’s how you do it, Peanut Butter. Take notes.”

“I had lots of practice, keeping an eye out while you guys were off being bank robbers.” Logan grumbled good-naturedly, grabbing an M&M for himself.

Finn hummed thoughtfully. “Robbers is a bad way of putting it, don’t you think? You make us sound so evil.”

“I mean, you’re also technically an arsonist.”

“That was one time. And the other bank heist went off without a hitch.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact that you set a trash can on fire.” Leo piped up, giving Logan a high-five when he held his hand out.

“I knew I liked you for a reason, Nut.”

Leo really tried his best not to read into that statement. He grabbed the small lock in his pocket and fidgeted with the dial to distract himself. He didn’t mean it like Leo thought he did. Like he wanted him to. Besides, that would be so complicated, wouldn’t it? Being a spy was messy in and of itself. Dating two other spies - who were his partners - would be a whole other level of chaos.

But that didn’t make him want it any less.

Which was also ridiculous. He’d known them for, what? Maybe a month? Why did his heart always decide to move at such breakneck speeds?

“Do you two have to always gang up on me?” Finn asked with a sigh, snapping Leo back out of his thoughts. “What did I ever do to deserve it?”

“Don’t take it personal, O’Hara. You’re just so fun to tease.” Finn threw a barbecue-flavored chip at Logan, causing him to laugh and eat it.

“How long do stakeouts usually last?” Leo asked, desperate to change the subject to something - anything - less hazardous for his heart.

“Until we have all the information we need.”

“And how do we know when that is?”

Logan shrugged. “Depends on the case. I’d like to stay and see when the next shift change is, just to be safe.”

Leo groaned and settled back in to wait.

***

“So how are we doing this?” Finn asked the next morning as they all sat around the table in the briefing room, propping his chin in his hand. “Sneak Leo in through an air vent? Although you might be too tall for that, Nut. Blow a hole in the wall and steal the whole safe? Create a story like the bank heists?”

“It’ll have to be a distraction again.” Sirius said, looking to Loops for confirmation. “The longer we can fly under Riddle’s radar, the better. The other four drives are on Riddle, in his office, or with trusted gang members. If he starts getting suspicious now, he’ll go on lockdown and we don’t stand a chance at getting the rest of the drives.”

“He’s right.” Remus agreed. “Plus there’s way too many officers in the precinct at any given time. Since the safe is in the evidence room, we can’t risk anyone coming in there and catching Leo red-handed – they’d shoot you on sight, no questions asked.”

Logan watched the color drain from Leo’s face and turned to send Remus a glare. Of course this job was risky – if you didn’t think so, you were a naïve idiot. Getting caught or shot or killed was just a part of the job and as a spy, you had to learn to live with that. But that didn’t mean you had to scare rookies about it right before a big, high-risk mission.

Remus noticed his glare, but simply ignored it and looked away. “Here’s what I’m thinking. There’s another, smaller gang in Slytherin, right?” At Sirius’ nod, he continued. “If we can place an anonymous tip on their location, that all but guarantees a full holding cell inside the precinct. Plus it gets another gang off the streets, so it’s a win-win. Logan, if you can get yourself arrested for something small – public indecency or drunken disorderly or something – you’ll be put in that holding cell too.”

Logan leaned forwards, excitement coursing through him. “I like where this is going.”

“I don’t.” Finn stated plainly. It was his turn to glare at Loops.

“If you can start a fight in there, you can get a majority of the officers’ attentions. Especially if it’s at night when the staff is smaller and more likely to be tired. Leo can slip in the side door unnoticed, get into the evidence room, grab the flash drive, and get out.” Remus raked a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful. “It’s more complicated than the banks, but it should work just fine.”

“That’s the plan?” Leo asked dubiously. “Try to start a riot in a holding cell, hope that all the officers get distracted, steal the flash drive, and then just wait for Logan to be released in the morning? There’s so many things that could go wrong.”

He was right - there was a lot riding on nothing but chance. Sadly, that was part of the territory of working in espionage; it was one of the only things the James Bond movies got right. You had to take risks in order to get results sometimes. Leo’s job was all about planning and precision. He knew exactly how to execute his mission and there usually weren’t any hiccups as long as he had the right tools with him and enough time. Not much risk-taking involved in cracking safes. So he’d probably never been a part of a plan with so many aspects up in the air.

He’d also never seen Logan in action.

“Never doubt my ability to start a fight.” Logan said with a grin. “Man, I’m so excited to go on a mission where I’m not stuck in the car.”

“I want to go with you.” Finn said firmly, leaving no room for argument. His gaze was fierce and determined and if Logan didn’t know him already, he’d probably be just a little bit scared. It was kind of hot. “I don’t like you being in there by yourself.”

Remus looked at him, clearly surprised. “I thought you didn’t like fights.”

“I don’t. But I’m not leaving my partner in there to fend for himself. Hell no.”

Logan ignored the way his heart sped up and asked, “You don’t want to go with Leo? Be a lookout?”

“Normally I’d say yes, but if someone does end up seeing him, one person raises less suspicion than two.” Finn said with a shrug. “It’ll also be easier to start a fight with two people.”

“If you’re getting arrested in Slytherin, you’ll need disguises.” Remus said, looking the cubs over. “They’ll take mugshots of you at the station. We can’t risk it.”

“Ok, so who do we go to for that?”

“Ooh!” Leo piped up with a happy, unfairly adorable smile. “I actually know this one!”

***

When they entered the disguise office the following day a woman with long, blonde hair looked up at them from a rapidly moving sewing machine. Finn feared for her fingers as they inched closer to the bobbing needle, but she barely batted an eye as she took her foot off the pedal and smiled in delight when she spotted Leo. “Nutty! How’s it going?”

Leo smiled back and gave her a warm hug. He looked like he gave good hugs, Finn thought. All tall and long-limbed like that. “Hey, Nat. Good to see you.”

“Kasey told me you’re on a mission. Look at you, all official and taking down the Snakes!” She stood on her tiptoes to ruffle his hair. “So grown up!”

“Stop.” Leo laughed, taking a step back and dodging her hand. “Y’all treat me like I’m twelve.” He seemed to remember Logan and Finn were with him and his cheeks turned red as he looked over at them. “Uh, guys this is Natalie. Nat, these are my partners Finn and Logan.”

“Nice to meet you boys.” She said, shaking both their hands. “So you’re here for disguises?”

Finn nodded, then started explaining the premise of their op, watching Natalie a bit nervously as she looked him over thoroughly. It was a bit unnerving, even when he knew it was just to get a good idea of what she needed to do for a disguise. Her gaze was calculating, like she could figure out everything about them with a single look.

Maybe she could.

Finally, she spoke up. “We’ll have to change that hair. How do you feel about wash-out hair dye? Normally I’d just give you a wig, but if you’re getting in a fight it could get pulled off. And you.” She turned to Logan, taking a second to look him over. “I have so many ideas for you. I have a feeling you’re going to love it. Oh, and Nut?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got a cop uniform that should fit you.”

He bit back disappointment. Finn was dyeing his hair, (which was a bit of a tragedy, really – Leo thought his hair was really pretty, especially out in the sun) Logan was doing who knows what, and all Leo got was a uniform? “Oh. Ok.” He looked over at his partners. “I’ll meet you back in the bullpen?”

“Sounds good.” Logan responded. As soon as Leo closed the door behind him, Natalie faced Logan again with a wicked smile.

