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eliwashere · 9 months

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Can't Hear You

summary: König gets a radio from you in the middle of battle. You tell him your hearing aids got busted, and he runs. tags: könig x gn!reader, hoh!reader, angst (?), fluff, pining, canon-typical violence, no use of Y/N, slightly proofread word count: 2.9k words

fyi this is my first fic on here!

and i'm also aware that hoh ppl can't join the military but i just like the feelings

requests are open !

The ride is bumpy.

König’s sniper hood scratches the tip of his nose as the van moves along gravel, the vehicle shaking, the engine revving. The sweat-caked fabric scrapes against his lips, a familiar feeling, one that he’s gotten used to over the years here with Kortac. He leans on the wall of the vehicle, eyes scanning over his squad.

The mission had sent them to the middle of South East Asia, the humidity sticking uncomfortably to König’s skin. He hears the quiet murmurs of the squad, silently complaining about the heat. His eyes land on you, seated across from him. You have your hearing aids turned off, your eyes closed as you simply wait till the van stops or gets attacked.

Your colonel knows you like to take moments to yourself, to let the noise muffle out. Well, you’d told everyone on your first day, when you’d just been shifted from another base due to your battle-earned hearing loss.

Your first day, when you first met König.

===

König remembers it well.

He remembers his superiors introducing you to the team, taking an extra moment to specially mention that you were hard of hearing. It surprised him, though he didn’t let it show (he couldn't anyway). Usually, they’d let soldiers go if they lost something on the field, a limb, a sense. But he figured that maybe they had a reason to keep you around, and that intrigued him.

“Sometimes I take them off, at night or during down time,” you said, pointing to your hearing aids as the Kortac squad stared you down, whether it be to size you up or… other actions with other motives. You had clocked König in the crowd from a mile away, his head sticking up among the others like a tower in a field. He had a tilt in his head, which he held unnecessarily high. You could almost hear the whirring behind his eyes, the churning cogs in his brain, trying to figure you out.

“And so, if anyone would like to partner up with your new teammate here, it would be greatly appreciated,” your superior had said, and you almost sighed. Someone had to keep an eye out for you, in case there was a drill, or an alarm you couldn’t hear. It bothered you that you needed to be followed around, that you’d likely be assigned a caretaker, or god forbid, a roommate. You need privacy, everyone in this base needed privacy, and having to share that space with someone felt akin to an intrusion.

But of course, the military couldn’t take any chances.

When no one answered, König couldn’t say he was surprised. Nobody would want to follow someone around all day on the off chance that there was a danger to the base, and he figured that you wouldn’t want that either, especially not with total strangers.

“Alright, then I guess we’ll have to–”

“I’ll do it.”

Heads whipped back to König, who only looked at his teammates once before looking back at you. He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe he pitied you, like you were the kid that got picked last during a game, or maybe he just related to the silence that you were met with, all too familiar.

“Well, that’s settled then.”

===

The van came to a stop at the edge off the main gravel road, the hood of the vehicle poking into the forest. You turn your hearing aids back on, the soft hum of the world flooding back into your senses. The team filed out of the back of the van, dirt and rock crunching under your boots. König checked his rifle for the nth time, before looking over to you. You met his gaze, an unspoken understanding for you to stay close by him filtering between the two of you.

The squad started north not long after, towards the enemy base. König, as colonel, leads the team. His head is on a swivel, looking out for any stray enemy soldiers, or landmines and traps on the forest floor. He spares a half a second to glance at you, your rifle held tight in your hands, expression focused, almost unreadable. It’s the expression you wore whenever you were training with the team, the expression that engraved itself into König’s retinas during your first few days with them, with him.

===

To your luck, they still let you have your own quarters, but also to your luck, you had to spend every other moment out of your room with König. Protocol, you had heard him say, accent deep set into his voice. You hadn’t expected it, to be honest, for a man his stature and size to have that voice. By no means did you not like it, in fact, there was something mesmerising about it whenever he was out on the battlefield. Crazed, you would describe it, crackling, like radio static.

König never did hear your voice often, one of the many silent types in the team, him included. He’d figured he’d leave it alone, but it was rare to find someone that spoke less than he did. He found himself observing you most of the time, which he had a lot of with you.

He noticed that you spoke more with your actions than anything.

When you were tired, you’d stretch the muscles in your neck, sucking a breath in as it emits a satisfying pop.

When you were frustrated, you’d clench your jaw, or you’d press your tongue into your cheek. If it was the other teammates bothering you, especially with their volume, you’d turn off your hearing aids, which has made König chuckle on more than one occasion. You’d never hear it though, but you could see the creasing of his eyes, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips.

===

The base is fairly barren, though most of the people who are there are heavily armed by the looks of it. That means it’s easy for your team to pick them off without getting seen, but it means a longer process and a more distance between the team. König can’t help but worry when you weren’t near, your presence having been a constant in his life for months now. At base or at battle, you would be at his side. So, when he sees you more than ten feet away from him, he breathes in a little deeper.

All it takes is one mess up, one wrong move, and suddenly the base’s sirens go off, the enemy soldiers yelling and firing. On one hand, König’s annoyed, because he’s going to have to find out who messed up and come up with a way to set them straight, but he can’t deny the adrenaline that pumps through his veins as he guns down enemies like target practice. The colonel watches their bodies drop with a twisted sort of satisfaction, the chaos of the moment fueling his hands as he slams an enemy into the brick wall of the building, a sickening crack and choked wail emitting from the now limp body.

König is a soldier, has been for a long time, and this is his element, his work, his life.

The static from his radio brings him out of the moment, and he ducks behind a wall for cover as he brings the device closer to his face.

“König?”

Your voice rings in his ears, and it would’ve bloomed a warmth in his chest if it wasn’t for its shakiness, the uncertainty in your tone. He doesn’t even get time to answer before you speak again.

“They…they’re broken, König. My hearing aids,” you say over the radio, ragged breaths and stutters punctuating your words. His eyes widen, but he doesn’t answer, knowing you can’t hear it anyway. He could hardly stomach the fear in your voice. You’re never scared, at least you’ve never shown it like this. But not being able to hear on the battlefield, not knowing if someone is behind you, or if a grenade had landed nearby; it scared König more than it did you.

“Nor–northern building, second floor.”

It’s all the information König needs for him to start running, sprinting to you.

===

It took a while for König to open up to you, four months, if anyone was counting. But König didn’t have anyone to really compare your time to, because you were the first one to ever try.

It was late in the night, König remembers. He forgot why he was even up, likely due to a nightmare, or simply the inability to even fall asleep, but he found himself in the common room, sat on the couch with a cup of tea in hand, the type that was supposed to help with sleep. He took a sip, sniper hood draped over his lap, his face exposed. The tea was warm, soothing, and König sighs through his nose as the liquid down his throat.

Training had been rather rough that day, with most of the soldiers already fast asleep by the time it hit midnight (a rarity). So, König hadn’t expected anyone to walk in, until you did, half asleep, feet dragging across the floors. You hadn’t noticed him, and he watched you open the shared fridge, pulling out the milk carton.

König hadn’t even considered the fact that his hood was off, and made no move to put it on either. He simply watched as you poured yourself half a glass, drinking it till it was gone. Your hearing aids weren’t in, he noticed, just as he noticed everything else. The scrapes on your elbow from training, the mess your hair was in, the dark circles under your half-lidded eyes… you looking right at him.

You tilted your head, empty glass in hand, the other holding the milk carton. At first glance, you had no idea who he was. Perhaps it was the sleep eating away at your brain, or the fact that he was sat in the dark, none of the lights on in the common room. But the electric blue of his eyes was familiar, and you knew.

The first thing out your lips was a hurried apology, looking away in favour of returning the carton into the fridge, placing the empty glass in the sink. You knew König never took that mask off for anyone, so to see the face under it felt like a violation of sorts on your part.

“It’s fine,” König had said, only to realise that his words couldn’t reach you, words that he was surprised he said himself. ‘It’s fine’? Was it actually fine?

Was König actually fine that you saw his face?

That your brows raised ever so slightly, surprised.

That you took a second to scan his features, despite the darkness of the room.

That your apology was so quick and so soft, that he swore his heart stopped for just a moment.

As you washed the cup in the kitchen sink, a hand finds itself on your shoulder, and you turned to face König, who was still unmasked.

To the untrained eye, he would’ve looked absolutely terrifying. Scars slashed across his features, his expression set and serious, but you saw the hesitation in his eyes, which were somehow the most expressive part of his face, yet the one feature he didn't hide.

König stood back a little, preserving your respective personal spaces as he drew his hand back to his side. You saw his lips part for a moment, as if to say something. You looked up at him, had to, because he towered over you, but you saw the indecision in his body language, and you gave him a nod.

“I can read lips,” you reassured. König heard you loud and clear, and his eyes look back into yours as he swallowed, adam’s apple moving along his neck. He thought for a moment, about what he wanted to say to you. A hard decision, considering the fact that he wanted to say everything in that moment, but he had a tendency to swirl into German if he got too carried away. So, he kept it simple.

“I don’t mind,” he said, aloud. He didn’t want to go out of his way to mouth the words to you, it felt rather condescending. But you got the message anyway, shown by the upwards curve of your lips, the single breath that you let out through your nose.

König breathed in. It was shaky, and filled his lungs to the brim. It felt like how he’d feel post-battle. The feeling of sinking emotions, of deep breathing and a mouth running dry. The feeling of pupils dilated, of his hands flexing and clenching at his side because god did he touch your shoulder just now? He didn't mean to do that.

“Are you sure?” you asked, cocking your head to the side with that slight grin, almost like you were anticipating, excited by the prospect of him wanting to share this part of him with you, one that he keeps so heavily guarded at all times. The thought made your chest ache.

Your colonel nodded, wetting his lips.

“I trust you.”

===

König runs incredibly fast for a bulky 6’10 man with tactical gear on and a rifle in his hands.

Fuck stealth, fuck sneaking and scouting around corners because every second he's not running is a second that you're alone and in danger. If any enemies are in his way, he simply shoots, not caring to make sure that they’re dead, he just needs them out of his fucking way.

He kicks in the door to the northern building, the sound reverberating through the building that he’s sure that you can feel. The colonel steps over the limp body of an enemy soldier, the puddle of red pooling under their lifeless corpse, soaking their camo maroon. His throat tightens when he sees your hearing aids sitting in that pool of red, or what’s left of it. Blood seeps into the shattered plastic, finding its way into the cracks, into the torn wiring of the device.

Making his way up the second floor, König catches a glimpse of the barrel of your rifle sticking out from behind a wall. Reckless on your part, but he could hardly blame you. He steps towards the corner, unsure of how to approach without startling you. The last thing he wants is for you to shoot him when he’s already so close to you; just behind a brick wall.

===

König found out why the military kept you around.

The first ever mission you go on together was his favourite. Before that, he’d heard the other Kortac officers talk about you, about how you'd snipe down enemies like candles on a cake, how you could scan a room in a single swipe of the eyes, how you’d saved their asses from more traps than they knew possible to put in one room.

He’d believed them, of course, because he never wanted to assume anything more than the best from you. But seeing was believing, and god, he was never more certain of anything in his life.

It was like coming face to face with an angel from a religion he didn’t know existed. He watched your steady hands, the rise and fall of your chest that held whenever you fired. You hardly missed, but when you did you’d pay it back by taking two more enemies out. König almost missed the grenade that landed by his feet, to which you kicked away before he could even react.

The two of you had to get shrapnel removed from your legs that day, but König smiles whenever he sees those scars, a reminder of you and your magnetic monstrosity.

===

He was right, you do try to shoot him.

König is lucky that your reflexes are just as good when retracting your rifle. He stares down at you, hands splayed and raised at his sides, firearm hitting the hard concrete floor with a cloud of dust. You’ve backed yourself into a corner where you had the best vantage point, where no one could see you through any windows or balconies. There’s a dull ache in his chest when he sees you like this, reduced to frantic breaths and wide eyes.

“König,” you say, his callsign slicing through your breathlessness as you lower your weapon. The relief sends chills down your spine, stirring together with the adrenaline in your blood; a boiling broth of feelings. You had half-expected that König didn’t hear your radio distress call, that someone had gotten to him before you’d gotten through. It was an imaginable thought, that someone would be able to take down this hulking boulder of a man, but you thought the impossible.

You watch him lower his hands, reaching them out towards you instead. You push yourself from the corner, your back killing you as you grab onto his wrists. His hands clench around nothing, the muscles in his wrists flexing under your grip.

“König, I can’t… can’t hear you. I-I can’t–”

Without a second thought, König slips his arm from your hands and lifts his hood over his helmet.

“You’re safe,” he says aloud, making sure you have your eyes on him. Eye-black mixes with his sweat, a trail of ink running down his pale skin. He’d lowered himself to your eye-level, definitely straining his back. He holds onto your bicep, giving it a squeeze. The pressure is comforting, grounding you to reality, to König’s presence.

You nod, movements stuttered. König smiles, and so does his piercing blue eyes.

“You’re safe with me.”

