#while also wanting to cradle him and say i understand plz stop crying into your pancakes

[foli-vora]

wow, honestly didn't expect the fucking flood of love in my asks and dm's but i appreciate and love you all so much!

a tiny update: run to you is going somewhat smoothly! i've been working a fuck tonne at both jobs lately so haven't really had the chance to really sit down and smash it out, but little by little it's all coming together and i'm pleased with it's progress. you've all been so patient and i really appreciate it! i can't wait to share the rest of their journey. let's cry together coz it's gonna get emotional.

[geniusgub]

don’t leave me//spencer reid

600 follower celebration!! my first one shot in months because ive been so consumed with north. enjoy!!

also I didn’t edit this at all and worked on it for like five hours straight so excuse the mistakes plz and thx

genre: so much angst

pairing: spencer reid x female oc

warnings: drugs, withdrawal, overdose

word count: 5.2k

It isn’t hard to tell when something is wrong with Spencer. 

 Spencer is generally a sweet, patient, and quick-thinking person, especially at work. I joined the BAU when Elle Greenaway departed from the bureau and left a spot open for a profiler. Spencer didn’t seem to take well to the change in the team dynamic and it seemed like he shut down whenever I was around him. He didn’t talk to me much at all and when he did, it was strictly business. No banter about personal lives occurred between us like it did between Spencer and, well, the rest of the team. I chalked it up to an anxiety over change and I respected that. I gave him the time to warm up to me and thankfully, after a while, he seemed to take a liking to me.

Penelope Garcia is the queen of stirring up drama and once Spencer and I started to bond over our geeky tendencies, like using Doctor Who as a comfort show, and always searching for nerdy apparel in stores, she had no problem stirring the pot. To my understanding, she watched Spencer and I play cards together on the jet one day (on one of the rare days she came in the field with us) and then told Emily that we must be in love with each other. Emily told JJ, JJ told Morgan, Morgan told Hotch, and Hotch told Gideon. Suddenly the whole team became convinced that Spencer and I were madly in love and it only took about ten minutes.

  �� I would never admit it, not yet at least, but Penelope was dead on. Once Spencer and I talked more and spent time together outside of work, I fell hard and fast for him. He truly is unlike any other man in the world. He has no problem with staying at home for a night, in fact, he prefers it. He likes to open the windows when it’s raining to hear the noises of the water making contact with his fire escape. He wants to stay up with me until the middle of the night just so we can make sure we finish every Harry Potter movie on binge days. It’s hard not to fall in love with Spencer Reid. He makes it so easy. Of course, he’s oblivious and his brain is filled with thoughts of self-doubt and inferiority in the looks department, but I don’t need or want him to look like a model. He’s all I need.

 But one day, all of this stops. It wasn’t hard to tell that something was wrong with Spencer. It wasn’t a secret that a piece of Spencer’s soul was left in the grave he dug for himself under the watch of Tobias Hankle. It wasn’t a secret that Spencer struggled immensely upon returning home and having light withdrawal symptoms. I tried my best to help him, making trips to his apartment to bring him anything he might need while he was on his mandatory two weeks leave. But he would also give me an unconvincing smile and push me right out the door. He never let me spend more than five minutes inside his apartment. I never saw him sweat, or vomit, or shake, or yawn. I never saw his pupils dilate. 

 When he returns to work, a bit too soon for my liking, that’s when I start to notice the withdrawal symptoms. And for a little while, I’m okay with it. Withdrawal, although painful and torturous, is a step in the right direction. The drugs are making their way out of Spencer’s system and he is detoxing. I pay extra attention to him to ensure his safety, but nobody else on the team seems to give Spencer any care. They surely get pissed off when he snaps at them and sweats all over the case files and is far too nasty with possible witnesses. Nobody, besides me, gives his attitude any slack. But I continue to keep a close eye on him during the case.

 Keeping a close eye, however, reveals to me that Spencer’s withdrawal symptoms continuously disappear and then reappear during the three days we are away. I don’t need Spencer’s level of genius to figure out what is going on.

 My heart pounds against my chest when Spencer goes running of the jet the moment it touches down in DC. Not a single pair of eyes follow Spencer’s movements but my own. The others on the team just stand to pull their bags out of the overhead bins. They’re chatting about whether they should go out for drinks or to a restaurant for dinner but they’re not chatting about their friend who clearly has a problem. But I love Spencer more than anything and seeing him struggle makes me hurt inside. Once I retrieve my own carry on and go-bag, I drive straight to Spencer’s apartment. I ignore my fellow team members when they ask me if I want to join them for dinner. 

 “Spencer?” I knock on his front door and rock back and forth on my feet, waiting for some type of response from him. I saw his car outside and I know he’s here and if he doesn’t open the door within ten more seconds then I’m going to kick it down. 

 Thankfully, I don’t need to risk breaking the heel of my shoe today because the door swings open a second later. Spencer stands before me, looking the most disheveled I’ve ever seen him. His shirt is untucked, his pants are wrinkly, his hair is half curly from his excess sweating, and he isn’t even wearing socks or shoes. His long sleeve shirt makes my heart drop to my stomach.

 “Olive?” His voice cracks when he speaks. “What are you doing here?”

