#( still tapping. less murder. ) ooc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

glystenangel · 1 year

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the dark of night & the light of day✨

ServiceDom&General!Gojo x PillowPrincess&Afab!Reader (Historical AU)

Series Summary: getou isn't the caring type, but he can be for you

Chapters: 1/3

Chapter Summary: getou is offered a gift by one of his soliders, and he takes it

Status: Completed

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI, getou may be a bit ooc but idrc, getou telling you what to do all the time, GETOUS POV (for the fellow bis i luv u), not too lemony this chapter but next ones are s o u r, d/s, stockholm syndrome, master/servant kink, possessiveness & jealousy, getou being down bad w/o realizing or having any reason to be lmao

~1.4k

thanks for reading and enjoy<3

Ch. 1 - Hate & Sleeplessness

_________________

Getou despised you, or at least, he tried very hard to.

It was an exhaustive effort because as much as he truly wanted to, you needed him. So he couldn’t.

You had been scooped up by one of his henchmen from a small village they had been instructed to exterminate, and he had presented you to the unamused general as a presumed gift.

At first glance, he thought you were, for a lack of a better description, startlingly pretty. Your eyes were glossy with fear and uncertainty, cheeks stained with streaks of saline. The hue of your eyes, though diluted with the redness that only comes from crying, contained an intensity he had never seen before. Evidence of your sorrow did little to hide your masterfully crafted facial features and the enticing shape of your body underneath your dress. With such unique beauty, Getou could comprehend the reasoning behind your capture regardless of the fact that he didn’t condone it. This supposed present was completely unnecessary as a token of loyalty. Clearly the man was hoping to have you for himself after Getou would surely reject you. There was a rumor circulating amongst his forces that Getou was numb to emotions like lust or love, due to his lack of company and insistence upon solitude.

Frankly, he didn’t care what would happen to you, but he decided to accept the gift as a punitive measure for the soldier to simply follow his orders as told. That was all, nothing more. It had nothing to do with the terrified and imploring look on your face, or the way your bottom lip wobbled with obvious terror.

Not knowing what to do with you, Getou settled on assigning you as his personal maid.

In spite of your best efforts, every time you do something, you’re so inconceivably useless that he is forced to help you. When you burn your hand while cooking him lunch, he tsks and nudges you aside to save whatever concoction you started. When he sees you folding his clothes in the less than precise shapes he likes, he makes you sit down and does it himself as he irritably explains to you how it’s done.

As you live alongside the powerful commander, he becomes more and more annoyed by your inability to learn or successfully do any tasks given to you. The only thing you seem to have picked up is how to address him, by name or his title as your master.

He assumes you were some kind of nobility, based on the softness of your hands and lack of tolerance for any violence you witness his troops carrying out for missions or training.

So, he does his best to keep you out of the way. You would be of no use to him crying and fretting over military matters.

Still, he has half a mind to kill you whenever your seemingly innate uselessness reveals itself. But every time you applaud and make impressed comments of approval on how easily he does things, the murderous rage simmers down to a roll of his eyes and a reluctant hand off of the remaining chores. That is, if he has enough confidence that you can perform them yourself after watching him.

Of course, that paper thin confidence dissipates as soon as you begin to take over the task and he has to take it back.

Over the next few months, he hovers over you as you attempt to work, tapping on your wrist from behind as if he were trying to puppeteer your body into fulfilling the proper steps to duties like cleaning dishes or shaving his sideburns. The need to do everything for you becomes natural, and he can’t help but notice that your presence at his side isn’t as annoying as he thought it would be.

Once you start picking up on your responsibilities, all Getou has to do is make minute, disapproving shakes of his head to correct you. Sometimes, he can even leave you to your own devices.

Eventually when you familiarize yourself with the entire headquarters and the assistance he needs while commanding an army, he’s almost proud of you.

Day after day, he watches you take care of small tasks and errands. It becomes a regular sight.

Today when he finds you hanging laundry, your back is to him as you clip cloth to the taut curves of rope stretched across the eastern yard of his headquarters. Sheets of pristine, white cotton from the soldiers’ quarters surround you, and farther back he can see spotless uniforms being hung on rope closer to the walls enclosing his entire operation.

You’re humming to yourself, some old children’s song with a fleeting melody that he vaguely recognizes, stepping among the tall woven baskets at your feet and bundling more of their contents in your arms.

Getou crosses his arms over his wide chest, bracing a shoulder on one of the columns opening up the hall to the grassy, laundry covered field dotted with those small white flowers he never bothered to learn the names of because he sees them everywhere.

It’s a peaceful scene. Something he endures to savor because it might be the last one he gets.

Most days he regarded his position with little reverence, it was a job with high praise but little reward. Merely acting under the petty wishes of feudal lords more powerful than he could ever dream of being. Such was the life of a warrior.

It rarely saddens him anymore.

Aside from the day you were brought, he realizes you never once seemed upset by your circumstances. He’s unsure if that should make him grateful or unbearably sad.

That thought appears to announce his presence, as you turn to find his eyes on you. The eye contact makes you pause, and your hands cascade off of the laundry you were hanging. The wind blows at the fabric behind you, making it billow around your figure and having your own clothes be tousled by the wind. It’s gentle, moving over your hair and eyelashes like a child cautiously blowing on a dandelion. Astonishment never crosses your face, and he feels…something. Something? A stirring within him. How to define it beyond that escapes him at this particular moment.

No words are exchanged between you, only continued observation of each other.

He feels the breeze caress his face, and he wonders if it kisses him the same way it did you.

You then smile at him, a genuine, gracious smile, and for once he returns it.

Perhaps hatred was too harsh for someone like you.

_________________

Your laugh takes him off guard the first time he hears it. It’s lovely and warm, but he realizes you’re not alone when he also hears one of his lower ranking officers, Mahito. Mahito’s drawling voice is paired with your happy laughter, and he can almost see the stitched man’s simper and blue gray hair leaning close to you.

“I made you laugh!” Mahito proudly croons, and Getou takes pause in the section of hallway next to the kitchen door.

“You’re too funny, Mahito.” Traces of amusement remain in your voice, and he hears the audible sound of you playfully slapping Mahito’s arm.

The easy compliment you give Mahito boils Getou’s blood.

He doesn’t deserve it. It doesn’t make any sense.

Something had to be wrong with him. He owns every part of you, yet he hates that Mahito had gotten your smile and laugh, however brief.

Those are his. You, are his. He was your master after all. Your laughs, your tears, your every effort and breath were his.

The disrespect has him reeling, and he lets out an annoyed click of his tongue before sweeping his robes closer to his side and pacing back to his room. He convinces himself he does not need to hear anymore, and that it was illogical to expend any further headspace on it.

_________________

For the next few days, Getou can’t sleep.

He can hear your laugh whenever he tosses and turns in his bed.

It’s maddening. What had Mahito said to make you that amused?

He curses, sitting up in his futon and angrily tossing his pillow at the wall until it sinks and slumps in half against the floor.

For a moment he cups his chin, one of his fingers pressing into the divet between his lips as he tries to detangle each end of his thoughts from the other.

It’s brutally impossible.

“Just ask her.” He mumbles to himself.

For a moment he sits with the disgruntled suggestion, and then he stands to his feet. Inner conflict tenses his chest, but it doesn’t matter.

He has to know.

_________________

End Notes:

i have no excuse for what is coming but :)))))))))

Next Chapter →

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remnantsfm · 8 months

Text

[EVENT 002 UPDATE] SHADOWS OVER ANSAN

CHIRRUP > FORUMS > SORT BY [LATEST] > THREAD: did anyone else get sick after the interrogation?

📌 carmine_heart (original poster): i'll keep this short since i'm still in pretty bad shape. basically a couple of days ago i went to the enforcer division for my questioning. i thought it went okay, i answered all of their questions, they were pretty nice and offered me a drink too. i went home feeling pretty good since my boyfriend confirmed my alibi that same day. but then this next morning i started to feel weird. my head felt hot and at first i thought it was a fever, but i don't know. this feels different. my head feels like it's so...full, and i haven't really been able to think properly. i feel like i'm sleepwalking. i can't tell if i'm just so stressed about this case that i'm making myself sick or what. my boyfriend says i've been acting weird. saying weird things. but it's really hard to remember the last day, much less what i said... there was a reason i wanted to post here but i can't remember now either. please can someone tell me i'm not the only one going through this?

comments. ( < page 2 of 37 > )

cerulean_scale: Maybe you caught something? There's been a cold going around since the storm. scarlet_venom: i feel it too doesnt it feel so good? ;my bed feels like clouds. i dont ever want to leave amber_tear: okay idk what all of you are talking about but personally my interview went AMAZING. it made me realize a few things about myself. i went to my best friend's house after and confessed. i feel like i'm on some kind of high. i feel fucking great!!! emerald_touch: serial killer on the loose and everyone starts literally losing their minds loooool searing_sparrow: something happened at that place. i swear. i felt fine at first too but i woke up this morning and my heart feels like it's beating out of my chest. a couple min ago i called my mom and told her some shit i've kept from her in years and i don't remember what the hell i was thinking when i wanted to do that. i barely remember the call at all its like it was someone else and i was just watching from the other side. i feel like i'm going out of my mind radiant_flame: hey (@)searing_sparrow i'm friends with OP and i went to check up on them earlier today and the way they were acting... i'm worried. can we talk offline? silver_lantern: i don't think you're sick. https://www(.)thebell(.)com/article/23-08/water-advisory-issued-foul-play-suspected-by-enforc…

THE BELL > CURRENT EVENTS > TODAY WATER ADVISORY ISSUED. FOUL PLAY INVOLVED?

❝ [11:22 KST]. the city has issued a PUBLIC DRINKING WATER ADVISORY affecting ALL public and private buildings registered to the city of ansan. no specific details have been provided yet, but the contamination is confirmed to be neither toxic nor harmful. drinking from impacted water sources can result in several days of a FEVER-LIKE CONDITION, including high temperatures, erratic behavior, and lethargy/overactivity. the city advises all citizens to AVOID CONSUMING WATER SOURCED WITHIN ANSAN, including but not limited to: tap water, bottled water of ansan origins, and potentially natural sources of water within city limits. this warning remains in effect until the city deems it safe. civil offices are already facing outcries as this advisory comes amidst a pending murder investigation, for which the enforcer division still has not resolved. multiple anonymous sources have claimed that they experienced these symptoms far earlier, however, suspecting that contamination may have began as early as the day the murder investigation was publicized . . . ❞

OOC INFORMATION.

welcome to PART II of [EVENT 002] SHADOWS OVER ANSAN!

this event will last OOC from 3. august - 17. august.

ansan's water sources have been contaminated with an unknown substance that causes anyone who drinks it to experience a hazy, fever-like condition that makes them more . . . HONEST.

to participate, simply reblog the PROMPT LIST for each participating muse and make sure your askbox is opened.

all participants are required to send at least one prompt to all other participants. you may send multiple prompts out to each muse, but at least ONE prompt should be sent OFF-ANON so that the admins can make sure everyone is participating fairly!

to avoid blogs possibly getting sh@dowbanned, try to avoid sending many prompts in a short period of time.

as this event is a pseudo honesty hour, we want to encourage the spirit of honesty! in-character, this condition makes the muse feel more feverish / nauseous / faint if they actively attempt to lie or suppress the urge for honesty. avoiding the truth can also heighten the symptoms.

conversely, giving into the honesty will grant the muse a brief feeling of relief from the symptoms.

#rmnt:event002 #hehe #rmnt:update #krp

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theoswriting · 3 years

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lavender, honey and coconut (e.p. x fem!r)

summary: Penelope Garcia can sniff out secrets like a cute security dog can sniff out drugs. y/n had been amused but had brushed off the warning. That had been her first mistake.

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!reader

word count: 4k

a/n: okay, this is my first time writing for cm and emily prentiss, so I hope it isn’t too ooc! this is definitely a different vibe to the show lmao, i mostly wrote this to amuse myself, and then decided it might be worth sharing. I hope you’lll enjoy it xo (tell me if u do, i’m nervous)

warnings: some alcohol is consumed, light swearing

ao3

Penelope Garcia can sniff out secrets like a cute security dog can sniff out drugs.

It's a well-known fact that if you want to keep something hidden, one, you don't tell Garcia because she's incapable of keeping anything secret and two, don't breathe near her because she will be able to figure out that you're hiding something, and she will know which buttons to push to get you to spill everything.

Penelope likes to think that in another life, she would've made a great interrogator. In this life though, she uses her powers to get what she wants out of her friends.

This was one of the first things y/n found out when she joined the BAU. Derek spoke about the tech goddess' powers with reverence while the rest of them spoke of it with fear. Even Hotch seemed a little disconcerted by the whole thing.

y/n had been amused but had brushed off the warning.

That had been her first mistake.

***

Paperwork days were the worst.

y/n should probably love them more because if she's stuck behind her desk, it means that no one is out there getting brutally murdered. Still, it's a lot less exciting. It doesn't help that the bullpen is oddly quiet, everyone focused on their files. Spencer is going through his about a mile a minute, stopping from time to time to rewrite something or to look up some kind of information. Derek is slower and y/n can almost see the boredom oozing out of him. Yet, he doesn't look up when she looks over at him and keeps diligently going through his notes.

Finally, her eyes land on Emily. Her head is propped up on her left hand as she writes with the right. Occasionally, she will bite her nails as she focuses hard on part of her notes. y/n thinks she looks extra cute when she frowns, trying to understand her own writing. It makes y/n smile before refocusing on her own work.

y/n is almost done with one of her reports when she notices some missing information. She could easily look it up herself, but she's bored and this is the perfect excuse to get away from her desk for a bit. So she stands up, gathers her papers and walks to her favourite tech genius' lair.

y/n opens the door and sees Penelope's back turned to her. Before she can say anything, Garcia's voice rings out.

"Well if it isn't my favourite ray of sunshine, what can I do for you, y/n?"

y/n smiles at the blonde's greeting, as she sits down next to her, "Are you busy?"

"Not at all!"

"Great, I'm missing some information on this file, but most importantly, I'm in dire need of entertainment."

Garcia happily grabs the file from y/n and starts tapping away at her computer, putting up the information she needs on her screen in no time. She prints it all out and hands it to y/n with a flourish.

"Here's the info you need," She starts, but her eyes quickly turn regretful, "Sadly, I have no recent office gossip to entertain you with."

y/n pouts at that, "Damn, not even from Slutty David?"

Penelope shakes her head and opens her mouth to speak when she suddenly frowns at y/n. She pulls back slightly and y/n wonders if she'd forgotten to put on deodorant that morning. Penelope says nothing, just watches her.

"What?" y/n finally asks, unnerved by the staring.

"What are you not telling me?" Garcia asks simply and it's y/n's turn to frown. She can't think of anything that she might be hiding from her friend.

"Nothing?"

y/n is pretty sure that's the wrong answer and that Penelope is going to keep asking her questions until she confesses to something she didn't even know she was hiding. To her surprise though, Garcia only stares at her for a few more seconds before dropping it. As quick as it disappeared, her bright smile is back on her face and she goes back to telling a story.

It turns out that yes, she did have something to tell y/n about Slutty David.

y/n leaves Penelope about twenty minutes later with a refreshed brain, ready to get back to work. When she gets back to her desk, Emily looks up to give her a smile. y/n smiles back and winks at her as she sits down. Emily's smile broadens before she turns her focus back to the file in front of her.

y/n does the same, her smile staying even while going through an autopsy report. It's only hours later when y/n is almost done with paperwork that she freezes. She looks up at Emily and realizes.

That's what she's been hiding.

She frowns. There's no way Garcia knows that though, she and Emily have made sure, they've been careful.

Yeah, it was probably a fluke.

***

Mornings where she gets to wake up next to Emily are y/n's favourites. Even the early ones, when they get called in for a case, having Emily next to her makes it all easier.

That's what happens that morning, both of their phones going off at 5:45 am. Emily is the one to reach for her phone while y/n latches onto her and drops a kiss on her girlfriend's shoulder.

"It's JJ. We have to go in."

y/n nods and painstakingly opens her eyes. She drops another kiss on Emily's shoulder and turns away from her to get up, but before she can go too far, Emily reaches for her and kisses her. y/n scrunches up her nose even though she's smiling into the kiss.

"Morning breath. Gross," She manages to mutter against Emily's lips.

"Don't care."

y/n had wondered when they started dating if it would get to a point where it'd be too much to be together and then work together as well. Now, six months into their relationship, y/n knows she had worried over nothing. They have a system and boundaries. They keep the PDA to a minimum at work, which isn't a problem considering they had decided to keep their relationship a secret from the team. It's not that Prentiss and y/l/n don't trust their coworkers, it's more than they don't want to screw up the group's dynamics.

And it's also ridiculously funny to see how long it's taking a whole group of profilers to figure out that two members of their team are dating.

After getting dressed, y/n starts packing a new bag, taking clothes from the one drawer Emily had emptied out and gifted to her on their 2 months anniversary. Emily had a similar one at y/n's place. Considering their jobs and the amount of time they spent at each other's place, they figured it was smart to always have enough clothes at each other's place for instances like these.

Not even 10 minutes later, they're out of the door. They kiss one last time before Emily gets into her car and y/n gets into hers. As usual, y/n takes the long way to work, her place being famously further away than Emily's. So when she finally gets to the conference room, everyone is already there and waiting for Hotch.

y/n sits in between Derek and Spencer, "Good morning, my people!"

"It certainly is not," Hotch deadpans as he enters the room. y/n closes her mouth and nods to herself. She should've seen that one coming.

The others chuckle quietly, but the laughter quickly dies. Hotch was right. This is far from a good morning.

The murders are gruesome, the victims are all women which bear a striking resemblance to Emily. y/n doesn't bring attention to it, it wouldn't bring anything to the case except worry over a detail that isn't of much importance, at least not right now. Instead, she watches her girlfriend look at the pictures, and by the way her jaw clenches and unclenches repeatedly, she's come to the same realization.

"Alright everyone, wheels up in 20." Hotch dismisses them, and almost everyone rushes out of the room to get their bags. Garcia stays behind though, and so does Emily. y/n gathers her stuff slowly then, waiting for Garcia to leave the room so she can have a moment alone with her girlfriend.

Garcia doesn't leave, though.

She's staring at y/n ominously. She's missing a furry cat to be petting and she'd look like a supervillain from a cheesy action movie. y/n tries smiling at her, but the blonde doesn't respond in the slightest.

y/n leaves the room. She'll check up on Emily before take-off. She is big enough to admit that she was a little freaked out by Garcia.

She thinks nothing of it until hours later, when she's setting up their evidence board in a small town in buttfuck, Texas. JJ is standing next to her, writing the name of the second victim.

"Garcia has been asking about you."

It's such a weird thing to say that y/n is a bit taken aback. She pauses and slowly turns to look at JJ, "Uhm… Okay?"

JJ puts the cap on the pen and turns to y/n, her face probably too serious for whatever this is about.

"Remember when we told you about Garcia's weird ability to tell when someone is hiding something juicy?" y/n nods, still confused as to where this is going, "Well, she's smelt whatever it is that you're hiding."

y/n briefly wonders if no one is bothered by the constant comparison of Garcia to a literal hound dog, but apparently not. She lets out a small chuckle and nods at JJ, clearly not believing the warning tone the blonde had used, "Yeah, okay, I'll sleep with one eye open."

"y/n, I'm serious," JJ lowers her voice and looks around before confiding, "Penelope is the reason the whole team knows I had a one night stand with Slutty David."

"You had sex with Slutty David?"

JJ shudders, "Everybody makes mistakes."

***

y/n tells Emily about JJ's warning as they cuddle into bed that same night, exhausted from a day of leads getting them nowhere. To her surprise, Emily agrees with JJ.