#konig #cod x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig cod #angst #fluff #konig x gn!reader #canon typical violence #first fic #cod x gn!reader #no use of y/n #someone pls teach me how to use this hellsite #like what do i include in an intro or masterlist post #send help

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lizzie-is-here · 1 year

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lonely is a man without love

part iii- cairo

“i am a deserted sky, and you are the moonlight” - manoj muntashir

summary: you and marc head to cairo, and you make a shocking discovery in the form of a giant skeleton bird

wordcount: 4k

warnings: language, violence, vague references to the red room, drinking, slight pining, a saddening lack of steven

a/n: yuhhh posting this before my bday tomorrow so i can get crunk af. ALSO TAYLOR AND JOE? sobbing. but i hope y’all enjoy love y’all sm sm sm 🫶

taglist: @thefictionalgemini @ravenz-hope @undiscl0sed-d3sir3s @iateall-yourcookies @disregardedplant @sunflowers-4 @yellowumbrelllaaaa @bagsy-not-it @local-mr-frog @thescarletredwitch @jupitersmoon167 @creamecafe @stevenknightmarc @theluciansystem @kingtwhiddleston @spider-biter @mxltifxnd0m @sgt-morgan @no-dont-be-suspicious @onzayhe @namorslit @i-cant-write-for-shit

i’m sorry it won’t let me tag some of y’all 😭

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Marc pokes and prods for more intel on your profession the whole plane ride to Cairo.

Honestly, it’s more of a harsh interrogation at this point, with him making sure you aren’t working for any remnant of the Red Room that managed to stay alive. Once he’s satisfied and his temper cools, you explain why you were sent.

“Righteous” justice or not, he was a danger, killing random people all over Europe and shaking off hits that no normal person should be able to. And the team liked to keep tabs on enhanced beings.

“So the actual Avengers are worried about me? It’s not like I’m going after them,” he says.

You laugh, loud and obnoxious. “Worried? No, you misunderstand. It’s more of a public safety precaution. Just making sure all of our loose ends are tied.”

“Loose ends being…?”

“Hydra. The Red Room-“ You gesture to yourself. “Aliens. Things like that.”

“Yeah…” Marc says, hesitant. “‘Things like that’, sure.”

You lean over a bit, scanning the plane from your aisle seat to check for threats. All you see are tired passengers, dozing off or absorbed in the small TVs on the backs of the seats.

Once satisfied, you turn back to Marc.

“If you want to sleep, now’s a good time. Once we get to Cairo, we’re not going to have much time to rest,” you say, nodding to the TV. 3 hours away.

He eyes you, a bit suspiciously, but closes his eyes anyway. With a sigh, you stand up, snaking through the aisles to the bathroom. You grab your phone and tap a favorited contact.

“(Y/N)?”

“Tasha,” you greet. “Is it a bad time?”

Your friend shakes her head, holding up the phone to show the group. “We just finished a movie, what’s up?”

“So… Marc Spector is here. He has DID, and Steven Grant is an alter, not an alibi. Things are getting serious.”

She nods. “That explains a lot.” You’d been relaying your experiences to them for weeks, and they’d shared in your confusion. Her tone turns more stern. “How serious?”

“Cults, magic, something about a scarab? It’s out of my expertise.”

“Do you need backup?” Steve’s voice calls from the other side of the couch.

You shake your head. “No, it’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s just fucking weird.”

A chorus of laughter goes up on the other end of the phone and you smile, rolling your eyes when a knock lands on the bathroom door.

“I just wanted to update you. We’re heading to Cairo now, so…” You shrug. “I will maybe get some souvenirs.”

The knocking grows more incessant.

“Will you hold on? Your shits can wait!” you call. Turning your attention back to the phone, you sigh. “I’ve got to go. This person is going to kick the door down.”

Nat nods and mock-salutes you. “Have fun, stay safe. You can always call, (Y/N).”

With a brief goodbye, you wash your hands and leave, awkwardly waving at the small child who was the source of the knocking. Sitting down, you sigh, listening to the sound of air and propellers.

No sleep for you, you guess.

———————————————————————

When the plane lands and you rush off, you and Marc find the closest hotel and buy separate rooms.

Even after securing the room and stuffing a gun under your pillow, you still sleep lightly. A shattering sound wakes you, bright light from outside invading your eyes, and you curse under your breath as you clamber out of bed.

You slip out of your door and into Marc’s room, gun still gripped in your hand.

He’s sitting on the floor, head in his hands. A mirror is shattered.

“Are you gonna break more mirrors or can we start the day?” you ask. He raises a bottle.

Snatching it from him, you down the last of the fiery liquid and chuck the bottle. It lands somewhere on the ground behind you, brown glass joining the reflective shards on the tile.

He drunkenly laughs, looking up to where you stand.

Your hair is free and rustled, not like how you normally have it. Your hair is always braided or tied back, something he now realizes is a habit from your training.

There’s a gun in your hand, and he can see your finger on the trigger. Marc regrets waking you, partially out of guilt and partially because he’s once more been reminded that you’re a killer. Which reminds him that he’s a killer.

You’re just a much prettier killer. Much.

“Are you going to get up? Or are you going to stare at me like you want to fight me again?” you laugh. “Because it did not go so great for you last time-“

He waves a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. ‘M gettin’ up,” he finally says, and you slip away, avoiding glass and heading back to your own room to dress for the day.

Light colors, thin fabrics. Anything to stave off the heat. Once you’re both ready, you and Marc head into the city.

You don’t mention the mysterious absence of Steven, who the vigilante is definitely suppressing. Said vigilante is too busy hunting down his target.

He shakes off the last bit of drunkenness as he leads you up a ladder, not really telling you where you’re going or why. It doesn’t bother you, per se, but you are curious as to how he knows where to go. Sometimes he glances at empty spaces, as if listening to something not quite there.

You have no time to ponder this strange behavior as you leap across rooftops and nimbly avoid obstacles that Marc barrels through.

Your question as to who you’re hunting down is answered when you see a group of men, with one being stabbed in the stomach right as you arrive. Great.

“Oh, shit,” Marc sighs. “You killed him? I needed to talk to that guy. About a dig sight.”

“I don’t think they can un-stab him,” you snort.

He nods. “True. Guess I’m gonna have to talk to you all instead.”

“You’re too late,” one of them growls. “You’re never gonna find Harrow.”

“That’s his name?” You audibly gag. “Eugh, that’s a shit name for a cult leader.”

The guy tosses his knife in the air, following it up by tracing the blade along the ground.

“Ooh,” Marc says. “What, are we dancin’? We fightin’? What are we gonna do?” You step back as one of them lunges, deciding to go easy on them and not use a weapon.

Slamming one against the wall is easy enough, though he gets up soon after and targets Marc instead. One of them, a kid, charges at you.

You disarm him and shove him on his ass, not wasting your time on a literal child. Whipping around, you grab the handle of a knife as it zooms past, a few inches past your shoulder.

“Seriously? Learn to aim,” you say to yourself as you toss the knife off the roof.

It’s going rather well for a street fight. Much more fun, albeit less challenging than any of your Red Room missions.

And then it all goes to shit.

Marc’s got a knife to a guy’s throat, but something changes. A brief moment of silence, and he slams the blunt handle on his head, hard enough for him to bleed.

You let him go to town fighting the other two, who are now much more scared of him. It’s only when he meets your gaze that you realize something is deeply wrong. The hairs on your neck rise.

That’s not Marc. Definitely not Steven.

Your suspicions are confirmed when he leaps from the roof and disappears into the crowd.

What the fuck?

You follow, sprinting down streets as you barely stay on his tail.

When you manage to catch up to Marc, or whoever, he’s staring down a cliff with two dead bodies on the ground. You don’t have to look to know that the third lies at the base of the steep drop.

“Marc? What the fuck just happened?” you demand.

He whirls around, fear in his eyes.

“I- I don’t know. That wasn’t me, or Steven. So what-”

The wind swirling interrupts him, and he stares off at a rusty car.

“And what is so interesting about the car that-”

“We have to find Harrow. What about the other gods?”

You furrow your brow. “What?”

A disembodied voice responds, “To signal with an audience with the gods is to risk their wrath-”

You’ve never pulled out a gun faster. Turning in circles, you find no source. No people, no tech. Your breath quickens, aiming the firearm at random.

“Okay, Marc?” you begin. “I’m all good with cults, and floating scarabs, and even some magic, but you are going to have to explain that voice before I start freaking out.”

The man sighs, glancing back to the air.

“I serve the Egyptian god Khonshu. I’m his… avatar.” The delusional nature of his statement is offset by how naturally he says it, so much so that you do a double-take.

“And you’re just telling me this now? Of course, of course, the first mission I go on after fighting a grape from space has Egyptian gods,” you hiss. “Don’t tell the public, Thor’s got plenty of fangirls that you don’t want.”

The voice sounds again. “I doubt they’d find the same appeal in me.”

You shrug, but when you turn in the direction it came from, you see it. And boy is it ugly.

An absurdly large bird skull, the body covered in mummification wrappings, and a large staff at his side.

“Cool. Cool-cool-cool. You were saying about talking to the other gods?” you mumble, trying to ignore the large bird thing.

“Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen?” Marc asks.

“Anger them enough and they’ll imprison me in stone,” the thing -Khonshu- says.

“That doesn’t sound too bad to me,” the man next to you says. You nod in agreement.

“You are very ugly,” you state bluntly.

Evidently unused to people disrespecting him, the god slams his staff on the ground.

“Not many mortals are allowed to even see my form, much less speak to me. It is a blessing.”

“Yes, well, I don’t feel very blessed.”

He turns his attention back to his avatar. “See how well you fare against Harrow without the protection of my healing armor.”

“All right, so what? Do you have any good ideas?”

“I have a bad one.” With that, he disappears.

You glance up, noticing the light dimming. You are met with a solar eclipse. So he can fully move the moon with no regard to its position or that the next eclipse was not for a good while? Huh.

Marc leads you down some stairs, past Khonshu as they talk.

“The gods all have avatars,” he explains. “They’re gathering now, but I don’t know…”

A wall begins to open itself, revealing a tunnel lined with glowing hieroglyphs. “... how to get there,” he finishes.

“I don’t fuck with small, dark, magic tunnels,” you say. “Besides, I don’t think I should join you.”

Marc smiles, visibly nervous. Resting a hand on his shoulder, you shrug.

“You’ll be fine, okay? Meet me here when you’re done, I will wait and see what I can learn about any leads.” It’s the nicest thing you’ve said to him, so he nods, steels his nerves, and heads down the tunnel. As soon as it shuts, you sigh.

“‘Egyptian mythology’,” you whisper to yourself as you type into a search bar. “I guess the black market is a good place to start.”

———————————————————————

You’re wandering through a marketplace when Marc finds you. The Red Room taught you to blend in perfectly, but he manages to spot you when he hears a loud laugh.

In your hand are a drink and a tangerine, which you may or may not have stolen.

“Can you find anything about Senfu’s sarcophagus?” he asks.

“Ouch, no ‘Hi’?” you tease before obliging. As you search with Stark tech assisting you, you glance at Marc. “It didn’t go well.”

“No,” he agrees. “They brought in Harrow, called me crazy, and denied my request.”

“Hmm, some council.” You finally break into a smile, holding your phone flat and projecting your findings. “Mogart. Some black market collector that is conveniently… 24 miles away.”

It takes a while to double-check your intel and find a boat, and the sun has set by the time you’re onboard. Sitting on the end, away from the other groups, Marc watches you, observing the cheerful passengers. A few young girls dance to the loud music, just enjoying the night as you look away.

“You know, I know almost nothing about you,” Marc says.

“I could say the same about you. Other than the file.”

He doesn’t balk at the mention of a debriefing on him, just smirks. “Yeah? Well, you know I work for an Egyptian god, I’ve got a British man living in my head, and the basics. All I know is your name and your-” He gestures at you. “-previous job.”

“You don’t want to know about the Red Room, I promise.” Your smile is a bit bittersweet. “It’s not pretty.”

“My past isn’t either.”

You hum. “The Red Room makes child assassins,” you say, avoiding too much detail. “And… I was cycled through the Black Widow programme three times. I was good at it, too.” That’s all you give up, gauging his reaction.

His gaze softens, not with pity, but with empathy. “How young were you? When you started- The training, I mean.”

The question manages to cause a lump in your throat. This is why you don’t like thinking about it.

You soften the truth when you manage to speak. “I don’t remember a time before it.”

A hand rests on yours. And the two of you sit in silence for a bit, quiet understanding lingering.

“And you?” you say, blinking away the small amount of water building in your eyes. “Did you always work for the bird?”

“No. But I was fighting for a while before I met him. ‘ve done plenty of horrible shit in my life even without him asking me to.”

“And I’ve done horrible things to get out of the Red Room. We have something in common.”

Marc shakes his head. “No, you… you’re out. Hell, you’re working with the Avengers. You’ve made up for it.”

If he knew what you’d done, he wouldn’t be so quick to absolve you. You brush that thought away.

“Well,” you begin, leaning back on the seat. “It’s never too late to start.”

The boat reaches the banks before he can respond or be further distracted by the rings on your hands. Or how your body twists and curves as you quickly jump onto dry land.

“Got an alibi?” you ask, watching Marc stash the duffel bag under the dock.

He hums, shrugging. “A few. Rufino Estrada,” he decides. “What about you?”

“I’m going in as myself. Obviously, not an Avenger, but…” You tie your jacket around your waist, allowing your t-shirt to hide many of your weapons.

On your belt, there are two guns and a handful of knives, but Marc’s eyes are drawn to your wrists. Gauntlets flicker red, electricity in them crackling as you check your weapons.

He speaks after you fire an experimental blast into the ground. “And what’s our story here?”

“You hired me as security, and you are in the business for this sarcophagus. You’re a reputable antiques buyer who previously had ties to Dreykov, the head of the Red Room. I’ve already sent that information ahead.” You flash a charming smile to the man, who still seems a bit on edge. “Mogart made a few small deals with him, so he knows how serious the Widows are. It’s a perfect alibi.”

You two approach a large track, with men jousting under bright lights as music blares from the speakers.