 “I’m here to-” I choke on the words I truly want to say and suddenly I’m pushing back tears. I try to swallow the lump in my throat and give him a smile. “I’m gonna make you dinner! The team is going out together but I’m in the mood to stay in after that horrible case.”

 “Uh,” Spencer glances behind him and then whips back to me, “I’m actually really tired and I just wanna sleep. So thanks for coming by-”

 My hands fly out when Spencer tries to close the door in my face. I’ve underestimated his strength up until now because I have to use all of my strength to keep him from pushing me out. But Spencer isn’t able to keep up his strength much longer and concedes, letting the door fly backward and unintentionally letting me inside. I drop my bags to the floor, eyes locking with Spencer’s and watching a fire light in them.

 “Spencer,” my voice is still far too weak for my liking, “I’m not leaving.”

 Spencer scoffs, slamming the door shut, just barely grazing my shoulder as it passes me. “Yeah, well, I want you to.”

 “I’m not leaving.”

 Spencer’s jaw tightens and his hands ball into fists at his side. He’s trying to stand tall and strong in front of me but he’s starting to crack by the millisecond. His chest heaves when he tries to choke back his tears and his eyelids start to flutter. If I wasn’t sure of the situation before I stepped inside, it surely has been confirmed right now. Spencer opens his mouth to speak and his chin trembles. “I want you to leave me alone.”

 “Absolutely not,” I step closer to him but he steps backward, not allowing me to diminish the distance between us. “Spencer, please. Let me help you.”

 His head drops, his shoulders caving in. “I don’t need help,” With his eyes on his feet and no longer on me, I take the opportunity to grab his arm. He tries to jerk away from me the second my fingertips brush the fabric of his shirt but I told him as tightly as I can. He whimpers in my hold and his crack start to get wider and wider. “Olive, please.” 

 “Just let me see, Spence,” I’m already begging and I’m already crying. “Let me see. Let me help. I’m here for you.”

 Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away from me, his first tears dripping down his cheeks. He stops trying to escape my hold and just cries, his clothes clutched in his hands. It’s not an invitation whatsoever but I take it as one, rolling up Spencer’s sleeve past his elbow. The crook of his elbow is covered in track marks, some fading and some bright red and bloody. It takes every ounce of my energy not to break down right then and there as my worst fear comes true. But Spencer breaks down when his biggest secret is revealed, his knees giving out and his body tumbling to the floor. I follow him down, cradling him in my arms as he sobs into my chest. I shush him and stroke his hair, rocking him back and forth, like a child, to calm him down. 

 “It’s okay, Spencer, shh,” I coo, my fingertips coated in sweat as I coax my fingers through his knotty locks. “Everything is gonna be okay, my love. I’m here and I’m gonna help you.”

 “No.”

 “Yes. Spencer, look at me,” I don’t give him the option of where to bring his gaze to. I grab his cheeks and force his gaze up, his eyes bloodshot and his face soaking wet. “You can’t keep doing drugs. You’ll lose everything, you know that. You’ll lose your job, you’ll lose me, you’ll lose your life, you’ll-”

 “I’ll lose you?” He’s never sounded more like a child than he does now. He’s whimpering and whining and crying out and clinging to me as tight as he can. 

 I give the hardest answer yet and I feel my heart break in my chest. “Yes, Spencer, I’ll leave. I can’t-”

 Spencer starts to scramble to his knees, legs wobbling under his weight. “You can’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. I love you, Olive. Don’t leave.”

 I know it’s the drugs talking but it doesn’t make the confession hurt any less. The confession is what I’ve waited so damn long to hear. But it’s wrong right now. Admitting my love will do nothing but hurt both of us. Spencer isn’t in a good state of mind right now. He probably won’t even remember that he hastily confessed his love while trying to convince me not to leave him. I find myself forcing down tears yet again.

 “I won’t leave you if you get clean,” I brush back his hair again and this time, it slicks back with sweat. “You can’t keep living your life like this, shooting up in bathrooms and hiding from your friends. Get some help and get clean. I can’t sit back and watch you destroy your life, a life that you worked so damn hard to get.”

 Spencer collapses under his own weight, no longer able to sit up on his knees. He falls onto all fours, his head hanging between his shoulders and his tears falling onto the carpet. “I can’t do it. It’s so painful to stop. I need it to be happy. I need it to escape.”

 I smooth my hands over his shoulders and where other people would probably feel tensed up muscles, I feel relaxed muscles as Spencer melts into my embrace. “Then let me take you to the hospital. They can help make the detox less painful. They can give you medication and you can get counseling and I’ll be there for as long as I’m allowed to be.” 

 “No, none of that. Here. I wanna do it here.” Spencer lifts his head, sniffling and huffing through his tears. “I’ll do it alone. Please leave. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

 “Absolutely not,” I rise to my feet and lean down to help Spencer to his feet, baring all of his weight on my shoulders as we trudge towards his bedroom. “I’m not leaving you like this. I’m gonna call Hotch and get time off for both of us.”

 Spencer lets out his millionth whimper of the night when he falls onto the bed, immediately curling up on his side and squeezing his eyes shut. “Please. Go.”