"Garcia has a way of getting you to admit to things you thought you'd never say out loud."

The way she talks about it has y/n looking up from her very comfortable spot on Emily's shoulder to her girlfriend's face. She's staring off in the distance as if haunted by whatever it is that Garcia had dug up on her.

"What the hell did she find out about you?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

***

"So, are you seeing anyone?"

It's Saturday night and they're out at a club for a Girl's night. After the case they'd had, they deserved a night to unwind. They've chosen a bar where the music is loud, but not loud enough to drown out Penelope's question. JJ and Emily are gone, lost somewhere in the crowd fighting for the bartender's attention, in search of more drinks. As y/n's brain finally processes what Garcia has just asked, she fights the urge to smile and look for Emily.

y/n has drunk enough to be on the dumb side of gay.

"Why do you ask?"

"Answering a question with another question, very telling," Garcia smirks.

Penelope seems oddly composed for someone who is two cocktails and three shots deep into the party. Usually, a drunk Garcia means sloppy kisses on the cheek and getting her away from attractive strangers before she can say anything overtly sexual or inappropriate. So something doesn't add up. y/n squints her eyes at the blonde in front of her, like that will somehow help her see things clearer.

It doesn't. Everything looks fuzzy and she probably should stop drinking.

"I'm not."

The lie tastes gross in y/n's mouth and if there's one thing that could make her feel better, it would be kissing Emily. Before she can stop it, a smitten smile makes its way onto her face. Garcia slams a hand on the table, making y/n jump. She focuses her eyes on Penelope who's pointing an accusing finger at her.

"There! Who did you just think about?"

y/n sputters, racking her brain for a more convincing lie but she can't stop smiling so she gives in. Damn her inability to lie when she's drunk.

"Okay, fine" y/n amends, "I am seeing someone, but please keep it quiet."

Penelope obviously does not keep quiet. Instead, she squeals loud enough that she startles a few people passing by their table. Of course, that's also the moment JJ and Emily pick to come back.

So when Garcia basically yells, "I knew it!" for the whole bar to hear, there's no way y/n is getting out of this one.

"Knew what?" Emily asks with a smile as she puts down a drink in front of y/n. She immediately grabs it, thinking that maybe if she blacks out, this conversation will also be erased from the history of the universe.

"y/n is seeing someone!" Penelope happily informs the two recently arrived. JJ whips her head, excitement filling her eyes, about a million questions fighting to be asked first. Emily, for her part, chokes on her drink.

"Why haven't you told us anything?" JJ says, her blue eyes even more glassy than usual, "Who is it?"

y/n shrugs, going for a nonchalant vibe. She goes with something vague.

"You don't know her."

Penelope's smile widens, "Oh, so it's a her."

Shit. Not vague enough.

What follows are a series of questions that y/n refuses to answer and thankfully, with Emily there to mediate, they manage to change the subject. Seriously, y/n could kiss her right then and there. Instead, she takes a sip of her drink and glances towards Emily. They decide to leave less than an hour later. JJ is about one sip away from taking her top off while y/n is just about ready to throw caution to the wind and start making out with Emily. To hell with consequences.

Penelope is still suspiciously acting sane.

"Oh, Pen, be careful, someone dropped their drinks right behind your chair."

JJ's heads up makes y/n glare at Garcia who looks a little too guilty.

***

When they get back to Emily's place, y/n barely waits until the front door is closed before kissing Emily. Emily welcomes it, blindly throwing away the keys to wrap both hands around her girlfriend's neck. The kissing is sweet, the taste of their last drinks still sticking to their mouths. It's a little messy due to the fact they're both smiling like two goddamn idiots in love. When they stop, Emily grabs y/n by the hand and drags her to the kitchen so they can both drink water to make their hangovers hopefully less painful in the morning.

They're almost done when Emily speaks.

"We have a problem."

y/n stops moving. She should've known this moment would come.

"Listen, if this is about the burnt toaster, I've already ordered a new one."

"Garcia- What?" Emily turns around to look at the spot where her toaster usually rests, "What happened?"

Realizing her mistake, y/n puts her empty glass of water down and wraps her arms around Emily's waist, "Nothing you need to worry about," Emily looks back at her girlfriend who looks too innocent, "What were you going to say?"

"Garcia knows you're with someone."

y/n nods slowly, wondering where Emily is going with this. She doesn't see any problems. Sure, Penelope knows that she might be sort of taken by a woman, but that's it. Even in her drunken state, she'd managed to keep any other incriminating details to herself.

"Garcia has a way of finding things out, it's only a matter of time until she puts two and two together."

Emily looks genuinely fearful and y/n wonders again, what kind of dirt Penelope had gotten Emily to disclose. She thinks back to JJ's warning as well. y/n turns it over in her head, but in the end, she scoffs and leans up to kiss Emily.

"Don't worry, babe. I'll make up a fake break up or something and we'll be fine."

Thinking she could fool Penelope Garcia so easily was y/n's second mistake.

***

Derek is getting himself coffee when y/n swiftly approaches him from the side.

"What secret did Garcia get out of Emily?"

"Which time?"

"There's more than one?"

"Oh yeah."

***

The whole thing with Garcia does make y/n and Emily reconsider telling the team, or at the very least, Hotch and HR.

They hadn't at first because of team dynamics, but mostly because they themselves were figuring out how they worked as a couple. It turns out they worked great, and hiding each other from their coworkers and best friends was getting a bit much for the both of them.

They wanted to show up at Rossi's dinner parties together without worrying about what their friends would think. y/n wanted to hold Emily's hand after a rough case on the jet without it being questioned, just as much as Emily wanted to drive with y/n to work every morning and walk into the building together.

So the next morning, Emily and y/n get to work before anyone else and walk into Hotch's office.

He doesn't have much of a reaction, not that they were expecting anything more.

What does surprise them is that, after giving them the whole speech about professionalism and whatnot, he smiles at them and says, "I'm happy for you both."

Aaron Hotchner smiles at them and y/n feels like her relationship has just been blessed by the angels from above.

***

"Hey, Spence? Do you know what Garcia dug up on Emily?"

"Emily sprained her wrist a few years back and told us that it had happened at the range. It turns out that she'd sprained it falling from her skateboard."

"Her skate- What?"

***

When y/n had told Emily they'd be fine, she wasn't being cocky, but she just knew that there was no way Garcia would suspect something with how careful they had been.

They never showed up together at work. At first, they always timed their arrivals carefully, until it became second nature. They were never overly affectionate with each other. If they needed to be comforted during a particularly hard case, they'd wait to be behind the closed doors of the hotel room they shared on most trips. As much as y/n wanted to, she never showed up to work wearing one of her girlfriend's sweaters, no matter how warm and comfortable they were.

Bottom line was, there was no reason for Garcia to suspect anything when their teammates who were literal profilers hadn't caught onto anything.

No one except Hotch knew. And only because they'd told him, so.

y/n should've known though, from being a profiler herself, that being too confident meant she was bound to slip up and make a mistake sooner rather than later.

It all happens very quickly.

JJ asks y/n if she can grab a couple of files she had left with Garcia and bring them back to her because she was waiting for someone to call and she couldn't go too far. y/n, of course, accepts, always happy to get away from her desk and the paperwork begging for her attention. She quickly knocks on Garcia's door before entering and the tech doesn't turn around as she greets her.

"Bonjour, Emily, what brings you to Casa Garcia today?"

y/n chuckles at the blonde's eccentricities, "Sorry, but you got it wrong, it's me."

Penelope rolls her chair around to face her and she looks truly distraught to have gotten it wrong, "But I always get it right. I'm the all-knowing Penelope Garcia."

y/n gently pats her shoulder as she reaches past her to some files she sees on the desk, "Are these JJ's? She asked me to get them for her."

Garcia nods, but she still looks defeated at having failed to guess her visitor's identity, so y/n tells her she'll come by later with some coffee for a chat. Penelope nods and turns her attention back to her computer and so she leaves.

It's funny, y/n thinks, that of all the people Penelope could have confused her with, it was Emily. Maybe some of Emily's fears had planted themselves into her brain unbeknownst to her because y/n suddenly feels very uneasy. Why did Pen think it was Emily walking in? Had she unconsciously started walking like her girlfriend? No, no, that was ridiculous. Emily had a very distinctive gate that was very different from y/n's.

Still, something is off. y/n trusts her gut, it has never failed her, and her gut is telling her something is off.

She doesn't know what though. She had woken up with Emily that morning and they'd actually had time to enjoy a nice breakfast together and had plenty of time to get ready together. In fact, they had even gotten to enjoy a very pleasant shower together. y/n smiles at that particularly good memory until she realizes.

"Shit," she mutters, but not quietly enough. She's standing in the middle of the bullpen, her coworkers' eyes on her. Before she can tell herself that it's fine, that she was just paranoid and that there was no way Penelope had noticed, she hears a familiar but hurried clicking of heels approach the bullpen. y/n turns around to see Penelope standing on the other side of the glass window and one look at her is all y/n needs.

She knows.

Before Garcia can make her way inside the bullpen and bring mayhem with her, y/n hastily makes her way to her. She drops JJ's files on her desk haphazardly under Derek, Emily and Spencer's bewildered eyes. When she gets to Penelope, she gently grabs her by the arm and urgently leads her away.

"You smell like lavender!" Penelope exclaims with no preamble, "You usually don't smell like lavender, you smell of honey and coconut, but never lavender and that's why I got confused!"

y/n confidently nods in greeting at an agent passing by Garcia's office as y/n shoves her inside. He looks unsettled but only smiles in return, preferring to ignore whatever is going on. Smart man.

"That's why I thought you were Emily! Because Emily is the one who smells of lavender!" Penelope is pacing while y/n stands with her back to the door.

"Okay, Pen, I need you to breathe," She says when the techie is still going on about lavender, honey and coconut.

"Breathe? How can I breathe when you and Emily are dating."

y/n thinks that's a bit dramatic, but Garcia has finally stopped pacing and talking. y/n slowly steps towards the blonde and puts both of her hands on her shoulders. She debates for a few seconds, wonders if she'd get away with a lie but at this point, y/n's pretty sure the cat is out of the bag.

"Yeah, Emily and I are together."

y/n should've been prepared for it, but when Garcia lets out a high pitched squeal, it still gets her by surprise. Her pained grimace is quickly chased away by laughter when Penelope hugs her with all the strength and excitement caffeine was providing her.

"This is so great, I'm so happy for you two!" She lets you go long enough to see the smile that's made its way onto her face. It's the same smitten smile she always gets whenever she thinks about Emily and Garcia honest to god pinches her cheeks, "Aww, look at that smile!"

y/n laughs and tries to get her cheeks away from anymore pinching. That's when the door opens enough for Emily to sneak her head in, "Hey you two, is everything okay?"

She looks at Penelope first, but her eyes end on y/n. Before she can say anything though, Penelope smirks, "Why yes, lover, everything is just fine."

At that, Emily gets in and closes the door behind her. She looks at y/n for confirmation.

y/n just nods, "Yeah, she knows."

"You bet your sweet ass I know!"

And with no further warning, Penelope tackles Emily in a hug much as she'd done with y/n minutes prior. When she lets her go, Emily steps closer to y/n, and with a hand on her lower back, she says, "I told you she'd find out."

y/n ignores the I told you so her girlfriend apparently couldn't wait to give her, but yeah, she's not wrong.

It'll teach her to ever doubt the abilities of the all-knowing Penelope Garcia.

***

Months and months later, y/n meets up with Penelope for brunch on a Sunday morning. Before she can even greet her, the blonde fixes her with a stare that is both strange but oh so very familiar.

"What are you planning?"

This time, y/n grins and tells Garcia not to worry, that she'll know in due time. After all, she can only hide the little velvet box in her coat pocket and its content for so long.

***

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss imagine #reader x emily prentiss #cm imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x you #emily prentiss #criminal minds #mywritings

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you-a-southpaw-doll · 4 years

Text

Deaf ~ A Max (The Resident) One-Shot

Summary: Max gets a new tenant...and maybe a new family? With all the silence, will Leigh be able to draw Max outta the walls and into her life?

Warning(s): Angst. Happy ending. Single mother OFC. Mentions of cheating. Bisexual OFC. Hearing issues. Deaf infant. Implied PTSD. Implied childhood trauma. Panic attack. Self-harm. First aid. Non-canon. OOC Max. Slight voyeuristic tendencies. OFC’s P.O.V. Soft Max. Hurt Max. Scared Max. Touch-starved Max. Max just needs some love.

Author’s Note(s): So, I watched The Resident (2011) a couple nights ago, and got this idea. I don’t do rape, so I changed Max’s character so he never goes that far. I also decided to do this from the OFC’s P.O.V. and show a different side of Max, one that would hopefully, kinda sorta, explain why Max seeks the refuge the walls give him. For people that suffer from PTSD, and other mental illnesses, everyone finds their own way of coping with their struggles. I’m not in any way condoning what Canon Max did. I just wanted to try and a different, less creepy, softer side. Also, in this story, Max is not a rapist, nor is he a murderer. And...I wanted a happy ending for Max, so that’s what I gave him.

Word Count: 7,982 words.

Relationship(s): Max x Leigh Sullivan (OFC) [romantic].

Characters: Max. Leigh Sullivan (OFC). Maxwell Dean Sullivan (OMC). Chris Sullivan (OMC).

Taglist: @negans-network @prettyboynegan @mychemicalimagines @spnnnxangelsx @rockinkel21 @misskittycat02 @band--psycho @ofxallxwexlost @iron-halt @thamberlinawrites @ravenwings73 @lettherebepink @stoneyggirl @sebs-padawan

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Story Time:

Leigh’s P.O.V. ~

It’s been two weeks since I moved to New York City to start my new job at the museum and try to get on with one of the numerous publishing houses for my next books. Two weeks of sleeping in a cheap hotel room. Two nights of frantically searching for a somewhat cheap apartment that would be big ‘nough.

Two weeks of missing having his little body snuggled up next to me. Two weeks worth of triple FaceTime calls to my brother back in San Deigo just to see his cute little face. Two weeks of missing my baby boy. Two weeks of missing my adopted, six-month-old son, Maxwell. Two weeks of being completely alone in a new place for the first time in years.

It’s been two days since I saw that flyer pinned up on the hospital bulletin board after passing out from dehydration. Two days since I went to that old building that’s close to the huge bridge stretching out over the river. Two days since I saw the fancy apartment still being renovated that was clearly well outta my price range.

Two days since I met him and saw that beautiful dimpled smile hiding under the construction mask. Two days since I felt my heart flutter for the time in nearly half a year. Two days since that deep, slower than molasses but sweeter than honey voice told me it was mine for only $3,800 a month, minus utilities.

It’s been two hours since he, my new landlord left my apartment after sitting down to enjoy a dinner of takeout from the nearby Chinese restaurant once we’d finished moving my meager belongings in. Two hours since he and I opened up a little bit to each other, getting to know the other person.

It’s been two hours and I still haven’t stopped smiling.

Leaning back in my chair, I slide my iPhone outta the pocket of my men’s holey, Skinny Flex American Eagle dark blue jeans. Holding my thumb down on the button so it recognizes my thumbprint, I wait for it to unlock before I click on the FaceTime app and call my brother. I take a deep breath, relaxing, as I wait for him to answer.

Only...he doesn’t. Instead of my slightly younger brother answering, I get the best thing that’s ever happened in my life. The moment I see my son’s face fill the screen, I tear up and smile.

“Hey, baby boy! You playing with Uncle Chris’s phone?” I coo in a soft voice.

I don’t get an actual response, but that’s ok. My son Max is deaf. He was born that way and the doctors said it’d be a few more months before we could even try to get him fitted for hearing aids. The said it was a side effect from where his birth mother had been using hard drugs for 99% of the pregnancy, even though I tried to get her help.

Max makes a bunch of soft, cooing noises as he holds the phone close. I realize that he hasn’t noticed that I’m the phone yet. Especially once I see his gums get closer to the camera. I laugh, knowing he’s trying to gnaw on the rounded corner of my brother’s iPhone. Hearing movement on the other end, I watch as the phone jostles, and a loud thunk echos to my end.

A moment later, two small, chubby hands grasp the phone and my son’s face fills the screen once more. I watch as his eyes widen and he lets out a high pitch squeal, giggling, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that Max has finally noticed that I’m on the phone. Smiling, I wave to him and blow him kisses.

It just makes him squeal more, louder, and happier. I giggle and happily listens to his giggles, squeals, and babbles. After nearly 15 minutes of listening to him, and slouching in my chair, the phone jostles once more and I hear Max let out a whine and hear him sniffling, knowing his ‘bout to start crying.

A second later, my brother’s face fills my phone’s screen and his eyes widen too, making him chuckle.

“Hey, sis. Sorry. Didn’t realize you were on the phone. I guess Max got ahold of mine when I went to fix him a bottle and a small jar of that mushy baby food you picked up for him before you left.” He says.

I smile. “Nah. Max didn’t call me. I called. He answered. Took him a hot minute to realize I was on the phone. Then he started telling me ‘bout the stuff y’all did today. Sounds like a productive day.”

Chris laughs and I watch as he gets settled on the couch in his apartment, holding my son in his lap, keeping him to where he can still see me on the phone.

“Oh yeah.” He chuckles. “Real productive. 3 naps, 6 poopy diapers, and a few bottles.”

I giggle. “Sounds like it.”

He chuckles more and shakes his head. “Anyway. How’s the city? D’you switch motel rooms? That don’t look like the one you’ve been staying in.”

I grin from ear to ear. “That’s actually why I called you. I found a place. By the river and train tracks.”

“Yea? That’s great! You all moved in?”

“For the most part. All that’s missing is little man. Oh. And the actual furniture. I was thinking...think you and Max could be out here tomorrow?”

“Uh...yea. I still got 3 more weeks’ worth of vacation time saved up at work. Give me a sec to pull up flights and shit.”

I smile and nod, waiting as Chris sets his phone down. After listening to some shuffling and the protests of my son, my brother and my son’s faces are visible once more. I help guide my brother through the process of looking for, booking, and getting two cheap plane tickets. I tell him my card info so he can type it in.

“Alright, sis. It looks like we’ll be flying out ‘round noon our time. And, after a 5 and a half flight, we should be to the city by dinnertime. How’s that?” Chris double checks.

“Sounds fuckin’ good to me! I can’t wait. I’ll meet y’all there!” I grin and cover my mouth as I yawn.

Chris chuckles. “Good. Looks like you need to get to bed. It’s what, 11 there?”

I nod. “Yea...I think so. It’s been a long day.”

“I can tell. Well, get some sleep. We’ll be there tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait to see y’all. It’s been a long two weeks.”

“I bet. I honestly don’t see how you’ve been a single mom for the last 6 months. I’ve been watching this little monster for 2 weeks and I swear, I’m never having my own kids.”

I laugh. “Shut up! He’s not that bad. He just misses his mommy. And, you never wanted your own kids. You’ve always been too scared. Couldn’t even sit down if there was a kid in the room.”

“Hey! I just didn’t want to risk accidentally sitting on them and squishing them!”

I giggle as my brother grins. “I know, bro. I’m just giving you shit.”

“Yea. Just like your son’s been doing all day.”

I laugh, yawning again. “Shouldn’t have given him the sweet potato mush. I warned you.”

He rolls his eyes, chuckling. “Whatever.”

“I am proud of you, bro. You’ve done so well with him, and I appreciate everything you’ve done to help me. I know it’s been a long couple of months, not just the two weeks I’ve been out here.”

“I just wanna see you happy again, sis, and I’m always here for you. That’s why I’m more than willing to help you.”

“I know. And it means the world. Give him kisses for me and tap his little tummy twice to tell him I love him?”