“How do you feel about tattoos?”

***

Logan and Finn found Leo having a staring contest with a small, god-awful painted eagle paperweight on Finn’s desk.

“I see you’ve met Brad!” Finn said happily, giving the eagle a pat on the head and startling Leo in the process. He seemed to jump a foot in the air before he realized Finn wasn’t a threat.

“I’m pretty sure it’s haunted.” Leo said, looking away from it slowly. Those beady little eyes seemed like they were staring into his soul and finding it wanting. “I’m from New Orleans, I can tell- holy shit.” He said when he caught sight of his partners.

Finn’s hair was dark brown, his freckles tragically hidden from view. Natalie had also done some makeup magic to accentuate different lines of his face, changing his profile and making him barely recognizable. Logan’s hair was now a dirty blonde. Both of his arms and one collarbone were littered with dark, swooping ink in varying different shapes and patterns. They were both wearing more casual clothes than Leo had ever seen them in, looking soft and comfy instead of like polished, professional spies.

“If I wasn’t expecting it, I’m not sure I could recognize you.” Leo said slowly, trying to get his brain back up and running as he gently grabbed one of Logan’s arms and turned it this way and that, looking at the tattoos in awe. They looked so real.

Logan grinned. “Yeah, Nat’s a pro.” He followed Leo’s gaze down at his fake tattoos wistfully. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a spy, just so I could get tattoos.” He couldn’t have anything about him be easy to recognize as a covert operative – it would make him too easy to track down and get compromised. Tattoos unfortunately fell into that category. His eyes landed on the eagle paperweight Leo was staring down earlier. He laughed. “O’Hara, what the fuck is that?”

“It’s Brad! My brother is a spy, too – works out of Tampa. When I joined, we created this competition: whoever brought in the most criminals in a year got to keep Brad on their desk.” Finn preened, looking fondly at the creepy eagle. “Yours truly has the honor this year.”

Leo glared at it mistrustfully. “That thing needs to be burned. Or I could smoke it out with sage for you. I’ve got some from Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo back home. That’ll get rid of the spirit for sure.”

Finn gasped in horror. “How dare you? Brad is a treasure and deserves to be protected at all costs.”

“I strongly disagree.”

“It is not haunted, it’s a symbol of being a winner-”

“As much as I’m loving this conversation,” Logan interrupted, looking amusedly between his partners. “We should probably get going if we want to get to Slytherin in time. Loops already placed the anonymous tip about the other gang, so we’re all set. Ready?”

“Ready.” Finn echoed, giving Brad one last loving pat for good luck before heading towards the door, Logan by his side. Leo picked up his pace to walk alongside the other two.

“Please don’t make me sit in the backseat again.”

“But you’re the rookie.”

“I’m also the tallest. You try being stuck with your knees to your chest for a several hour road trip. Not fun.”

***

Finn laughed as Logan stumbled during their “drunken meandering” in the park near the Slytherin precinct and threw an arm around his shoulder. He spotted a uniformed officer talking on his phone a few yards away, apparently on break. He knew Leo was also out there somewhere, keeping tabs on them and relaying information to Sirius and Loops. Since Finn and Logan were getting arrested, they didn’t want to be caught with mics and earpieces on them. That would really raise suspicions and get their cover blown for sure. So Leo was keeping an eye on them now and Loops would do the same via the security cameras once they were both inside the precinct.

“There’s an officer to our left.” Finn said, leaning close to Logan to murmur into his ear and knocking their heads clumsily together. He could just barely see the curve of Logan’s smile from that vantage point, almost taunting him with how easy it would be to press a kiss there. Just a slight movement of his chin and he could do it. Refraining took all of Finn’s willpower.

He moved away. “Now all we need to do is get his attention and get ourselves arrested.”

Logan leaned in close and eliminated all the space Finn had just put between them, green eyes bright and mischievous and luminous under the artificial light of a nearby streetlamp. “I’ve got an idea.”

Finn simply stared. “Huh?”

“You know how I hate the police?” The brunet-turned-blond asked, grabbing Finn’s hands and walking backwards. Finn followed the siren’s call without hesitation. If he crashed into the rocks and sank because of him – well. Drowning would be worth it.

He had to urge his brain to focus and vaguely remembered that conversation from New Year’s and the rant about abuse of power that came with it. Even drunk off his ass, Logan had made some very good points. “Yeah.” Finn glanced over Logan’s shoulder as they approached the parked police car.

“We’re really going to piss them off today. Go with it.” Were the last words out of Logan’s mouth as he backed himself up against the police car, pulled Finn flush against him, and crashed their lips together. Finn barely missed a beat before he was kissing back, moving a hand up to cradle the back of Logan’s head. On New Year’s – when Finn was convinced Logan was going to kiss him but didn’t – Finn imagined what kissing him would be like. He pictured it soft, tantalizing, and teasing, just like the rest of their night had been. It was somewhat like that, and yet Finn was still off by miles. This kiss was a lot of things – it was warm and feisty and absolutely addictive – but soft didn’t fit the description at all. Logan kissed enthusiastically, if not a little sloppily. Finn couldn’t really tell if that was part of the drunk ruse or not.

Fuck, this was a con. It wasn’t real. This was for the mission, and nothing else.

But then why did it feel so real?

Finn pushed the thoughts away as he angled his head and deepened the kiss, inhaling sharply through his nose as he only then remembered the necessity that was breathing. He might not get this opportunity again, so he was going to use this chance to make Logan weak in the knees. Finn’s brain knew it was a horrible idea, but he wanted Logan to remember this, to think about it before he went to bed that night and wonder what if. If they weren’t spies or partners or on the biggest operation of their entire careers, what if he could have this?

If this was the only time Finn would ever get to kiss Logan, he was also going to make sure he remembered every tiny detail: the way Logan’s breath hitched when he bit down on his bottom lip, the feel of cold hands slipping under his sweatshirt, the rise and fall of his chest against Finn’s.

“Hey now!” A gruff voice shouted, grabbing Finn’s shoulder and pulling the two apart. “Cut it out.”

Finn staggered back – which was not an act. He was just that off balance, mind reeling. The police officer was glaring at him sternly, looking very annoyed. Finn shrugged carelessly, letting his words slur. “I would say sorry, but I mean – come on. Look at him. Can you blame me?”

Leo watched from his vantage point on a nearby park bench, something twisting painfully in his chest.

He could admit he was jealous – that was the easy part. But he wasn’t jealous in a way that made any sense. He was jealous of both of them. He wanted both of them. And yeah, it was a con and they were just making out to get the officers’ attentions, but it sure looked genuine. There were some things you just couldn’t fake.

The way Logan was gazing at Finn was one of them.

Of all people, he had to catch feelings for spies. Not just one spy – two. Two spies who may or may not have feelings for each other.

Fuck.

This is what I get for letting myself speculate, I guess.

“Leo?” Remus’ voice asked through his earpiece. “What’s going on?”

Leo focused back on the mission at hand and forced his voice to stay even. “They’re, uh, making out against a cop car.”

Sirius laughed loudly, while Remus just sighed long-sufferingly. “That’s one way to do it, I guess.”

“They’re egging the cop on, now.” Leo said, watching as Logan’s shoulders tensed and he said something harsh to the cop. “Looks like it won’t be long.”