 I kneel beside the bed, bringing my hand to his cheek and stroking his soft skin gently. The simple motion actually seems to calm him for a millisecond before he starts to shake, clearly being hit with an onslaught of chills from his inevitable fever. So I tug the blanket over his body and tuck him in, pressing my lips to his forehead. “I’m not gonna abandon you, Spencer. I’m gonna help you through this and you’re gonna return to your happier, drug-free self. You’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

 I stayed true to my promise. I didn’t leave Spencer alone for a single second while he suffered through withdrawal. I washed his vomit and sweat-soaked sheets. I wiped his tears and held him when he cried. I dragged him from room to room when he didn’t have the energy to carry his own weight. I cooked him food on the rare occasions that he was actually hungry. I whispered sweet nothings in his ear when he needed the reassurance that someone actually cares. I located his stash of needles and excess vials and threw them in the dumpster outside, not even wanting to risk leaving them in a trashcan in the apartment. There is no doubt in my mind that Spencer wouldn’t have gotten through this without me. I was harsh with him when he begged for ‘just one more hit’ and I held him when he woke up screaming in the middle of the night. There is no doubt in my mind that Spencer would have given in to his cravings and started this mess all over again.

 After two weeks, Spencer starts to get better. He is able to walk without assistance and he can eat two meals a day without throwing it up ten minutes later. It’s a relief and the sun finally starts to shine through the clouds that had been lingering for too long. He still needed at least another week off of work to work up his strength and catch up on sleep in order to not look like the living dead and Hotch starts to get suspicious of such an extended time off. I tell him not to ask and for some reason, he listens. Maybe he just knows and is glad that someone else dealt with Spencer at his lowest point. Yeah, that’s probably it. 

 After three weeks and a promising night where Spencer makes me dinner for the first time in weeks, we return to work. The team is happy to see us and they don’t question why we were both gone for so long. But I’m almost positive it’s the same reason that Hotch didn’t question the time off.

 I made sure to visit Spencer in his hotel room and I always, somehow, made sure that he was never in a room alone. One night of being alone could make him spiral and that is the last thing he needs. So if he was in a room alone then I would sneak out of mine and sleep with him. It seemed like he started to enjoy sleeping in the same bed as me, opting to cuddle me close to his chest instead of turning his back to me. His confession always seemed to echo in my mind when he would kiss my head or squeeze my waist but it was just the drugs talking. He didn’t mean it.

 One month clean and Spencer seemed to be doing amazing. He boasted about how he deleted his drug dealer’s number from his phone and how he would eat meals without me reminding him to and how he could be on his feet for more than twenty minutes without being winded and needing to sit. I don’t think I had ever felt so proud of a human being until I shoved all my pride onto Spencer. Sure, he didn’t necessarily want to get the help that I gave him, but he went along with it and it’s a joy to see him return to his old happy-go-lucky self. 

 But then the team gets called into a meeting. The phonecall wakes me up in the middle of the night and sends me rushing to get dressed in something other than pajamas, but I just wind up putting on new sweats. I rush out the door and to the vacant building, throwing my holster on my hip and riding the elevator up. I blurt out a load of apologies for y lateness as I stumble into the conference room and realize I’m the last two arrive.

 “Aww,” Morgan coos sarcastically as I sit down beside him, “it was so nice if you to get dressed up for us!”

 “I swear to god,” I hiss, but he knows I’m just teasing, “if you don’t shut up right now then I’ll-”

 “Okay,” Hotch shuts me up far too easily, standing at the front of the table with his arms crossed, “we’re all here. Let’s start.”

 “Is this a new case?” Emily wonders, eyes darting between Hotch and the table that is usually filled with case files.

 “No,” he sighs and looks down at his feet, and this is probably the most emotion I’ve ever seen from him before. “Tonight-”

 “Wait,” I sit up and glance around, suddenly alarmed, “We’re not all here. Spencer isn’t here.”

 Hotch holds his hands up to me in his second way of telling me to shut up. “I know that. He already knows what I’m about to tell you all.” This does absolutely nothing to erase the red flags in my mind. “I know we all struggled with our last case, and Gideon struggled the most, for obvious reasons. Tonight, Spencer went to his cabin to check on him. It turns out that Gideon had left a note for Spencer to say goodbye and he has sent in his resignation. He has officially left the BAU.”

 Okay, listen, I barely knew the man. I haven’t been on this team for too long and Gideon favored talking to Hotch and Spencer. He didn’t interact with me much at all, except to correct me, so I’m not too torn up about his departure. Yes, he just created a huge hole that needs to be filled but that’s not my main concern. Spencer is. He isn’t here and he just learned that the man who has been his father figure for years just abandoned him in the same way that his father did when he was a child. Nobody should be alone at a time like this, and Spencer especially shouldn’t. 

 JJ is the first to ask a question but I don’t even hear it. Hotch answers and Emily follows and then Penelope is squealing and Morgan shouts over everyone and it’s far too crazy. I just need to know that Spencer is okay. He is the only thing I care about. He made so much amazing progress and he absolutely can’t erase that.

 “I need to go.” I blurt out suddenly, standing from the round table and rushing out of the building. I call Spencer relentlessly and get no answer. I go straight to voicemail every time. I slam on my gas pedal.