Chris smiles. “I will. Be careful, yeah? We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll try. Love you.”

“Yea. Ok. I know.”

He grins and waves, getting Max to copy him as he hangs up the call. I smile to myself. My brother’s never been one to say “I love you” to someone. He’s been like that since we were little when he was 5 and I was 6. So, I don’t take it personally when he just responds as he does. I know he still loves me.

He’s been there for me, just like I’ve always been there for him. After my last relationship hit the fan and I caught my fiancé cheating on me with a man and said she no longer felt like being a mom in a same-sex relationship, just a few weeks before Max was born and we were supposed to gain custody of him, Chris offered to let me move in with him once Max was born.

So, that’s what we did. Max and I left Kentucky where I’d been living all through and well after college and moved to San Diego to live with my brother. The 5.5 months we were there, I looked ‘round for a job that I could use my history degree in, while also working on my last novel. After getting an offer from a museum in New York, I broke the news to Chris that Max and I would be moving to the city.

He’d been shocked at first since we were both from a small town in the mountains of Western North Carolina, and I’d sworn I’d never live in a big city. ‘Specially one in the North since it got too cold in the winter and I’d always been made fun of for my strong Southern accent. I’d explained to him that I had to do what was best for Max, that I had a son to think ‘bout now.

He’d understood after that and was willing to watch Max while I traveled back across the country to a new place, to look for a good living arrangement, and get settled in for my new job. He told me that once I got settled, he’d bring Max out and then help me get all moved in and everything. Which is what led us to tonight.

After hanging up with my brother and my son, I plug my phone up, set a few alarms, and curl up in the chair to try and get some sleep, knowing that tomorrow’s gonna be an even bigger day. All while never knowing that I was being watched by landlord peeking through a strategically placed and well-hidden hole in the wall.

When I wake up the morning, well early afternoon really, groaning and blindly reaching out for my phone to shut up the annoying alarms, I stretch and rub my eyes. I’m definitely not a morning person, and usually, get my best work done between the hours of 1 and 7 am. It’s been great since Max still hasn’t picked up on the whole sleeping through the night thing.

I finally push myself up outta the chair, my joints protesting the clearly uncomfortable position I just spent the last six hours in while curled up. Making my way to the kitchen, I get a pot of coffee going before padding back across the apartment to the bedroom and bathroom. I shoot my brother a text, letting him know that I’ll still pick him and Max up from the airport.

After my shower, and downing the entire pot of coffee, I put some music on as I start to plan how I want the apartment set up and start looking up furniture stores on my phone, even ordering a few things online to be delivered in a couple of days.. I get lost in my search, that it takes me several long minutes to notice someone’s knocking on my door.

Clicking my phone off, I tuck it in my pocket and make way to the door, opening it to find my landlord.

He and I talk for a few minutes until I suddenly realize the time.

“Oh shit! I gotta go!”

Max, my landlord, raises a brow. “Hot date tonight?”

I smile. “You could say that. I gotta go pick the love of my life up from the airport.”

I watch as Max’s face falls and he gets a sad look in his eye.

“I thought you were single?” He asks.

Scrambling to put my boots on, I reply to him. “I am. But, I still gotta pick him up.”

“Oh. Well, alright then.”

I look at him as I grab my drawstring bag that I use instead of a purse and put it on my back.

“I’ll be back soon. If you wanna come over, I’d love to introduce you. You’ll see him ‘round a lot.” I say, grabbing my key.

“Um. Maybe. I know I’ll be busy with the renovations in the other apartments. I just thought I’d stop by and check on you, see how you settling in.”

I smile and gently place my hand on his shoulder, trying my best to ignore the rush of excitement that courses through my body at the touch. My landlord is not only smoking hot, but he’s also well built and I can feel his muscles under my hand.

“Thank you, Max. I greatly appreciate it.” I say.

He just nods and stares at my hand for a moment.

“Oh...sorry.” I apologize, dropping my hand, quickly remembering how shy he is. “I’ll...uh...see you later, maybe? I’d really love for you to meet him. He’s a sweetheart.”

He shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “We’ll see how the renovations go.”

“Sounds good! Don’t work too hard!”

“I am working too hard!”

I giggle, playfully smacking his shoulder.

“Don’t do it.” I giggle.

I quickly leave after locking my door and hurry downstairs, hailing a cab and head to the airport. Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be too much traffic, which surprises me since the first I noticed when I got to the city was all the traffic. When I get there, I realize I’m still a few minutes early, so I make my way over to the gates to wait.

Nearly half an hour later, I spot my brother, holding my son, carrying only the diaper bag and a small book bag, and rush over. As soon as I reach them, I happily take my little boy in my arms, peppering his chubby little cheeks with kisses, which has him squealing happily and patting my head. I giggle and tilt my head back to look at him, despite the happy tears rolling down my cheeks.

Tapping my finger against his belly twice like I’ve done since the moment I first held him and the moment the docs told me he was deaf, I let my son know I love him. He giggles and curls his fingers ‘round mine, holding it tight. I lift my shoulder, turning my head in an attempt to wipe my tears away. Once I’ve done that, I look up at my 6’2” tall brother, grinning from ear to ear.

He just smiles and pulls me in for a hug. I lean against him since my arms are full from where I’m holding Max. Laying my head against Chris’ chest, I smile. He just hugs me a little tighter, but not too much ‘cause of Max.

“Missed you, sis.” He says.

“I fuckin’ missed you too, bro.” I reply.

He laughs and lets go of me, looking at me. “You look happy.”

“I am now! I’ve got my little boy in my arms, and you’re here. But, I’m sure you’re hungry?”

“Always am!”

I laugh. “C’mon. Let’s go get some food and head to my place. You’re really gonna love it!”

He chuckles and follows as I carry a giggling and snuggly Max outta the airport. I look up Chris.

“You’re taller. Hail a cab.” I say.

He raises a brow. “How?”

I giggle and tell him since it’s the time he’s ever had to do it. Growing up in our small town, we didn’t have taxis, and then when he moved to San Diego during my senior year of college, he already had his own car, so he didn’t have to worry ‘bout taxis out there. It doesn’t take long before one comes to a stop in front of us.

Piling in, I give the driver my new address, and we set off towards home. Well, my home. Chris and I spend the time talking while I just hold Max close, patting his butt. Right as the driver makes it to the apartment building, the air suddenly smells shitty. I know Max has pooped himself, and I soothe him before he can start crying and apologizing to the driver, giving him a decent tip.

Ushering Chris out the cab, so I can get out with Max, I shift my son in my arms.

“Don’t worry, baby boy. Mama’s gonna get you upstairs, and get you all cleaned up!” I coo, softly, my lips near his ear so that he can feel the vibrations of my voice as I talk.

Max settles down a little as he sniffles, clinging to my shirt. I kiss his head and led the way inside and up to my apartment. Shifting him once more, I dig my key out, unlock the door, and step in with Chris right behind me.

“Let me get him changed. Feel free to look around. There’s not much, but we’ll fix that tomorrow.” I say.

Chris nods and drapes the strap of the diaper bag over my shoulder. I carry Max into the bathroom and set him on the tiled floor. I keep him distracted while I change his diaper, and tap his tummy twice after buttoning his onesie and slipping his little shorts back on. He lets out a giggle, holding his hands up.

Giggling myself, I scoop him back up in my arms, tossing the dirty diaper in the small trash can as I walk out.

***

Over the next couple of weeks, Chris helps me move furniture in, get the apartment set up, takes turns with caring for Max, and even teaching me some of the new recipes he’s picked up. He’s come along way, considering that the kid used to burn cereal when he tried to make himself some when we were kids.

We take a few days, once the apartment’s set up, to explore the city. I haven’t done much sight-seeing myself since I arrived. It was mainly ‘cause I was too busy trying to find a place and everything. A few times, I spot my landlord while we’re out and about, and I try to wave him over so he can meet my son and my brother.

Especially since he never showed up the night Chris arrived. I’d been really excited to introduce them. I couldn’t explain why, other than the fact that I wanted Max to meet my son and my brother. Yet, Max never comes over. He always pulls his phone out when our eyes meet and presumably takes a call, walking in the opposite direction.

Two and a half weeks after Chris arrives in New York, Max and I take him to the airport to catch his flight back to San Diego. We stay with him till it’s time for his plane to be boarded. As he hands his ticket over, he assures him he’ll text me when he lands in California and when he gets home. I give him one last hug and lift Max’s hand in a wave.

***

After Chris leaves, Max and I settled into our normal routine. I wake up shortly after he does, get him changed and dressed for the day, and then lay him down on the living room floor for tummy time while I get to work. The position I have at the museum allows me to work from home, occasionally going in once or twice a week, with Max, to take care of some things there.

When I’m not working for the museum, I’m attempting to work on my novel. After I get done with work, I feed Max and me, before we settle on the couch with a Disney movie or one of the three Despicable Me movies playing for naptime. Even if Max can’t hear, he still loves watching the screen, giggling.

He absolutely loves the minions and squeals every time he sees them on the screen. After naptime, he and I lay on the floor for more tummy time while I try to teach him the sign language I’ve been learning. My baby brother, Eli, was also born with hearing issues, so thankfully I knew some when he was growing up, but I’ve also been teaching myself more since I found out Max was deaf.

At the end of the day, and getting some more work done, along with dinner, I give Max his bath. He’s always loved bath time, except for the few times water lands in his ears. Since it’s his favorite, I give him one every day, which doesn’t put too much strain on the water bill ‘cause Max’s baby bath is small and doesn’t take a lot of water.

When bedtime rolls ‘round, I curl up on my new bed with Max cuddled to my chest with my shirt tightly gripped in one hand and his shark blankie in the other. I rub his back and hum softly so he can feel the vibrations from it as he drifts off to sleep. We keep the routine up for the next month a half. During this time, I never talk to my landlord, not even when I go to give him the rent.

I mean, yeah, I’ll see him occasionally ‘round the building, but he doesn’t say a word. He just looks at me for a moment, before dropping his head and walking away. It breaks my heart ‘cause I want to talk to him. We had so much fun talking and goofing off the night he helped me move in. But, since that day I had to rush off to the airport, we haven’t spoken.

I just resigned myself to knowing that he obviously thinks we’re nothing more than landlord and tenant. Which, honestly, make me sad ‘cause I thought we’d have become friends. He was the first person that was actually nice to me after I moved to the city. I also tuck down the feelings of the crush on him I have.

He reminds me a lot of Papa Winchester from my favorite tv show, Supernatural, and I’ve always had the hots for the oldest Winchester. Even my ex-fiancé knew that, and she agreed. See, we’re both bisexual, but I’d always thought she was the one. Until I caught her in bed, our bed, with a man, and she’d told me what she did.

The six months after we broke up were the hardest, ‘cause I’d been ready to marry her. But it didn’t work out. And after I’d moved to New York, met my landlord Max, and realized I’d had a crush on him, I was starting to come to terms with maybe moving on. Getting back out there. I mean, I knew there’d probably be nothing more than a friendship with my landlord, but I was ok with that.

But, I don’t even have that anymore. I sigh to myself, urging my thoughts to go down a different road, as I pull the clothes out the dryer. Just as I finish pulling the last few clothes outta the dryer, I hear whimpering. I listen for a moment to try and figure out where the sound’s coming from so I can go get my son.

After a moment, and the realization that the sound of whimpers is coming from the falls, I try to tone down the feeling of panic that’s quickly spreading through my body. Max started crawling shortly after we moved here, and I know he’s been exploring the apartment. I just hope he hasn’t gotten himself stuck somewhere.

I quickly leave the clothes on the dryer and walk further into the apartment, closer to the sound of the whimpers.

“Max? Honey? Don’t worry, ok? Mama’s coming to get you.”

I call out, without thinking ‘bout the fact that my son’s deaf. I call the words out based on instinct and the need to assure my son that he’s gonna be ok. I follow the noise, getting closer to the kitchen and my eyes widen. Did I forget to put the baby gate up so he couldn’t get in there? When I reach the kitchen and realize that I did indeed forget to put the baby gate, my heart drops to my stomach.

“Fuck!”

I step into the pantry where the sounds of the whimpers are louder and look ‘round. I don’t see my son anywhere. Then I hear the whimpers again and realize that they’re coming from the other side of the wall. I gently push against the right wall, to give myself leverage, as I keep looking, thinking there’s no way that the whimpers are coming from the walls.

My eyes widen as the wall shifts a little with my touch, and they nearly pop outta their sockets when I realize the wall isn’t just a wall. It’s a door that’s already slightly open. My heart starts beating faster as I realize that there’s a slight chance that Max could’ve crawled in here, and through the small opening.

I take in a shaky breath as I push the door open enough for my small frame to fit through. Once I’m through, I notice two things from the get-go. One, the whimpers get louder. Two, the door leads to what looks like an old set of maintenance hallways. I know older buildings used to have them, so it makes sense that this building would have ‘em too.

I just never really put the thought into asking or caring if the building had them. I make my way deeper into the hidden hallways, being careful not to trip or hit my head on anything. Keeping my eyes peeled for my son, I get closer to the sound of the whimpers until I finally reach the source. My eyes widen when I see who’s making the sounds.

“Max?” I ask, softly, getting closer.

My landlord doesn’t even look up as he flinches at the sound of my voice. He just whimpers and bites harder into his wrist.

My heart breaks and I crouch down next to him, gently taking his hand and pulling his wrist from the tight grip his teeth have on it.

“Max? Honey, it’s ok. You’re safe.” I murmur.

He whimpers a little more and hides his face. I immediately realize what’s going on. He’s having a panic attack, and it looks to be a bad one. Rubbing my thumb across his knuckles, I lean closer to him, gently wrapping my arms ‘round the slightly older man, and pull him close to me. I reach a hand up and run my fingers through his hair, softly and silently convincing him to lay his head on my chest.

I soothe him, calm him, and help him relax ‘nough that he slowly eases outta the panic attack. Not stopping my fingers as they continue to run through his hair, I start humming softly. I know panic attacks are one of the worst things to go through. Especially all alone. It takes several minutes, but I eventually feel Max relax, sagging against me as the panic attack leaves him.

Even though he’s outta it, I continue to run my fingers through his dark curls.

“Better?” I ask softly.

He nods, just a quick, subtle little jerk of his head against my chest, but it’s still a nod.

“Will you come back to my apartment with me? I wanna take a look at your arm. You bit down on it pretty hard.” I explain after he looks at me with uncertainty swirling in his muddy water brown eyes.

He takes a deep breath but nods again. I smile.

“That’s a good boy. C’mon. We’ll get you all fixed up.” I say, not sounding patronizing, but rather motherly.

I smile to myself as a light blush covers his cheeks at my words. I gently pat his shoulder before we stand up. As I lead him back through the maintenance hallways to the door that leads into my pantry, I notice other little holes in the wall, discreetly checking them out. When I realize they show off different points of my apartment, I raise a brow but don’t say a word.

After peeking through one of the holes, I see Max, my son, sleeping peacefully in his little playpen and let out a soft breath of relief, remembering that I’d laid him in there when I went to do laundry. I hold my landlord’s hand the entire time we walk through the hallways if nothing more than to keep him calm.

When Max and I get to the door leading to the pantry, he suddenly stops, jerking me to a stop too since I wasn’t expecting it and had been leading him by the hand. I turn ‘round and look at him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, confused.

“The love of your life? Where’s he at?” He asks after, nervously, after a moment.

I smile. “He’s sleeping, in the other room. It’s ok.”

I watch as more hesitation and uncertainty fill Max’s eyes. I give his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hey. It’s ok. He won’t mind you being in there. He gets a bit protective over me, but I just know he’s gonna love you.” I assure him.

“I...I don’t think so...guys typically don’t like me. Neither do girls. I’m a loner.” He mumbles, looking at his feet while flicking his thumb against his finger on his other hand.

“Max?”

He lifts his head, looking at me. “Hmm?”

“Trust me. He’s gonna love you.”

He shrugs. “Nah. He won’t. ‘Specially not since he has you.”

“Hey. Stop doubting yourself, ok? He’s gonna love you ‘cause I like you.”

“You...you like me?”

I smile and nod. “I do. And you’d know that if you hadn’t been avoiding me since I had to leave so quickly to get to the airport.”

A small smile tugs on his lips. “You’ve been busy.”

“I’m never too busy for you, Max. Now, c’mon. Let’s get your wrist all cleaned up, then you meet the person who stole my heart with just one look. And, he’s gonna steal yours too.”

I giggle and gently squeeze his hand as he looks nervous. I lead him into my apartment from the pantry, and into the living room.

“Have a seat on the couch, ok? I’m just gonna go grab the first aid kit. Don’t try and leave. I’ll follow you and kick your door down if you do.” I playfully threaten. “I don’t mess around with first aid.”

Thankfully, it gets a chuckle outta him and he takes a seat on the couch, holding his hands up in surrender. I grin and head to my bathroom to grab the first aid kit. Walking back through my bathroom, I stop by the playpen, lean down and kiss my son’s head, covering him up more with his shark blankie.

Watching him for a moment, I smile to myself and head back to the living room. Max is still in the same spot he was when I left him a moment ago, but this time, he has his hands on his lap as he picks at the bite mark on his wrist. I gently slap his hand away.

“Stop that, mister. You’ll do more damage than what you’ve already done.” I say, kneeling on the floor in front of him, between his knees.

He raises a brow and mutters a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

“Good boy. Now hold your hand out so I can look at it.”

He blushes a little but does as I ask. Gently taking his arm in my grasp, I inspect the self-inflicted bite mark on his wrist. After cleaning it with some alcohol wipes and putting Neosporin on it, I gently wrap some gauze ‘round his wrist and tape it so it stays in place. Without thinking ‘bout it, I place a gentle kiss on over the wrapped wound.

It’s outta habit that I do it since I do it whenever my son gets a boo-boo. I hear Max suck in a deep breath and my eyes jerk up to meet his. His bottom lip is captured between his impossibly white teeth and his cheeks are a shade pinker than they were before.

“I...I’m sorry. It’s outta habit that I do that.” I mutter, trying to explain as quickly as I can.

“I...it’s fine. I’ve just never had anyone do that before.” He mumbles.

I raise a brow. “Your mama never kissed your boo-boos?”

His eyes get that sad, lost look in his eyes. He pulls his arm outta my grasp and, not answering, he walks over to the window. I sit back on my ankles, packing the first aid kid up.

“Max...I’m sorry. I didn’t...you don’t have to talk ‘bout it.” I say quietly.

He just sighs and stares out the window, not saying a word.

“My…” He starts, still staring out the window. “My parents died when I was 10. My grandfather, August, he’s the one who raised me.”

I stand and gently pad over to him. “I’m so sorry, Max. I didn’t know. I didn’t think before I asked that.”

He glances at me then looks back out the window. Without thinking, and just doing it, I wrap my arms ‘round his waist and lay my head against his chest. He tenses up immediately at my touch.

“What...what are you doing?” He asks.

I tilt my head back to look up at him. “It’s called a hug. It’s supposed to be comforting. I can stop if it makes you too uncomfortable.”

I watch as his facial expression changes with several different emotions before a smile finally settles on his lips.

“Nah. It’s not too uncomfortable. I’m just not used to this.” He says after a few moments.

“This?” I ask.

He nods. “Hugs. I can’t even remember the last time I had one.”

I tighten my arms ‘round him and lay my head back on his chest. I feel his arms slowly make their way ‘round me, loosely holding me close, and I smile.

“Whenever you want one, just come to me and I’ll happily give you one.” I say. “I’m not really much of a hugger, but with you, it just feels right, so you can have a hug whenever.”

“Really?” He asks.

I nod against his chest. “Mmhhmm.”