Schooling your expression as you approach a man, you tilt your chin up.

“Where is your boss?” you ask, voice much darker and accented than usual.

“Ma’am-“

“I sent a message earlier. We’re here for the sarcophagus.” The man immediately nods and rushes off as you lead Marc forward. “Don’t drop the act,” you whisper. “Let’s go.”

The guy introduces himself as Bek and guides you toward the track. “He’s excited to meet you. He hasn’t been able to speak to any of the infamous Black Widows after the Red Room fell.”

They were scattered across every continent on Earth, rebuilding their lives. Of course he wouldn’t find them.

“Excuse me a moment. Mr. Mogart will be with you shortly,” Bek says, slipping away.

You lean against the railing, the Widow Bites on your wrists glowing red at the movement.

“So what?” Marc starts. “This joker just puts on El-Mermah games in his backyard for fun?”

You click your tongue. “Ah, who knows? Rich people are weird.”

“Sir, Agent. Come in.” The man, dressed in a dark red robe, greets you with a more than relaxed attitude. “I hear you’re interested in my collection?”

Marc nods. “I hear you have Senfu’s sarcophagus.”

“And who told you that?” This is tedious, you think to yourself. Diplomacy and bargaining, it makes you want to heave.

“The best in the business.” Marc gestures to you.

Mogart seems convinced by this, and you begin to head toward a group of buildings.

“I hope you understand this is more than a collection to me. Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously.”

“No one asked you to do that,” you comment mildly, baring your teeth in a sinister grin when he frowns at you. “Yet, here we are.”

Mogart brushes off the thinly veiled insult with a chuckle. “I forgot how deep Widows cut,” he jokes. “How was the old boss before he died? May he rest in peace.”

“Pieces,” you correct, struggling to speak well of the man that previously controlled every aspect of your life. “Helicopter explosion. He… He died powerful and influential. What he would’ve wanted.”

Mogart doesn’t push further, thankfully, coming to a stop in front of a glass pyramid.

“If I may ask, why such interest in Senfu in particular?”

You have a fake reason, but he gestures for Marc to answer. Shit.

“I think that… I just think I would love to take a look,” he says. He’s confident, but it’s an awkward pause.

Mogart concedes. “Funny man. Feel free.”

As you enter the area housing said tomb, you glance at Marc.

“You need to let Steven out. He knows more than either of us and we cannot afford to blow this,” you whisper.

Marc scoffs. “Not a chance. All right, what do you see?”

“The burial practices,” you begin, recalling your research from earlier. “They’re in line with the Studenwachen texts.”

“The what?”

You roll your eyes, exasperated. “Apparently I’m the only one who studied. It means it’s real. But all of this is just instructions to guide the dead.”

“So?”

“No locations indicated.”

Marc glances up at the ceiling, likely listening to Steven. He turns back to you, voice hushed.

“Ok, will you give me a minute? I gotta talk to Steven. Keep him occupied.”

You nod, slipping away with a sigh of relief.

“Mr. Estrada needs some time alone,” you announce, watching said man ramble to himself. “He’s… praying.”

This doesn’t stop Bek, who storms in and grabs Marc’s arm. On instinct, the ex-Marine disarms him, also giving up your cover.

Guns are trained on you in an instant, and you raise your hands.

“Marc!” you shout. He spots you, and for a second you think he’s gonna shoot the guy and leave you to fend for yourself. Instead, he curses and gives up the gun.

“Do you really think I’m an idiot?” Mogart asks. “Get on your knees.”

Marc obliges, and the robed man sneers at you. “I really thought you were a possible ally.” A gun shoved against your neck forces you forward. “I used to be Dreykov’s customer, a friend, even.”

“You think I’d want anything to do with the man who ruined my life?” you laugh. “Dreykov was a coward. And I wish I’d been the one to kill him.”

“Hey-“ Marc steps in. “Take a look inside the sarcophagus. There’s somethin’ really, really big.”

Before Mogart can look, Bek speaks to him in French. You freeze.

“It appears we have a concerned third party here,” he says. “Get up.”

“Harrow,” you mouth to Marc, trying to find the zealot. He stands with two men, leaning on his staff.

“Whatever they’ve told you, I’m sure I can offer something much more tangible.” The scarab floats above his hand. “Why settle for a clue when you can have the treasure?”

Arguing breaks out as Marc snaps at Harrow, who simply turns to each of you. “You all have more in common than you know.”

“(Y/N), you think that ignoring the past will keep it from catching up to you. That missions can give you a purpose, but it’s closing in.”

You’re so taken aback by him knowing your name and reading you so well that you don’t hear another word.

“Do it. Summon the suit,” Khonshu says, appearing on a rooftop. “Give them what they deserve.”

You exchange a glance with Marc, subtly nodding to your gun, and then to the distracted guards.

Meanwhile, Harrow calls on his staff, using it to destroy the sarcophagus. By the time the cultish leader is gone, so is Marc.

Panic starts immediately, and you grin despite being surrounded.

“Well, boys. Looks like you’re in trouble.”

Mogart and Bek run as Marc starts attacking, throwing down curved blades as you grab your gun. Shooting down three guards is easy enough, but more are firing from the track.

“Here!” Marc covers you with his cape, blocking the gunfire in a way you don’t understand.

You catch your breath, looking up where his eyes glow through the suit.

“Can you buy me some time?”

“Absolutely.”

You run to the tomb, grabbing the tattered fabric. When you turn around, you come face to face with Bek.

Thinking fast, you throw shards of glass at his face and kick him in the stomach. He grabs a knife as you dodge his attacks, ducking in time for his knife to land in the mummy.

You take the advantage, slamming the grip of your gun into his nose. He tosses you away to grab the knife, but as he turns around, you fire off a single shot.

A quick death, it could be worse.

Running to the track where Marc is pinned down, you jump the fence. There’s multiple javelins stabbed through him, and you shoot a rider with another ready.

As you aim for the rest, however, you take a blow to the head. You hit the dirt, trying to rise as your vision blurs.

You can hear hoofbeats pounding in your head, only increasing the incoming headache. He’s got a javelin.

“Fuck that hurts,” you mutter, pushing yourself into a sitting position with your gauntlet trained on the figure. Even as Mogart heads for Marc, you don’t waver, especially when he sticks out the weapon to attack you at the last second.

Marc tackles you out of the way, enveloping you as he rolls to safety and tosses a last knife. It doesn’t miss.

Sighing in relief, you let your head flop onto his shoulder as you try to fight off the ache. He pats you on the back as his wounds mend under the suit. A luxury you don’t have.

“There you go. That’s it, deep breaths,” he mumbles, not really sure when you got comfortable enough with each other to sit like this.

He tries his best not to focus on the weight of you leaning on him, trusting him enough to rest, safely tucked in his arms. It feels nice, to have someone trust him like this. Marc hasn’t had that in a long time.

He coughs a bit and you pull away, leaving a cold, exposed feeling where your touch was. Shakily standing, you observe the bodies scattered on the sand.

“We should keep moving,” you say softly. “Don’t want them to catch up.”

Marc can only nod as he fights to keep from reaching for you.

“Yeah. We’ll keep moving.”

#marvel #marvel x reader #x reader #avengers #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector moon knight #moon knight system #moon knight x reader #moon knight x fem!reader #moon knight tv #moon knight #steven grant x you #steven grant moon knight #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x reader

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dodger-chan · 7 months

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I wasn't actually going to write any follow up to The Morning After but I hate watching shoot outs and so started fucking around on my computer and now there's 500 more words, and I think they're a bit more optimistic than I originally intended.

@flowercrowngods I seem to recall you asking about potential follow up for this one.

“Harrington, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Steve had no idea what Munson was talking about. He didn’t even know the guy. Not any more than everyone in the school knew Munson, at least.

“Going home?” He hadn’t meant it to be a question, but it came out as one anyway. Stone-faced, Munson shook his head. He grabbed Steve’s arm and dragged him roughly from the empty hallway into an empty room. Closed the door behind them and pushed Steve against it.

“Try again,” Munson growled. His breath smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. His clothes, too, but with a hint of sweat and stale beer. It was nice. Familiar. Steve closed his eyes and took a deeper breath.

Felt Munson lean in closer, fingers wrapped around Steve’s arms, squeezing.

It hurt.

Steve felt himself relax into the pain, shift ever so slightly forward, and catch Munson’s lips against his own. Felt the pressure shift from a threat to a kiss.

A familiar kiss.

Steve opened his eyes when Munson stopped, pulled away, stared at him with shock.

“We’ve done that before.” Steve had meant it to be a question, but it didn’t sound like one. Eddie answered him anyway.

“Heather’s party. Week and a half ago. You really don’t remember?” Steve didn’t remember going to that party. He did remember forgetting that party, which was better than nothing. “Shit, you didn’t seem that drunk.”

“I wasn’t.” Not according to Heather. He’d checked with her to see if he needed to apologize to anyone, or pay for dry cleaning, and she said he’d barely drunk anything. He waved a hand at the fading green bruise on his face. “Head injury. Fucks with my memory sometimes.”

“Huh. So you weren’t just…” Eddie made some weird flailing gestures with his hands. “Letting me work myself into a panic before you murdered me?”

“Murdered you? For a kiss?” Eddie froze like a deer in headlights. “It wasn’t just a kiss, was it?”

“Not here. Not at school.” Eddie was right. Too many doors. Too many kids leaving clubs who might hear them talking. “My place? My uncle works nights; he’ll be gone by seven.”

“I can do that.” If his parents asked, he’d tell them he was meeting Carol to study. He didn’t think they’d ask.

“Assuming you don’t forget me again,” Eddie said, with a smile. Steve smiled back. It was kind of funny. “Wait, you were just at basketball practice. Are you playing contact sports with a broken head?”

“Basketball isn’t a contact sport.” And Steve couldn’t just quit on the team. “Coach said it was fine as long as I wasn’t, like, puking from the headaches.”

“Oh, I guess as long as you’re not puking.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Fucking jocks. I used to have better taste.”

“I’m the best you’ll ever taste, Munson.” The meaning of his words hit Steve like a truck. “I mean-”

“Seven,” Eddie interrupted him. “Forest Hills, at seven, or I’ll call your house and you’ll have to explain to your parents why The Freak needs you to come over.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll show.” They probably wouldn’t be home, anyway.

Note: Basketball is actually a contact sport, Steve's just being dumb. Athletes really did play through concussions in the 80s, even really bad ones.

#my fic #steddie #stranger things #short ficlet

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whatisreggieshortfor · 11 months

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Wear You Down

Terushima x gn!reader

“How did you two even get together?” Daichi had always been curious. You were his cousin for crying out loud! And he remembered how your boyfriend behaved back in high school. “I still can’t believe we’ve known him as long as we have.”

You just gave him a smile, your eyes drifting to see the man you now called the love of your life fixing up Asahi’s hair for his up coming fashion show, “What can I say?” You offered with a shrug, “He wore me down.”

“Babe!” Your boyfriend called, digging through another cabinet as Asahi sat rigged in a chair to avoid accidentally tousling his long hair from position, “Do you remember where I put those fancy pins we got for this? I thought they’d be with the rest of my stuff.”

You laughed, getting them from atop the fridge, “You stuck them up here so you wouldn’t lose them, love.”

“Ah!” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, taking them and hurrying back, “You’re a life saver. No one can read my mind like you can.”

“Hey!” You were seven years old, running up to a boy you’d never seen before on the playground. School was only a week away. “I bet I can guess your favorite color.”

“No way,” he laughed, staring up at you from the swing, “That’s impossible!”

Wiggling your fingers in front of your face, you spoke excitedly, “I can feel it oozing from you! It’s the same as mine, I just know it.”

“Humor me then,” he smirked, as well as a little boy could at least, “What is our favorite color?”

“It’s dark green, right? Right!?”

He had never seen someone as happy as you were in that moment. Grinning at him with a missing front tooth, hair haloed by the sun behind you. Admittedly, he had been in a fire truck phase, red was his favorite. But as he looked at you with wonder in his eyes, opening his mouth led to an innocent lie, “You’re right. Dark green is my favorite.”

“I knew it!” You thrusted a fist into the air, “I’m Y/N by the way. Y/N L/N.”

“Terushima.” He offered, “You’re so pretty. Can I be your boyfriend?”

You laughed, so full and bright, “We’re too young for that!”

“Maybe in the future then.” He shrugged, about to ask you to swing with him when someone called your name.

“Come on, Y/N! Auntie says we gotta get home for dinner!” Another little boy with black hair, your cousin Daichi, waving his hands to get your attention.

“Coming, Dai! I hope to see you again, Terushima.” You were running away before he could reply.

He ended being in your class until you moved to attend Karasuno with Daichi.

When Daichi and Asahi finally left, Yuuji wrapped his arms around you from behind, “It’s good to see you smiling with them. I gotta say, back when we started dating I was afraid Daichi would hold it against you.”

“Why’s that, love?” You looked back at him, leaning your head against his shoulder, “Daichi is my cousin, he just wants me happy.”

Yuuji grimaced, “I know, but I can see why he had reservations before.”

Taking his hand, you spun out of his embrace, “Remember when we ran into each other at the tournament?”

He pouted, “That’s exactly what I’m talking about!”

Kiyoko had run back, someone forgot something- you hadn’t been paying attention, too busy getting the players into their seats and realizing one was missing. Ukai and Daichi asked you to check on her, see what was holding them up. Finding Hinata try to ‘rescue’ Kiyoko from a rival team wasn’t what you expected and you weren’t exactly an extrovert, not as much as you had been when you were younger, but you walked over anyway. The one with the poor blonde dye job dumped Hinata out of the way and you felt the vein in your forehead twitch at his disregard for the boy- only to laugh when the leader of the rival boys recoiled as the orange haired boy jumped in front of him. “Kiyoko is our precious manager!”