 I don’t lock my car and I barely remember to close my door before I’m bounding up the stairs and to his apartment. I couldn’t care less about the other residents who are probably fast asleep by now. I bang on Spencer’s door, shouting his name once, twice, three times, and get nothing. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

 “Spencer! Come on, open up!” I cry out, jiggling the handle and hoping it’s unlocked. “Please! Let me in!” The energy radiating from the apartment makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. 

 I take two steps back and breathe in a deep breath, preparing me for whatever could be on the other side of this stupid door. I’ll never be ready to see what I know is waiting for me. I lift my foot up and slam it against the door, the lock snapping and allowing the door to fly open. I burst inside, shouting Spencer’s name frantically as my eyes search desperately for his adorable curls and his soft cardigans. 

 It takes me no more than thirty seconds of frantic running to find Spencer. When I do, I wish desperately that I hadn’t.

 His body is slumped against the bathtub, head hanging backward and his mouth wide open. His shirt is off and a rubber band is still tied around his bicep. The bathroom wreaks of vomit and there’s a needle in the sink and a broken vial on the floor. He looks haunting similar to the crime scenes we observe every day.

 I drop to my knees in front of him and grab onto his cheeks, lifting his head up. “Spencer?” My sobs are uncontrollable as my thumbs stroke his freezing cold skin, searching for some sort of life. “Come on, baby,” I resist the urge to shake his head in my hands. “Spence, please, wake up!” 

 I wait for another second. I get nothing. No eyelids fluttering. No sniffles. No coughing. No vomiting. No screaming. No crying. Nothing. There’s nothing left.

 Working through my sobs, I reach into my backpack and fish out the little box I’m searching for. I set it aside momentarily and try to gather Spencer in my arms as best as I can, pushing and dragging him until he is laying on his back in the most comfortable way his lanky body will allow in the cramped bathroom. Gosh, if only Spencer was conscious. He would be freaking out about being on the bathroom floor.

 I pull out the nasal spray and administer the Narcan into Spencer’s nostril, tossing it aside and then rolling Spencer onto his side. I don’t dare to tear my eyes away from him, even as I fish my phone out of my backpack and call 911. I babble on about there being a federal agent down and how I’m a federal agent who administered a dose of Narcan and how someone needs to help Spencer now but it all seems like a foreign language to me. Nothing is right anymore. The operator tells me someone will be there soon and to stay on the line, so I set my phone down and lean closer to Spencer.

 “Spence?” I wait for a reaction. “Sweetheart, come on, don’t do this to me,” my tears fall onto the floor and create a puddle beside his hands. My trembling hand reaches out to push his hair back, admiring the way his locks curl around my fingers. I admire the way for eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks and how beautiful his lips look. I wish I kissed him when I had the chance. Now I might never get the chance to be with him. The thought makes me cry harder and I double over in agony, crying out for the love that I will never get to have and for the life I will never get to live. I should have told him I loved him when he said it first. How could I be so stupid?

 I have no recollection of the paramedics arriving. Being pulled away, kicking and screaming Spencer’s name, is a complete blur of smeared lines and flashes of light. I do what I can to erase the image of Spencer being carried out on a stretcher, his rubberbanded arm dangling off the side, and into an ambulance. I clutch Spencer’s hand and shut out the words of the paramedics as the ambulance speeds to the hospital. I barely even recall being plopped in a waiting room and being told to await further instructions.

 I slide down the wall and tuck my head between my knees, hoping that being bent over will minimize the volume of my cries. But it doesn’t and sobs take over my body, leaving me shaking and quivering. If Spencer were with me, he would hold my hand and quietly tell me how many germs are on this floor and statistics on how easy it is to catch and infection in a hospital. He would talk to distract me from the horrible situation going down. But he’s not here and I’m alone and there’s nothing I can do to help.

 “Olive?” I ignore Hotch’s voice when I hear it. I pay no attention to his softer than usual tone and I don’t dignify his presence by acknowledging it. I keep my head down and clutched between my knees and try to quiet my cries. Hotch crouches down beside me and tells me how he was notified of the situation and how the team is on the way but I ignore him. He never cared about Spencer before so why should he now?

 True to his word, the rest of the team has arrived at the hospital within ten minutes. They form a circle in front of me and bounce around questions about what happened. Is he alive? How much did he take? What did he take? Where is he now? They never address me directly and just keep shooting questions around and receive no answers. It’s exhausting to listen to. I’m exhausted.

 “Hey, Olive?” Penelope crunches next to me in the same way Hotch did, placing her hand on my shoulder. I shake it off. She pauses before speaking again. “Could you tell us what happened?”

 For the first time, I lift my head. Everyone is in their pajamas and looking just a little less distressed than me. I’m sure I look horrendous. I surely feel horrendous. I’ve never felt worse in my life. I’ve never loved a person so much just to have them ripped out of my life. If Spencer doesn’t recover from this, I know I never will.

 “He,” I lift my hands to wipe my cheeks but stop mid-air, wondering just how many germs are on my skin, “overdosed. To my knowledge, he’s been clean for a month and-and-” my lips quiver again, “I guess Gideon leaving was too much for him to handle. He thought he needed drugs to make him feel better.”