“Thanks...but...what ‘bout...the love of your life? Is he ok with you giving random men hugs?”

I giggle and look up at him. “You’re not a random man, but yes. He’d be ok with me giving you hugs. He loves them, so he’ll probably try and give you one too.”

“Um…” He hesitates, slowly dropping his arms. “I dunno how I feel ‘bout your man giving me hugs.”

I giggle. “You’ll change your mind when you meet him.”

“I dunno.”

“I do! Stay here. I’ll bring him out to you.”

“Ummm…”

I giggle and lean up to kiss his cheek. “Just wait here.”

He swallows deeply, making his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Ok.”

“Good boy.”

I giggle and leave him in the living as I walk into the other room where I know my son is. Reaching into the playpen, I scoop him up, making him giggle. I heard him cooing to himself a few moments ago, so that’s how I knew he was awake. I kiss his cheeks and gently tap his tummy twice. He makes a happy noise and snuggles to me.

I smile and hold him close as I walk back out to the living room. Max is looking out the window again, this time, though, he’s got his arms wrapped ‘round his torso, almost like he’s giving himself a hug. I giggle softly and make my way over to him.

“Max?”

He lifts his head and turns his gaze from the river to me. His eyes widen as he sees my son in my arms. Shock, confusion, and another emotion flash across his face.

“Who? Who’s that?” He asks.

“Max, this is the love of my life. My son.” I say, grinning from ear to ear.

“Your son? Love of your life?”

I giggle and nod. “Mmhhmm. I adopted him when he was born. I can’t have kids myself, and my ex-fiancé and I had talked ‘bout adopting. So, we decided to do it. Found out that this little guy’s mama was putting him up for adoption before he was even born. Then, just before he was born, my ex-fiancé and I split. I still adopted this little monkey and it’s just been he and I against the world since.”

“But...that man...who was here...was that your former fiancé?”

I giggle and shake my head. “No! That was my oldest younger brother, Chris. He’d been watching Max for me while I got settled in the city. After I moved in here, I called him, and he brought my son out here and helped me get furniture and whatnot. I really wanted you to meet him while he was here...but you kept getting phone calls…”

“Your brother?”

I smile and nod. “He’s the oldest of my two brothers, and I’m the oldest of all the kids.”

“Oh…”

I giggle. “Yea.”

“Those phone calls...they weren’t actually phone calls.”

I raise a brow. “You mean to tell me you faked ‘em just so you wouldn’t have to come over?”

He looks down, nodding. “You just seemed so happy with him. I thought y’all were together and that the kid was y’all’s. It…” He shakes his head, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

“Max, I wasn’t lying when I told you I was single the first night I spent here. But I also didn’t tell you that there is a guy I like.”

“Oh...well...I don’t wanna meet him…”

I giggle. “Too late. You already have.”

He frowns. “I have?”

Nodding, I grin and take his hand. “C’mon. I’ll show you who he is.”

“I don’t wanna…”

“Tooooo bad, mister.”

I giggle and lead him to the bathroom, standing him in front of the mirror as I stand next to him, holding my son.

“I thought you were showing me someone I don’t wanna see.” He says, his voice quiet.

“I am. Tell me who you see.” I say, grinning.

“Me. I see me, you, and your son.”

“Exactly. So, you see the guy I have a crush on.”

“Isn’t that a little weird to have a crush on your son?”

I giggle. “Yea. So, it’s a good thing he’s not who I have crush on.”

His brows furrow in confusion and I giggle and gently turn him to face me.

“You’re adorable.” I say.

“How?” He asks, confused even more.

“You’re just not getting it, are you?”

He shakes his head. “No?”

“Max, you’re the guy I like.”

“Me?”

Nodding, I smile. “You.”

I watch as he gets the cutest, dimpled smile on his face, making me giggle more. He blushes and ducks his head down for a moment before looking at me.

“You really like me?” He asks, softly.

“Mmhhmm. I do. I just thought you didn’t like me since you kept ignoring me.” I say.

“I was just trying to distance myself...I thought you were with that guy, who’s actually your brother...I thought he was your ex-fiancé that you’d mentioned that first night...that you’d taken him back.”

I giggle. “Oh, Max. My ex-fiancé was a woman. Who cheated on me with a man. In our own bed.”

His eyes widen. “You were with a girl? But...you like me?”

“I’m what you’d call bisexual. I play for both teams. I like guys and girls.”

“Oh!” He lets out a soft chuckle. “So...what’s this mean? For us?”

I giggle. “It means, that I’d like to date you. If you want that.”

He grins, making his dimples show more. “I’d...I’d like that.”

“Me too! We just have to get someone’s permission first.”

“Permission? From?”

I smile and turn my son ‘round to face him. “Max here has to approve first. I have to think of him now, especially when it comes to relationships.”

Max nods and looks at my son, then back at me. “Wait. His name’s Max?”

I smile. “Maxwell Dean Sullivan. Sometimes, though, I’ll call him Deaf.” (Deef.)

“Why?”

“Oh. He’s deaf.”

“Oh!”

I smile and nod then look down at my son as he wiggles in my arms, reaching out for Max. I giggle and gently hold him out, waiting for him to take him. Max gently, and somewhat nervously, takes my little boy, and cradles him.

“Awww! You’re like a pro!” I grin.

“I’m not gonna lie. I’m scared shitless. He’s so small.” He whispers.

I giggle. “You’re also really big. Max and I are both small compared to you. And you help me close and gently.”

This gets a soft chuckle from my landlord and he visibly relaxes, shifting Max so he’s a little more comfortable. My son giggles and reaches up, patting Max’s cheeks, squealing at the feeling of the short beard tickling his tiny palms. I smile and lean against the mirror, watching them.

“I think Deaf likes you.” I say.

“Yea? You really think so?” Max looks up and he visibly tenses as he soon as he sees me leaning against the mirror. “Don’t lean against that. Please.”

I raise a brow, but step away from the mirror. “Why not?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t, Max. It seems like a sturdy mirror. Plus, the wall behind it keeps it up.”

He lowers his gaze and hands my son back to me, much to my son’s protests and my own confusion.

“I...I should go...just please don’t lean against the mirror.” Max says quietly and turns to leave.

I reach a hand out and curl my fingers ‘round his upper arm.

“Hey. Stop. You don’t have to go.” I say.

He nods. “I do. There’s stuff you don’t know ‘bout me...I’m not a good man…”

I raise a brow. “Max. Aside from ignoring me for the last several weeks, we’ve still been good to me. You are a good man. I know you are.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but can’t help.”

A thought hits me and I look up at him. “You mean the holes in the walls? That allows someone to peep through into my apartment?”

His face pales and I get my answer. I reach up and cup his cheek.

“Max. It’s ok. I saw him when I was leading you back to my place to fix your wrist. The walls...they’re your safe place, aren’t they?” I ask, softly.

“It’s quiet in there. I like the silence.” He mumbles, closing his eyes. “I can watch...and it calms me.”

“Have you watched me?”

He swallows deeply. “I tried not to...but I…”

“Shhh. It’s ok, Max. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

“No. I’m not. Some might think it’s creepy, but in a way, it’s like you’re watching over, protecting me. Me and Deaf.”

“I...I didn’t think of that.”

I smile and tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. “It helps you stay calm, watching me?”

He nods. “I can’t hear the voices…”

“What voices?”

“The ones telling me…” He shudders.

“Breathe, Max. It’s ok. What do they tell you?”

“That I’m a coward. A pervert. A creep.”

His reply is so quiet I almost don’t hear it. But I do. I place my palm back against his cheek.

“Is that why you bit your wrist earlier?” I ask softly.

He nods. “To make them shut up.”

“Well, you don’t have to do it alone anymore, ok? I’ll tell those voices to shut up too.”

He opens his eyes and looks at me, unsure.

“I will.” I assure him.

“But...why?” His child-like voice breaks my heart.

“Because, they’re lying to you, Max. The things they tell you, they’re not true. You’re not a creep. Not a pervert. And you are definitely not a coward.”

“But...I am.”

“No, Max. You’re not. You’re not any of those. You’re just a man who needs someone to show him what it’s like to be loved. You didn’t have a good childhood. Losing your parents, and having your grandfather raise you. But you survived. You grew up. You coped with everything thrown your way in the ways that you knew how. You’re a survivor, Max. And, that alone makes you the furthest thing from being a creep and a coward. As for being a pervert, I don’t think you’re that either.”

He doesn’t say a word, but he leans into my touch more.

“How do you know?” He asks after a few minutes.

“I know, because I can tell you’re not. Believe me, I grew up ‘round ‘nough perverts to know that’s not you. You’re nothing like them. That’s how I know.” I whisper.

“You still like me?” He lifts his eyes to meet mine.

“I do, Max. And, I’m gonna show you what it’s like to be loved. We’ll get there. And Deaf here, this little boy in my arms, he’ll show you too. I told you he’d love you when he met you.”

“He does?”

I smile and nod. “He doesn’t reach out to just anyone. It took him months just to go to my brother. But it took him maybe 5 minutes to go to you. And, kids are usually really good judges of character. Just like dogs. So, I can assure you he doesn’t think you’re anything like what the voices tell you.”

He nods slowly and looks down at the little boy in my arms.

“He is cute.” He mumbles.

I giggle. “Damn right he is! He’s my son.”

Max chuckles softly. “That’s true. But...you’re not cute.”

I raise a brow and look at him. “That’s not exactly the best thing to say to your new girlfriend.”

He grins. “Girlfriend? I like the sound of that...but you’re not cute. You’re beautiful.”

I blush. “So are you. Ain’t you can’t argue with me. The girlfriend’s always right.”

He laughs softly. “Is that so?”

“Mmhhmm! Now. I believe there’s a little boy who wants to be held by you.”

He smiles and kisses my palm before standing up straight and gently taking Max from my arms, holding him close.

“As for the mirror, Max. We’ll just board up the other side.” I say, getting the picture, from his reaction, that it’s one of those mirrors like police station interrogation rooms have. “And, you won’t have to go back into the tunnels anymore. You have me and Max now. We’ll be here for you.”

He swallows deeply and nods. “Promise?”

“I promise promise, Max. But, know that if you ever cheat on me, I’ll cut your dick and balls off.”

His eyes widen as he nods. “I...I wouldn’t do that to you.”

I smile. “Good. And I wouldn’t do it to you either.”

He lets out a breath of relief. “So...does this mean...that I have a family?”

I smile. “Yes, Max. It does. We’re your family now, and you’re our family.”

#Deaf #Max (The Resident 2011) One-Shot #Max Fluff #Max Angst #Max gets a happy ending #The Resident (2011) Fluff #The Resident (2011) Angst

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1000roughdrafts · 5 years

Text

Little Tree (part 2)

Summary: Being a sheriff in a small town, you were surprised when a body was found, making it the first murder in over 50 years. The alarm bells really went off when the FBI showed up as quick as they did. Despite your initial thoughts, you were lucky that they had.

A/N: written for @spnclassicbingo and the final part of this mini series (cause mobile apparently has a limit) and also, I could fill two squares so why not right? Lol. Any mistakes are mostly me, partly my phone :p

Square Filled: silver bullet

Warnings: slight angst, maybe some suspense, talk of dead body, shooting a werewolf, Sam and Dean to the rescue!! some cussing I think. sad,shocked, scared reader. This one has some ups and downs. Oh, and possible OOC Dean and Sam.

Word Count: 3.4k

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and even more so it was never her intention to fall asleep on a stack of reports in the chair of her home office. Nonetheless, she sat up blinking her eyes slowly as she wiped the drool from her chin and cheek.

She could tell by the moonlight that poured into her window that it was somewhere between twelve and three in the morning, just late enough to justify a gin and tonic. Mixing the drink her mind began to wander.

Flashes of the woman that lied on the autopsy table popped into her mind. She used her eyelids as if it were the ‘skip’ button on a VCR, pressing them down violently when the pictures portrayed in her mind, hoping that she could rid herself of the image.

“Who could do something so terrible?” she cried under her breath, taking a long swig of the drink before bowing her head. She slammed the cup into the counter and pressed her palms against it to hold herself up while she allowed herself to cry for the first time.

After a long, nearly sleepless night of deep thought, she wrestled with the blankets in her bed before standing.

Anger flowed through her every time the image of that poor woman filled her mind, and while she knew she couldn’t let her emotions get in the way it was a difficult task to ask if anyone. The more she thought about how quickly the so-called ‘agents’ had arrived, the less it made sense to her. She quickly gathered her items and sped to the station, heading straight for Deputy March’s desk.

“Mornin’ Sheriff,” she chirped.

“Morning. Any word on the press’ knowledge of this case?”

“Yep,” she said, turning the screen of her computer towards Y/N. “This was posted about a couple hours after the body was found,” she said softly. “Sunshine News is notorious around here for being nosy pricks.”

“I’m aware,” Y/N said, slightly agitated.

“I’m just saying that they probably have people spying on the station at all hours to be the first to get a good story.”

“You might be right about that,” Y/N said, heading back to her desk and pulling the phone, dialing the number on the card that remained where they’d placed it.

It rang a few times before anyone picked up.Y/N cleared her throat when she heard the hello on the other end. “Agent Burg? Could you and your partner come over to the precinct? There’s some things I’d like to discuss with y’all,” she tried her best to sound nice and professional despite her plans if they arrived.

When she ended the call, she ran over to Deputy Scholts’ desk. “Hey, get the interrogation room ready,” she whispered. “I need cameras set up, handcuffs available if need be and a couple deputy’s set up outside if I need ‘em.” She spoke so quickly and quietly that the deputy was too shocked to say anything in response. Tapping on the desk a few times, she increased her tone, “now. Come on, let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, scooting the chair back and jogging to the edge of the station to follow orders.

Y/N put the smile back on her face as she awaited for her suspects by the door, tapping her feet as she watched out the window.

Her heart was thumping loudly in her chest, getting louder as the two men parked onto the street. She took a few deep breaths as she watched them walk up the steps.

“Hello gentlemen,” she said, her voice quivering.

“Are you all right, sheriff?” Sam asked, picking up on the shaking in her vocals. It was only clear to her then how much taller and stronger they were than she, but she refused to let on how afraid that made her.

“Yes, thank you. Just want to talk about a few things, if you’ll follow me this way.”

They obliged, which made her feel a tad guilty for not reading them their rights then and there. But with someone as gruesome as this she couldn’t take the chance of them running off to hurt someone else.

She picked up her folder of pictures, documents and reports as she lead them to the interrogation rooms. Splitting them up was the optimal choice, but she struggled in deciding how to do it.

She landed on taking the shorter one, allowing Deputy Scholts to take the other, “Dean, why don’t follow me in here for a moment?” She asked, putting on the brightest smile she could muster up.

The men looked at each other with wide eyes as they realized what was happening.

“Woah, woah, you’re not- you’re not arresting us, are you?” Dean asked, hands up and face cramped.

“No,” she nervously laughed. “Just wanted to chat, like I said. Sam, if you wouldn’t mind following Agent Scholts into the room just over there, I’d greatly appreciate it,” she said, smiling again.

As their breathing picked up, Sam and Dean looked behind them in hope of escaping. But by now, the other deputies in the precinct had blocked the way. Sam’s shoulders dropped down as he sighed and followed Deputy Scholts into the room.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Y/N asked as Dean took a seat across from her.

“Uh, jack and coke if you got it,” he smirked.

Y/N forced out a short laugh, “unfortunately not.” She inhaled a deep breath, “now, Dean. I did some digging on you and your brother. I know what your childhood was like-“

“You don’t know shit about my childhood, my brother or me,” she nearly shouted. “You’re looking in the wrong place, lady,” he said, rolling his eyes as he slouched back in the chair.

Y/N leaned forward slightly to accommodate the difference. “Okay, so help me out. Where should I be looking?”

“Why should I?”

“Well if you don’t want to go to jail, I-“

“You don’t have anything on us,” he sneered. “The only reason I’m sitting right here is that we’re from outta town and you got no one else to blame. Right?”

“Partly true. It’s a little weird that you show up the day of the murder. What is it? You two just peruse around the states, pretending to be agents, looking to fill this sick desire to, I don’t know… study death or something?”

Dean laughed, causing her to sit back a bit. “No, no. Look, lady, I’ve seen it thousands of times by now. Believe me, this isn’t my first time being interrogated and I’m sure it’s not my last,” he chuckled. “Your victim? She wasn’t killed by a human. The things that filled your nightmares when you were a kid? Hate to break it to you, but they’re real, they’re out there and I’m the guy that puts a stop to it.”

He was nearly yelling again, the veins in his neck poking out as he kept his eyes firmly on Y/N’s. She pondered his words for a moment. He was far too emotional to be lying, she thought.

“Why?” she said, trying to refrain from smiling.

“What?” he spat. “You believe me?”

“Not saying I believe you,” she said in a breath, leaning forward and planting her elbows on the table. “Just want to know why.”

“Because no one else will. You think cause you’re the sheriff of this dinky town you could figure out what happened to that poor girl and come out of it alive?” He shook his head, “I’d bet money the DNA you get back from under her nails isn’t human, but I’m not sitting in here, waiting for that day to come.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. Had she not seen the victim herself she wouldn’t believe him, but she knew deep down that something was amidst. Something inside of her told her that there was at least a grain of truth to what she was saying. “Can you prove it to me?”

He shook his head slightly, eyes squinted in disbelief. “What?”

“Prove it to me. Prove that this was some… unnatural being and I’ll let you go.”

He shook his head once more, bringing a hand to scratch just above his eyebrow. “I can’t do that without putting you in danger.”

The laugh that came from her seemed to jump out unexpectedly, “you think I’d be working this job if I was trying to stay out of harm's way?”

Without giving him time to respond, Y/N stood from her chair and walked with her head held high into the other room just in time to see Deputy Scholts standing to Sams side. Y/N decided to watch for a moment, soaking in Sams reaction before requesting the deputy leave the room.

“Why did you kill her?” He shouted, unintentionally spitting at Sam, who remained calm.

“I didn’t,” he said softly yet reassuringly, but the agitation was visible on his face.

“Deputy,” Y/N called, “I’ll take it from here. Go keep an eye on the other for a moment, will you?” She smiled.

“Y/N, I know it all looks but you have to believe me when I say we’re the good guys here,” he stammered, pleasing as if his life depended on it.

Y/N coasted to the chair, waiting for the deputy to vacate before speaking. As soon as the door shut behind him, she focused on Sam, “elaborate.”

Sam let out a long sigh. His eyes scanned around the bland room in annoyance as he sat back in the chair. “Dean and I,” he paused, letting out another frustrated breath. “We’re brothers, and we kind of do what you do, but instead of people committing crimes it’s- its, well in this case a werewolf,” he said, slamming his hands against the table as if to put emphasis on the words.

His eyes went wide after noticing she hadn’t even flinched. She smiled as she stood from the table and called out of the door at the Deputy to release Dean.

“Follow me, gentlemen,” she said, leading them down the hallway and back into the lobby of the office. She turned just slightly to see them in peripheral, making sure they were still behind her as she walked back into the autopsy room.

“Before yesterday,” she whispered, closing the door behind them. “I never would have believed a word out of either of you, and you’d both be thrown into that cell so fast you’d have bruises on your heads,” she said as she walked towards the table to pull out the woman’s body.

“But I’ve done detective work outside of the small town, you see. I’ve had my fair share of homicide cases, and to be honest with you, it’s why I moved here, to get away from the city. These kinds of things…” the volume of voice was diluted by the images of the horror she’d seen in her years working in a big city.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment to regain composure. When she opened them, Sam held a soft gaze on her while Dean stood understandably stoic.