“We were just talking,” dye job tried to reason, and you decided it was time to step in.

“Hinata, Kiyoko, the bus is waiting for you two. Daichi is about to unleash Tanaka and Noya.” Kiyoko giggled, knowing the captain and coach would rather tie them to a leash and make Tsukishima or Kageyama find her, “And you, dye job, don’t touch my players.”

“Does that mean I can touch you?” He smirked, and you pulled back in disgust.

“Wow, that’s how you talk to girls these days, Yuuji? Damn.”

He blinked, eyes suddenly lighting up as they soaked in your features, “Y/N!” He pulled you into a hug before Hinata could stop him, “Don’t hate on my game, babe! You’re just jealous you don’t get to see it in action much.”

“Oh, yeah. So jealous. How many people have you actually won over like this, you hound dog?” Rolling your eyes, you shoved him back, already ushering your club members toward the bus.

“Just waiting for you to finally fall into my arms.” He winked, and you gave him a fake gag.

“Gross. Nice try though, three out of ten for the effort. Bye, Terushima!”

The entire bus ride was spent with a lecture from your cousin after Hinata told everyone about the interaction.

Cooking dinner led to a mess- much like it did every night- because Yuuji was always trying to come up with new games to play as you cooked or cleaned. He was equal parts focused and unfocused when it came to any task. It was how he pursued most aspects of his life- talking to clients while working on their hair, wrestling with his old volleyball buddies and simultaneously never missing a beat when you talk to him, juggling chores he’s trying to finish and still catching every second of his favorite tv show. It led to chaos sometimes, like when he spent every interaction you had in high school trying to win your attention and could still be distracted by a pretty face- or at least pretend to be. Your friendship never suffered over the years, but it slowed down the progress you could’ve made with each other along the way.

Because you could look at him now- hair stylist that was doing something he loved, doing favors for your friends like he did today- and sometimes you could see the flirty playboy he used to be.

He still hit on you every day, no matter how big or small the pick up was, but now you never paid attention to whether his eyes could stray. Because they never did, not honestly in the past, and definitely not now. Daichi had concerns for the longest time, before he actually got to see Terushima around you. You were an introvert by nature, long grown out of your outgoing childhood phase, but your boyfriend had always been outgoing no matter the circumstance. Your cousin had worried that he had talked you into it- and he had. But he didn’t manipulate you into it. From that day on the playground he had been your best friend. Sure, he talked you into things that you wouldn’t do, but he also hyped you up about things you wanted. He was the reason you pursued your degree, the reason you worked in a field mostly dominated by men that looked down on you. Terushima always had your back, and it was that long standing trust that eventually let him wear you down for a date.

And your stance on that, as you always reassured him when he questioned your differences, was that letting him wear you down was the best decision you could’ve made.

Masterlist

#haikyuu #haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #terushima yuuji #terushima x reader

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dmitrinfinite · 1 year

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Secret Santa Snippet 2022!

This is a gift for @snowshowerwriting, an awesome friend and writer! I’m glad I got your prompt this year, and since this is my first time posting writing on tumblr I’m pretty excited to see how it turns out. Hope you enjoy!

content warning; implied depression, injury, reference and mild descriptions of nerve damage (hands) (i swear this is hurt/comfort we just have to get past the hurt)

Surely three weeks was enough time for Hero to recover after their last fight - wasn’t it? Villain couldn’t say they knew much about medical stuff aside from how to patch themselves up after a scuffle, but they assumed Hero would’ve at least made an appearance by now. Although, their hands did look pretty messed up after being crushed under falling debris... Falling debris that Villain had knocked loose, and that Hero had pushed Villain away from at the risk of his own life. Uncomfortably guilty about the whole situation, Villain had even held off on any major crimes while they waited for their nemesis to heal. Now, though, as they stood outside the recently robbed bank, there was no sign that Hero was coming to stop them.

“Seriously?” Villain shouted at nobody in particular, causing the crowds of terrified onlookers to flinch back. “Is no one even gonna try and stop me? Do I just get to take all this money without a fight?”

“Sorry I’m late,” said a voice from behind Villain, and they turned to see Other Hero, one of Hero’s colleagues, nimbly leap to the ground. She twirled an elegant blade between her fingers.

“What are you doing here?” Villain asked, raising an eyebrow. Normally Other Hero was busy breaking up gang fights or busting shady underground markets, not dealing with high profile criminals. “Where’s Hero?”

“You didn’t hear?” Other Hero snorted, stalking closer. “Boss says we can’t have traitors on our team - Hero almost died to save you, so… y’know. We had to kick him off the squad. I guess you’re happy about that, considering you’ve got one less threat to deal with. Not like he’d be useful to us now anyway, not with those fucked up hands.”

“Shit,” Villain whispered, dropping the bag of money in their hands. Wasn’t that what they’d always wanted? To have their nemesis out of the way? No… not like this. Villain was supposed to take over and sit on a throne while everyone kneeled at his feet, not shove the only tolerable hero on the force to the sidelines. Before they had any more time to think, Other Hero advanced. They dodged her strike and jumped back, summoning a swirl of icicles in their hand. Incensed by his own folly and Other Hero’s sadistic smirk alike, they struck.

The thing is, Villain had discovered Hero’s civilian identity a while ago. It was purely by accident, after they’d recognised him entering his apartment while on a little looting spree a while back. They hadn’t felt the need to bring it up, nor did they feel like playing dirty. If it were any other hero, Villain probably wouldnt hesitate - but they wanted a fair fight with Hero. They wanted to share an adrenaline rush with him as they both stood on even ground, powers crashing together in terrific bursts of energy.

Now, though, as Villain slipped through the window in the late afternoon, they couldn’t care less about keeping their discovery a secret. They had to see Hero - he would certainly be down in the dumps after losing his job and suffering what was without doubt a painful injury.

“What are you doing here?” Hero’s voice asked from the dark, and Villain cursed themselves for not checking if Hero was in his bedroom before using it to sneak in. “You need to go, I- we can’t fight anymore. I don’t work for them.” As he spoke, Villain realised just how hoarse and shaky Hero’s voice sounded. He turned on the lamp and looked at Villain with tired, searching eyes.

“I’m not here to fight,” Villain said quietly, “I came to apologise. You know, about your job. That was really my fault.”

“Oh,” Hero replied, glancing away. He got out from under the covers and trudged across the room, motioning for Villain to follow. “I’m not all that hung up on the job.” As he walked, his clenched fists were shaking violently. Was he angry? No, wait - Other Hero had mentioned his ‘fucked up hands,’ maybe they were jittery from the injury. That seemed to be the case when Hero reached up to flick on the light, fumbling with the switch for a few moments. He crossed the living room, Villain following cautiously behind.

If they were in Hero’s apartment under any normal circumstances, they’d probably be teasing them to hell and back about how it was small and messy - more like cute and cozy, but they wouldn’t admit that - but today they fought the urge. Something was very wrong.

“Here,” Hero said flatly, sitting on a black stool in front of an elegant upright piano. It was probably the most expensive thing in the room. “Between fights, after a bad day, when I was overwhelmed… I played. I’ve been taking lessons for ten years now, and I bought this piano after saving up for ages.” His face brightened a little as he spoke, and Villain felt their chest buzz with warmth until Hero looked at them, eyes wet and hands trembling as he gripped the piano lid.

“I can’t do it anymore,” he whispered, a shake in his voice, and Villain’s heart sank. “I don’t care about my job, I- I’m not even mad at you, and I don’t re- regret saving you, not for a moment!” He stood up, clasping his hands together, desperately trying to still them. “But I… I can’t do this. I can’t write, or type without having to redo every word a dozen times, and I can’t play anymore. I can’t distract myself from the fucking mess my life is right now.”

Wordlessly, guilt swelling in their chest, Villain moved to sit on the stool beside him and opened up the piano.

“I don’t remember much,” they said softly, “But I used to play a little too.” They guided Hero to place his unsteady hands on the keys and rested their own on top. Buried deep in Villain’s muscle memory was a classical piece they’d learned years ago, back when life was simpler and they didn’t have to fight and steal to survive. Back when they didn’t have ‘allies’ and ‘enemies’, when they didn’t have to pretend the one person they looked forward to seeing each day was their nemesis in a bitter rivalry.

Pushing those yearning thoughts away, they looked at Hero for permission. He nodded, still looking at the keys, and Villain tried to remember the piece. The muscle memory was still with them, and for that they were thankful, but they’d never exactly had to play it with an extra pair of hands under their own. Though the sweet melody occasionally peeked through, the song was mostly a jumble of wrong notes and fumbled chords. Villain tensed, worried that their attempts to be cute and comforting had only made things worse. To their surprise, though, Hero turned his hands over and laced them with Villain’s, which put them in what was without a doubt an awkward position, but Villain felt a pleasant flutter in their stomach.

“That was awful,” Hero remarked, but he was smiling. Smiling, so softly and knowingly in a way only he could. “But it… it helped, I think.” Villain averted their eyes as if it’d help hide the embarrassingly obvious blush on their face. As they looked across the room, it dawned on them just how cluttered and dark the apartment really was.

“Have you been sitting alone in your apartment all this time?” they asked, and Hero’s smile dropped a little.

“I don’t have anyone to visit, much less anyone who’ll visit me,” he replied, and now it was his turn to sheepishly glance away. “Not since the team labeled me a traitor.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Villain said. At Hero’s hesitant nod, they continued, “And, since you’re already apparently a traitor to those ‘heroes,’ it’s not like we have to pretend to hate each other anymore.” They offered a mischievous grin, which Hero weakly returned.

“Would you mind, then, um… would you mind sticking around for a while?” He asked before Villain could make the offer. All they could do was nod, slowly untangling their hands and putting an arm around Hero’s shoulders. He rested his head in the crook of Villain’s neck and let out a slow sigh, hands shaking again as he placed them in his lap.

“Thank you for saving me back there, by the way. I-I’m sorry you got hurt in the process. I wish I could go back and… Hell, maybe I’d stop you from doing it.” Villain whispered, anxious and guilty at the thought but elated by their close contact in equal measure. Hero simply shifted in a little closer, and Villain could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.

“Nothing could stop me from keeping you safe. Not even you.”

#hxvsecretsanta #writing #hxv #hero x villain #villain x hero #writeblr #hurt/comfort #slight whump

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galaxyhanart · 1 year

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The gang finds out about Jay’s Snake Tail

“Fascinating…”

Jay struggled to stand still as Pixal lightly pulled at his ears. His blue skin and yellow eyes had faded fully a few days ago, but there seemed to be no change to some of the more permanent body modifications he’d made to himself while in Prime Empire. It wasn’t even something he’d thought about - he’d spent over two years at this point looking like Superstar Rockin’ Jay, so he hadn’t bothered changing his avatar or anything before leaving Prime Empire for good.

Just another thing to get used to, he supposed.

After a moment, Pixal let go of his ears, half-hazardly grabbed his face, and pulled his jaw open, squinting to get a better analysis of his teeth. He made an alarmed sound, but he HAD given her permission to run any tests she wanted.

“Take it easy on Sparky, Pix,” Morro said from somewhere off to the side. “He’s a person, not a machine.”

Morro and Kai were in the lab as well, watching in fascination. Morro and Jay had become particularly close in the past few weeks, so Jay had asked him to be there for this check-up/experimentation/whatever Pixal considered this. As for Kai, as much as he’d tried to hide it he was still skeptical of the new Master of Lightning, so he’d insisted on being there as well.

Pixal looked sheepish as she took her hands out of Jay’s mouth. “My apologies, Jay. I got a bit too excited.”

Jay stretched his jaw out a little before closing it with a snap. “Nah, ‘s fine. It is kind of interesting to figure out what stayed and what didn’t from my avatar.”

He didn’t mention how awkward he felt, with his pointed ears and fangs and-

Speak of the devil, Pixal looked him up and down, giving him a quick scan. “Any abnormal coloration seems to have faded according to my scans, and you seem perfectly fine and healthy. Your top surgery scars as well as fangs, ears, and tail are all intact and seemed to have remained from your game avatar.

Everyone in the room went silent.

“Sorry, tail?” Kai said. “What tail?”

Pixal looked between Kai and Jay. “Was I not supposed to say that?”

Jay groaned. He knew that the people of Ninjago were still not… entirely big fans of the Serpentine, so he was hoping to keep this one on the down low, but he supposed it’d be fine if the Ninja knew, so…

Jay undid a small button in the back of his shorts and let the small snake tail that he’d been trying to keep hidden pop out the back. It rattled as everyone stared at it.

“Surprise! I… had some snake-based power-ups in the game that decided to… stick around,” Jay said, face bright red.

Everyone was quiet for a moment until Lloyd walked into the room, took one look at Jay, and nearly spit out the soda they’d been drinking.

“OH MY FIRST MASTER WE’RE TWINS.”

Lloyd let their own dragon-esque tail pop out from the back of their gi, and pulled his hair back to reveal his similarly pointed ears.

“TWINS.”

Jay blinked for a moment, before pointing at Lloyd with a grin. “TWINS!!”

The two kept shouting at each other while Kai, Pixal, and Morro watched off to the side.

“Well, glad he feels better about it now,” Morro said with a shrug. “I’m sure it’ll take some getting used to.”

“I don’t get the big deal,” Kai said. “Why be nervous about the tail? He already knew that most of this team isn’t exactly ‘human’ anyways, it’s not like we’d judge him for it.”