 JJ leans into Emily’s side, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. “Why didn’t he just call one of us instead of going straight to drugs? We all would have dropped what we were doing and gone to help him.”

 The absolutely idiotic statement sets me on fire. I clamber to my feet, sadness replaced with anger within a millisecond. “Really? Would you have?”

 JJ furrows her eyebrows and looks to the team for more support. “Of course. Spencer is one of my best friends.”

 “We all would have helped him,” Morgan adds.

 “Oh, really?” I sneer at them. “Were you there to help him last month when he was detoxing? Did any of you come to see why Spencer and I took three weeks off from work without warning? No! None of you texted or called or visited like real friends do. Did you even care that he obviously had a drug problem? Did any of you notice?”

 Emily scoffs at the accusation, her anger starting to rise to mine. “Of course we did! I even asked him about it once and-”

 “Once!” I let out the most sarcastic laugh that has ever dripped from my lips. Sleeping patients be damned, I will let out my anger at these inferior ‘friends’ and tell them the truth they need to hear. “You asked him once? Well, I spent three weeks living at his apartment, cooking, cleaning, holding him, reassuring him that he would be okay. And all you did was ask him about it once?” The realization is starting to set in on their faces that maybe this issue is bigger than they thought. “He needed real help and support from his friends, and yeah, he had me but he would have done a lot better if he had all of his closest friends supporting him.” They all fall silent, as they should. They stare at me and each other and everyone cries over their friend who they should have helped.

 “Olive,” Hotch murmurs, “when you gave him the Narcan, did he wake up?”

 This prompts more tears. “No.”

 “Spencer Reid?”

 I whip around as fast as I can at the sound of a doctor approaching, leaving the team in the dust to approach him. “Hi, yeah, I’m here for Spencer Reid. I’m his emergency contact.”

 The doctor smiles at me and he waves me along, leading me away from the blabbering BAU and towards a room. “So,” the doctor says, “he’s extremely lucky. You administered the Narcan just in time. A few more minutes and Mr. Reid probably wouldn’t have made it.” I barely pay attention to the looming fear of Spencer’s death. If I hadn’t gone running out of the team meeting, Spencer would have died. “We’ve given him the proper medication, he’s in this room, and he should be waking up soon. When he’s feeling better, we can talk about proper treatment and recovery for Mr. Reid.”

 I thought that maybe I cried all the tears my body could handle but that is proven wrong. He’s going to be okay. Going through detox again will be hell but now he can get professional help. He’s going to be okay.

 I step into Spencer’s room. The sight of him lying in the bed is reminiscent of him lying on the bathroom floor and it makes my head pounds and my heart break. His elbow is bandaged up so his track marks are hidden and his hair is a matted down mess. But even lying there, helpless and in pain, he still looks like the man I fell in love with. The man who learned to braid hair and actually drove a car a few times and went shopping with me just to make me happy. He’s a shell of the man I love but he’s there and I know we will meet again soon.

 Spencer starts to stir a moment later, tossing his head side to side gently. I creep over and slide my hand in his, squeezing softly. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet but there are tears streaming down his cheeks, soaking the top hem of his hospital gown. His hand tightens around mine and suddenly, my cheeks match his.

 “Hi, sweetheart,” I breathe out, bringing our hands up to my lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles, “you’re okay. Everything is gonna be okay.”

 Spencer lets out a high pitched moan, his head rolling over to face me. “I’m sorry,” he slurs out. “I didn’t mean to.”

 “I know you didn’t mean it, Spence. I’m not mad. Just relax. I’ll be right here,” without letting go of his hand, I reach over and push a chair against the side of the bed. “Get some rest.”

 “You won’t leave me?”

 “No, Spence. I’m never gonna leave you.” 

[abutterflyscribbles]

Tiny People in Jars AU: Part 11

*shows up to class a year late with new antidepressants* Thank you for your patience. If you like this story plz reblog and comment!

Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/Nine/Ten/Ao3

Marianne was known in her family for giving in to impulse. 'Known' as in 'infamous' and 'notorious'. Her brothers had build up an extensive vocabulary about it over the years. Her mother usually just said something along the lines of: “Please next time think twice about punching a goat for nipping your brother's hand.”

In her own defense Marianne usually spotted the flaw in her plans about halfway through enacting them. Unfortunately momentum would have built up too strongly to stop at that point, but it was the split-second rethinking that counted. Another point of defense was that the outcome of her heedless actions were sometimes not bad at all. For instance, she gave a lot more compliments and hugs than she would have if she gave herself time to think.

But sometimes . . . sometimes there was really no defense for her idiocy.

She had run through the standard list of justifications at least twice that day already. It had been a long day. She was hungover. She had been zapped with a shrink ray. It had really been the absolute worst day of her life up to date and she very much hoped that no day after would come close to beating the record that had been set. Marianne had been having so many feelings and all of them were bad. When a good feeling flitted by she grabbed at it with both hands.

It was a mistake.

A horrible mistake.