“Those images don’t ever leave your mind,” she said softly. “I’ve never, in my twenty years of police work, seen this kind of case before, which leads me to believe your tellin’ the truth.” She strolled towards the woman, pulling the sheet back carefully. “I was combing through the pictures and files from this case last night and noticed that she’s got hair under her nails, too. Well, more like animal fur. I did some googling and what came up was on par with what y’all are saying.” She shook her head, “there’s claw marks right here around where the creature would have ripped out the heart, and the scratches on her face and body are congruent with an animal attack.”

“So you googled a few things and all of a sudden you’re on board with the werewolves exist train?” Dean asked dubiously raising an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t say I’m on board, but I’m willing to entertain the idea, yes,” she nodded, blinking slowly.

Dean couldn’t help but to laugh, the whole thing was crazier than he imagined it to be. “I’ll be honest with you, Sheriff, I’m happy we’re not under arrest anymore, but I gotta say - I’m not fully understanding the complete 180 here.”

“I -“ she started, running her hand down her arm. “I saw some things as a kid. Things you don’t forget. I always thought it was just my imagination until this case came in.” She bowed her head down, closing her eyes. “Last night… I, again, thought it was just my imagination or some kids playing a prank, but I saw a... creature outside of my window. The thing was huge, almost looked like how one would imagine Bigfoot to look like.” She sighed, “I’d had a bit to drink, so I just decided to head to bed, but woke up this morning to scratch marks on my back door.”

She glanced out of the window on the door to be sure no one else had eyes on their conversation and stepped a bit closer to the men, “you don’t think this thing is coming after me next, do you?”

Sam and Dean exchanged another glance before Sam spoke out, shaking his head, “not if we can help it,” he said.

—-

Hours after the three had left the station, the sun was setting on Little Tree. The Winchester’s and Y/N set up shop in her two bedroom cabin in the woods, making sure they were fully prepared to stop the werewolf before it could kill again.

Y/N couldn’t help but to pace along her dining room floor, the heels of her shoes clicking with each anxiety fueled step.

“Would you knock it off? You’re blowing my concentration,” Dean gasped, holding a rifle to his side.

“Sorry I’ve never had to deal with this before,” she said sourly, rolling her eyes slightly.

“Well hopefully you will never have to again,” Sam said, rubbing her back softly.

“How do we kill it?”

“Silver bullet to the heart,” Dean said nonchalantly as he peaked through the blinds of the window. As he walked back over to Y/N and Sam he raised his eyebrows, “look, this thing is not gonna just walk straight in here to get killed. Our best bet is to have someone outside, make it think they’re alone,” he said in a matter of fact tone, keeping his eyes glued to Y/N.

“We’re not using her as bait,” Sam said under his breath, taking a step towards Dean.

Dean flopped his hands against his side, “what else are we gonna do? Wait for it to kill again?”

“It’s fine,” Y/N spoke out. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been used as bait,” she chuckled softly, trying to ignore her rapid heartbeat. “I can do this.”

Nodding slowly, Sam pressed his eyebrows together before dumping a few silver bullets into her hand. “We’ll be right behind you,” he said.

Y/N closed her eyes tightly, remembering how horrific the creature had treated the woman. It pained her to even think about, but she knew she needed the anger to help overcome the fear. With a shaking hand she pulled her gun from her belt and inserted the bullets that Sam had given her.

Without so much as a word, she nodded to the men before taking slow steps out of her back door, stowing the gun back into the holster. She focused on her breathing in an effort to slow her heart rate. Saliva was building up in her mouth quicker than she could swallow it causing her anxiety to escalate.

Every movement in the trees from the wind was a threat. Every sway of branches sounded like footsteps. She kept a hand resting on her pistol and the other holding the flashlight.

The seconds we’re moving agonizingly slow, and no matter what she did she couldn’t relax until she knew the creature was dead. Another branch crunched, and that time she knew it wasn’t the wind. She flipped around hastily, drawing her weapon and looking in all directions.

Behind her, another twig snapped and in that moment, so did she. She wasn’t sure what came over her, but she had had enough.

“Come on!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “I know you’re out here. Come and get me!” She screamed again, no longer shaking out of fear but of anger.

Another snap, this one closer. She held tightly onto the gun, flipping around in all directions as her eyes squinted in search for the monster.

In the distance, she heard what sounded like two people running through the crisp leaves left over from fall, assuming that the Winchester’s were following her harrowing screams.

She wanted to curse at them, she wasn’t ready for help, but the distraction of their untiring with her was enough for the monster to take its chance.

As her back was turned to the woods, she felt bristly arms wrap around her torso. They yanked her back swiftly, causing her to drop the gun. She hadn’t a moment to think about anything.

Even in the silence of night, the soft whispers of the wind and creaming is the branches was replaced with a ringing in her ears. It was like time as at a standstill. She could just barely hear herself screaming as her feet dragged in the dirt.

When she caught her senses, she flailed about. If she was going to be taken, much like the victim from before, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. She continued to scream, kicking her legs and wiggling her arms as much as she could to free herself. She figured it must have angered the being, because her dropped her onto the ground but he didn’t leave.

Instead, he stood motionless for a moment and followed by a grunt he fell right on top of her. She hadn’t noticed the blood until the Winchester’s lifted the monster off of her and helped her to her feet. She knew that they were saying things to her, but she couldn’t tell what.

Whether it was adrenaline or fear, the ringing was slowly being overtaken by a tremor. When she was able to hear again, it seemed magnified.

Dean propped her up in a chair on her back porch. She covered her ears as his voice was growing too loud. It all had become too much.

Tears rained down her cheeks as she shook her head, “stop yelling at me,” she cried.

Dean sighed and dropped to her level, taking her hands in his own, “are you okay?” he asked much quieter than before.

She could only nod her head, she would need a moment or a thousand to get over what she just endured. The tears continued to pour as the Winchester’s inspected her body for wounds.

After finding nothing more than a few scratch marks, Sam scurried inside to grab a blanket and find something for her to drink.

She had calmed down quite a bit when he came back to wrap the blanket around her. He knelt down to her level, holding the cup of ice water by her knee.She anxiously chuckled, taking the drink in her hand and setting it on the table beside her.

As she stood, she sluggishly walked towards the door, “I’m gonna need something stronger than this after the hell I just went through.”

Sam laughed sympathetically, following her into the kitchen as she reached into the cupboards for alcohol. Without saying a word she mixed three drinks, handing one to Sam. With a soft smile she handed the other to Dean, “here’s that jack and coke you requested earlier,” chuckling softly.

He cracked a small smile, taking the glass in hand and opening his mouth to speak.

“I appreciate what you guys have done tonight, and I’m sorry for accusing you.”

“Like I said, you wouldn’t be the first and you won’t be the last,” Dean shrugged taking a sip.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “You know, I don’t know how you guys do this, but… I guess I’m glad you do.”

“Years of practice,” Dean smirked, glancing at Sam.

After a few moments of silence and a couple more drinks, Sam places a hand on her arm. “We’ll stay with you as long as you need to feel safe, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “I’ll be fine. You guys have lives to save.”

“So do you,” Dean smiled, taking back the rest of his drink.

After double checking the perimeter, the Winchester’s said their goodbyes to the woman whose life will never be the same. Although she vowed to never doubt the existence of the supernatural, she hoped that she’d never have to experience a night like that ever again.

#spnclassicbingo #supernatural #supernatural fandom #dean winchester #spn #spnfandom #spnfamily #supernatural fan fic #sam winchester #spn fanfic #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #sam and dean winchester #supernatural x y/n

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i-want-my-iwtv · 6 years

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Lestat, Louis is a sad sack of a man and doesn’t really seem to be worth loving. Ok so he’s “beautiful” that’s not enough to make a relationship last. Why is Louis worth loving?

//ooc: This is another fairly old ask, from November, 2017. I think anon was trying to rile Lestat by calling Louis “a sad sack of a man and doesn’t really seem to be worth loving.” Limiting him to just being “beautiful.” And while it is fun to rile Lestat and see how he reacts, idk… I was kind of taken aback by this and I had too many thoughts about it to have Lestat respond flippantly, which he would have. I think Lestat either gets defensive about loving Louis, or just dismisses these kinds of comments, one less person for him to compete with for Louis’ attention, lol.

TL;DR: I think when ppl ask that, part of where they may be coming from is that THEY feel like a “sad sack” who’s maybe not worth being loved, especially by the main character in a series, a flashy glittery murder machine. They worry that even if they’re loved for being “beautiful” that that really isn’t enough for a relationship, and that’s absolutely true, if we’re defining beauty as superficial characteristics. The beauty of Louis, to me, is in his character, and the emotions of the scene.

I’ve written a lot about what draws me, as a reader, to love Louis, probably the best stuff is in my #we appreciate and love louis in this house tag. But I’ll try not to go overboard and answer you here, anyway!

I think the deal with describing Louis as *~SO beautiful~* is partly that, hey, it’s fun to do, like having a favorite flower, and AR takes the opportunity to remind us of it, and put the camera on him in a scene, so we know he’s present. It also serves a purpose, we usually get at least a scrap of context about him and/or the scene:

“I glared at him, at the sharp graceful angles of his imperturbable face, […] his wide-set eyes, with their fine rich black lashes. How perfect the tender indentation of his upper lip.” -Lestat, The Tale of the Body Thief

^Let’s take this line and unpack it a little:

Lestat glares at Louis. –> Lestat is clearly pissed.

Louis’ imperturbable face –> Louis is not scared of Lestat being pissed.

And then Lestat lavishes this extra description on him, appreciatively. Attention on the lip area, now we’re picturing him pointedly staring there, which might precede a kiss, so we can infer that Lestat desperately wants to kiss him, probably. What I get from all that is the exquisite tension of Lestat wanting someone he can’t have, someone he treasures and wants even MORE bc of the difficulty.

It’s the tension of Lestat and other characters pining for Louis that AR wrings every drop out for us, she’s showing us how helpless these other characters are that they can only try to capture Louis with descriptions since he defies being owned by anyone. Unrequited love is a powerful thing.

Bringing these back, in case anyone else missed them and want to indulge in some Louis praise/discussion:

The first anon in this series: Honestly I can’t believe how gay everyone was for Louis ask and my response

“Louis rant” anon here.

A recent Louis canon hair fanart and commentary

Reply to an anon re: “fanon has cast Louis as a beautiful, frail flower destined and carried by Lestat’s will”

Anon grateful for “that whole “gay for Louis” ask reminded me of how much I love Louis” and my invitation to anyone to send rants about loving Louis (or any VC character!)

Also somewhat relevant: thoughts on Louis having a living lineage.

So, re: Anon might be identifying with Louis:

We can find ourselves slipping into the characters we love and identify with. Some ppl find Lestat relatable in his lust for life, self-centeredness, refusal to quit, constantly screwing up and berating himself in the narrative (but rarely being able to outright apologize to those he hurts)… a flawed character for sure but an inspiring one.

I think some ppl who relate to Louis and feel less flashy, less glamorous, there’s smtg very appealing about how such a character could be so idolized by the more flashy and glamorous one. What could such a *rockstar* like Lestat find attractive in Louis?? You said yourself Louis is a sad sack. And yes, beauty is not enough to keep a relationship going. But, as I mentioned above, Louis’ beauty is often described in a context that charges it with the emotions of the scene. At least to my reading, there’s more conveyed than just eye color.

Still, why wouldn’t Lestat demand someone who was more like himself?

But here’s the thing I think a lot of ppl miss when they’ve only seen movie!IWTV, or only read a few of the books.

^Louis & Lestat by @garama

I personally believe that Lestat sees in Louis a similarly wounded soul with a lust for life. At their core, neither really want to die. Louis kept getting into fights with ppl bc he couldn’t kill himself as a mortal. Lestat has stubbornly refused to die his entire life and has had plenty of reason to want death. They’ve both almost killed themselves and been brought back. There’s a similar torment in them dealing with their natures.

As an anon put it so eloquently: “I think ppl forget that Louis is just as passionate and vengeful as Lestat, it’s just that he isn’t as vocal or showy about it. He’s more intimate and intense.”

The way they communicate/express themselves, and the way they practice self-care is vastly different. Lestat builds up his beautiful shell with retail therapy, redecorating and refurbishing his dwellings, and attending all kinds of shows and making elaborate plans with his kills, just spoiling himself silly. Always down for indulging his senses. He’s chasing new experiences, learning the new slang, trying to keep himself in the latest fashions. Novelty.

Louis prefers his nights at home, low-drama, in his own creature comforts, with his books and poetry to escape into. We don’t know much of what he’s read but he seems to want to spend eternity reading. What is reading? Even if it’s nonfiction, it’s learning, being told a story, being more informed. It’s novelty, too. Escapism through the imagination.

And their personalities seem to complement each other. Lestat’s lust for adventure spices up Louis’ otherwise too-calm existence. Louis’ calm and dignified manner brings Lestat back down to earth when he gets too untethered. Their bickering is bc they care for each other, can see beneath each other’s disguises. Louis sees the frightened boy inside the frustration that makes Lestat lash out and attack first. Lestat sees the potential in Louis of someone who, if he could get over his inhibitions, could experience so much more in his life.

When AR was kind of RPing as Lestat in her #Fan Questions for Lestat series, she was asked smtg similar:

“…but if I did have to choose, the companion would be Louis. My longest most enduring friendship and love affair in this world was with Louis. And though his limitations can be maddening, they can also be as inspiring to me as his virtues… the best choices we make are not always the wise choices. Sometimes they are intensely emotional choices. And I’ve always had a deep Romantic respect for emotion. My love for Louis transcends wisdom. And I may need the pain as much as the consolation that an eternal relationship with Louis would involve.“

^This is one of those moments I talk about where I feel like she recaptures the old magic, taps into the vein (pun intended) that got us all addicted to this series in the first place. Why I can’t just discard the crackier later books. She’s not all that specific here, but it’s believable. At least, to me. Lestat admits that Louis’ limitations (and this can be so many things, things Lestat disagrees with him about as well as things Louis refuses to do) can be maddening, and inspiring.

And he admits that his love for Louis transcends wisdom. That may be a cop-out answer, but I’ve felt that kind of love in my life. Inexplicably bound to someone, despite the math of the personalities not seeming to mesh.

Love works in mysterious ways. Even for beautiful sad sacks and the arrogant bastards who love them

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sasslightertm-a · 6 years

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seethem-dancing replied to your post: on That Scene in 06x10 “Chris-Crossed”

In regards to PL situation it was Piper using a spell that helped her switch powers with Leo who was a full Whitelighter. It was stated by Prue (and, later, Piper herself) that she needed to find LEO’S trigger in order to heal him. Leo’s trigger being love doesn’t mean every other whitelighter/half whitelighter has to have the same one. In 6X01 Chris specifically compared himself to Paige & her inability to heal (nearly breaking his half-Whitelighter cover) and neither Chris nor Paige at the time was able to heal their loved ones (when Paige develops her healing powers after healing Henry she is able to effortlessly heal Piper. But she was not able to do that in Used Karma when they were tending to each other’s wounds. Paige also had to get Phoebe to hospital in the Courtship of Wyatt’s Father & get Leo to heal her when Phoebe was shot by a patrol-man in 6X23. She couldn’t heal Leo & Chris when the latter was shot twice either not excluding after finding out Chris was her nephew. And it was established they were close in either timeline as Chris confirmed in Spin City. Chris was also not able to heal Paige in that scene in 6X01 and even during a particularly shocking & triggering moment in I Dream of Phoebe when Chris witnessed his aunts be killed in front of him again, like they were in the Dark Future. Chris was willing to go up against an entire Demonatrix assassin clan to save Phoebe & Paige - including confronting Vincent/Evil Mr Right who tried to kill him earlier; he was only stopped by Leo - therefore it’s not up for a debate that Chris loved & would do anything to save his aunts. Leo, conversely, was able to heal Piper in the already mentioned I Dream of Phoebe scene because he WAS a full Whitelighter & had already navigated his healing power). Even when Piper received Leo’s powers it took her an entire day to find his trigger and Leo nearly died. Chris had seconds before Wyatt comes to & tries to kill him again whereas Bianca was already terminally wounded & dying from internal bleeding (probably having less than a minute left to live given the table leg pierced her upper abdomen and chest). I don’t necessarily think Chris loved Bianca any less than she did him - if anything, his love was more aware, mature & healthy (which is ironic given Chris was younger than her). Bianca idealized Chris because he was the first person to treat her like an individual rather than object and/or means to end which is how she was treated by her mom, her coven and, later, Wyatt. Chris also inspired her to act on Bianca’s already persistent desire to abandon her toxic murderous assassin lifestyle (“[that’s] who I used to be, Chris. Before I met you”). While Bianca knew & accepted that she & Chris might not see each other again as the result of defying Wyatt & sending Chris back to past to fulfill their mission of saving Wyatt’s baby self from becoming a tyrant (“if I make it back”, “if [Wyatt] knows you betrayed him he’ll kill you”) she was willing to take away Chris’ agency & practice an outright violence on him & his family in a misguided attempt to save him. Knowing that A) Wyatt only “gave her his word” not to hurt Chris on a condition that Bianca turns Chris to his side. It took Chris to remind Bianca of the cause THEY had both been fighting & encourage her to not give up on it regardless of whether they’re together or not (highlighting that you have to be a good person for your own sake rather than for your partner - it was a subversion of Phoebe/Cole narrative in Look Who’s Barking where Cole admitted he was only good for Phoebe & that if she gives up on HIM he gives up on being good), to stand his ground even when powerless that they ever find their way back to each other in the new timeline or that she ever remembers the events of the original one). Chris always treated Bianca like an equal while remaining mindful of her checkered past, addressing his discomfort with it at one point and STILL respecting her as a partner (Chris doesn’t initiate any of their romantic moments until Bianca makes the first move & lets her take the lead when they sneak into the manor’s attic to send Chris back. He runs every step of the plan with her - and later highlights it was the mission THEY were both trying to accomplish “for their future” and that he doesn’t buy into Bianca’s sudden willingness to give up on it. Chris also does not question her when Bianca assures him she can take care of Wyatt’s demonic guards). In fact, it is Bianca who - twice - uses a manipulative tactic of “you come back to me, safely” and “you have to make it back. If you wanna marry me”. Conversely, as already stated, Chris always encouraged Bianca to remain true to her redemption and her principles regardless of whether they are involved or not. I don’t think they would have lasted as a long term relationship in either timeline because in the original one they evidently rushed their engagement due to not knowing whether they live to see another day. And additionally, there was an obvious power imbalance between 21-22 year old Chris (he spent approximately sixteen months in the past - going off of the six months of Piper not having any serious relationship after Leo as stated in Prince Charmed & Piper’s pregnancy - and died on his 23d b-day. So he had to be 21 when he & Bianca got engaged) vs 28/29 y/o Bianca. When they have their intimate “goodbye” moment in the basement it’s initiated by Bianca whereas Chris is momentarily caught off guard when she starts undressing. Their next kiss in the attic is a part of Bianca’s baiting, “you have to make it back” tactic to motivate him & Chris is shown to momentarily sway on the spot after that. So either they were never sexually involved before that day or their experiences in that department were vastly different. Bianca deserves to get her memories of the UF back - she and Chris BOTH died to make it better The people who aspire to invalidate the feelings they had for one another are typically the representatives of Bianca-hating, Cole-loving subset & their misogynistic double standards are glaring. In turn, this compels other people (i.e myself) to actively defend Bianca (which can be confusing to some) despite her only being on the show for one episode. IMO it’s not mandatory to ship Chris/Bianca to recognize that unlike Cole she DID genuinely redeem herself & went out as a hero.

Well, first of all, the original post was a meta for my interpretation of Chris on this blog, which is why it was just tagged with my meta tag and was not in the general tags. And if you’re going to write out an entire essay in the comments... it might just be easier to form a new post with a link back to the original and tag me in it. Otherwise, please stop coming onto my meta/headcanon posts that are meant for my roleplay muse and are not specifically canon to the show.