Sure enough, the cop whipped out his handcuffs and motioned for Leo’s partners to turn around and put their hands behind their backs. They were loaded into the back of the cop car, and Leo allowed his eyes to follow it as it drove off towards the precinct before getting to his feet and walking in the same direction. “They’re on their way. Let me know when all the action starts.”

“Copy that.”

The good thing about being on a mission was that Leo didn’t really have time to internally reflect or try and decipher his feelings. He had a job to do. He couldn’t afford to mess this up because he was too busy stuck in his own head.

He did, however, assume he had enough time to not rush his walk to the precinct. Finn and Logan still needed to be searched, booked, and put in the holding cell before they could even think of starting the riot. So he kept his gait slow and let himself get lost in the sound of the wind sweeping through the trees and the rustle of dead leaves as they danced across the sidewalk.

He shoved a hand in his pocket, finding the old, worn, familiar lock there and fiddled with the dial.

***

Things in the holding cell were… not exactly going to plan.

First of all, there were about half the number of gang members in the holding cell than they anticipated. This wasn’t great, but it wasn’t the end of the world either. It might be harder to get everyone in the precinct to pay attention, but Finn was still confident in their ability to cause a scene. Then it got stranger.

The gang members were absolutely delightful.

Three were sitting by Logan, sharing stories behind their numerous tattoos and rolling up their sleeves to show off more ink. Four more were in a cuddle puddle in one of the corners of the cell, trying to get some sleep. One was even sitting by Finn, although he had made no attempt to strike up a conversation or anything. Finn was usually pretty comfortable with his height – he was tall, by most people’s standards. But the guy sitting next to him was huge. He was at least three inches taller than Leo, and easily twice as broad. With an unreadable face made of stone, the guy was also practically impossible to get a read on. Finn figured he needed to do something to get the ball rolling. Poor Nutter Butter would be stuck outside all night at this rate.

So he braced himself, turned to the guy next to him, and said, “Hey.”

Not his best conversation starter.

The guy looked at him strangely. Finn decided to keep going. “I’m Finn.”

“Tanner.”

“How’s your night going, Tanner?”

Tanner seemed to think Finn was certifiably insane. “Well, seeing that I’m currently in jail, not great.”

“Right… right.” Finn trailed off, cringing internally. He was so off his game tonight. Of course, he knew why, but that didn’t make it any easier to snap out of it. All he could think of was pressing Logan against a cop car and how much he wanted to do it again. But it wasn’t that simple-

“Are you ok?” Finn looked back up at Tanner, who shrugged stiffly. “You seem a little stressed.”

Finn thought about it, then decided fuck it. He’d never see this guy again. And who would Tanner tell? He blurted out, “I kissed my coworker today.”

Tanner blinked, then leaned back against the wall. “Ok.”

“I don’t think he feels the same way.”

He didn’t even bat an eye and the whole being attracted to the same gender thing. His face still revealed nothing. Finn couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. “Did he kiss you back?”

“Well, yeah.” Finn said, glancing across the cell at Logan and thinking back on the feeling of those lips pressed against his, the texture of the soft curls beneath his fingertips.

“Then what the fuck is the holdup?”

Finn sighed, looking back at Tanner. “It’s not that simple.”

“Look. He either likes you or he doesn’t. What good does it do you to keep guessing when you could get a definitive answer by just asking him? Everyone seems to forget how simple things are when you break them down into components. It’s just simple communication, dude. That’s it.”

“But-” Finn stopped short, taking a second to think when he was struck with a realization. It wasn’t out of the blue, nor was it completely surprising. It still felt like getting hit by a fucking train, though.

Tanner let him stay silent for a second, then prodded curtly, “But?”

“I… I think I might have feelings for another of my friends, too.” Finn thought of sunny blond hair, kind blue eyes, and a warm, dimpled smile.

Shit.

“You know polyamorous relationships are a thing, right?” Tanner sat up straighter, looking at Finn eagerly. It was the first emotion Finn had seen on his face, and also strangely endearing. “I have a ton of articles I can send you if you’re interested.”

Finn couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. “Thanks, man. I think I might have to wait it out, though. We all work together and it would get so complicated so fast. Maybe once we finish the project we’re working on together.”

Tanner followed his eyes across the cell to Logan. Finn hadn’t even realized he was staring at him again. “Is that the one you kissed or the other one?”

Finn arched an eyebrow, which the gang member snorted at. “You aren’t subtle, bud.”

“That’s the one I kissed. Well, he kissed me, if we’re being technical. But I don’t think he meant it. It was kind of a – a dare, I guess you could say.”

Tanner’s face turned stormy. “He did what now?”

Finn frantically started to backtrack. “It’s fine. I mean, I’m not mad or anything-”

Tanner stood up and pointed angrily at Logan. “You!” He bellowed, voice like thunder. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Logan looked from Tanner to Finn, then back to Tanner, brow knitting in confusion. “What?”

“Did no one teach you about consent you little piece of-”

And then Tanner drew back his fist and slammed it into Logan’s cheek in a brutal cross hit. Silence rang through the holding cell as Logan reeled backwards, raising a hand to his cheek, which was already red. When he looked up at Tanner again, his eyes were a combination of furious and excited.

It looked like they were getting their fight now.

Finn managed to get out the words “holy shit” before all hell broke loose.

Logan threw the next punch, aiming for the stomach first and then the temple when Tanner doubled over, knocking the breath out of him. One of the other gang members took offense to that on Tanner’s behalf and went after Logan, who dodged the first swing easily and collided his fist into the guy’s nose.

The three gang members who were talking about tattoos with Logan instantly jumped to back him up, while the four who were sleeping leapt to their feet and tried to make sense of the situation. There was a charged energy in the air, an undercurrent of adrenaline and anger mingling with it.

Finn hated fights. They were messy and ugly and painful. Plus he was a conman – if his face was all beat up and bruised, no one would trust him and he’d never get any of his jobs done. So he tried to avoid them as much as he could, but he didn’t think he was getting out of this one.

Logan turned his fiery gaze on Finn, making him take an aborted step backwards before he realized this was the plan. They were supposed to be starting a fight. Finn wasn’t sure he could fight his partner, though. Especially since he’d kissed the guy just shy of two hours ago. Luckily he didn’t have to think too hard about it, because Tanner was back on his feet and charging at Logan, along with two other gang members.

Logan moved like the ocean when he fought – smooth and fluid, but also unpredictable and dangerous and wild. He also clearly knew exactly what he was doing, how to exact the most damage on his opponents. He used his size to his advantage by punching upwards and using his leg muscles to land harder punches. With shorter limbs like that, his blows were quick, effective, and brutal. Logan also seemed to be a southpaw, delivering brutal body shots directly to the liver.

It was absolutely mesmerizing.

Unfortunately, Finn was too busy watching Logan to notice the guy coming towards him until he was tackled forcibly to the ground. His head smacked the concrete floor painfully, stunning him for a brief second. When the spots disappeared from his field of vision, he looked up at the guy standing over him.

“Fuck you, man.”

***

“Nut, you’re good to go.” Remus said as he watched cops swarm the holding cell. “I’ll keep an eye out for any stragglers that might catch you.”

“Thanks.” Leo said, and Remus watched the security footage of the side door as Leo crouched by it and began picking the lock. Sirius looked over his shoulder and whistled lowly.

“Damn, Tremblay’s got some moves.”

Remus briefly switched his gaze over to the footage of the holding cell before scanning the hallways for stray officers. “That’s kind of his thing. He gets sent into situations where things are dicey and people need some sense knocked into them.”