“Pretty sure he just wants to have as normal of a time as possible now that he’s coping with everything,” Morro said, his voice lowering. “A few weeks ago, he thought he was a video game character and now he’s learning he’s destined to protect Ninjago and Lloyd. That’s a lot to shove on someone all at once, and thinking about he’s different from most people probably wasn’t helping.”

Kai hummed in agreement. “Guess that makes sense.” Then he blinked. “Man, since when are you the sensible one of the group?”

Morro snickered. “Not like it’s hard with you lot.”

“...Yeah fair.”

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fandom-imagines-stories · 9 months

Text

Walking Through Hell

Season Two Episode Ten (Season Finale)

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader (Aaron Hotchner’s Sister)

Words: 4753

Series Masterlist

Summary: Use the last two episodes of season four. Three inner conflicts come to a head in the season two finale.

Notes: Here is the season finale of season two! Thank you all for coming on this journey once again and I can’t wait to get the third season on the way! I’ve had so much fun with this series and it has such a special place in my heart. (Yes I wrote a crossover. It makes me happy.)

You expected to feel… well, something. Sad. Anxious. A sense of closure, maybe. But there was nothing. It was an unfamiliar numbness, unlike anything you’d felt before with the drinking or just the basic compartmentalizing you’d gotten so good at since the age of fifteen. At least now, you didn’t feel alone.

On either side of you stood a row of the best people you knew. They’d flown out to be with you.

All of them.

Aaron squeezed your hand to check if you were okay. He gave you a reassuring smile.

You nodded and took the photo out of your pocket. You didn’t know why you’d held onto it all these years, but this was the first time you found yourself able to give it up. It was from your thirteenth birthday when your mom had finally let you get your ears pierced. Her arms were locked around you while you gave the camera a toothy grin. You couldn't even remember who took the picture.

With everyone’s concerned eyes following you, you walked up to the gravestone and set the picture at the base.

The funeral happened while you were in rehab, not that you would have been strong enough to go anyway. You were surprised you’d made it off the plane now. Turning back to face the team of people behind you, you knew where your strength came from. All of them had helped you more than you would ever have the words to thank them.

Emily and JJ and Penelope were the best support you could as for. Dave treated you like the father you’d never had. Derek, who’d forced you back from the brink, gave you a small nod, reminding you of your own strength and how far you’d come. Aaron- your big brother- took you in all over again like he did before and like you knew he would do again if you asked. And Spencer… even though you’d broken his heart and moved out, he was there and you knew he always would be.

You walked back to join them. Derek put an arm around your shoulders and Spencer stayed by your side all the way back to the car. But as you got into the passenger side next to your brother, you looked back a final time at your mother’s headstone.

Lydia Y/L/N. May she find her way out of the darkness.

You weren’t sure why that was the memory in your mind, but it was all you could think about while you rambled on.

The water cooled your parched throat, dry from talking for the past hour. The one downside of learning how to share- sometimes you didn’t quite know when to stop.

“It sounds like things are going pretty well then?” Dr. Sweets asked, leaning forward in his chair with an encouraging smile. “You’re moving back in with your boyfriend, things at work have formed a steady rhythm to your schedule, and you’re continuing to go to AA meetings once a month.”

“I still have a few things left at Aaron’s, but yeah. Things are going pretty okay.” This time, you actually believed it.

Dr. Sweets sat back in his chair, giving you that look when he’s figured something out that you haven’t. You hated that look, but on the young shrink, it was somewhat bearable.

“Why do you think you’ve left things at Aaron’s apartment?”

You shrugged. “I just haven’t gotten around to it, I guess. It’s not a big deal. It’s just some of my things for work and some clothes.”

“Do you think you’re worried about having to move back in with your brother?”

“Aaron’s not a safety net.”

“Hey, you said it, not me,” he grinned. He’d played you into admitting your real feelings. Something he’d learned to do in the last few months of you seeing him.

You shook your head, smiling. “I hate it when you do that.”

“No, it’s why you like me.” He poured you another glass of water. “Why do you think that is?”

“Why do I like having you over the bored woman I saw before who probably thought I was crazy?”

“No,” he chuckled. “Why do you think you’re so nervous about moving back into your apartment with Spencer?”

“Oh look at that, we’re out of time,” you said.

“I know that trick.”

“I don’t know why I haven’t moved everything. I haven’t thought that much of it.”

He leaned forward again. “Y/N, we both know you have.”

“Dr. Sweets-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Lance?” He smiled. “We’ve built pretty decent rapport in these sessions, hm? I don’t insist on calling everyone in your life agent, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, Lance. There, happy?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” The teasing look on his face was quickly replaced by a more serious concern. “There’s one more thing I think we should talk about.”

You downed the rest of your water. You knew where this was going.

“It’s been a year since what happened.”

“Technically, my birthday isn’t for another-”

“Y/N…”

“I know, I know,” you sighed, running your fingers through your hair. “But with everything that’s been going on between Spencer almost dying and Aaron driving himself crazy over this case from Boston, I haven’t given myself a lot of time to process it, I guess.”

“Is that the Foyet case?” Lance wondered. You nodded and he blew out a long breath. “I read about that. Sounds like a scary guy.”

“Enough to scare one of the bravest people I know, that’s for sure.”

A knock at the door signaled it was time to go.

Lance sighed, wishing that you could stay and talk a little while longer. He knew that the next few days were not going to be easy. “Processing this is going to take some time, but you don’t have to be alone. Is the team going to be here next week?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “They’re on a case right now, but-”

“They can’t tell you. Right.”

Another knock, this one louder and more insistent. He ran a hand down his face.

“Well, if you need anything, you know you can always call.”

You stood up and nodded. “Thanks, Lance.”

“I’ll see you next week?”

“If I don’t get kidnapped again.”

“That’s not funny.”

You shrugged. “It’s kinda funny.”

When you opened the door you found a wall of a person blocking your exit. You would have collided if he hadn’t sidestepped out of your way just in time.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was with you,” the man said. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to signify his urgency. “We’ve got a new case I think you can help on.”

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” You asked, trying to place why the agent looked so familiar.

He narrowed his eyes, looked at you for a second, and then smiled. “Yeah, you’re Dr. Y/L/N, right? You’ve been an expert witness on a few of my cases. My partner wasn’t too thrilled about having a psych profile done on our killers, but you were great!” He held out his hand. “Seeley Booth.”

“Now I remember,” you beamed. “The Bianchi and the Schwartz cases, right? Do you work a lot with Caroline Julian?”

He nodded. “She’s the best of the best.”

The buzz of both of your phones ended your conversation. Agent Booth turned to Dr. Sweets.

“It’s Bones. We should go. It was nice to officially meet you,” he smiled. The two hurried off, Dr. Sweets giving you an apologetic look as he went.

“Small world,” you muttered to yourself before answering your call.

The case was turning out to be much more than they thought. Spencer couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. There were too many missing pieces. If Willaim Hightower wasn’t a killer, that meant there was still one out there, taking people from Detroit across the border and leaving the homeless community in fear of who’d be next to disappear.

What troubled him the most though, was that the unsub would be striking again soon. If not already.

“What’s on your mind, Reid?” Hotch asked.

They were driving back from the Canadian police station to Detroit to figure out who the unsub’s next target might be and how he was picking up people to begin with.

Reid exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair. “Honestly?” He looked out of the window and watched the Detroit skyline dissolve into trees once they crossed the border. “William Hightower’s sister. He’s been looking for her all this time. He got us to come here because of her. He risked being charged with murder and now he’s going to spend time in a Canadian prison…” He trailed off, but he didn’t need to continue for his superior to understand.

“But the odds of us finding her alive are slim, so what was the point of it all?” Hotch concluded.

Reid gave him a small nod.

“I don’t think it would make a difference to him, knowing the end or not.” Hotch stared at the road in front of them. “He’ll never stop looking for her.”

The two fell into a silence, both of their thoughts drifting away from Hightower. While Reid had no siblings of his own, he’d seen how much that bond can mean to a person. He imagined Hotch in that car instead of Hightower. Unbeknownst to him, the man beside him was imagining the same thing.

Hotch couldn’t help but remember the dark thoughts he’d had when they were hunting down the Cunninghams. He’d imagined what he’d do if they had killed you before he could get there. While he hadn’t shown it, there was a part of him ready to tear them apart.

Suffice it to say, he didn’t have to think too hard to understand William Hightower’s motivations, even if he didn’t agree with his methods.

“Reid,” Hotch started, changing the conversation to one that needed to be discussed while they still had the chance. “I think we should both take some time off next week.”

The younger agent grimaced. “She isn’t going to like being babysat.”

“We wouldn’t be babysitting. We would be supporting her on the anniversary of a traumatic event.”

“Technically two traumatic events.”

“Reid,” Hotch sighed.

“I was planning on it anyway,” Reid said. He fiddled uncomfortably with a paperclip from the file in his lap. “You don’t have to worry.”

“She was kidnapped and almost murdered last year, I have every reason to worry.”

Reid twisted the paper clip out of its shape. “I know.”

“And I know you’re worried too.”

“I am.”

Hotch looked over at the other man and saw a combination of worry, frustration, and confusion all present on his face. He parked the car and put a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll talk about this more after the case is done, okay?” He said. “I just want to make sure that the two of you are going to be alright.”

Reid nodded, his expression remaining the same. He turned to Hotch and sighed.

“What about you?”

The car fell into silence again. In answer, Hotch merely gave him a small smile- barely perceptible- before getting out of the car and rushing into the station.

It was uncomfortable, being in a park after knowing what you knew about Annapolis. But you obviously didn’t tell Haley that.

“Be careful on the slide, sweetheart!” She called to her son.

Jack gave the two of you a toothy grin and a thumbs-up before barreling down the biggest slide at the playground. He almost tripped getting off but hurried back up to go again.

“Little shaky on the dismount,” you said. “But I give him an 8 out of 10.”

Haley laughed, shaking her head. “I just wish he wouldn’t run around like he’s trying to get hurt.”

“Gee,” you raised a brow, “I wonder where he gets that from.”

“Oh, like you’re any better than your brother,” she said. “Sometimes I think you’re worse.”

You held up your hands innocently. “I’m not out hunting murderers right now.”

“Don’t remind me.” Her expression saddened as she took a sip of her coffee. You leaned your head on her shoulder and she wrapped an arm around yours. Without saying anything for a while, you both watched Jack as he joyfully played tag with a couple of the other kids. He just looked so… happy. Kids make that seem so simple.

“Spencer called me earlier. He said they might be gone a little while. The case took a different direction,” you said.

Haley took a deep breath, swallowed her worry, and gave you a smile. “Speaking of Spencer,” she said, “how’s that going? Are you officially moved back in?”

“I’m not technically out of Aaron’s place, no.”

Again, she shook her head.

“What?” You asked.

“You,” she said. “That’s what.” You looked at her with a complex- and mildly offended- expression, so she continued. “Do you love Spencer?”

“What kind of a question-”

“Do you want to be with him? Despite his job, despite yours, despite all of those factors that get in the way of this incredible thing that you have together?”

You sighed. “Yes.”

“Then what are you so afraid of?” She asked.

You didn’t know what to say. Not because you were trying to hide something, but because you couldn’t pinpoint which of your worries was holding you back the most.

You thought about seeing Spencer in the hospital and writing the letter to tell him goodbye because you believed he deserved better than you could give him.

You thought about all of the fear you’d tried to drown because you were terrified of turning into someone else and hurting him.

You thought about how frightened you were going to that dinner at the apartment, but how right it felt when he finally held you again.

You thought about how you almost lost him.

While you sat in this silent battle in your mind, Haley spoke again.

“I think the only thing that scares you more than your past,” she said, gently taking your hand, “is your future.” Her voice caught in her throat, but she kept going. “And, sweetie, it could be beautiful. But you have to get out of your own way to let it.”

Jack bounded back to the two of you before you could respond, but, honestly, there was nothing you could say. As much as you didn’t want to admit it… she was right.

The only thing that kept you from Spencer these past few months was the idea that there wasn’t any point. That he could never really have a future with you. But maybe that was up to you. Maybe, you just had to stop being afraid of every possibility and start working toward the best outcome.

“Aunt Y/N can we get ice cream?”

You smiled at your nephew. “I think that’s a question for your mom, Jack.”

“But you always say yes to ice cream,” he giggled.

Haley looked at you, laughing, and you shrugged.

“I have no idea what he’s talking about,” you lied.

“Alright, you two,” she said, standing up and taking his hand. “Ice cream it is.”

You took Jack’s other hand and the three of you started back toward Haley’s car, her words still ringing through your mind. Her bluntness brought about a question you hadn’t allowed yourself to think about in a long time.

What did you want for your future?

And what did that mean for you and Spencer?

Spencer paced back and forth across the barn loft, examining the child-like drawings in his hand while his mind tried to piece them into the case. These weren’t the works of a methodical, driven sadist who tortured his victims for his own pleasure, but the drawings of a person who had a much different view of the world than they anticipated. Someone who most likely saw their surroundings more with the thoughts of a child rather than an adult, despite their physical body.

But that wasn’t where all of his focus allowed him to be.

All day, he’d been asking himself the same thing over and over again.

Was this what he wanted? Did he even know what he wanted?

He knew he wanted you. But what did that really mean anymore? After everything that had happened in the past year, how was he supposed to move forward when he still felt like he was walking on eggshells? No matter what he did, there was always a voice in his head telling him that it was wrong. That it would drive you away again. How was he supposed to prove to you that all he wanted, more than anything, was to be by your side, in good times and bad…

Spencer froze.