Second, Leo writes out an entire guide/letter addressed to Wyatt and Chris (+ future Whitelighters) on how to use their powers and states that “love is the key to your healing hands”. So, yes, I would say that love is the trigger for the healing power for all Whielighters and half-Whitelighters—and Chris does say it (healing) “is big and takes a while to learn how to do”. Paige was able to heal Leo in “Charmed & Dangerous” by tapping into Leo’s healing ability—that was the first time she’d ever tried healing. But basically, (as you noted with Piper/Leo and Paige/Henry) it seems that if a person isn’t a full Whitelighter, (to quote the TV Tropes’ Charmed Fridge page) they don’t have the same strength of love in them to use the Whitelighter healing power until they’ve found the love of their life and admitted it—either out loud or to themselves.

Yes, it’s true that Chris didn’t really have a whole lot of time to try to heal Bianca even if he’d wanted to, so I’ll give you that. I’ve already stated my thoughts on Chris/Bianca and the issues I have with their relationship from an out-of-universe perspective (which I need to do in a more concise meta/post at some point) so I’m not going to get into it again here other than to state that there was probably some subtle manipulation on both their parts, definitely a power imbalance, and Chris in general doesn’t seem all that interested in sex—which is why I headcanon him as greyasexual—and his reaction to Natalie in “Forget Me...Not” was out-of-character—one could argue that the way his relationship with Bianca was portrayed was also OOC, since his characterization in the flashbacks did not mesh with his prior characterization. As much as I like Bianca and think she’s an incredibly interesting character... it’s odd seeing Chris reduced solely to the love interest (which, I am all for subverting typical romantic tropes, but...).

As for Chris saying he and Paige are close in the future....

I tend to take anything he says regarding his aunts in the future with a huge grain of salt. Chris lies. A lot.

we already know from “Chris-Crossed” and “Hyde School Reunion” that Piper was killed on Chris’s 14th birthday, Victor raised him, and that all three of the Charmed Ones were dead by the time Chris was 21. True we don’t really know when Phoebe and Paige were killed, but if Victor was the one raising Chris after Piper died and Leo was busy with Elder duties. . . not to mention if one of the Charmed Ones are killed then the other two don’t last very long... I don’t think Paige and Phoebe would have lasted long after Piper was killed. A year, maybe two. And granted, this is all speculation, but...

#seethemdancing

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slbpfics · 7 years

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Facts and Figures- Saizo x OC

Author’s note: Hello, people! Till now I have been reblogging stuff from other people, but today, I have one of my own creations for you. this is my first ever fic on tumblr, so please forgive me if Saizo seems OOC. This is inspired by @suzunesays ‘s headcanon which can be found here

Word count: 1464

Tagging: @suzunesays, @books-and-colours, @uxoremmikael @mistakenmessenger and @quincette

Dark eyes glare at the wall. Clenching his fists by his side, he gets up from his seat and walks away. Writing is difficult. Who says writing for the papers is an easy task?

His deadline is coming up, he knows. He needs to complete that piece on the most recent murder ASAP. He needs to find a way to get the facts he needs. But how? All his leads had gone cold. All his sources miraculously unaware of this new gang on the streets. His former colleagues had been tight lipped about the whole incident.

Get a grip on yourself. He moves to the balcony of his small, sparse apartment. Information isn’t going to drop in your arms. You need to find it, somehow. You need to –

His train of thought is interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. He glances at the screen. Yukimura. He hit decline before he places the phone on the edge of his balcony’s steel railing, reaching into his pockets for a pack of cigarettes. The phone buzzes again. What is it now? He catches the phone just before it falls off the railing. So persistent.

‘What is it, little lord?’

‘Saizo, I need you to come by my college campus. There’s someone I want you to meet. I think that-’

Saizo artlessly pulls a cigarette out and lights it. ‘Little lord, if this is about another blind date-‘

‘This is not about any date,’ Yukimura sighs in annoyance, ‘rather, it’s about that case you’re writing about. I think I know a girl whose dad was killed by those psychos.’

Saizo nearly drops the phone in shock. ‘A girl, you say? Are you sure, little lord? I don’t just go about meeting people because the claim they have information.’

‘I’m positive, Saizo. Her name is Yuka Asano.’

That made Saizo drop his cigarette. Yuka Asano. The name does sound familiar, but where has he heard it? Ah, she could be related to the most recent victim, Hiroshi Asano. Or she could be a lure to his death.

‘… I’ll be there. Have you said anything about me?’ he crushes the cigarette under his shoe.

‘No. Do you take me for an idiot?’

‘Not an idiot, dear. Perhaps a little dense.’

He hangs up before he can hear Yukimura’s incensed voice sputter out anything further. Well, seems like information really did drop in my arms. He goes back into his room, shutting the laptop down. He walks out of his apartment, locking the door behind him.

Let’s hope you are the source I’m looking for, Yuka Asano.

The ride to Yukimura’s campus doesn’t take long. He pulls his phone out. Please tell me you aren’t distracted by those frat boy idiots that surround you, dear. The sound of frantic footsteps making towards him proves him wrong. There stood Yukimura, red faced, and sweating. Great.

‘What took you so long, Saizo?’ he asks, pulling at the collar of his sweaty jersey.

‘Where’s the girl?’ Saizo glances around the place, checking for eavesdropping souls. He turns his attention back to the little lord.

‘She has a name, you know,’ says Yukimura, wiping the sweat from his brow.

‘I could care less.’

Saizo tapped his fingers on his helmet. He wasn’t here to discuss names. He needed information. He could almost imagine the stupid editor of his paper demanding the article he had yet to finish. He got off his motorcycle and ran a hand through his hair.

Yukimura sensed Saizo’s annoyance and knew better than to annoy him further. ‘She’s working part time at the new café a few blocks down.’ Yukimura pauses, scratching the back of his head. ‘Hey, Saizo, be nice, will you? She’s pretty shaken up by what happened.’

‘Thank you, little lord. Much obliged.’ Saizo says in a detached voice, ignoring the look of slight hurt on Yukimura’s face. Sorry, little lord. That’s just the way I am. He wears his helmet and gets on his motorcycle again. He can feel Yukimura’s eyes on him.

Saizo pulled his visor up, looking at Yukimura. ‘Something else you want to tell me, little lord?’

Yukimura smiles and runs a hand through his dark grey hair. ‘I have a feeling, Saizo. This girl is gonna be the one for you. I was about to set you both up on a blind date, but you know, her dad was killed and-‘

Saizo clenches his fist. ‘Little lord, stop playing matchmaker for me and focus on your life. You should be worrying about your grades and not my love life.’

With that, Saizo drove towards that new Café he had been frequenting for the past few weeks. Who knew that the girl he was looking for had been there this whole time? Saizo smiled underneath his tinted visor, sure that the little display of emotion remains unseen.

Traffic Gods are kind to him and he reaches his destination in less than five minutes. It is four thirty right now. She should probably be in.

He parks his ride where he does every day. He squints his eyes against the sunlight. Walking towards the entrance to the café, he checks his surroundings for any unwanted pursuers, finding none. Why am I like this? He wasn’t like this before. He doesn’t understand why he has become so paranoid over the years. No, not paranoid. More like, overly cautious, he corrects himself. Giving one last look over his shoulder, he opens the glass door.

He inhales the scent of coffee and freshly baked desserts. The place is quieter than usual. He glances at the counter. There’s only two people there. He takes in his surroundings warily. This is the time when students should be flocking to this place, completing their homework or bringing their dates. Why is this place so empty?

He walks over to his seat. Yes, he calls it his, because he always sits in that particular spot whenever he visits the café. He takes off his cut gloves just as a voice speaks up from beside him.

‘Welcome back, sir. Would you like the usual?’ he looks up into light brown eyes that shine with emotions he never displays. His eyes wander over to her name tag. Yuka. He almost smiles. She looks at him expectantly. Oh, she’s waiting for my order.

‘I’m still thinking,’ he places his gloves on the table, ‘Do you have any new additions to the menu?’ He looks up again to see her tapping her temple with a finger. Well, if she can display her emotions so easily, she surely cannot be much of a threat to him. She wasn’t slender, but she didn’t look too tough either. Not an imposter, then. But how could he be sure?

‘We do have a new addition to our desserts. Kinako mochi and dango. Would you like a sample, sir?’ The girl looks positively delighted that someone would take notice of the change in their menu. He nods. ‘And your usual black coffee with it, sir?’ she jots down his order.

‘No.’

She looks at him, a slight crease between her brows. ‘Well then, sir what would you like? We have a really-’

‘Just the dango.’ He didn’t mean to come off as snappish or rude, but the girl’s expression did not change in the slightest. She smiled at him and walked away.

Saizo went over her appearance in his mind’s eye. She doesn’t look like she has been crying for days, no dark circles or redness in her eyes. She seems well dressed. Her waitress’ uniform was clean and well put together. Her hair was neat, too. Maybe he had been wrong. Why doesn’t this girl look like she has been mourning for the father she lost just last week? Maybe the little lord was wrong and the girl’s name matching Hiroshi Asano’s name was just a coincidence.

No, coincidences don’t happen in my line of work. There’s either a connection, or there is not. He drums his fingers on the table and glances out of the window. He could see his motorcycle underneath the shade of a tree. He takes stock of his surroundings again. There was no customer there except for himself.

Something felt off. Saizo glanced at the counter. The two figures he had seen there had not moved. He could not discern what they looked like from behind the various treats on display. He took out his phone and pretended to be busy. He strained his ears to listen for any oncoming attackers. Anything that should not be in a café like this one. Again, he finds nothing of the sort.

The sound of quiet and careful footsteps shake him out of his musing. Yuka was back with his order, and… two large lattes?

#slbp saizo #slbp fic #purequeenoftheimpure writes #slbpfics writes #slbp fanfic #slbp oc #slbp #samurai love ballad party #saizo kirigakure #slbp saizo x mc #saizo kirigakure x mc

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peccolias · 7 years

Text

A close-knit team, if only for a while

Naruto

1,830 words

Rated T for mild language

Feel-good Team Seven quick fic, pre-Shippuden

Please forgive any OOCness, I don’t write canon-verse fic often. Based on a super cute idea discussed with @ysmirel.

Also on AO3

It’s a strange…phenomenon (for lack of a better word) that Team Seven has noticed only occurs around the cold season in Konoha.

Well, actually seeing it isn’t the strange part, because it’s quite an ordinary thing to see—it’s the who part of it that piques their interest.

And mainly the fact that said who doesn’t seem to bat an eyelash at the strangeness of it all.

Kakashi-sensei doesn’t seem to mind that a knee-high bundle of knitted yarn waddles along behind him, with tiny paws and ears and a tail—and just a bit of snout—poking out in roughly the same places where a dog’s tiny paws and ears and tail and snout would be. Of course, it could be because he’s too immersed in the small book held open in one hand, because when he’s reading that Icha Icha series he doesn’t seem to outwardly notice much of anything (though they’re sure he’s always on his guard).

But—no. That can’t be it. Because also in his wake are seven others wrapped (to a lesser degree) in colorfully-knit plush scarves sporting various blocky designs of paw prints, dog biscuits, and Konoha leaves. These others are clearly his ninken. And the small one is, without a doubt, Pakkun—the only one whose name they really know. Even if they can’t exactly see him.

What’s strange about it is, of slightly less importance, that they’ve recently seen a certain Might Gai sporting a bold scarf of a similar fashion, dotted with Konoha-green leaves on red—at least, that’s what they thought they saw as he sped past them during a morning run. It was hard to tell when it all blurred together in his haste.

And, of considerable importance, is that they’ve each received a scarf of their own, wrapped and left quietly on each of their doorsteps, without a name, without a message, with only the item itself left as a clue of where it came from.

They’re wearing them now, in fact—Naruto’s is a garish blue sporting clunky Uzumaki spirals found in his favorite ramen; Sakura’s is pink, with lighter pink cherry blossom petals that looked to have been attempted delicately but ended up just as blocky; and Sasuke’s, a soft cream color to offset his usually dark and serious persona, with gray shuriken at the ends. Each personalized, with no small amount of thought put into their creation.

The only conclusion they can draw from this is that someone in Konoha is a serial scarf-knitter.

…Yet, he doesn’t seem to wear one himself, no matter how cold it gets.

“Why do you think that is?” Sakura asks, as they tail their teacher to the Memorial Stone, where he drops off two more of the same items as offerings. One, a bold orange not unlike Naruto’s outfit, and the other attempted delicately, the same as Sakura’s, but in much the same colors as Sasuke’s. They sit beside two others that remain from another visit, but are too difficult to see from where they crouch, hidden, in the treetops.

“Dunno, maybe it’d be too hot with all those layers he already wears?” Naruto tries as he rubs at his reddened nose. “I know I’d be, ‘ttebayo.” He sneezes, then, much to their chagrin—for Sakura, because it totally just blows their cover, and for Sasuke, because the blockhead sneezed in his general direction, and was just too close when he did so.

Even so, when they look to see if Kakashi or his ninken are alerted to their presence, the man is nowhere in sight. All in the span of a few seconds, they’d lost track of him.

Not surprising, but disappointing all the same.

“Jeez, Naruto, you couldn’t just keep that in, could you?” Sakura chides with a tic in her brow, trying not to get too upset because it looks like the boy had caught something, with the sniffle and red nose.

Sasuke rolls his eyes. “And here I thought idiots couldn’t catch colds.”

“Hey—” Naruto shoots back, still fiery despite the cold, despite the sick, then gives pause. “Did you just…not call me an idiot?”

“No. I just—”

“Got proven wrong?” he cuts in, grinning victoriously, not realizing what he’d just said about himself.

There’s no way Sasuke will just let him have that—but he can’t exactly pull himself out of that contradiction, either. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. There are plenty of other reasons you’re an idiot.”

“You jerk—”

Sakura’s arm snaps out to catch Naruto in the chest before he can lunge and he falls back, winded, as she squeezes her way between them. “Oh, stop it already! Keep in mind why we’re here. We still don’t know why Kakashi-sensei doesn’t have a scarf.”

“Does it even matter?” Sasuke asks, crossing his arms and doing everything in his power to ignore the bristling blond on the other side of a smiling Sakura.

Her smile falls. “Well…not really, but he went through all that trouble to make these for us.”

“Yeah, and I don’t see you not wearin’ yours. Admit it, you’re just as curious.”

Sasuke touches the scarf wrapped around his neck and grumbles a bit, but doesn’t try to refute it.

Naruto looks down at his own scarf and plucks at the edge with a goofy grin. “I think it’s great, ‘ttebayo! I haven’t had a scarf since…” He trails off. Squints. Really tries to think. Fails, and shrugs. “Never, I guess.”

“We’re all in agreement it’s great, then. And we know that Kakashi-sensei made them—so no matter what he says, no matter how hard he trains us, he does care. So…” she trails off, too. Crosses her arms and taps her foot against the branch as she considers the information at hand. “Maybe…we should make him one!”

At this, they both turn to look at Sakura like she’d just proposed murder instead of a cute crafting hobby. But for them, it may as well have been.

Because none of them really know how to knit.

“Uh…Sakura-chan…” Naruto tries to break the news to her, but it’s harder than it sounds. Because it really is a good idea, a great idea, even, and he would if he could.

“I know none of us can knit.” She’s quick to acknowledge it. Then, turns to Sasuke curiously, lips pursed in silent question.

He shrugs in response. “I can’t.”

“But I’m so sure you’d be great at if you learned!” she encourages, with a blush fresh on her face.

“H-hey, I can learn, too! And I’ll be so damn good at it!” Naruto says loudly, before interrupting himself with another sneeze.

Both Sakura and Sasuke step slightly away with a grimace, seeing the snot dripping from his nose.

He gives a thumbs-up before sneezing again, so hard it throws him off balance—he struggles, arms pinwheeling, before toppling backwards from the tree and landing in the shrubs below with a loud rustle and a heavy thump.

“…Alright, there’s no way he can do it on his own. This is going to have to be a team activity.”

For once, Sasuke agrees.

The cold season winds slowly down—soon, in a week, perhaps, it will be unforgivably hot, even in the supposedly-cool spring months. That the Land of Fire even has a winter at all is a miracle, at times.

Lately, Kakashi’s noticed Team Seven has been working together rather well—and at times, they squabble just a bit too much. But, overall, their teamwork has improved. They smile a little more—chat a little more. Even Sasuke. Grudgingly. But the progress is still apparent.

He isn’t really sure what brought about the change (although he’s not complaining, either) until, one day, he sees a lumpy, wrapped package sitting on his doorstep.

Strange—it brings about an acute sense of déjà vu.

Beneath the wrapping, it’s soft to the touch—maybe a bit too soft, but also a bit too lumpy in some areas. It’s a mystery and, in all honesty, he’s flabbergasted, because he can’t for the life of him figure out what it may be.

Even if its front is scrawled with the all-too-familiar handwriting of one of his students, boldly stating: “FOR KAKASHI-SENSEI.”

A smile pulls at the fabric of his mask as he sets it on his kitchen counter and carefully tears the crinkled brown packaging away. But the smile falls away in time with the bundle of knit yarn that falls out of the package and spills across the countertop.

Again, he’s stunned, because he isn’t quite sure what he’s looking at even as he takes the item in his hands (and it is soft to the touch) and turns it over, running his thumb against the bumpy, tri-colored, patchwork scarf of orange, red, and blue. The rows are inconsistent at best, clunky, clumsy, in some places too loose, in some, too tight—the red section in the center is the best of all, but still not perfect. And they’re all sewn together with obvious, wide stitches.

But what floors him the most is that each painstakingly knitted section isn’t just a specific color—there are also three unique designs displayed on one side. On the Orange, a scarecrow face. On the red, the kanji for “seven.” On the blue, the Konoha leaf symbol. All in black. And, somehow, it unifies the mishmash all together.

“Well...would you look at that.”

Kakashi doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until he blinks and feels the moisture catch on his eyelashes.

He looks to the old, faded green scarf sitting on his dresser, worn at the edges and torn in some places, never taken outside to prevent wear and tear, these days—the first scarf he’d ever been given.

Now, in his hands, is the second.

“It’s too hot…isn’t it too hot out? We took way too long to finish that thing—do you think he’ll even wear it?”

Neither Naruto not Sasuke have the heart to ease Sakura’s worries. Because they’re just as concerned—and it feels a bit like failure, even though they tried their best.

But today simply isn’t scarf weather. They aren’t even wearing theirs, because training works up enough of a sweat already—though they did wear them all throughout the winter months, and studied them especially close when knitting each section of the one they’d given to their teacher.

“He…he totally will, ‘ttebayo!” Naruto finally says, if only to quell the doubt he, too, feels.

Sasuke opens his mouth to agree with the hope, but quickly changes his mind as something in the distance catches his eye. “Look. Here he comes.”

Late as always, but today a bit less so. Kakashi-sensei approaches the training field looking tired, much the same as usual, but the unusual thing they notice about him is…he has a familiar tri-colored scarf wrapped and bundled up around his neck, despite the weather.

There it remains, throughout the day, throughout the week—through the entire spring season, until the sun just bears down too incredibly hot for any one person to bear the heat of knitted yarn so close to their skin.

But the phenomenon will surely continue when the winter months arrive again.

And this time, he’ll be a part of it.

#naruto #naruto fanfiction #peccolia writes stuff #please excuse the pun ;)

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waywardoakdown · 5 months

Text

the way i logged in over here EXPLICITLY just to see more chatter about the special

#hello my brain only knows one thing #( still tapping. less murder. ) ooc

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dynamics-of-an-asteroid · 7 years

Note

I really would like to know your opinion about Sherlolly and Molliarty 💕

My opinion on Sherlolly grew as my opinions on fandom politics thankfully matured cause it’s really easy to make assumptions about M/F ships since typically they’re filled with everything Progressive Fandom supposedly hates.