Even considering her impulsive nature Marianne couldn't understand why she had done it. How she could have even brought herself to consider it. The warmth buoying up her heavy heart turned to a chill and her skin crawled with it. Her lips had brushed rough, dirty knuckles . . . too close to deadly black claws that could rip valleys into her skin . . . Her head was bent underneath that face . . . that face . . .

Marianne was afraid.

She was disgusted.

She'd kissed his hand.

That she was even touching . . . a goblin! A thing! Some sort of insect that scuttled around in the dark, in the dirt. The king of this whole, horrible kingdom tucked in a mucky little corner of her backyard like the beginning of rot. Everything it touched would decay with it . . . she was touching it . . . she had chosen to come close, wanted to. She couldn't think why.

Marianne's hand was the one shaking now. Shaking too hard to let go of his hand. Its hand. It wasn't a human hand. It wasn't a person's hand. She'd put herself at the mercy of this thing that could lash out at her like a frightened animal. The wings seized up under the wrinkle, urging her to fly away before it struck.

The hand twitched underneath Marianne's.

The tiny movement broke the tight wire of tension holding her still.

Marianne screamed.

She shoved Bog away and he smacked his head on the back of his throne.

The horror and disgust disappeared like the dark when someone snaps on a lamp. Bog ceased to be an inhuman terror and instead looked almost comically bewildered.

“You . . . you charmed me!” Marianne said. She was shaking all over. Her skin was crawling, like it had when Bog dolled himself up as a cicada to demonstrate how glamor worked, but a hundred thousand times worse.

Bog cradled his hand to his chest and looked aghast.

“If you didn't want me to--” Marianne stopped before her voice could crack. More feelings. She was just wallowing in feelings today, she'd like to take a break. Of course Bog wouldn't want her within ten yards of him. She was just a doctor's signature away from being officially certifiable. Being locked up would have been a relief. She couldn't do anything stupid in a nice comfy padded room.

“There are easier ways to let a girl down.” She said with forced cheerfulness, starting to pace up and down the dais. “My bad. Got my signals crossed. Is there a penalty for getting too familiar with the king of the goblins? All offenders tossed in the bog--?”

Bog's face remained a shocked blank. He didn't seem to be hearing a word Marianne was saying. She wished he would just flip a table or kick over a chair, anything but having him keep staring at her in the weird way. Regret and embarrassment circled back into anger.

“I mean . . . what the heck, Bog? I've had enough of people messing around in my head lately I don't need you going all creepy-crawly cicada on me, you dumb stump. Use your words. Say 'no'. Tell me I'm a crazy human that you can't wait to see the back of, just . . . say something!”

“I had no one to teach me glamor.”

Marianne stopped pacing. The hushed, tentative non sequitur paired with Bog's pale, blank face . . . it almost added up to a sort of air of . . . fear. “I'm . . . sorry?” She prompted, squinting at him uncertainly.

Bog made a valiant effort to look smaller. He was so low in his seat Marianne thought he might slip right off it. “I—the rules, the workings, I had to puzzle it out with no instruction. There was no one who had particular skill, just the instinctive use . . . My control is not always . . . perfect . . .”

“Not catching your drift, your creepy-crawly-ness.”

“You . . . startled me.”

“I startled you?”

Bog mustered up a scowl. He looked a little sulky. “You overstep, with your teasing.”

“Teasing?!”

“It was instinct! I wasn't charming you--”

“You can say that again!”

“Truly, I am sorry, but why would you do that?”

Bog had stood up and circled Marianne to descend a step or two so he didn't have to stoop so far to not look her in the eye. She barely kept herself from pinching his stupid, spiky chin and making him look at her. Hot and cold waves of embarrassment flushed her face and made her toes curl up inside her boots. Bog had been the one nice thing in the whole miserable day and she had gone and ruined it.

“Why shouldn't I?” Marianne folded her arms.

Bog fluttered his hand toward his face in a helpless little gesture. “Because . . . because look at me!”

“You've got pretty eyes.” Marianne muttered, knowing she sounded very sulky. She wondered if it was too soon to hiding a corner and cry again. She'd sworn off love, romance, the whole shebang, only to fall for the first set of sympathetic eyes to get stuck in the fly paper. Was this rebounding? She'd never broken off a relationship as dramatically as she had with Roland. Was she flirting now just to prove she didn't care?

Bog went very pink and confused in the face. “Stop—stop playing with me!”

“Look, just say you're not interested, thanks for asking, have a nice day.”

“I--” Bog dragged his hand down his face. He mumbled something that might have been a plea for the sweet release of death.

Bog and Marianne fidgeted in awkward silence for awhile.

“You could have just said you weren't interested.” Marianne muttered again.

“I don't understand you. Not the slightest bit.”

“It's your fault for being stupidly nice and having illegally attractive eyes and profile. I . . . I have no filter left. This day has worn me right down to a nub of manic, uninhibited chaos.”

“Very apt.”

“So lemme just go ahead and say that you have been an absolute rock for me in this insane, world-changing, life-altering day, and how could a girl not fall for that, a little bit?”

Bog hunched his shoulders and twiddled his fingers. He didn't seem to have an immediate response.