“Maybe he should teach O’Hara. He’s already on the ground.”

“What?” Leo asked, sounding concerned as he unlocked the door and slipped inside. “Is he ok?”

Remus watched Finn climb to his feet and face the guy who knocked him down, getting into an admittedly terrible fighting stance. “He’s fine. Head straight down that hallway. The evidence room is the last door on your left.”

“I hate not knowing what’s going on.” Leo muttered, creeping effortlessly down the hall. “Now I understand why Logan hated the bank missions so much.”

Sirius was watching the action in the holding cell eagerly. “I think this mission more than makes up for those. He’s having a blast. Look at him go! He’s a little ball of rage.”

Leo laughed under his breath as he broke into the evidence room seemingly effortlessly. “Ooh, you’d better not let him hear you say that.”

Remus frowned, watching the blond locate the safe and crouch in front of it. Something about him was… off. He’d seemed fine earlier, but now he seemed subdued. His voice was carefully controlled and even, a blank mask on his face.

So the question was: what had happened between 10 am and now that made him feel like he had to distance himself?

The safe opened within a few minutes. Leo switched out the flash drives and pocketed the real one, closing the safe again and rising to his feet. “Headed out now.”

“Coast is clear.” Remus said, looking back at the holding cell. The officers were pulling people apart and seemed to be getting things back under control. “Good timing – looks like the fight is wrapping up. Now all you’ve got to do is pay their bail after a little while and hit the road.”

“Perfect. That’s the easy part.”

Paying bail, it turned out, was not the easy part.

After what felt like the thirtieth time he’d signed a fake name on the forms and having to jump through countless hoops, Leo still had to wait over an hour until Finn and Logan were processed and released. So he sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs in the lobby and waited. And waited. And waited.

When his partners finally walked through the doors, Leo did a double-take. He knew they’d been in a fight, but good lord.

“Y’all look like shit.” He said, taking in Logan’s bruised cheek, the way Finn was cradling his left arm to his chest, and their overall rumpled appearances. He also noticed the way they were steadfastly refusing to look at each other.

Logan snorted. “Thanks, Peanut.”

Leo shrugged, holding his hands up defensively. “I’m just telling the truth here. Don’t kill the messenger.”

“Let’s go home.” Finn said wearily as he led the way outside and towards their car, limping slightly. “I think I might be allergic to this makeup. It’s starting to itch.”

Later that night, when they were all in their separate apartments scattered across the city, all three of them faced a restless night of staring up at their ceilings and wondering, in some variation or another, what if.

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #coops #sirius black #remus lupin #o'knutzy #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #clandestine #cw: violence

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myfearless-love · 3 years

Text

The Wildest Place You Run (5/?) - Not Far Now

I'm sorry for the delay: traveling and vacation made it impossible to post, but in turn, you'll get two chapters this week (including this). This one is a bit shorter, but you'll see why in the next chapter (spoiler alert: too many action).

As always, a huge thank you to my beta and artist @thejollyroger-writer for correcting my mistakes and making kick-ass art for chapters 5 and 6! Check it out above!

Summary:

Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapter: 5/? - Not Far Now

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~2k

Previous parts:

Ch 1 II Ch 2 II Ch 3 II Ch 4

The next morning she woke up on the couch, curled up, leaning her head on the armrest. Someone, probably August, had covered her with a blanket and left her there. She was used to it, he often disappeared without a word, and he was the only one she couldn't hold it against.

She sat up slowly, and it took her half a minute to discover she was alone.

Again.

She scrambled out from under the quilt and slipped out into the kitchen. Her neck was throbbing, she was cold, and she still felt exhausted despite the few hours of sleep she'd gotten. Her day had started out shitty.

Again.

(There were many recurring things in her life that she would've preferred to avoid.)

As she glanced at the clock to see it was ten in the morning, her eyes caught a yellow note on the fridge, adorned with David's almost illegible scrawl.

I'll be home late. Take care of yourself!

Sighing, she crumpled the paper in her palm and tossed it straight into the bin beside the kitchen counter. She opened the refrigerator and was disappointed to find it contained only a few cans of beer and a slice of moldy cheese.

Furious, she slammed the door and marched up the stairs to change and grab some money. She had to go shopping.

She was already shuddering in apprehension.

Going back outside and among strangers… Great.

She tugged on her black jeans and pulled on a thick, hooded black sweater. Before Neal, she'd never worn flashy or bright colors and after his death, she'd relegated almost all of her more colorful clothes to the back of her closet.

She didn't have much money, being unemployed at the moment. David was supporting her now, which she simply hated. She had been looking for vacancies for a long time, but with her limited experience and lack of a college degree, not to mention the impending apocalypse looming over their heads, her chances of finding something were pretty low. And David was against it anyway; she had no idea why, though, and he never told her the reason. So she had to make do with her limited savings, which was becoming increasingly annoying as David had completely forgotten about the household in the last two months.

She put a small amount of money in her back pocket and her keys in the pockets of her sweater, along with her phone. She put her hair in a ponytail, her curls bouncing with each step she took. She fixed her eyelashes with a swipe of mascara.

She tucked her gun into the waistband of her jeans; after all, one could never know what might happen. She concealed it with her sweater, making it invisible to anyone.

Fog was spreading through the gray streets, the sky covered in black clouds, an ideal time for a short walk through the city center. There were hardly any people on the streets. On weekday mornings, everyone was either at school or at work, with only a few retirees strolling the cobblestone sidewalk.

Emma stuck her hands in the front pockets of her jeans and sketched out her tasks for the day in her head, but the list was pretty short. Shopping was her only agenda today, so she began to think feverishly about what to do with the long hours ahead of her.

She arrived at the tiny little corner store without any plans. She could get everything she needed here. She hated supermarkets.

When she was done shopping, she didn't head home, but to the nearby library. Inspiration came to her somewhere between choosing which can of food to buy. She needed some good books and a quiet place among normal people. Among relatively normal people.

It wasn't five minutes before she was wandering among the bookshelves in the pleasantly heated room, browsing the selection.

No one disturbed her, and at that moment, it felt very good. She continued to hunt for books peacefully, and after a while, she returned to the cashier with a small stack. The young woman behind the counter treated her kindly like she did anyone else, and that was a really strange feeling. Strange, but heartwarming. Maybe she should go out more often and fill out some more job applications. Then she could even live a relatively normal life.

She was already halfway home when her phone started ringing. She rolled her eyes in annoyance and dropped her packed bags on one of the nearby benches. She dug out her phone and looked at the caller ID.

David.

"I'm almost home, I just went shop-"

"Where are you exactly?" he gasped into the phone.

"Near the park on the avenue. Why?" she asked suspiciously. "What is it again?"

Before answering, he repeated her location to someone, then she heard the sound of a door slamming shut. "Elves," came the curt reply. "Dark Elves."

"David, stop talking in riddles!" The icy fingers of fear zigzagged through her spine. She had already had the opportunity to meet with one Dark Elf and she had no desire to repeat the encounter.

"Over the past few months, the Vampires and Werewolves have been plotting against us. They have realized that they cannot defeat us with brute force alone. They've been lurking in the shadows for the last few months, looking for a few allies, and they've found the Dark Elves. Some are already in the city and…" he took a deep breath. "The point is, don't move from where you are now, Emma. Killian will pick you up shortly."