But what I’ve come to realize is that Progressive Fandom is kind of full of shit.

It says one thing (“we want better material for this female character!”), but then proceeds to do the complete opposite (takes a male background character with exceedingly less material and creates mountains of fanworks to the point where even the creators start giving him more screen time over the female character). It’ll come up with all these tl;dr think pieces that seek to blame some other outside sources as to why this keeps happening (“men are just written better!”, “there’s just more male characters to choose from statistically!”, etc.), but there’s really no denying which types of ships and characters and dynamics and narratives it actually values when you see what kind of content dominates creative spaces that no one is controlling except the fans.

So I realized a lot of my “concerns” were just the result of theoretically wanting the most subversive conceptualization for the ship as any good Progressive Fandom member prides itself on seeking, but then falling in to the same traps that reinforce a very biased hierarchy Progressive Fandom measures everything by and upholding ridiculous standards that I wasn’t holding everyone else to.

For example, I’ve done the typical “pOoR mOlLy :(( sHE dEseRveS bEttEr tHaN sHerLOcK” spiel everyone seems to say after watching ASIB since that scene is meant to elicit a reaction. She very clearly was in love with him and particularly series 1 & 2 Sherlock, despite whatever good he was doing or moments of ~humanity~ he had, was overall a pretty rude, abrasive dick. He wasn’t this way just to her, but Molly is a legitimately decent person on a show full of assholes so there was some part of me that wanted to protect that, you know?

However, my reaction shouldn’t have been “Wow, Molly deserves better than Sherlock”, it should have been “Molly deserved better from Sherlock because she deserves common fucking decency.” Her unwavering love for him is always considered a problem that needs to be either removed entirely or given to someone else more deserving. It’s never Sherlock’s behavior that’s the problem that needs to get checked because Progressive Fandom doesn’t typically criticize male characters for their actions. You excuse, you explain, you apologize, but you don’t with any kind of negative intention seek to frame their reaction in any given situation as the part that’s wrong. The feelings of white dudes are valued over everything and everyone.

So my reaction of “come on, Molly, let’s get out of here and find you someone better” sounds noble, but all I’m really saying is “Well he’s an ass and we can’t do anything about that, but your crush on him is definitely fixable!” Again, she’s not the problem here, her love for him is not the problem here. He is the problem here, his rudeness is the problem here. There’s absolutely something we can do to fix that and we know this because part of his character arc was about becoming warmer and kinder. “Molly deserves better” is such an empty, meaningless statement when you really get in to it and I cringe every time I see it now.

Plus, something I’ve noticed that seems to be exclusive to the ship is most people in fandom ship one of these characters with Sherlock or are invested in a dynamic that includes him in it. And I guarantee you there’s a scene or a moment or a line that Sherlock was the source of that you had to go fix with fic or meta or some AU gif set or something because you wouldn’t still care about it if you didn’t. He’s done some pretty horrendous shit to these characters that far surpasses what he did with Molly at the Christmas party. But we’re not saying poor John he deserves better (hell we’re not even saying poor Sherlock he deserves better), we’re not saying poor Mycroft he deserves better, or that poor little Lestrade deserves better. It’s always poor Molly, specifically, because Progressive Fandom isn’t about to micro-comb through her material like they do with male characters in order to flesh her out more and find ways to make her a person of equally nuanced value to Sherlock. Then it would be easier to see why he’d extend more than just common courtesy to her, which lays the foundation for potentialness (specifically romance cause no one is gonna flip their shit about friendship), and now you’re sighing in agony about having to deal with a love interest - and worst of all - yet another M/F ship existing.

And listen, I get it - M/F ships have everything and it’s obnoxious. They get the coveted title of being “most likely to happen”, they get all the exposure, all the juicy arcs, all the cast conversations when it comes to their expressions of sex and love and romance being treated as completely plausible and entirely normal, etc. But when Progressive Fandom notoriously doesn’t produce nor consume F/F media let alone at the same rates as M/M media, when Progressive Fandom deeming a female character “too awesome/independent for romance” is basically a death sentence in spaces where romance and pairing up characters is the name of the game - what are people supposed to do with Molly that doesn’t decrease her visibility or sideline her entirely in the name of what? Making sure heteronormativity doesn’t happen? Cause looking at tumblr’s most popular M/M ships that are full of exceedingly harmful gendered stereotypes about the characters then being further conceptualized in to gross top/bottom discourse among other issues, that pesky problem of not reinforcing heteronormativity shouldn’t fall solely on M/F ships cause they’re not the only ones perpetuating it.

From what I can tell, Sherlolly shippers are the only people placing her in multiple kinds of dynamics and narratives that seek to explore the depth of her character without treating all of her material with Sherlock like a joke or a predicament that must be changed (which is different from fixing some bumps or gaps or straight up missteps that may be present, and there are some, but no one is denying that). Sometimes it’s a reversal of expectations, sometimes it’s not, and that’s pretty standard summary of any ship in fandom, really. You don’t have to like what they’re doing, but the door is always open for these diverse, inclusive stories Progressive Fandom wants so badly to be brought to the table yet I get the feeling they won’t be walking through it any time soon.

so tl;dr - the ship isn’t bothering me and any faux-criticisms I had about it in the past I can easily say about other ships, including my own, so it’s not fair to condemn one but then bolster another with the same elements. As long as they aren’t engaging in anything harmful or pushing any Ists, Isms, and Phobias, which they aren’t, I’m cool.

And I’m not even gonna lie, I could not stand Molliarty in the beginning stages of fandom.

I hated how Jim from I.T. was treated as a separate person from Jim Moriarty just to give Molly a cuter and more fun version of him to continue dating (to be fair, this ship isn’t the only one that did this, [don’t even get me started on the Richard Brook\twin thing omfg], but I loathed this trend regardless of who did it more cause particularly with Jim everyone would always push the ‘we don’t know anything about his private life!!’ excuse to justify wildly ooc shit [and still do to this day]).

I hated that narrative of Molly ~softening~ monstrous beast!Jim with her kindness and in return he became obsessed with having her love him, but she couldn’t cause he’s a bad person or whatever, so he’d protect her until his dying days instead (I recognize the trope, I personally can’t stand that trope, but I still don’t understand why it was applied to this dynamic).

I hated all the creepy undertones in a lot of the really early fanworks that were like “come with me little girl and you’ll never be hurt again” (look, MY ships are capable of creepy undertones, but particularly with this ship it felt more like an impending sense of doom that Molly was getting herself in to a really skeevy, fucked p situation which is gross).

I hated with a goddamn passion that still consumes me to this day that Little Red Riding Hood/Big Bad Wolf aesthetic cause it’s just piggybacking off what I just said of this lecherous devil ready to devour this unsuspecting and naive victim (as you can imagine I don’t like imbalanced dynamics so a lot of this one is just personal irritation too, but it still feels like you’re having to compromise their characters by bastardizing the shit out of them in order to get this to work).

I hated how Jim was treated like her sassy gay best friend who’d stay up at night watching Say Yes To The Dress with her and Toby, and gushing about cute boys when someone did a more platonic bff take on the ship (this was the biggest one for me because Andrew was walking a fine enough line as it was with Jim to not have everyone go ahead and throw his character into stereotype hell anyway and I hate most fanworks with Jim for this very reason, so again this problem isn’t exclusive to the ship).

And I hated how Molly tapping in to her inner darkness thanks to Jim awakening it somehow always took the form of her becoming sadistic and murderous to illustrate how strong she really is in an effort to put her on even footing with him so she’d get the love and respect and appreciation she wasn’t getting else where through being his faithful killing babe (besides having problems with women having to become badass and bloodthirsty in order to equal strength of any kind, the implication she can only be treated right through bad people is unsettling).

After making that list, I realized a lot of why I couldn’t stand it was tied to general misinterpretations of their characters that was floating around fandom, so putting those specific versions of them together to make a ship out of it was unforgivable to me. I’m gonna make an assumption here and say I’m willing to bet a lot of their earlier stuff wasn’t made by the shippers themselves and that it was people from other ships making material for it based off what they thought it was. So for all I know a lot of what I hated wasn’t even what the ship was about cause I know that’s the case for old stuff about my ships. None of us really had the numbers to change public opinion about how we perceived it, so there’s a lot of lingering misconceptions thanks to those works and I might have just listed all of them for Molliarty, I don’t know.

But a lot of this seems to have gone away now in any case? Not all of it, but it’s been replaced with lighter, more comical material which is still not the ballpark I’d personally place them in, but I’m not in that inner circle of shipping so I don’t know why it took that turn. They could be trying to counter fanon ideas surrounding the pairing, they could be trying to build up a more diverse selection of fanworks, I have no idea, but the ship doesn’t bother me in the same way it use to mostly because I’ve become too indfferent for most ships to even get a reaction from me anymore tbh

#this came out longer than expected #apologies if this somehow ends up in the mobile tag

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spicyscholar · 7 years

Text

PROLOGUE: COMPUTER

IT”S HERE HOLY SHIT I WROTE AND EDITED THIS IN TWO DAYS HOW THE FUCK. I MEAN IT’S TRASH. BUT IT’S LIKE, GRADE A TRASH. IT’S RECYCLING. LORD FORGIVE ME FOR OOC CHANDLER. LORD FORGIVE ME FOR THE ANGST. Pls don’t hate me.

Thanks to @elliecollins for the use of her lovely OC that I have hurt, and @sweetelitecinnamonrole for betaing and free torture.

Now, clarification. This is part of my upcoming project that I’ve been working on, the real angsty one. Technically an AU. This is basically a prologue to that project. Hope you enjoy!

A shiver ran down Chandler’s back, and it wasn’t because of how cold her dorm room was.

Something was wrong, horribly wrong. It was too quiet, and pitch black. Tonight, there was no light of a phone or computer, no quiet humming. Just...utter silence.

Chandler pulls out his phone, gritting his teeth. She was supposed to meet him 3 hours ago, at the ice cream parlor, like they’ve done every Friday since they became friends. The first hour, he thought she must of overslept. The second hour, he sent her a million more messages. By the third, there was an awful feeling growing. She wasn’t there. So he went out to look for her, like he knew he should have done in the beginning and she-she isn’t here. Chandler has texted Holt, he’s texted Ella and Ju, has Lucas and Tyler and Claire-

And she isn’t anywhere.

He taps on the message app, for what must be the millionth time, and still no reply from her.

He feels like he’s overreacting.

Another part of him is telling him he’s right. There’s a twist of nerves in his stomach as he looks around her empty dorm room. Why can’t he find her? Why hasn’t she responded? Where the fuck is she? Why can’t she tell him that she’s safe, that she’s fine, that she’s ok?

He throws his copy of her key onto her desk, then flicks on a light.

Shit.

The room, somehow, is more of a mess than it usually is. The covers are lying on the floor, that’s normal, sure. She never makes her bed.

But her computer-

Chandler opens his mouth, then closes it, remembering there’s no one there to comfort.

Violet’s computer is broken. The screen is shattered, and now it’s just lying there on the ground, surrounded crumpled papers and books.

Chandler knows how important that computer is to Violet. God, he wishes that he was that important. She loves that computer, and while she knows it’s unhealthy, she clings to it, and it comforts her.

Chandler takes a deep breath.

He needs to find Violet, and he needs to find her now. He doesn’t care how the computer got broken, or how the room got trashed (he has a pretty strong idea for the latter). He cares about where she’s gone.

His phone buzzes in his hand, and he finds that Ella has texted him again;

Chandler sighs at Ella, shaking his head. He’s glad that she came up with something though, he's not sure what to do anymore.

The next message he receives, however, isn’t comforting at all.

Great. Just Great.

This is the worst.

Violet’s disappeared off to god knows where, just because her computer is broken.

Stop that.

Chandler takes another breath, picks up his keys, and leaves. He locks the door behind him as he reminds himself that she is not being overdramatic.

She must have had a bad day, she must not have been feeling well, there must have been a reason why-

He stops himself again. He can’t think like this, he really can’t. Chandler doesn’t like it at all, he’s supposed to be a good friend. And a good friend wouldn’t care why, he would just care.

Chandler’s a good friend.

So he closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them...his head is clear. There’s only one thing to do. Look for Violet and make sure her day doesn’t become any worse. She has to be somewhere, and so, Chandler has to go look.

Violet isn’t sure how she ended up here. She blinks a few times before looking up at the street name again.

Nothing is familiar, but she really can’t focus anyways, so what does it matter?

She sighs, and sits down on a nearby bench, covering her face with her hands.

She is such an idiot sometimes. She totally screwed up today. First off, she snapped at Claire today, which made her feel incredibly guilty afterwards, even when Claire accepted her apology. She couldn’t find her phone, which meant she couldn’t tell Chandler that she was running late. Right now, she’s lost in the town, because she couldn’t handle looking at her broken computer.

That was probably the worst thing though. Honestly, although she should care, she doesn’t really care where she is right now. All she can think of that is her fucking computer is no longer going to work. The moment where she stupidly knocked it over and time seemed to slow as she watched it crash to the ground.

How am I going to tell Mom and Dad? We could barely afford a computer the first time!

She remembers breaking down, throwing things on the ground and crumbling. She remembers picking up a jacket and leaving her room when she couldn’t handle it anymore.

But she doesn’t remember how she got here. However, she feels so sick that she could care less where she is. There could an axe wielding murderer around the corner, and she would give no fucks.

The guilt is eating at her, and she’s having a hard time. She knows she’s overreacting, but she can’t help it. She can’t take the fact that she-

God, Violet really wants to cry right now. She tries to get a hold on herself, but there’s nothing for her to hold onto. There’s nothing to comfort her. She’s all alone, and she’s this close to crying on a street bench. She’s so pathetic sometimes. She breathes slowly, and lowers her hands from her face, leaning down, and curling her fingers over the rough wood of her seat. Time slows again until someone calls out to her.

“Violet?”

The voice is soft, concerned. Male, and comforting in how familiar it is.Whose voice is it? She can’t seem recall right now, so she just looks up.

It’s Tyler. He’s staring at her, and she reaches up to touch her face, checking to make sure she’s not actually crying. Her face is completely dry, so she’s not sure why he looks so...worried.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

Violet bites her lip, looking up to him blankly. She doesn’t have a good answer to his question.

Tyler is extremely confused, she can tell. Still, he sits down beside her and asks the question again.

She ignores it, shifting her eyes away from his gaze.

“You aren’t going to speak.” Tyler says to her, and she flinches. She can’t deny that. She can’t trust herself to say anything right now, and so, she nods.

Tyler nods, trying to be understanding. “Do you want me to stay?”

She hesitates for a second, then shakes her head no. Tyler looks like he wants to stay anyways, but…

Tyler smiles at her, then stands up quietly. He doesn’t say goodbye, which makes her feel a little better. He just waves a farewell, and Violet weakly raises her hand to wave one back.

Her head has cleared just a little bit with that small little visit from Tyler. Still, she doesn’t really want to move from her spot on the bench, and chooses to just lay back and try to get her head back into some sort of sane, healthy track.

When Tyler can no longer see Violet sitting on the bench, he pulls out his phone.

He hadn’t meant to walk through this part of the town tonight, but when he heard from Ju that Violet was missing, he wanted to help somehow. He didn’t actually expect to find her. Especially with her looking like that. She wasn’t crying, but there was something on her face that was just, indescribable. Something raw, full of pain and heartbreak. He almost wanted to paint it, or take a photo. At the same time, he never wanted to see that look on Violet’s face again.

Tyler calls Chandler. He’ll apologize to Ju later that he didn’t tell her first, but…

Ju has no subtlety. She’d flip her shit once she saw Violet. Chandler...he could actually help. He’s sure of it.

“Tyler? What is it-”

“I found Violet.”

“Where?”

“13th Street. She was sitting on the bench outside Starbucks.”

Chandler shook his head. The irony of that almost makes him laugh. Violet hates coffee, and so, it makes just the tiniest bit of sense that she’d hide there. “Thanks.”

“Go. I’ll tell Ella and Ju.”

Chandler opens his mouth again-

“Go.”

Chandler hangs up and goes.

Violet looks up into bright blue eyes.

Chandler.

She loses her breath again as he smiles. It’s gentle, but huge, and filled with relief.

Her heart twists.

“There you are.”

She opens her mouth to reply, but quickly buries her face in her hands. And-

Suddenly, all at once, Violet Hoy is crying. And Chandler doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything, ever seen so sad as it.

She’s wiping them off as soon as they fall, and she’s shaking, and it’s quiet. She’s breathing hard, and there’s a tiny little whimper, but she’s a silent crier and it makes him want to cry too. And somehow, she still looks pretty as she breaks down.

Chandler sits down on the bench and shifts closer to her, wraps his arms around her shoulders. He strokes her hair, and closes his eyes, hoping he’s enough for now.

Her hands leave her face, and decide to dig into his warm, light pink knit sweater. The noises become more muffled as she curls into Chandler. Nothing happens for a while, nothing except her shaking in his arms as she tries to form actual words.

“I’m sorry,” She finally says.

Chandler makes an exasperated noise, “Don’t be stupid-”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry-” Her voice is breaking.

A pang of guilt strikes him, and this time all he says is, “Shhhhhhhhh.”

She stiffens, and his heart twists strangely.

“It’s ok. Don’t feel bad, because it’s not your fault. There’s nothing wrong with you, there’s no reason for you to apologize.”

“I’m an idiot. God, I’m such a fucking idiot. I broke my fucking computer, and then I ran off, and then I started crying in your arms. Honestly, I must look like a mess right now.”

She laughs bitterly here, actually looking up into his face. Her eyes are bright red, and she runs her own hands through her dark tangled mess of hair. Chandler wipes away a few tears as she sniffles. Then he prays and opens his mouth to say something stupid.

“You’re not wrong.” He jokes, “Although…”

Please, please, please let this make her laugh. I can’t stand her like this.

She narrows her eyes, “What?”

Come on, please just smile at me.

“Not just any kind of mess. A hot mess.” He grins weakly, and to his delight-

Violet makes a sound halfway through laughter and annoyance as she smiles down on him. Her eyes are twinkling now, and Chandler knows he’s working some sort of magic.

“Now, get off of me. You’re sitting on my lap and looking down on me, like you’re taller. It’s unnatural.”

She laughs, an actual real one this time, and whispers in his ear, “Make me.”

Chandler laughs too, and stands up. Violet most definitely doesn’t squeal as he does this.

Violet wraps her arms around his neck again, and lets Chandler carry her back to the dorm room, where Ju and Ella are already waiting for them.”

“You owe me ice cream now.”

“Shut up. I broke my computer, I don’t deserve your shit. Aren’t you supposed to be supportive of me and give me things when I feel bad? What kind of friend are you?”

“...A friend who didn’t get his banana sundae.”

“Put me down you asshole.”

“I WAS JOKING.”

“Put me down.”

“...Chandler…”

“Yes?”

“...Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They both know she’s just going to get worse from here. They both know that no matter how much Violet smiles, or smirks, or laughs, they can’t ignore that Violet is just as broken as that computer. They can’t ignore-rather, they can’t forget what happened tonight.

He can’t do much about that right now. He can give her good reasons and good memories. He can try to brighten her life. He will be there for her, and there are so many more that will be willing to as well.

He’ll be there for her, get her through a hard spot in life. He knows, in the back of his head, that Violet has gone through horrible things before. So he knows she can get through them again. She matters to him, and he’s not going to let her go. He’s going to get her through this, he has too, he knows she can, she’s not overreacting, he’s not overreacting-

His thoughts are cluttering again, his mind is working too fast.