Marianne went on, figuring she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. “I like you. As a person. The rest—I don't know. Maybe I'm having so many emotions I'm getting them confused. And we're right in the middle of all this political drama and nobody needs my issues flung over everything any more than they already are. Besides, I got the message: you aren't interested. Understandable. Sorry to have troubled you. End of subject, shake hands and part as friends.”

Bog continued to fidget and looked like he was so awkward he was in pain. Marianne could relate to that. She'd run out of things to say that weren't lamer, less coherent repeats of everything she had said before. It didn't look like Bog would be chipping in any time soon either. It would have been a great time for something to burst in and break the tension with some urgent new subject of conversation. But fate wasn't smiling on either of them right then and the painful awkward gap in the conversation stretched on.

It had come to the point that Marianne was carefully considering the option of laying down on the floor and passing out for the rest of the night to avoid any further inconvenient feelings when, finally, a gaggle of goblins burst into the throne room. They were hooting and squawking in alarm. Bog and Marianne turned to them with great relief.

“The fairy army is at the bridge!” one of them said while the rest shouted variations on the same theme.

“Not the whole army.” Dawn flitted over the goblins, “it doesn't look bigger than a scouting force and most of them are elves.”

“Is Sunny back?” Marianne asked.

“No, I didn't see him.” Dawn landed, drooping. “No one has seen him.”

“So much for diplomacy,” Bog sighed, kicking away the broken practice stick and going to fetch his staff.

“Hold on, hold on!” Dawn flitted around in front of him, “No jumping to conclusions! It's small enough to just be an escort. That's not hostile, that's just royal.”

“Who's leading it?” Bog asked, curving out of the way of Dawn's earnest face.

Dawn twisted her fingers together. “. . . Roland.”

Bog growled.

“Where's a sword?” Marianne asked, “I need one that's not wooden and broken. Stout clubs are also acceptable.”

Dawn persisted. “Daddy doesn't know Roland is a two-timing toadstool! Not many people would want to go into the Dark Forest at night so if Roland volunteered there's really no reason why dad wouldn't let him. Diplomacy first, decapitation later, okay?”

“Fine.” Bog and Marianne said in unison.

“But if I see one pink sparkle--” Marianne said.

“If he's got the love potion--” Bog said.

“Then unless he immediately makes it clear he's returning it to you, Boggy, he's breaking your laws and you're justified to do whatever you see fit.” Dawn reassured him.

“How's the antidote coming?” Marianne asked when Griselda pattered by from a corner of the throne room that Marianne was fairly sure didn't have a door. She had a sudden fear that Griselda had been spying on them from the duel onward.

“Pah! Plum is still stalling! I'll wring it out of her, though, don't you worry. I hope my boy hasn't been being too rude to you this evening. He's shy.”

Marianne was then absolutely certain Griselda had been spying on them. It was the raspy whispered aside that confirmed it. It was just short of a nudge and a wink. Marianne bared her teeth in a strained smile. There really wasn't anything she could say without screaming.

Everything got busy at once and the walls were alive with goblins swarming through passages up above that Marianne hadn't been able to see earlier. She leaned on the throne and watched, feeling nervous. She still didn't know if the love potion was in play.

“Hey.”

Marianne started, surprised to find Bog at her elbow. She was sure he had just been across the room shouting at someone. But she hadn't been paying particular attention. She was too caught up in her worries and remains of embarrassment. “Yeah?”

Bog was looking less awkward. Probably because half his mind was on the kingly art of war and couldn't be devoted to being annoyed at manic fairy antics. “If he has the potion he won't get a chance to use it. Okay?”

It was a relief to see that she hadn't annoyed Bog past caring about her. “You're a rock star, Bog. I mean, thanks. I still want a sword, though.”

“I can accommodate that request. As well, I . . .”

“Yeah?”

“I . . . I never said I wasn't interested.”

Bog did a graceful little hop into the air and whizzed off to shout at the goblins some more, leaving Marianne behind to try and pick her jaw up off the floor while she blushed red right to the new tips of her ears.

[stereotypcd]

ooc;; it’s a preview of bits and pieces for PART 2 to this HERE-

SIDENOTE: sorry about the format tumblr makes it weird, also sorry I can’t put it under a read more... stupid app -_-;; also if these mistakes plz feel free to tell me.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re skin and bones. you must be starving let me fix you something to eat.” Mariann gritted her teeth, Nigel placed a hand atop her shoulder. As she hungrily devoured her meal, she realized it been a while since she had such a savory meal. Debbie ate a bowl of her grandma’s soup, two bowls of lucky charms and a large plate of chicken nuggets; she felt unbelievably full. It had been so long since she felt like that.

Growing up she couldn't complain about a hot meal. Despite the portions were small. Being just enough to keep the edge of hunger away, but they never made her feel full. That night when everyone was asleep ( like she should be ) she sits up, moving slowly off the bed, as to not disturb her parents. All evidence suggests Debbie isn't a heavy sleeper.

Hazel hues scanning the walls of canned food, she’d never seen so much food in her life, her mouth watered. Eyes land on canned yams, face twisting up in disgust. But Debbie learned over her short life that you couldn't be to be picky when it came starving or being full and getting to live another day. Quickly and quietly making her to the backyard, it was still weird walking around outside and being safe, living in the wild was like a playing a game of Russian roulette every day. Would you be eaten by a lion or die from dehydration or maybe heatstroke? Now she wasn't under the consent threat of death at every turn it seemed her anxiety didn't take the hint that they safe now were turned up to 100% you would have thought that it would be low.