He put the idea aside and forced himself to continue with the case, though the spark in his chest wouldn't quite go away.

His question, however, lingered in his supervisor’s mind.

“Do you ever get the feeling that a case isn’t going to end well?”

As Hotchner walked back to the house, he couldn't help but feel Reid’s words sink into him. In truth, he had had that feeling since they saw the pigs. The image of people being ripped apart by their snorting snouts still sent a shiver up his spine, but he had to keep his hard exterior for the sake of everyone still looking for the missing girl.

He thought about the sickening amount of shoes they’d found and the people that the world deemed unworthy of searching for.

He thought about the Reaper and his fatal deal.

He thought about the Cunninghams trying to trade your life for the memory of their daughter’s.

He thought about his team.

How many more times would they be able to look into the abyss? How many more times before they wouldn't ever recover the pieces of themselves that this job took?

Would he ever be able to find those pieces of himself?

The two men, though no longer in the same part of the property, were still connected by the worries that plagued both of their minds and the questions about their job and their lives that nobody could answer for them.

You shouldn’t have still been awake, but you had a study you’d been working on for weeks to finish… plus you hadn’t heard from anybody on the team in days and you worried someone would call when you were asleep. Despite that, however, you struggled to keep your eyes open. Even the air mattress in the office was starting to seem enticing when your phone finally rang.

“Hey, I- wait, why are you still up?” Spencer started.

“Same as you,” you yawned. “Work.” You stood up from the couch and stretched your stiff limbs. “So are you guys back then?”

“I just got back to the apartment and,” he took a deep breath, “can you come over? I need to talk to you about something.”

You held the phone a little tighter, feeling your heart drop into your stomach. “S-sure. I’ll be right over.”

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.” His serious tone betrayed what you feared.

This was it.

Spencer had finally had enough.

When you went into the office to grab your jacket, you looked around mournfully. At least you still had some things you hadn’t moved yet. It would make moving back in a lot easier.

The whole drive over, you thought of everything you could have done wrong.

You’d been pretty focused on your study, but he never complained about your dedication to your job, especially with his line of work.

You’d been trying to be extra supportive of his work when he had to leave and you were grateful for every moment you got with him. Did he think you’d become clingy?

Maybe he’d just realized that, during those months of being apart, he was better off without you. What you thought was the two of you reconnecting was just him trying to figure out if he was right.

The elevator might as well have taken hours to reach the right floor and, by the time you reached the door, you wanted to throw up.

Just when you thought things were finally getting better…

You took a deep breath and opened the door.

You were greeted by clattering and a string of curses. Spencer stooped over to pick up the stack of books he’d knocked off his desk.

“I must have calculated the time wrong,” he laughed nervously. “You’re early.”

“I probably sped a little,” you said, looking at the various books placed on the coffee table. Dracula. The Time Machine. Anna Karenina. A Study In Scarlet. “What’s all of this?”

Spencer swallowed. “I need your help with something.” He held up a piece of paper, trying to keep his hand from shaking.

You looked at the scribbles and raised a brow. “A book cipher?”

He nodded.

“And you need my help?”

Again, he just nodded.

Despite your previous panic, you ran a hand through your hair and took a seat with a flustered sigh.

“Okay, the first word is…” You flipped through the pages of the first book and found the page, line, and word that the cipher instructed. “Will.”

“Perfect. Okay,” Spencer wrote it down on another sheet of paper. “What’s the next one?”

“Ummmm, let me see.” You thumbed through the next volume, still wondering how this all connected to him dumping you. “You. The next word is you.”

“Interesting,” he hummed, handing you the third book, glad you hadn’t figured it out and spoiled the surprise.

You held his copy of Anna Karenina and reached for the locket around your neck.

“Okay, the third word…” Your finger traced the line of text, stopping suddenly over a word you couldn’t have read right. You counted again. And again. And again. In a hoarse voice of shock, you repeated the cipher’s word. “Marry.”

Will you marry-

Spencer gulped. “You didn’t find the fourth word.”

Your laughter choked on the sobs threatening your voice. Spence smiled, his nerves even worse than before.

“I know I don’t have a ring or anything- I didn’t have time after the flight, otherwise I would have found a store that was open this late and-” He took a deep breath to stop his rambling. Spencer got down on his knee in front of you, taking your hands in his, both of you trembling. “We have both led lives that have just proven again and again just how fragile and precious and scary and wonderful life can be. We’ve seen the darkest this world can give, but in you, I’ve found the brightest light. You reminded me that life can be more than the horrors we’ve both faced.” He wiped away the tears falling on his cheeks, but more kept coming.

You didn’t know when you’d started crying, but the lamplight outside shone clearly on both of your faces, revealing the streams of tears adorning your cheeks.

Spencer kissed your hands as if to remind himself that this was really happening. He cleared his throat to keep his voice from cracking.

“Y/N, I realized tonight that I don’t want to spend another minute without you knowing that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He handed you the final book. “So, to finish the cipher… will you marry me?”

His perfect hazel eyes watched you with a mix of hope and fear that you felt burning in your chest since the day you’d met.

“Spencer, I…” You brushed the tears from his face, but any words you tried to say died on your lips. So, you did the first thing you thought of- you grabbed a book. With Spencer looking on in confusion, you frantically searched the pages of A Study in Scarlet until you found something that worked and handed him the book, pointing at a specific passage.

“You wish me to come?”

“Yes, if you have nothing better to do.” A minute later we were both in a hansom, driving furiously for the Brixton Road.”

He looked back up at you.

“Does that mean…?”

“Yes, Spencer,” you beamed. “It means yes.”

An air of disbelief settled between you, but only for a moment.

Spencer leaped to his feet, pulling you up into his arms, spinning both of you around, and knocking the books onto the floor all over again. You weren’t sure how long your lips were locked together, but when he set you down, you both had to stop and catch your breath. The two of you fell onto the couch, still wrapped in each other’s arms.

“I thought,” you gasped, “I thought you were going to break up with me.”

He wiped any remaining tears from your face. “What?”

“I had it in my head that you called me over here to tell me that it hasn’t been working out and that we shouldn’t have gotten back together in the first place.” You couldn’t help but laugh at it now that every nerve in your body was lit up with elation. “That’s why I haven’t…” You trailed off, remembering what both Dr. Sweets and Haley had told you. “I have to go back to Aaron’s.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed, still panting from the kiss. “What?”

“I have to go get the rest of my things.”

“You have to go… right now?” He traced a line from your hand up to your shoulder.

You smirked at his enthusiasm. “I promise, I’ll explain when I get back and then we can-” You kissed him again. “Celebrate.”

“Okay,” he grinned, face reddening.

You untangled from him and grabbed your keys, stopping at the door. “Spencer.”

“Hm?”

You smiled back at him. “We’re getting married.”

You left and Spence fell back against the couch with a dazed, euphoric expression, looking up at the ceiling as if he could see the stars.

The elevator to Aaron’s moved even slower, but now it was because of your excitement, rather than your dread. The whole drive, you debated if you should tell him now, or wait so you and Spence could tell him together, but you knew the moment you stepped into the room, he would figure it out.

You knew that you’d been using that stupid air mattress as a safety net ever since you and Spencer had gotten back together. And it wasn’t that, because he’d proposed, your fear had suddenly gone away.

You’d just decided to let yourself be happy despite it, just like Haley said.

As the numbers reached the right floor, you felt your excited heart beat even faster. You couldn’t wait to see Aaron’s face when he inevitably read you like a book. Every step down the hall just made you want to start skipping.

You were marrying the smartest, sweetest, most incredible man in the world.

You were finally going to let yourself be happy.

The door was unlocked, so you just took that to mean he’d just gotten back. Probably spent hours at the office working on paperwork for their last case.

“Aaron, I’m just stopping by to grab the rest of my stuff,” you said into the quiet apartment, turning to shut the door behind you.

When you turned back around, you saw him.

“...Aaron?” You gasped. Your brother laid on the floor in a pool of his own blood. “Aaron!” You sprinted across the apartment, falling to your knees beside him. You tried to press your hands against the wound, but there were too many of them.

“Y/N… you can’t… you need to…” He tried to say, but his eyes couldn’t stay open. He was fading fast.

“Come on, stay with me big brother.”

“No, you need to…” He fought to stay conscious if only to save you. “The Reaper.”

Your breathing hitched. “What?”

Aaron gripped your arm.

“Run.”

His eyes widened and he tried to push you out of the way, but his limbs failed him.

A hand shot around your face, yanking you away from your brother and covering your mouth You didn’t even see the knife before it entered your torso. You only saw Aaron’s face contorting with horror as he watched his little sister, screaming into the hand of George Foyet.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

End of Season Two

The In-Betweens series: @amywright; shesoperfectt; hereforsmutbcicantgetenough; violetbossler; hyper-half-blood; i-bitch-you-bitch; xcastawayherosx; preciousbabypeter; @jori21; @sol-48; @murdermornings ; @ staygoldsquatchling02; @ ara-a-bird

#criminal minds #dr. spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds imagines #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #dr. spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid #the in betweens

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enchantinglyjade · 2 years

Text

✩ I Can Dream About You ✩ Part 1

Sebastian Kydd x OC

Masterlist | Next

Warning: Swearing Note: Y'all I'm so excited to start working on new stories(I will not be abandoning Milk & Honey BTW). But I have so many new ideas I'm excited to share. Hope you enjoy!

Castlebury High School.

I hated it here.

Honestly, I wished I would have just gotten bullied, at least that way I’d have proof that someone actually saw me, but instead, I was invisible, a nobody. When people passed me in the halls, it was as if they’d look right through me. I was a ghost, haunting the halls in my first year of high school.

But then, Donna saw me.

She saw me sitting at the lunch tables eating alone like I had always done. She felt bad for me, invited me to her table, offered me a spot in her circle, promised me the world. She trained me, taught me how to do makeup, dress nice, sneak out of class without my parents ever finding out. I felt confident and beautiful. People finally started looking in my direction, but not at me, at her, not that I would have known the difference at the time anyway.

Now,

I’m invisible with a leader.

I fell for it. Fell for dirty tricks and lies. I was vulnerable and she played to my weaknesses. She thought my ghostliness would be useful to her. She had me doing all of her dirty work that the Jens were too sloppy to accomplish. She’d make me fake her mom's voice to call her in and out of school, steal blush and lipstick for her at our local beauty store, and sit on lookout while she and her newest boy toy did unspeakable things in the locker rooms. All in exchange for what? A chance to stand within a 4 foot distance from the princess?

Donna was the most popular, prettiest girl in school, and I let her manipulate me into her perfect little minion.

I tell myself at least I’m not a band geek, but every day that passes, I can only envy them. I bet they have so much more fun than me. I can’t imagine being allowed to be openly smart and talented under Donna’s shadow. Damn, I wish I was a band geek.

After 3 long years of pink lipstick, hair ratting, and wearing the most horrendous of neon colors, senior year was upon us. I’m 18 now, graduation is so close I could practically taste freedom. 9 more months and I'll finally be able to kiss this school goodbye for good.

Then he showed up.

Sebastian, the bad boy that just transferred here. He practically dripped with charisma and experience, and quickly became the knew ‘it’ guy in the school. Donna, of course, had to have him.

“Ooo, check out the new hottie.” Donna blurts out, twirling her hair and smacking her gum, watching as a few boys from the football team talk to him. “He’s perfect. You guys are gonna help me get him.”

I admit, he was gorgeous, but he wasn’t anyone special, just another asshole trying to be the cool popular kid. Guess I can’t say much, that’s basically what reeled me in, but atleast I’m aware of my own shallowness.

“How are we gonna do that?” Jen 1 asks.

“I’ll think of something, don’t worry.” She says scheming in that evil head of hers. “Come.” She waves for us to follow in her direction and the 3 of us do so like the good little pets we are. She struts over, purposely putting an extra sway in her hips as she passes Sebastian, earning her a glance from him and the entire student body present in that area. She smiles, wiggling her perfectly pink polished fingers at him, before continuing forward without a second care in the world.

I follow only a few feet behind her and the Jens. For a moment, I peek up to see if this Sebastian guy really fell for such an old trick in the book, to see if he really is the chump Donna thinks he is. When my head rises, I accidentally make direct eye contact with him. He nods as a greeting to me, causing my lids to widen. I never had anyone look at me before, I feel almost shocked that he can even see me. Self conscious, I turn away, awkwardly pacing back over to my clique.

I can’t believe he looked at me. For that long too. And after Donna! I shake my thoughts away following Donna into our next period. Maybe he’s just desperate, looking for anything with legs. If he’s looking in my direction he must be EXTREMELY desperate. What a pig.

Lucky for me, I find out I have the privilege of sharing American History with the new king and queen of the school.

Donna, of course, snatches the seat right next to Sebastian. I settle for 2 rows behind her, close enough that she can call if she needs an extra swipe of lipstick, but far away enough that I won’t be in direct line of her bullshit.

The teacher goes on and on about boring nonsense while the class quickly wallows into sleep. Donna boredly taps her pencil on her desk, eyeing the man candy next to her. She leans over while the teacher turns his back. “Love the jacket. It’s so vintage!” She whispers, gracefully gliding her hand up the sleeve of his jacket.

He chuckles. “Thanks. My dad’s.”