Before she could ask anything, David ended the call. She stared furiously at her phone for a while, then pocketed the device just as it started beeping incessantly. She groaned and fished it out of her pocket again. It seemed she would have to replace it soon, the battery was almost dead, despite it being half full mere moments ago.

But that wasn't the only problem with the device. The signal dropped dangerously, then the thing just shut off altogether. Sultry magic swept through the city. Emma looked up in confusion. Around her, several elderly people pointed to the sky and shook their heads in incomprehension.

Emma looked up as well.

There were almost entirely black clouds floating in the sky, shrouding the entire city in shadows.

So the Elves were really here.

She picked up her bags, slipped her right hand under her sweater, and reached for the handle of her gun. She wouldn't be able to do much against Elves with it, but at least it made her feel a little better. Nervously, she scanned the deserted street. She had never longed this hard for Killian's arrival. Correction, she had never longed for him, period… Until now.

When she thought about it more carefully, she'd never talked to him for more than five minutes. Truth to be told, she hadn't even had the chance. Killian just came and went. He showed up in the most unexpected places, at the most stressful times, and disappeared just as quickly.

Barely a minute later, a black Porsche Panamera stopped in front of her, leaving dark skid marks on the asphalt. She jerked back, startled, and managed to land on her ass in a not very graceful way.

The car door swung open and Killian stared at her, impatiently at first, then noticed her sprawled figure on the ground. A strange smile slid across his face, but she couldn't place why it felt so different. "It's more comfortable in here, lass," he said, patting the seat beside him.

Emma staggered to her feet with an annoyed huff. She considered staining the seat cover with her muddy jeans in retaliation, but she didn't want to be childish. She was about to dust off her clothes as best she could with a tissue when something grabbed her waist and yanked her into the car. The door slammed shut on its own, and Killian stepped on the gas.

"Was that you?" she growled when she finally managed to get herself into a more decent position. At that moment, the seatbelt flew through the air in front of her and snapped into place on the edge of her seat.

"And that too," Killian nodded grimly, focusing on the road.

"Don't you dare do that again! Or at least, warn me next time!"

She really wasn't used to someone practicing magic on her. It wasn't exactly painful or uncomfortable; in fact, the touch of Killian's magic was lukewarm and pleasantly eerie, but it still scared the shit out of her.

"Apologies…"

Finally, she raised her eyes to him, and only now realizing why his previous smile seemed so strange. His face looked completely different. There was not a drop of eyeliner on him, and his stubble was completely gone. He looked so young that way, but she had to admit, she liked his bad boy look better.

Either way, he was a pretty good-looking guy.

And she really needed to stop thinking now.

"What the hell happened?"

"To my face?" he smiled compulsively. "I had to shave because they couldn't stitch up the wound," he replied lightly, as if it was just a usual Thursday for him.

"Wound? Stitch up? But shouldn't you be supposed to heal…?"

Before she could finish her question, Killian turned his face fully toward her. There was a fresh, red scar starting at his temple and extending to the line of his lips.

"Jesus…" she gasped.

The sight of his handsome face disfigured by the scar shocked her greatly.

"Wounds inflicted by Elves don't heal on their own or fast like any other," he shrugged and looked at the road again, but she could see the bitterness in his eyes that she just couldn't place.

She sank as low as she could into the seat, peering at him timidly, then glanced out the window. The city was dark as if it was already night, and she knew for a fact that this was the work of Elves. This way, the vampires could walk around the city without fearing the sunlight.

It was comfortably warm in the car, yet she huddled as a shiver ran through her. She watched the city pass by silently and then she realized…

"Killian, we left the—" she began in alarm, but he seemed perfectly calm.

"We're not going to your house," he replied nonchalantly, not taking his eyes off the road, for which she was very grateful because they were going much faster than allowed.

"Then where?" her eyes widened in shock.

"To the Guild. It's safer there."

"And David? What about him? Where is he now?"

"Calm down, Swan, he'll be there too," he assured her, then gave her an uneasy sideways glance. "It's going to be alright."

Calm down.

It was easy to say but much harder to do. Especially for her, who could get upset over any little thing, no matter how ridiculous.

Despite the low roar of the engine, she could hear the wind outside blowing louder and louder, tearing cruelly at the scrawny branches of the weak trees on the side of the road. Lightning zigzagged through the sky, and the car shook in another gust of wind.

She shuddered in her seat and made herself as small as she could. Only now did she realize what the presence of the Elves meant, and she was scared to death, if she was honest. There had been no example of them interfering in battles on this earth for hundreds of years.

"It's not far now, love, we'll be there soon," Killian encouraged, and she looked up at him again, expressionless, feeling unspeakably miserable.

His face was practically split in two, and he was the one comforting her? She scoffed at herself.

"Okay." She couldn't say anything else, just slumped in her seat and crossed her arms in front of her chest. A shiver ran down her spine, causing goosebumps on her skin, and she felt like her head was being held in a vice. She knew what that meant. She had just enough time to cling to the edge of the seat, and the vision came unstoppable…

#cs ff #captain swan #cssns21 #cssns 2021 #cs fic #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #ouat #once upon a time #ouat ff #killian x emma #captain swan supernatural #my fic #thejollyroger writer #TWPYR #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fanfic

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anotheronechicagobog · 3 years

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Functional Dysfunction - Rheese - Chapter 5 - It Isn’t Salad

written by @anotheronechicagobog

warnings: swearing, mention of abortion, mention of attempting to force abortion, unplanned preganancy, Connor and Robin are still together, Jimmy is still an ass, but now so is Chilli

The next day everyone was acting weird around her. Manning and Maggie were now running away from her, Halstead couldn't meet her eyes, Choi pretended to take a phone call when they were alone in the doctor's lounge, and Doris was completely silent. That never happened. She gossiped about anything and everything, until now Sarah hadn't believed there was a force on earth powerful enough to shut her up.

A distraction came in the form of a mass casualty structural collapse at a construction site. Injured workers flooded in, while Sarah and Choi were tasked with going to the scene and treating people in the field. It was Sarah's first time working like that. So far it had only been fully stocked EDs or ORs with copious amounts of staff ready to jump into action. Here there were limited supplies, limited staff, and unlimited chaos.

So far the building they were constructing was a small five-story apartment building, it didn't have any walls or floors, it was just metal beams and underlying structure. Half of the crossbeams had just... Come off, taking the workers that were on them, towards the concrete foundation, where other workers were. It was a grizzly, awful site. There were going to be so many casualties, no doubt about it. She reached her first patient, a woman no older than twenty, whose arm was being crushed by a beam near the shoulder. It was purple. She had to amputate.

Red tag, red tag, black tag, red tag, black tag, black tag, black tag, red tag, green tag, black tag, red tag.

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

She hadn’t eaten in ten hours and there were two more action-packed hours left in her shift. While she was finally back in the hospital, she couldn’t help but feel like she was still at the disaster site. One wrong move, one wrong word, and tragedy would occur. Of course at Gaffney it would be social tragedy, but still, she felt like she was navigating a mine field. She’d been on her feet non-stop since her shift started and she was feeling more mentally drained than physically drained. The other interns looked at her the way she imagined vultures would, beady eyes looking at your dying soul, ready to devour your corpse. Except... She wasn’t dying. She was in perfect health, it was apparent that they thought her career was about to be drop-kicked into an active volcano. Boy were they in for a surprise.