Plopping down, the grass was slightly wet from the rain. Soaking into her pajamas. Pulling Handfuls of earth, not caring about the dirt under her nails. Burying it next to freshly planted tulips, she had to make sure she had enough food saved up in case... In case of what? Debbie wasn't even sure herself, she just knew it calmed the anxiety that ate away her. That morning Debbie ate two bowls of lucky charms. Glancing out into the yard where she had buried the yums in the garden.

——

The blonde was playing at the park with her friend, Candy, she lived next door and was the first kid Debbie ever met. Debbie was building a sandcastle, humming a tune she heard her mama sing earlier that day. Hazel hues glanced up at her friend, hearing her sounds of disgust.

”Ew, my mom packed bologna again.” Holding the sandwich at arm's length, a look of disgust painted across her face, and in one movement she throws the sandwich into the ground, dirt kicking up. Debbie's eyes widen and her heart jumps into her throat. ”Stop that, don't you, like, know it's bad t’waste food?”

”Who cares, it's gross.”

What? Did she know going hungry was bad, that it was painful and sometimes it got so bad you start crying? Didn't she? Before Debbie knew it she was standing over her, Candy was standing to now, but she looked scared. Surges of frustration pulse through her, Debbie lets out something between a mix of a sob and a yell. she pauses a dark look across her face, shoving Candy hard in the chest. She fells back into the sandbox beat of silence, then she spoke in a cracking voice. ”You- you're crazy!” Before she broke downs sobbing and running to her Mommy.

Debbie grabs the sandwich off the ground, running from the voice of her friend's mom. Hiding behind a tree hunched over on her knees, curled up in on herself, staring down at the sandwich in her hands, digging her fingers leaving small indents on the bread. it was lukewarm from sitting out in the sun. But the food was food after all. Not even bothering to pick the gravel and dirt ( and possibly bugs ) off of it before taking a huge bit, mouth dry making it a bit hard to swallow. Eyes glassy and red-rimmed, eating the rest of it in four bites, like it would be her last meal, her cheeks were wet. Debbie had ever realized she’d been.

She wasn't even hungry.

WEEKS LATER

It has rained the night before and the rain had unearthed Debbie's hiding spot, it was lucky Grandpa Frank found them and stuck them in a bag. Debbie was brushing a doll's hair when he stepped in and sat down next to her despite the protest of his joints. ”Hi, Grandpa!”

”Hey, Bug, so can I ask you something very important?”

The blonde nodded, still brushing the doll's hair. ”Have you been hiding food in the garden?” Debbie tensed, gripping the doll, knuckles bone white. She hung her head in shame. ”Please don't, like, tell Mommy and Daddy they-” She choked on a sob, eyes wide and pleading. ”Whoa, whoa! Don't worry, Debbie. ”Don't worry, you aren't in trouble, pumpkin, grandpa just wants to know.” He gave her a reassuring squeeze.

”I won't tell anyone, cross my heart.” he drew an X over his heart. ”If anyone understands it would be me, I grow up poor as dirt. ”But you don't have to worry about that stuff anymore, ” He wiped her tears. ”But if it makes you feel better, I can put a box in the shed that way you don't tear up grandma's garden. Deal?” She nodded.

——-

This had been going on for a few months now, Mama was also busy; being dragged by her grandma to this or that and Grandpa was to busy with work- so it was up to Debbie to care for her dad. Tip-toeing across the carpeted floor, a sloppily made peanut and jelly sandwich, cracking open the door of her shared bedroom. The darkness of the room swallowing her up, it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

“I made you, like, a sandwich- it’s your favorite- “ Hazel hues glance from her Daddy who’s buried under the covers, to the uneaten bowl of cereal she left them this morning. A frown crosses her lips, fingers tighten around the plate, a feeling of anger shots through her. “You gotta, like, eat, it’s not good to, like, waste food.” Her Voice trembling, with shaking hands the blonde places the plate on the nightstand.

He didn’t move. “Daddy,” She walked over to him, poking his shoulder. A small mumble left his throat but he didn’t move. She scowled, pushing him with her open palm. Still nothing. “Get up...” Debbie says irritably. “Daddy’s tired, Poppet.” Voice barely above a whisper. “Daddy! get outta bed, dad!!” Debbie hasn't been able to stop the tears. Anger crawling through her that. “GET UP, NIGEL!” Voice shaky, fists balled at her sides. “...Pl- please.” his gaze is fixed ahead, staring at the wall Debbie can barely contain her, her chest felt like it was going to burst; her eyes stung with unshed tears.

NINE MONTHS LATER

Cradling her new baby sister, the baby making babbling noises and raising out for Debbie. She was never going to let her baby sister be hungry and sad and scared like she was. ”Don't worry, Eliza I'll, like, take care of you jus’ like with Daddy.” Voice shaky. That night Debbie took the can of corn out of her backpack, she had stolen from Candy's house and buried it in the garden.