A week goes by of shadowing Donna as she works her magic and he still hasn’t taken a hint. Her frustration only built up everyday that he denied her advances, which only meant it’s been a week of hell for The Jens and I. For a moment, I had hope. Maybe he wasn’t a pig after all. I mean, it didn’t take most guys a week to catch on to Donna’s clues and definitely didn’t take them that long to ask on their own, unless they were insanely out of her league and intimidated, which he is clearly not. I thought, maybe he’s a guy that respects himself and has actual standards for what he wants in a girlfriend. Or better yet, maybe he wants something stable and long term. But eventually, my hopes were diminished.

On my way to third period, I walk straight into them talking in the dark art hallway in the basement. It didn’t take a genius to see how private this area would be to ‘talk’. Guess he doesn’t take long to start getting busy.

I mutter an apology to them, and while avoiding Donna’s glare, I quickly scurry away.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Donna.”

“Alright, ‘Bastian. Don’t miss me too much.”

‘Bastian’. Please, I’m gonna be sick. They already have nicknames for each other? They’ve only known each other for a week! What kind of weird, phony-

“Hey.”

My soul nearly jumps out of my body. I twist my neck to see Sebastian jogging in my direction, before stopping in front of me. “You dropped this.”

Is he…talking to me? I stay frozen, hoping to stay out of the way of whoever he was talking to, but when I notice he doesn’t move, I glance over my shoulders, desperately trying to find the person that should be answering to him.

“I’m talking to you.” He chuckles.

When I turn back towards him, I find out he is in fact talking to me. He holds his arm out, an english notebook in hand with my doodles plastered all over the cover. I shyly take it from him, stuffing it in my arms with the rest of my books, and when I thank him our eyes lock for only a second time since I’ve known him. His stare puts shivers straight down my spine. He really does have some beautiful blue eyes. But before I allow myself to see anymore of him, I spin on my toes speeding towards my class.

“Hey, wait up! Where ya headed?” He says, jogging back over to my side.

I swallow, voice dry and groggy from being inactive most days. “Art.”

He continues to walk the same direction as me. “I have art too. Funny. Never noticed you in there.”

I sigh. Just another confirmation about how much of a ghost I am. “Most don’t.” I mutter under my breath, pushing open the art room door and sitting at my seat near the back of the class. Much to my dismay, Sebastian takes the seat next to me, slamming down his bag next to my leg. I take in a deep breath, ignoring the fact that I can practically feel him looking at me, before reaching over to dig through my backpack for my sketchbook. When I place it down on the table in front of me, he speaks.

“So…You a Jen? I’ve noticed you follow Donna around most everywhere.”

Why is he talking to me? None of Donna’s exes ever bothered to get to know the Jens, let alone me, so what does he want? Is he some sort of psychopath? Maybe he’s gonna try and manipulate everyone into thinking he’s some great guy so we won’t think he’s a suspect when Donna’s body gets discovered on the news or something…

I adjust myself in my seat, scooching over an inch away from him. “No, I’m an Alex.”

“Alex.” He repeats slowly in a way that makes heat rise to my cheeks. I guess I never really heard anyone but teachers say it. Damn, I really am a loser, aren’t I? “I can tell, you seem like you have an actual personality…and awareness.”

A small grin appears on my face from his comment, but I quickly force my cheeks back down. He’s a psychopath, remember!

He leans over the table in an attempt to peek at my face, but I snap my head away and hide myself behind my hand, completely embarrassed that he’s even acknowledging my existence in the first place. What is he doing? Why is he so weird!?

“Aw come on, don’t be like that. I saw that smile. No need to be so serious and guarded.” My smile can’t help but creep back just a little bit. I lower my hand peering curiously, but suspiciously at him over my fingertips. He leans back in his chair, lip curling when he meets my gaze for a third time. “You know, Alex, you don’t seem too bad.”

I drop my hand now, nervously fumbling with the rings in my sketchbook, while my stomach flutters with butterflies. Donna really bagged a weirdo this time. “Thanks…?”

With that, the bell rings and the teacher begins giving out instructions. While she speaks, I flip open my sketchbook and make a few last scribbles and smudges on my last drawing.

Sebastian slaps his forearms down obnoxiously loud and forceful, causing the whole table to shake. I pull my pencil away just in time before it smears down a dark and unerasable line in a place I didn’t want it and clench my teeth as I watch him inch closer to me and my paper. “So, why aren’t you taking a class with Donna? Aren’t you supposed to be bodyguarding her every move.”

I take a pause, ensuring he wasn’t going to move again, before touching the pencil back down on the paper. One of the Jens is in Math with her right now, assuming she’s not skipping. Donna wouldn’t get caught dead on this side of the school, art was my time. “Only moment of peace I get.”

He bites his lips together in thought while he smacks his hands down onto the table, pounding out some sort of rhythm, and once again making me pause my drawing due to the shaking. I place my pencil down entirely, figuring I was going to get nowhere with him near, and sigh in frustration, succumbing to a conversation with him. “Didn’t peg you as the art type.”

His head snaps back quick in my direction, surprised I spoke up. “Oh, I’m not. Required. Didn’t know you could draw.” He says leaning over onto my side of the table once again, eyes glossing over my still unfinished sketch. “Wow. That’s amazing.” He says in awe.

Let me guess, he can’t even draw a stick figure?

“I can’t even draw a stick figure.” He exclaims on cue.

Typical. I never got spoken to much, but one thing people could speak to me about was my artwork. But every time it’s always the same line. I roll my eyes, placing my head in my hand and boredly scratching at the wood chipping on the edge of the table. “I’m sure you can’t.”

He scoffs out a laugh, simultaneously furrowing his brows. “What? You think I’m some jock or something?”

Not what I was going for but, “Might as well be.”

He nods slowly, humming to himself while he sits back in his chair. He doesn’t say another word to me until the bell’s ringing to dismiss us. “It was nice talking to you,” as he walks out of the classroom.

6 words. 6 simple words that left my mind jumbled all night on their meaning. Was he being genuine or sarcastic? Had I said something really wrong? Made a bad first impression? I knew I shouldn’t have said that last thing. I’m such an idiot. I don’t know why I care so much anyway, it’s not like he was ever going to talk to me again regardless of what I said. Though, even that would be proven wrong.

The next day at school, I saw him again. It was one of those glorious times Donna decided to be too cool for school. He was at one end of the hallway, I at the other. He strides down the hall like it’s a runway, looking to charm anyone that dares to glance his way. He could mesmerize anyone with that charisma of his, and he nearly gets me every time.

I grip the backpack straps on my shoulder as he comes closer and closer, unsure if I should bother looking his way to greet him. He probably forgot who I am already. It’d be embarrassing if I waved at him and he didn’t know who I was.

To my surprise, he waves first. “Hey, Alex.” He enunciates, making sure I knew he was talking to me.

I wave back, barely having enough time to smile before he had already passed by. That one interaction was enough to leave my stomach swarming with light and bubbly feelings. My heart pounded loudly for him from that day forward and I just knew I was destined for trouble and disappointment.

He was Donna’s, she made that very clear, and she always gets what she wants.

I needed to get rid of these feelings as quickly as I could, but life is never that easy, is it?

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thatseventiesbitch · 2 years

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Fictober 5th - “No, anything but that!”

This is part of #Fictober22, original post HERE if you want to follow or write along. Just some drabbles I’m doing, for fun. ✌🏼

“I’m sorry Eric, I’m just not feeling well.” Donna clutched her pregnant belly and Eric felt a pang of guilt for even making her apologize. “I don’t think I can help you set up the crib today, and it’s definitely a two person job.”

“No, no,” Eric soothed, and he set a hand on his girlfriend’s back, guiding her back towards their bedroom. “I’m sorry. Of course, you should rest. I’ll - I’ll try to figure it out myself.”

Damn their procrastinating, Eric thought. They’d kept saying they’d set the crib up next weekend, and then the next one, and then the one after that until, well - they were about to run out of weekends. Baby-free weekends, anyway.

Donna’d started having Braxton-Hicks contractions - Kitty called them false labor pains, but it meant real labor was just ahead. Red had slapped Eric’s shoulders, chuckling, and told him to get the damn crib ready, dumbass.

“I’ve got this,” Eric assured her, trying to hide the panic welling in his voice. “I’ve got it.”

Donna shook her head. “No. You won’t be able to do it alone. But you know who’s surprisingly good at this kind of thing? Jackie. I’ll call her.

“No, anything but that!” Eric shook his head vehemently.

But it was too late. Donna was on the phone, and in just fifteen minutes, Jackie Burkhart was at their door.

“I’m so glad you called me, Donna,” Jackie nodded. “I’ll have that crib built in no time. Well, Eric will. But I’ll tell him what to do.” Upon arriving she’d promptly heated up some tea for Donna, and now she filled a mug and sent a grateful Donna on her way, back to bed. Then Jackie turned to Eric.

“Where’s the instruction manual?” she asked snottily.

“Over there, I’m guessing.” Eric gestured to the large cardboard box the crib was delivered in. He hadn’t touched it.

“Open the box, Eric,” Jackie commanded. She handed him a pair of scissors and primly took a seat on the edge of an ottoman. “I’ll try to use small words so you can understand.” She gave Eric a tight smile.

He growled and snatched the scissors from her, then opened the box and spread the contents out on the rug in silence. When he found the instruction manual, he handed it to Jackie wordlessly. She looked over it and then slid to the floor to inspect the pieces.

“Okay, we need four of these thingies,” she held up a long white piece, but Eric shook his head.

“We only have three.”

Jackie scowled. “What do you mean we only have three? We need four.”

“I mean there’s only three.” Eric scowled back. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Well check the box or something,” she said, exasperated.

Eric shook the box, and the missing long white piece fell to the floor between them. His face turned red, embarrassed, and Jackie snatched the piece in her hand, vindicated.

“Ha,” she snapped. “Follow directions, Eric,” she taunted him, but when he muttered an apology under his breath she let up.

Over the next thirty minutes, they successfully assembled the skeleton of the crib. Surprising both of them, after their initial quibbling they were able to set aside their bickering and work together. Jackie’s natural leadership abilities and prior mechanic experience shone through, and Eric’s craftsmanship from putting together his models lent itself to the task, too.

“Is that screw tight?” Jackie inspected over his shoulder as they finished attaching the headboard to the base of the crib.

Eric checked it himself, and nodded. “Yep.”

“Are you sure?” Jackie teased him. She tossed the Phillips screwdriver she’d been holding into the toolbox, like she was taking a break for a while. “I want my godchild to be safe while they sleep.”

Eric rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Right. And I have no vested interest here.”

They did take a break to go have a pop in the kitchen, and as they sat down at the counter Jackie said, “You know, Eric, we were almost a good team back there.”

Eric took a thoughtful sip of his Coke. “I’m pleasantly surprised at how not awful that turned out to be.”

“Aw,” Jackie lifted a hand to her heart. “Eric. That’s one of the nicest things you’ve said about me.”

Eric nodded his head sincerely. “I really, really meant it, Jackie.”

“You take directions well,” she said, turning to compliment him.

“Huh,” Eric said. “Tell Donna that, will you?”

“Sure,” Jackie giggled. “You know Eric, we’ve hung out together - just us - twice now, and you haven’t hated it,” she reminded him. “Remember when we registered for gifts for your wedding?” Eric slowly nodded. He remembered. Jackie sipped her Tab, and smiled. “We’re kind of friends, Eric.”

Eric laughed. “No, we’re not,” he said reflexively. Jackie tilted her head, but she didn’t say anything. Eric thought about it for another moment, and then his eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god. You’re kind of my friend!”

Jackie’s laugh was more of a cackle now.

“Oh my god,” Eric begged her. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Jackie covered her mouth, still laughing. “I think - I think they might already know.”

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aurumacadicus · 1 year

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Fictober 26/31 -- “I’m doing it, shut up.”

Lottie is wonderfully at ease with her body most of the time, but even she has her insecurities. Luckily she’s got healthy coping mechanisms, one of which is creating chaos as only the youngest, unhinged sibling can.

Clint chewed on his cheek thoughtfully, watching as Lottie obediently followed Bruce’s instruction through various yoga poses. She was the only one besides Natasha who could really do the poses without some form of modification, but he wondered how much of it was practice and how much of it was because she was a cat sometimes. She was more flexible than anyone on the team, and she had such fine control over her mutation that she could simply partially shift for the strength she needed.

Not that she needed to for yoga. She’d appeared in the gym to join the rest of the team in a sports bra and shorts, showing off the fact that she was basically pure muscle. Tony had dropped his water bottle. Clint wished he could make fun of him, but he’d spewed his Gatorade all over Thor. She’d always looked so… soft, under her comfy sweaters and swooshy skirts. ‘Even domestic cats have a low body fat percentage, so no matter what I do I just look like this,’ she’d said, clearly embarrassed, and covered her exposed stomach with her arms. They’d all privately decided it wasn’t a topic for discussion based on that.

Natasha had tapped out to go spar with Thor and Steve, but Clint noticed them all glancing over when they took breaks. Tony had tapped out after getting a call from R&D that was just screaming, and he’d sighed and muttered colorfully under his breath about running a company and stalked off. Clint was going to make a highlight reel for him. Steve had made a really interesting noise when Natasha had used her thighs to fling him across the mats.

“So, can you do difficult poses?” Clint asked as Lottie, upside-down, rested her knees on her elbows.

“Crane pose is difficult, Clint,” Bruce admonished, scowling at him.

Clint stuck his tongue out at him, then rolled his eyes. “I mean, sure, it’s advanced, but it’s not like… top hardest yoga pose, is it?”

“Yoga is a spiritual exercise,” Bruce began.