“Dr. Reese, scrub up, I need you in the OR with me.” Chad Dovingly, the resident “legacy” intern, almost yelled at Dr. Abrams, but Sarah watched him stop himself. “Sam-”

“Do not call me by my first name, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that. Call me ‘Dr. Abrams’ or don’t speak to me at all.”

“Right, right, my apologies. Dr. Abrams, are you sure that Dr. Reese is the right choice? I mean, I was literally born to be a surgeon, I was in the top ten at my med school, and Dr. Reese, well... Is this because she’s pregnant-”

“Stop. Talking. You may have been in the top ten of your class, but she was the first in hers. She has shown far more dedication and skill than any of you here, and I will not stand here while you not only accuse me of favouritism, but belittle your colleague and fellow intern because of a matter that is absolutely none of your business. The reason you aren’t scrubbing in as much is that you’re not good enough to yet, so if you want to scrub in more, prove to me that you’re worthy of it, because honestly so far Dr. Reese and Dr. Kim are the only ones who have done so.” He dismissed the other interns with only a head nod, leaving the two of them alone in the hallway. “Dr. Reese, the surgery is in two hours. Read up on the procedure and eat something, then meet me in OR four.” The confusion must have been displayed on her face so he sighed and pulled her to the side away from the other interns. “Dr. Manning cornered me earlier and informed me that you’ve been on your feet all day, and you’re going to be staying late. So eat something and then join me in the OR.”

“Oh, okay, I’ll see you in two hours then.”

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

She had a sandwich in her bag, but she doubted that the cold cut meats would still taste good after all this time. She debated going to the cafeteria but at this time all that would be available was heavy fast food. “Sarah?”

“Hi Dr. Manning, don’t worry Dr. Abrams ordered me to eat something before I join him in the OR.”

“Good. I was actually coming to get you, we ordered pizza down in the ED and I was wondering if you wanted to join us?”

“Something tells me you’re not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“A correct assumption, come on it should be here by now.”

They were almost at the doctor’s lounge when Sarah couldn’t ignore the need to ask anymore. “... You know, don’t you?”

“Yes. We all do. I’m sorry that we’ve been avoiding you all day, we just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“What sur-”

“SURPRISE!” Sarah jumped out of her skin and then looked around the lounge. There was a shiny blue ‘congratulations’ banner along the back wall, streamers taped to the ceiling and a stack of pizza boxes on the table. “We want you to know that we’re here for you and that we’re happy for you. I know that you don’t have a lot of time, she needs to scrub up at OR four in... one hour and fifty-one minutes, but celebrate with us a little now, we just want to make sure that you feel supported.”

“And that you eat, no one needs you fainting in an OR.”

“Thank you, all of you, so much... I really appreciate this, I was pretty scared at first, I still am, but I’m confident in my decision.”

“Trust me, we know Sarah.” Puzzled, she looked around at her co-workers and found them all snickering in the direction of Connor and Robin. Connor blushed and lowered his head with anawkward smirk while Robin rolled her eyes. “Doris tried to talk smack and I can honestly say that I have never seen someone get verbally eviscerated so viciously. Showed all of us not to mess with Robin.” Everyone around her chuckled and seemed to unanimously agree with Maggie. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Sarah. Besides I think it was about time someone knocked her down a peg. I mean, I know that gossip is just a part of hospital life, but she just takes it to a whole other level.”

Maggie and Nat were the least tense around her since this whole thing started, Choi and Halstead just seemed relieved that there wasn’t anything wrong with her, April and Noah just seemed content to make her laugh as loud as possible, Robin made sassy quips about the two of them sticking together, and Connor just made sure she always had pizza on her plate. They exchanged a smile when he made sure that she was the first one to eat ‘I know that it’s not salad but it’s still pretty good’. Sarah couldn’t have been more delighted to see Connor moving more freely, lighter, with an enormous weight having been removed from his shoulders.

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

The surgery... Did not go well, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault thankfully. Their patient had the largest tumor she’d ever seen in the centre of their brain and when Dr. Abrams removed it, it looked horrifying to be frank. There was literally a hole in this poor man’s brain which unfortunately resulted in brain damage. It was a serious risk from the beginning, so the patient and family had been informed numerous times in the days leading up to and of the surgery. Delivering that news had been assigned to Sarah and she was not looking forward to it. She left the recovery suite where the patient has just been examined after waking up and went to the waiting room where his husband was waiting along with his twin sister were after Dr. Abrams told them to wait while they examined him. “How is he?”

“He’s okay, right?”

“I am so sorry to tell you this, but he did sustain significant brain damage and it’s very likely that it’s permanent. There’s also a possibility that he could... Pass away due to the severity.” The second that the word ‘sorry’ was out of her mouth they both broke down in tears, holding onto each other for dear life. “You can see him, if you want, and I can explain a few things. Dr. Abrams will check on him again tomorrow at seven am, to give him more time to improve-”

“So, he could get better, my brother could recover.”

“I need to stress that while that is a vague possibility, it is incredibly unlikely, and I don’t want to get your hopes up. I’m so sorry.”

“... Can you take us to him? Or at least me? I totally understand if you can’t see him yet, he’s your twin, but... We- He’s the love of my life. I need to see him.” Sarah nodded and gestured for them to follow her, she wasn’t sure if his sister would at first, but she did, with a far-off, grave look in her eyes. Sarah tried not to think about it, after all, this poor woman was just told her twin brother suffered brain damage and would probably never be the same again, she was allowed to react however she needed to. Still... Sarah couldn’t help but feel like foreshadowing had taken physical form, like her patient’s sister knew more than she was saying.

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

Sarah had forty minutes left in her shift when alarms started blaring. She knew before she even turned around who it was and what the outcome would be. Despite being in her usual ‘crap someone’s dying’ speed her ankles felt like lead, and her soul had stayed at the computer she was working on. Her mind was still there, still searching her head for the best course of action before conducting it, giving orders to nurses, telling someone to get his loved ones out of the room, and shouting for someone to page the on-call neurosurgeon... But it was no use. And from the way everyone was looking at each other that this was the outcome they expected. “Time of death, 21:37.” Her voice felt so out of place, the vibrations her thoat made were irritating. The late patient’s fiance and sister were in the doorway. He was sobbing so inconsolably, so loud, it made Sarah’s heart clench. She however, looked numb, like a part of her just died. She looked Srah dead in the eyes and Sarah’s heart broke all over again. She’d known. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you Dr. Reese... I know that you and Dr. Abrams did everything you could. Could- could we have a moment with my brother? To say... Goodbye?”

“Of course.”

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

When she finally left the hospital she was in tatters. She wasn’t sure if it was the pregnancy hormones or if it was her patient’s death, but all that she really wanted to do was cry. No, she needed to cry. Sadness and despair was bubbling up inside of her and she just didn’t want to keep it inside her. But of course the universe had other plans. When she finally made it to her car the last two people she wanted to see were standing beside it and sitting on it. She sighed, on the verge of tears and not in any mood to deal with either of them. “Jimmy. Chilli.”

“We need to talk.”

“We don’t actually. We really, really don’t. You don’t want to be involved and that’s fine. When they’re born we’ll do a paternity test because that’s what’s required for you to sign away your rights, and then you’ll do just that, and then you’ll walk away. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not. I’m not okay with you having my baby.”

“And I’m not okay with it either, he’s my... Boyfriend and I don’t want another chick to have his child.”