Breathe.

They can get through this. Day by day, slowly, but surely. Chandler and Violet are strong enough, their friendship is strong enough. And when she smiles at him, and kisses him on the forehead when they get back to her room...

Chandler believes it.

And Violet lies to herself that she does as well.

It’s two weeks later, on a rainy monday night.

Two weeks later, when Violet texts Ella and says she’s going out to get another notebook, because she’s running out of space in the ones she has. She’s been writing like crazy in her journals since her computer broke, and Ella says, go ahead.

Ella says, see you later.

Violet doesn’t respond.

It’s two weeks later when Violet Hoy is found on the corner outside Barnes and Noble, clutching a notebook in her hands as her head bleeds out on the street.

It’s two weeks later that the hospital calls Ella and tells her that her sister is currently in Emergency Care.

It’s two weeks later that Violet Hoy tries and fails to commit suicide.

But her survival comes with a price no one expected...

#DO YOU HATE ME #oh my lord #it's legit guys #look at all this angst #damn spicy back at it again with the angst #suicide au? idk what to name it right now #oh well #I'M SCREAMING #honestly i feel like this is shit #is chandler and tyler ooc?#i can't tell #lord kill me #i'm a bitch #i enjoyed writing this #*evil laughter*

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kilieit · 7 years

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none of us live in the fictional worlds we roleplay in, and none of us have the writers on tap to ask questions or clarify things

therefore, all of us need to make reasonable assumptions sometimes.

and those assumptions can always be pulled out from under us by future material.

idk, like, let’s pretend we’re talking about a fictional world where all the people seem to live almost exactly like humans in real life, so we all RP that they go to bed and sleep at night. but then in the next expansion it’s revealed that the people in this world don’t sleep in beds at night, they sleep suspended from the ceiling like bats through a machine made up of a complex series of knots, pulleys, and levers.

all the RP everyone’s done up to that point that involves a bed in any way, shape, or form is now non-canon and everyone has to figure out a new bedtime routine for their character, new locations for all those cute “it’s late at night and I can’t sleep so I’m going to crawl into your bed and ask you to tell me a story” scenes

and some people are going to say “this ruling is stupid, my character still sleeps in a bed”

and some people are going to say “I don’t like this ruling but following the lore is important to me so I guess I’ll work with it somehow”

and some people are going to say “this ruling doesn’t really affect me, all my character’s RP is during the daytime, so whatever”

and some people are going to say “this ruling doesn’t really affect me, but I’m going to take care never to have my character refer to a bed, and transform all turns of phrases referencing beds to reference sleeping apparatus instead, because the flavour of the setting inspires me”

and some people are going to say “wow that wouldn’t work in real life so that means we must be able to extrapolate this and that and the other about the physiology of the people in this fictional world”

and some people are going to say “this ruling gives me some really interesting ideas so i’m going to think about the implications of this” and then run a storyline in which a serial murderer uses malfunctioning sleep apparatus as their preferred method of killing

and some people are going to say “I know my character was an electrician before but actually I’m going to make them a sleeping apparatus repair expert from now on because I think that looks fun and engaging”

and probably more...

...and all of those reactions are okay.

literally none of them hurt anyone in themselves.

none of them are inherently “better” than the others.

it’s okay to decide you only want to play with people who made a similar decision to you - that’s just basic friend curation, just like you’ll mostly want to play with people whose characters have something in common with yours, or who have similar opinions on appropriate OOC behaviour.

what’s not okay is to act like you’re better than people who made a different decision!! like you’re entitled to talk down to them! to be mean to them! to mistreat them!

All roleplay is transformative! You don’t get to act like your roleplay is better than others’ because of the type of transformation it places on the canon!

we all make tiny assumptions about the lore all the time and acting like your assumptions are somehow better because they appeal more to your tastes than someone else’s is mean. it’s mean. it’s just-- i can’t think of another way to say it: how do you get to a place in your head where you feel so confident in your arbitrary opinions on a fictional setting that you feel you can talk down to others who made a different decision? that you feel like that arbitrary opinion makes you a better person? entitles you to do asshole things like laugh about people’s creations and call the person names?

and yes, there are some concepts that are less obviously “reasonable”, there are some concepts that are gonna be slotted directly into blind spots in the lore and overwritten once that blind spot is filled in, but does that mean we should all limit ourselves strictly to things we have specifically seen on-screen? hell no! because the things we have specifically seen on screen are actually VERY LIMITED!

the whole point of RP is to be imaginative - some people are inspired by canon and enjoy playing very closely to it, others use it as a springboard to other things. both groups are using their imagination to transform canon and both groups can be subject to their stuff becoming non-canon.

when it’s literally tomorrow that Oda-san could descend from the heavens and say “ah yes, this specific combination of character traits that you, (your name), have carved out as a niche for yourself - it does not and has never existed in the history of Hydaelyn”, and you’d just have to work with that? would you be okay with people laughing at your misfortune, then? it’s a hard situation to decide what to do in! would you want people making fun of you while you try to decide how to deal with it in a way that’s still fun for you?

or would you rather they just carried on with whatever they were doing, and let you get on with yours, while you made your personal decision on what manner you wished to continue the hobby you do for fun in?

judge not lest ye be judged, and all that.

#salt water otter #pulling this out as a separate but related thought #oh my god this post is so long why do i type so much. why. i must be stopped

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steelmistsrp · 7 years

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Congratulations && welcome, Ange !! You have been accepted for the role of The Paragon: Briesie Venture. Please be sure to make a separate blog for your character && send it into the main within 48 hours !! Once that is submitted we will invite you to join the OOC blog && an option to join our skype chat if you should so choose !! Any triggers you (and other applicants) have submitted have been added to our trigger list. Please be sure to read our Welcome Checklist as you begin to get started. The Follow List && OOC page will also be updated for you once your blog has been submitted. Thanks again for you application && we look forward to writing with you !!

Ange, Briesie (which, first of all, is a fantastic name choice!) is absolutely what we had in mind for our pure-hearted cop. Pun absolutely intended, she has a heart of gold, and we cannot wait to see how her influence effects the less than honest of those in the rest of the group. You really nailed the concept behind her motivation to become a cop, but it does not define her entirely, which is exactly what we were hoping to see !! Your inspiration board was particularly lovely. Thanks && Welcome !!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: The Ascendant Asshole Ange Age: 3.14159265359 32 Pronouns: she/her Timezone: CST Activity Level: Constant lurker/ruiner of lives

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION

Skeleton Name: The Paragon Character’s Full Name: Briesie Elena Venture Briesie - Breeze in Africaans. Because you cannot name her twin brother Hammond and not expect me to name her something to do with Breeze. Faceclaim: Meagan Tandy Gender and Pronouns: Cis-female, she/her Sexuality: Demi-sexual, bi-romantic Age and DOB: 31 - 19 Tindwyllin 521 because she’s a winter Capricorn baby and you best believe I’m picking Tindwyllin as the month Education Level: Graduated University with an emphasis on law and criminal justice

Biography: (tw: death)

Being a Venture was a complicated thing. The family was descended directly from the last Emperor, but he had spent much of his life denouncing his family. He himself had not lived long enough to have children and there are those who believe the Venture line should have died with him. Those that survived the Catacendre did so either because they opposed the Emperor or because they did nothing to assist him. Survivorists especially see this as problematic, but they are not alone in their belief.

Though the family had come a long way since the Days of Ash, Briesie has always been compelled to do more than has come to be expected of those bearing her name, a trait that was nourished and encouraged by her parents. Serving the community was important; Harmony taught that a person ought to give more than they took and the Ventures agreed. They had more than they needed and therefore it was their duty to do what they could to give to those who did not, even if the community did not always like them. They tended to stay out of the spotlight, living in Elendel’s society but not always a part of it.

In Briesie’s first year at University, the Ventures were thrust into the spotlight again.

A masked thug, high on metalfire, broke into the Venture estate intent on destroying what he believed were traitors to the Last Emperor and the Survivor’s crew. Using multiple metalfire injections to give him as many allomantic abilities as possible, he pushed himself into her parent’s window, shattering the glass and pushing bits of broken metal into them with the abilities of a coinshot. Briesie and Hammond both heard the noise, home for their mother’s birthday, and emerged into the hallway to find the stranger coming out of their parent’s bedroom. Hammond, a sentry who could feruchemically store wakefullness, moved faster than Briesie. He was able to tap his metalmind – a bronze ring styled exactly like Briesie’s gold one – and rid himself of sleepiness despite it being the middle of the night. Charging at the intruder proved to be a mistake as the man sprayed a handful of nails, bolts, and screws down the hall with deadly accuracy, leaving Briesie time only to scream as she watched her brother fall. Seconds later several jagged bits of metal tore through her, throwing her to the floor. If not for the metalmind she wore, Briesie would have died then and there. The man threw himself out another window at the end of the hall, leaving shards of glass and dead bodies in his wake. This tragedy marks the last time Briesie compounded her metals.

Healing the holes in her body was easy, healing the holes that were left by the loss of her family is an entirely different story. It has been more than a decade now, but the murder is still unsolved. Briesie took the rest of the year off from university, returning the next year with a different major and a different focus. Constables had not been able to find the man who murdered her family, despite excellent efforts made. When she returned to school, Briesie began studying law enforcement and criminal justice, eventually joining the constabulary with the hope that she could keep anyone else from going through what she’d been through.

In the last decade since her family’s murder, the constabulary has changed. There are days when Briesie feels like she and her partner are the only honest cops left in Elendel. It’s hard to tell who to trust; the Iron Syndicate and The Burning Word both have several officers in their pockets. Crimes that should be easily solved are taking months, cases are being dropped, evidence is being mishandled, and as much as she hates to admit it, the department is riddled with dirty cops. Though she knows she cannot singlehandedly clean up the constabulary and the city, Briesie refuses to compromise her own morals and beliefs. She could be nearly invincible if she chose to compound her gold allomancy with her gold feruchemical ability, but doing so can be addictive and leave gold compounders thinking of themselves as gods. To Briesie, it’s not worth the risk. Being a bloodmaker is enough to keep her safe and she will only compound in the most dire of circumstances.

Personality:

– The losses Briesie has suffered have left her a bit standoffish and difficult to get close to. She has a tendency to keep people at an arms length, preferring not to get too close to someone only to lose them again. Those that do make it past her self-constructed walls find in her an incredibly loyal friend. Her cousin is the only family she has left and she considers it her duty to make sure he’s alright. Rumors have started circulating that he’s been spending more time in soothing parlors and she knows she’s been spending too much time focused on work instead of watching out for him.

– Many allomancers consider the ability to burn gold kind of useless, but Briesie likes to use it as a self check. Burning the metal will show her different versions of herself if she’d made different choices. It cannot predict the future, only confirm the decisions she’s made or make her reconsider and hope it’s not too late to backtrack. She always keeps gold flakes on her, despite her reluctance to use her allomancy to aid her healing

.– ISTJ - The Logistician - The Logistician personality type is thought to be the most abundant, making up around 13% of the population. Their defining characteristics of integrity, practical logic and tireless dedication to duty make Logisticians a vital core to many families, as well as organizations that uphold traditions, rules and standards, such as law offices, regulatory bodies and military. People with the Logistician personality type enjoy taking responsibility for their actions, and take pride in the work they do – when working towards a goal, Logisticians hold back none of their time and energy completing each relevant task with accuracy and patience. Logisticians don’t make many assumptions, preferring instead to analyze their surroundings, check their facts and arrive at practical courses of action. Logistician personalities are no-nonsense, and when they’ve made a decision, they will relay the facts necessary to achieve their goal, expecting others to grasp the situation immediately and take action. When Logisticians say they are going to get something done, they do it, meeting their obligations no matter the personal cost, and they are baffled by people who don’t hold their own word in the same respect. Combining laziness and dishonesty is the quickest way to get on Logisticians’ bad side.

– Lawful Good - A lawful good character acts as a good person is expected or required to act. She combines a commitment to oppose evil with the discipline to fight relentlessly. She tells the truth, keeps her word, helps those in need, and speaks out against injustice. A lawful good character hates to see the guilty go unpunished. Lawful good is the best alignment you can be because it combines honor and compassion.

Extra Content (OPTIONAL):Inspirations: http://weheartit.com/thebutlerdidit/collections/120557977-briesie

#the paragon #steelaccept

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soulstream-rp · 7 years

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Hi Joyce! Welcome to our RP group. Valeria has an interesting story that fits into our little world. Her shop in Port Ashborne will definitely a good place for plot! /We have no doubt that she would be a great addition to the group! Please make sure to follow everyone on our masterlist and to follow the tags for announcements, starters, follows & unfollows, as well as events. Also, make sure that your submit is activated for OOC chat link purposes. Congratulations and see you soon!

OOC Info.

Name: Joyce

Age: 22

Preferred Pronoun: She/Her

Timezone: est

Activity Scale (1-10): 6 on weekdays 8 on weekends. I have school and a job so i’m busy on weekdays, but less busy on weekends.

IC Info. Original Character

Character Name: Valeria “Val” Ortiz

Age: 27 years old

Character Type: Medium

True Name: “Hunter”

FC: Daniella Pineda

Sexuality: Bisexual

Date & Place of Birth: June 26th, Tijuana, Mexico

Occupation: Artifact and Relic Hunter and Collector

Background:

Valeria and her older sister, Selena, had always been close to their grandmother. The two sisters would sit on her lap or in front of her, listening to the stories she had to tell about the world so very similar to our own. Their grandmother told stories of souls traveling across the sky, lights touching the earth, and of a magic that connected them all. Their mother didn’t approve of her own mother telling her children such stories, but the young girls wanted to be just like their grandmother when they got older.

As the two girls grew up, their mother eventually forbid them from listening to their grandmother. Still, they would sneak out of their rooms in the middle of the night and learn from their grandmother. They took over the family business, running an antiques store. After school, they helped their grandmother at the store and started to practice magic and attempt to connect with spirits. When Valeria turned eighteen, her sister and grandmother along with several other employees were murdered during a robbery at their family shop. Valeria was severely injured from the shootout, but survived.

It was in that moment that Valeria understood her powers as a medium. Her connection to her sister and grandmother allowed her to stay in contact with them as well as her lost father. Her mother finally revealed the truth about their family. Their family business wasn’t just about collecting antiques, but about protecting and preserving artifacts, some dealing with the supernatural and occult. They stole from hunters and thieves and returned the artifacts to whomever they belonged to. Valeria’s father died during a job. The men who shot up their store were looking for artifacts that were stolen from them. Valeria’s mother tried to prevent her daughters from the same fate as their father and push them to live their own lives.

Her mother thought this would deter Val from following the same path as the rest of their family, but it only encouraged her. Val went to a college close to her home so she could still run their store. After she graduated, she started to take a more active role by tracking down artifacts and either buying or stealing them. She would take them back to her shop or return them to their rightful owners, just as her mother and father and grandmother did before her. After a few years, she was able to get their store back to its former glory and had several trustworthy employees take care of things. Valeria made the decision to move to the United States to open another branch of her family’s shop. The first place she thought of was Port Ashbourne after finding a old post card her father sent her and her sister while on a business trip.

Additional Information:

Valeria frequently has nightmares from the robbery at her store. She has a scar on the right side of her chest from the gunshot would she sustained. It’s been years, but it still gives her pain. She also suffers from depression and anxiety, which she takes medication for.

Valeria majored in Classics and Psychology at her university. She was going to only do a major and minor, but ended up loving psychology so much she decided to do a double major at the last minute and stayed in school an extra semester.

She carries around a picture of her family in her wallet. It’s the last family portrait before her father’s death when she was seven. She hates how she looks in the photo because she’d just lost a tooth, but she loves to see all of her family members happy. Val hates it when people think about her being the girl with a dead family, so she never brings them up.

Personality:

Valeria is generally a quiet and introverted woman who always chooses her words carefully, especially around people she doesn’t know. She used to be boisterous and hyper all the time, but has mellowed out since all the deaths in her family. She’s somewhat pessimistic and morbid, having lost faith in most of humanity. However, she can still be just like her former self when she gets to know people and get closer to them. She despises how greedy people can be and dislikes people who are not loyal. Valeria believes in loyalty to a person more than she believes in loyalty to a cause. She continued the family business because of her love and devotion to her sister and grandmother. Valeria doesn’t always follow what is strictly right and wrong. She believes in the gray areas and usually follows her own standards to do what she thinks is right or what she thinks her grandmother would have wanted.

Skills:

Valeria is ambidextrous, but she prefers to write with her left hand. It helped her when she started practicing Krav Maga and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu so she could defend herself while on a job.

Valeria has trained herself in picking locks, picking pockets, and some hacking. She is not the best hacker, but has enough knowledge to get through basic firewalls. She has become a better liar over the years, which often times gets her out of trouble.

Valeria still practices magic to this day. She sometimes uses her mediumship to contact her sister and grandmother. She never tells people about her abilities. She focused mostly in the school of elementalism and has attempted to practice alchemy with few successes.

She is a skilled pianist thanks to lessons her parents made her go to everyday. When her father died, she wanted to quit, but her mother forced her to continue. Her mother wanted her to become a concert pianist. She hardly plays these days, but every now and then she’ll play a tune.

Sample Paragraph:

“Val, come here!” Valeria lifted her head from her book as her sister called her to the front of the store. She closed the book after placing her leather bookmark between the pages. She walked towards the front desk, but froze when she saw guns pointed at her grandmother and sister. Three other employees at the store also stood, frozen in place with their hands on their heads. Val broke out into a cold sweat and her heard started to pound like a drum. Before she could even say a single word, the man barked at her in Spanish. Their accents were terrible, telling the young woman that these men in masks were not from around here.

Every store Val read, every tv show or film she watched told her situations like these ended up with the protagonist feeling like everything slowed down, but for Val, everything sped up. Pop! Pop! Pop! The guns went off, one after another. Bullets flew all around. The glass encasing all the antiques shattered. The glass rained down, sparkling in the light. Any other day, it could have been beautiful. But the glass today was stained with dark blood. The gore seemed to coat everything in the store. Val closed her eyes as a bullet struck her. She fell backwards, struggling to breathe through the shock and pain of hot metal ripping through her insides. Her eyes fluttered shut as the men searched the store. She could hear their heavy footsteps running away when sirens echoed from down the street.

When Valeria opened her eyes again, she was in her hotel room. She was sweaty and shaking when she ripped the covers off. The pillows were strewn everywhere. It was a bad night again. She couldn’t shake the memory of what happened, even nearly ten years later. She forced herself to get to her feet. She went into the bathroom to wash her face and get a sip of water. Val pushed her hair back and looked into the mirror as she took in several deep breaths. She glanced back at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was five am and she knew she wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon. She braided her hair back and went to the desk in the room.

Val tapped the pen on the wooden table as she perched her feet on the surface. She reached over to pick up her phone and dialed a number. “Mama…oh, no, I’m fine,” she said quietly. She put a hand to her head. “I wanted to call and see how you were doing. Is the shop doing well?” Hearing her mother’s voice was calming and comforting. It was her last source of comfort. “I was up early for a run and thought I’d call since we haven’t spoken in a while,” she told her mother. Anytime she called her mother, her mother would get worried about her. “I’m glad things are going well. I’m just in the States for a job. I’ll be careful, I promise,” she said. She put on a small smile, even though her mother couldn’t see it. She glanced at the hotel’s brochures on the desk. “I’m staying in a hotel at this town called…Port Ashbourne. I like it. I think you’d like it, too.” Val sighed softly and stood up from the desk chair. “I love you, too. I’ll let you know how it goes. I think this town will be interesting.”

#daniella pineda fc #rp #ghost rp #magic rp #supernatural rp

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