“Okay, first of all, neither of you get a say and whether or not I have this child. My body, my decision, that’s it. Second, Chilli, you have absolutely no say here in anything. You are not the mother or the father and I’m not even sure if you guys are dating given your hesitation in calling Jimmy your ‘boyfriend’ and you have such a volatile on/off relationship, you get zero say in anything even remotely related to my baby.”

“HEY! DON’T TALK TO HER LIKE THAT-”

“Speak to me like an adult or don’t speak to me at all. You don’t get to yell at me, you don’t get to use that tone with me, it’s not okay.”

“I CAN SPEAK TO YOU HOWEVER I WANT! AND YOU ARE GETTING AN ABORTION EVEN IF I HAVE TO DRAG YOU THERE MYSELF!” In the next three seconds Sarah observed three things:

There were two of them and one of her

They were in a dimly lit, poorly monitored parking garage alone

They had to deal with violent people at their jobs more than she did and would likely overpower her

“The hell she is! She made her choice Borelli and you didn’t get a say in it!” Okay, so #2 was not true apparently, as Connor walked closer to them from the entrance. “This isn’t any of your business doc, so just go, okay?”

“You’re threatening my friend in a dark parking garage. Yes, it is my business. But it isn’t yours, you’ve said that you don’t want to be a dad, so you won’t be, and I don’t even know why Chilli is here, so you two need to get off of Sarah’s car and leave her alone.”

“No. We don’t have to listen to you. I’ll talk to her however I fucking want, I don’t have to move away from her car, and Chilli doesn’t have to get off it. Fuck. Off.”

“Connor, you worked a long shift, you shouldn’t have to stay for this, I’ll figure it out.”

“I appreciate the thought Sarah, but you worked a long day too and I’m seriously worried about your safety around them. Why don’t I just drive you home? It really isn’t a big deal.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am-”

“HEY! DON’T TALK ABOUT US LIKE WE AREN’T HERE! AND THIS ISN’T ANY OF YOUR BUSINESS!”

“Oh, go suck an egg, Borelli. Lead the way, Connor.”

“Gladly.”

They’d managed to make it to his car before the, quite honestly delusional, couple(?) realized they were seriously leaving, and Connor was pulling away with them shouting expletives and trying to chase the car on foot. “Thanks Connor, I really appreciate this.”

“Anytime Sarah, seriously. I care about you, you’ve become someone I trust and I want you to be safe and happy. I’ll help to make that happen if you ever need it.” Maybe it was the hormones, the encounter with Jimmy and Chilli, or the day just catching up with her, but she just couldn’t keep the exhaustion and gratitude out of her voice. “Thank you.”

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

my heart talks about nothing but you

Summary: Derek finds Spencer staring longingly at dancing newlyweds while on a case and once he gets to the bottom of why he's tasked with making a proposal to a man who knows it's coming special somehow. (He pulls it off.)

Tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, minor angst, so much fluff, relationship discussions, proposal, vulnerable spencer, protective derek

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

(link to the prequel)

Derek watches curiously as Spencer stands, staring at the newlywed couple dancing slowly to the beat of Norah Jones’ The Nearness of You, surrounded by their friends and family looking fondly on. They’d accidentally crashed the wedding when visiting the venue to question the staff about a connection to their current case, but Spencer had forgotten all about the serial killer on the run as soon as he’d laid eyes on the dancing couple.

He sticks out like a sore thumb, standing frozen in place, a little off to the side from the rest of the guests but not far away enough to be set apart as staff or… visiting FBI agents. Derek knows he just needs to go and tap him on the shoulder and he’ll snap out of it. They’ll head back to the station and continue working the case, never mentioning his distractedness again, but he isn’t really sure that’s what he wants to do. There’s something so beautifully tragic about Spencer’s expression as he watches the slow waltz across the mahogany dance floor that Derek can’t bring himself to interrupt.

There’s something whirring through his pretty boy’s head, and he can’t quite figure out what it could possibly be. He doesn’t seem particularly enamoured with either the bride or groom — and Derek should certainly hope not, he wouldn’t be overly pleased if his sweet, devoted boyfriend developed a wandering eye — and the dance itself is nothing special, just two people in love swaying in step to a slow song.

It must be something emotional then, something about the concept of a newlyweds’ first dance, but what sentiment could possibly be strong enough to allow Spencer to forget himself this much, to wander off in the middle of a case and waste precious minutes watching strangers have an intimate moment together? Derek hopes it’s something good, but with the amount of tragedy his boyfriend has a knack for collecting, he isn’t holding out much hope.

Eventually, he brings himself to touch Spencer’s arm gently, causing him to whirl around and breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of Derek’s face. They head back to the police department and, as he predicted, they don’t talk about it.

⭐️

He can’t quite let it go, though. The next few days are spent with the image of Spencer watching dancing strangers almost forlornly haunting his brain as they finish working the case and fly home to Quantico. Once they’re back in their apartment, shut away from the rest of the world, he can’t help but broach the subject.

Mustering enough self-control to wait a little while longer, he waits until he’s made them a simple dinner of penne alla vodka and they’re sat at the kitchen table enjoying it to bring it up. They’re holding hands on top of the table as they always do — regardless of every one of their friends complaining about how sappy it is — and he gives it a gentle squeeze before clearing his throat and putting down his fork.

“Spencer,” he starts hesitantly, “when we were at that wedding checking out the venue’s staff… What had you so distracted? You were staring at the bride and groom like you were in a trance.”

He watches as Spencer freezes for a millisecond before resuming chewing as nonchalantly as possible. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Okay, so it’s going to be like that, Derek thinks a little cynically, but he tries not to lose hope as he takes a breath in before sighing it out. “Baby, if you don’t want to tell me for whatever reason, I’m not going to force you. But we both know that you do know what I’m talking about and I just want you to feel safe and comfortable enough to share it with me. We’ve been together going on five years now, pretty boy, we don’t keep secrets, not anymore.”

Spencer blinks rapidly as he stares down into his bowl of pasta and Derek rushes to the other side of the table as soon as he sees the tears in his eyes, taking Spencer’s hands in his. “That’s exactly it, Derek,” he says, crying quietly, “we’ve been together five years.”

Derek’s eyebrows knit together in confusion at that, tucking a beautiful chestnut strand of Spencer’s hair behind his ear before running his thumb under his eye, brushing his tears away. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says gently, picking Spencer up off his chair and moving them both to the sofa. Since the very beginning of their relationship, he’s always been able to calm Spencer down by picking him up and putting him in his lap; he’d told Derek once that it made him feel safe. “What’s all this about five years? Are you anxious about our anniversary?”

“No,” Spencer promises indignantly, shaking his head. “No, I— it’s just been making me think.”

“Uh, oh,” Derek teases gently, pressing his fingers into Spencer’s side, and it’s worth it when it makes him flash a brief, teary smile.

“It’s been making me think about my parents, and how when I was really little I used to watch their wedding VHS on repeat. I’d sit on the living room carpet, face practically touching the TV, and watch my two favourite people promise to spend the rest of their lives together. I remember thinking how lucky I was that my parents were so in love. But then William pulled the rug out from beneath my rose-coloured view of the world and I came crashing back to reality.”

“And the dancing the other day reminded you of that time in your life?”

“Sort of,” Spencer answers awkwardly, clearly nervous to reveal the whole truth. Derek knows to just give him time, but he only has to wait a few moments for him to resume explaining. “I’ve been wondering whether I want to get married myself. When I was eleven and left dealing with my mother’s episodes all by myself, watching her cry for my father as she begged him to come to home, I promised myself that I would never put myself into a position where I could be hurt like that. I vowed never to marry anybody. But as… you know, we’ve been together and our relationship has progressed, I’ve found myself rethinking it all over again.”

Derek doesn’t cut in when the pause comes: he’ll know when Spencer’s finished, but he presses gentle kisses of reassurance to whatever he can reach, kissing his hand, his shoulder, his forearm, his ear. The soft pink blush blooming on Spencer’s neck makes the endeavour feel worthwhile.

“When I was watching that couple dancing, Derek, I wanted it to be you and me. You’re not the man my father is and I’m not my father’s son, so fearing the outcome of my parents’ marriage is starting to feel more and more irrational. I know we can’t predict the future, but I know that right now I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

As soon as he’s done speaking, he buries his face in Derek’s neck, making himself as small as he possibly can against his bigger body. They’d had a few conversations about marriage over the years, but neither of them had considered it especially important so they’d usually just left it, but there were times that Derek longed to propose to Spencer, to make it official. He couldn’t stop worrying about what would happen if he got hurt — he needs to know Spencer would be treated as his next of kin, that everything he has would be Spencer’s. He’d always sensed, though, that with his boyfriend it was more than just a case of not seeing it as necessary or worth the enormous cost of a wedding, and he hadn’t wanted to prod him where he knew it was probably sore.

“Dr Spencer Reid,” Derek teases, “are you proposing to me?”

“No, no,” Spencer laughs, withdrawing his face from Derek’s neck, blushing slightly. “You were the one who brought it up!”

“I’m only teasing, baby,” he chuckles, running a hand down the side of Spencer’s arm. “Listen, if you want to get married, we’ll get married, okay? It’s as simple as that. I can’t say I haven’t longed to make you my husband at different times over the years we’ve been together, and the idea of throwing the best wedding anybody’s ever been to very much appeals to me.” He grins up at Spencer’s shy expression. “Do you want to be, you know, proposed to?”

Spencer blushes properly at that, looking a little sheepish as he avoids Derek’s curious eyes. “Maybe….”

“I thought that might be the case.” Derek smiles fondly before swinging his boy over so he’s laying on the couch before following suit and positioning himself on top of him. “You better be prepared, Dr Reid, because I am going to blow this proposal out the water,” he promises, kissing him deeply as he winds his fingers in his hair.

“I don’t doubt it,” Spencer whispers, before kissing him again, pasta forgotten and cold on the kitchen table.

⭐️

Derek lets a few months pass — although he bought them both rings the day after their conversation — before he finally proposes. He knows that anything special or flashy is off the table, because as soon as Spencer detected a hint of something out of the ordinary, he’d know it was coming. He’d also considered involving the team or his family, but eventually settled on it being just the two of them. An exclusive memory shared only between the two of them sounds pretty good to him.

The first day they have off in September is warm and bright, and Spencer just smiles at Derek’s suggestion of a walk around their local park. They often take strolls around the city’s more nature-rich areas on their days of reprieve from their gruesome job, but it feels even more electric than normal when Spencer slides his palm against Derek’s and interlocks their fingers as soon as they lock the door behind them.

“I’m going out with the girls tonight,” Spencer tells him as they make their way out of the apartment building and into the golden sunshine, the autumnal season still early enough for its warmth to be felt against their skin.

“Oh yeah?”

“Penelope’s bringing us to a show at her favourite drag club, and I’m quite excited, actually.”

“I’d like to see you in drag, baby,” Derek teases, swinging their hands between them. The streets of DC at 10am on a Tuesday aren’t all that busy, and they walk at a slower pace than normal, enjoying the lack of businessmen and executives jostling them in their hurry. Derek’s other hand fondles the velvet box in his pocket but he doesn’t feel nervous. Anticipation swirls in his stomach, but he’s had enough practice taming it with all his years as an FBI agent to not let it show.

“You have seen me in drag, moron,” Spencer laughs, rolling his eyes. Derek will never tire of that sound. It still sends the same butterflies loose in his chest as it did the first time he heard it.

Years later, Derek won’t remember what he said in response to that, just that he managed to keep up a conversation the whole way to the park as he ran his fingers over the velvet box in his coat pocket, and Spencer never suspected a thing.

He waits until they’re far enough into the park to have a little seclusion and privacy to stop walking, accidentally interrupting Spencer’s ramble about his most recent documentary as he pulls gently on their interlocked hands to get him to pause walking, too. Derek’s on one knee by the time he turns around, velvet box in his hand, and Spencer’s hands fly straight to cover his mouth in surprise.

“Spencer, you are the love of my life. I didn’t think I’d ever settle down, I knew not to expect love, but then I met you. And I fell head over heels for you, baby. You’re everything I need for the rest of my days, and I don’t want to spend a single moment of the time I have left without you by my side. Now, although I know what you’re going to say, and this isn’t the most romantic surprise anyone’s ever pulled off: Dr Spencer Reid, will you do me the honour of agreeing to be my husband?”

“Oh my God,” Spencer says, tears streaming down his face, “Derek, yes, of course I will.”

He doesn’t waste another moment on his knees, springing up and wrapping his boy in a tight hug, before pulling back slightly, gripping Spencer’s face in his hands and kissing him gently. He’s never had a way with words, not like his future husband, so he tries to convey everything he doesn’t know how to say with the way he kisses him.

When they pull away, he thinks he’s succeeded by the look on Spencer’s face. Derek takes his finger and slides the engagement ring on; a simple silver band with a line of deep-set diamonds running through its centre that fits him perfectly. He passes the box to Spencer who catches on and does the same to Derek, pushing the matching band onto his fourth finger. They stand there, in the middle of a park with their heads bent together, staring at their hands for an inordinate amount of time.

“Soon it will be us slow dancing on a mahogany dance floor,” Derek murmurs, lifting his right hand to the nape of Spencer’s neck, winding his fingers around the small curly hairs there.

“Can we use that Sinatra song for our first dance?” Spencer asks, and his eyes are so open and earnest, they take Derek’s breath away for a moment.

He huffs a laugh as he leans forward to rest his forehead against his fiancé’s. “Baby, I’d give you anything you asked for, you know that,” he promises, but really The Way You Look Tonight would be his first choice, too. Their first date had been at a late night café, and towards the end of the night the cover band playing in the corner had played the Sinatra classic. With a little persuasion, Derek had got Spencer out of his seat and they’d danced happily to the music, not caring that they were the only ones dancing.

They’d danced to it countless times in the kitchen since, and it had slowly grown into their song as their relationship had bloomed. Really, using any other song would be a crime.

“You’re lovely, with your smile so warm and your cheeks so soft,” Derek sings into Spencer’s ear as they continue their walk through the park, making him giggle happily.

“There is nothing for me but to love you,” Spencer sings back, linking their hands again.

“And the way you look tonight,” they finish together, collapsing into laughter as their tuneless voices join together in an ugly harmony.

“I do love you Spencer Reid,” Derek sighs, happiness filling him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

“Not as much as I love you, Derek Morgan,” Spencer argues, pressing even closer to his fiancé’s side.

As they tease one another lovingly, Derek realises that he can’t wait to have this argument for the rest of his life.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii @drinkingcroissants

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