“Yeah, I can do what some people call the top five,” Lottie said, apparently oblivious to the fact that Clint was just teasing her. She tipped her head back to look up at them, blinking slowly. “I’ve talked about Maryam before. Her mom ran her own yoga studio in town. She let all of Maryam’s friends shadow classes so long as we were respectful and helped clean up around the studio.”

Clint couldn’t help a wry smile. “Let me guess. You were especially helpful.”

“I couldn’t say. Apoorva was never really fast and loose with her praise,” Lottie answered, and somehow managed to shrug even with her knees on her elbows. “Probably wouldn’t have felt right, anyway. Cat,” she offered, pupils going feline in demonstration before going round again. “She leaned more into the meditation teachings of it than the Americanized version.”

Bruce perked up. “Oh, do you think you could ask her to suggest some reading materials for me?”

Lottie blinked up at him in surprise. “Uh, yeah? Probably? Can I relax now?”

“Oh my god, yes,” Bruce spluttered, checking his watch. “Lottie, I’m so sorry.”

Clint watched Lottie stretch her legs back up, then back, until her toes touched the floor. Then she simply stood the fuck up, as if her weight hadn’t just been entirely on her arms. “My spine would simply snap in half,” he murmured to himself.

“We could start with an easier position for you,” Bruce offered.

Clint turned to give him a bitch face. “I meant because I’m old.”

“You are pretty old,” Lottie said sympathetically.

Clint stood more on instinct than actual anger, fists coming up. “Old enough to throw you out the window.”

“I’ll snap you like a twig,” Lottie replied, scowling at him, before she giggled and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. I can’t keep a straight face that long. You know I don’t mean it, right?”

Clint had never for a moment assumed she would. Still, he wasn’t one not to milk a situation in his favor. “You can make it up to me by doing the top five hardest poses.”

Bruce swiveled to glare at him again. “Clint. Behave.”

“I dunno how,” Clint said, and was probably only saved from being punched by Lottie shrugging.

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed.

Bruce turned to look at her and sighed, put upon. “You’re rewarding his bad behavior.”

“I don’t think he knows what good behavior is,” Lottie reasoned.

Clint nodded along, because that sounded about right. Then she grinned, and he realized she’d meant it as an insult. “Hey!”

“I’m doing it,” Lottie cut in before he could say anything else, throwing herself into a handstand. “Shut up.”

“…This is a hard pose?” Clint asked, dubious, as she began spreading her legs.

Bruce crossed his arms and scowled at him. “It takes a lot of core strength and balance, Clint.”

As he watched, Lottie shifted her weight onto her right arm, lifting her left hand up to rest on her hip. Her arm didn’t even tremble. “Holy shit.”

“This isn’t even the hardest one,” Lottie told him smugly.

“I wanna see you do the hardest one,” Clint said.

Bruce rolled his eyes, groaning quietly. “You’re such a child.”

Clint glanced at him, raising his eyebrows in challenge. “Can you do it?”

“No, because I’m older than you. I’d fucking disintegrate,” Bruce scoffed.

Lottie put her hand back on the ground, bringing her legs back together as well. “I don’t find the scorpion pose as difficult as most people,” she said, legs coming forward, forward, forward, until she could tap her toes to her forehead. “I find Sirsasana li Padmasana more difficult, but that’s because I hate putting my head on the floor.”

“ARE YOU DOING THE SCORPION,” Natasha bellowed from the mats.

Clint watched Lottie casually turn on her hands to face her. “Hmm I don’t like this actually.”

“She’s a backwards C,” Bruce agreed, looking faintly green in a sickly way and not a hulkly way.

“You asked,” Lottie scoffed.

“Okay but you’re kind of freaking me out,” Steve said, hiding behind Thor. “Please stop.”

“No, I want to see how long she can hold it,” Natasha argued.

Lottie grinned, wide and sinister, and—for lack of a better term—started sprinting toward the mats on her hands.

“NOOO OH MY GOD,” Steve shouted, terrified, and Thor flinched.

Clint watched her chase the two of them around, cackling, then sighed and looked up at Bruce. “Tony is going to be so upset he missed this.”

Bruce sighed and crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“Huh?” Clint said, but then Steve was grabbing him, picking him up, throwing him in Lottie’s direction. “STEVE WHAT THE FUCK?!”

It didn’t even help, because Lottie expertly swerved around him to continue chasing Steve. Clint decided he deserved it.

.-.

“Oh,” Clint said, as both Lottie and Tony, scorpion posing, cornered a screaming Steve in the common room. He almost felt bad for him.

Luckily Thor eventually came and scooped the two of them up, scolding them about knowing when to end a joke as he carried them away.

#aurumacadicus writes #original character #marvel #fictober

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eemoo1o-animoo · 1 year

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Wdym Claude was doomed by the writing and not narrative I'm curious to see how that differe

From: (x)

You seem nice enough, so I assume you’re not here to tell me that I’m shit at using words, and for that I’m grateful. 😅

(After posting this I’m going to go back to posts which I reference/would give further explanation to my ramblings, so if by chance you read this before all the links are added, I’d recommend coming back.)

Actually, what I mean by that is that Claude’s character (general consensus thereof aside, being: flat, unreactive, dispassionate, etc., especially in contrast to Alois and, especially, Sebastian) is quite inconsistent.

In fact, from what I remember, episode one and six appear to have the most consistent Claude in comparison to the rest of the season (oh god, including “the derailment” in episode nine but that’s to be expected—but more on that in a minute).

That being said, episode six then had a minutely different Alois/undertone to episode one (episode one being the “set up” episode that I refer back to for my darling, darling sliver of the endangered “Soft Claude”), with Alois referencing “punishing Claude” when prior to and even after this it’s never brought up at all, and the esteem in which Alois holds Claude anyway disallows him from ever “punishing” him, anyway, so it feels quite out of character in that regard.

Episode nine is the blood tasting episode, if I recall correctly (or, perhaps that is at the very end of episode eight?) is, what I call, “the derailment”, for the whole series and plot completely shifts tonally and so does the characterisation of Claude.

Claude was eventually the scapegoat for the writers trying to get back on track from the “set up of recurring characters” they’d had in practice to the “season exclusive arc” they had on paper. For that, Claude’s characterisation suffered.

Hashtag Flanderisation, am I right, gamers? (Please don’t sue me.)

It wasn’t even flanderisation, technically, either! Because most of the attributes inflated (ie. “creepiness” and “perverseness”) post-blood tasting weren’t present let alone even hinted to in prior episodes, inconsistent characterisation of all season-exclusive parties aside!

I’m a big advocate for “Claude’s characterisation deserved better” (then with the immediate clarification of “not his character—just his characterisation”).

In fact, it was @indigoipsum that brought to light the popular hypothesis that each episode was written by a different writing team, hence the inconsistencies (some of which were exclusive to an episode each, like Claude’s “soft moment” in episode one or Alois’ mentions of punishing Claude in episode six, to name some, but there are more). An idea which none of us have gone back to check the season’s credits to prove, and so it just floats in the air, unproven, and we’re okay with that.

(It’s also an idea that made me a bit upset, for whatever reason, because I’d become quite attached to the “Soft Claude” scene in episode one, as I’d rewatched the episode to analyse Claude and Alois for a fic. For the record I’d pumped out like a billion bullet points after going frame by frame analysing anything I could.)

I go into further detail of it here, a post that was prompted by Indigo telling me the aforementioned theory.

As far as season two goes, someone with a better recollection than me would be @nullb1rdbones, who tends to rewatch it all on the near-daily, it seems, so off I send you for further in-detail questions about the season, and not Claude / ramblings about the writing (of which you are more than welcome to come back to me whenever you feel you must).

So I guess, what I mean by what you’re asking, is that the “narrative” would be the perspective of which he’d been put into the story (I don’t doubt he was always meant to be the season villain, but in the beginning it certainly wasn’t delivered as thoroughly as what it was later on), but the writing was… the writing made it worse, I guess is what I’m trying to say.

Hopefully, that clears some of the confusion (explaining myself is hard).

And, hopefully, I do these characters more justice than the canon ever did (and what they deserve because not believing that good writing is what they deserve makes me sad. Fuck you, estrogen 🖕) in my upcoming fic, Claudetails.

I doubt it will be hard, though. The badness of writing makes it so easy to trump it. (And yet so, so difficult.)

Thanks for the ask, anon! Hope you come again soon.

#asks #anon asks #anon #answering an ask #black butler #kuroshitsuji #black butler ii #kuroshitsuji ii #claude faustus #original post #long post #kind of #alois trancy #will tag as claudetails as to direct the anon to the tag #claudetails

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flightlessribbons · 11 months

Text

BTS: Emma having to drag a blacked out Serena to bed

Dialogue transcript under the cut

Trevor: Congrats on your contest tonight you two! You really were the best duo out there- so it’s on us!

Serena: Yup, what he said! Order the big ones- our treat!

Calem: While we are…very grateful to the free dinner at Sushi High Roller- Uh…Wh…Why are you two still wearing those.

Shauna: You guys…

Trevor: Why what’s wrong with it. Rena, what could possibly be bad about our attire?

Serena: Is it the shades indoors- that must be it. Do you think I’m disturbing the other customers with my custom Shining Star Calem light stick, Trev?

Trevor: Oh not at all, Rena.

Calem: You two are so embarrassing.

Serena: We don’t know the meaning of that word. But Tierno- your choreo was- Oh he’s asleep.

Calem: Let’s let him rest. He was overworking himself over this show and another one. We told him to take it easy but…Guess he didn’t listen.

Serena: I’ll order his favorites for when he wakes up.

Trevor: We’ll be honest though…Rena and I have an ulterior motive to this dinner. We still really do wanna treat you guys- buuut…

Serena: Me and Trevs got some word from my friend in Unova and his cousin in Galar- There’s this historical association in the works right now- and they’re sending out invitations for potential members- notable people in past events and professors. These three are for you two and Tierno. Trev and I already sent ours saying we’ll attend the event.

Calem: Trev…You know how much work I have back at the lab. Since Augustine came back, a lot of employees have been slacking off, and I have to pick it back up. I can’t afford a side project like this.

Shauna: Aaaand…you guys do know I’m an idol for a living? I’m not sure they’d have much use for me.

Trevor: Cal- You’re miserable at the lab. You’ve always talked about branching out with this kinda stuff- but you’ve been limiting yourself. What about everyone else in the lab? You’re not the only one working there- it shouldn’t fall solely on you to fix it all. Augustine could help disperse the pressure of this project- you two can build a trustworthy team for this. Either way- you should be able to study and participate in what you;re interested in- not limit yourself to whatever the lab is doing. If that means taking some personal projects like this one…I just think it would be worth it for you to check it out with us.

Serena: And Shaunee- that doesn’t mean that they want you any less than us- they’ve already sent us the invites anyways! I know one reason they’re interested in us is because of the legend and myth pokemon we have, but it isn’t the only reason.

Trevor: There’s a lot you and Teach can do that we can’t do.

Serena: At least join us to the summit? It’s in Unova, and if anything goes not to our liking..Hey it’s a free vacation.

Tierno: Oop. Well count me in.

Calem: Tierno? But why?

Tierno: Because, my dear Cal, it sounds like fun! And really- Do we need more of a reason than that?

Shauna: … Let’s do it, Cal. We’ll all be together- we won't be alone. We’ll have our little Kalos 5 family!

Calem: *sigh* Alright. Kalos 5 trip…I suppose we haven’t had one of those in a while…

Serena: YES!! We’re gonna need something to toast to that- WAITER!!

Calem: Oh great, Serena’s drinking.

Trevor: You’re gonna be the one to take her home, Cal.

Calem: Emma’s gonna hate me for bringing her back home like this.

#pokeverse_m #kalos #serena #calem #tierno #trevor #shauna #kalos 5 #augh my BABIES #invitation comic #gen 6

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thesilvercondor · 1 year

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(Spoilers for Aim To Be A Pokemon Master Ep1 (JN137) below the cut)

ok so i am perpetually obsessed with Anabel and thus extremely biased but like. fun little conspiracy theory. Ash is actually developing Empathy (ability to sense pokemon's emotions, and use this for knockoff telepathy with them).

I have not seen past the first episode of this series, if there’s further evidence I might return to this theory but I kinda doubt there will be any lmao. Proceed beneath the readmore if you want to see my insane ramblings (1k words).

So, let’s look at this episode real quick, shall we? First major event- Ash accidentally attacks a Beedrill nesting site, potentially angering nearby Beedrill. And like, in the vast majority of Bulbapedia’s anime entries about wild Beedrill- those things get angry all the freaking time. I’ve already seen people down in the comments of this episode talking about how they didn’t think they’d seen a wild Beedrill be calm before.

However, Ash manages to calm it nearly instantaneously- which one other character has actually pulled off before- the only canon Empath, Anabel (S9 E24, ‘Talking A Good Game’).

I just find it interesting that this scene was included in the episode, given that it has no obvious importance to the rest of the storyline, you know? Unless it was meant to draw parallels, between this episode and *checks notes* some obscure episode from the early 2000s that barely anyone remembers. *sweatdrops*

Uhhh but anyway!- next major event in the episode- the token ‘Empath’ finds an extremely powerful Pokemon, who is openly hostile to them, but calms it down by helping to care for its wounds.

In JN137, this is Ash helping Latias with a (burn?) on its wing, while in S9E24, it’s Anabel pulling out a stick from a Gyarados’s injury.

Then, the third (and most major) event is the reveal of Empathy being used as Telepathy in a battle situation. This one uh. This one I have less evidence for, but we’re just going to pretend that Ash isn’t good enough at empathy yet for the parallels to be perfect, ok? Just to stoke my own ego.

Anyway- S9E24, Anabel first uses this with her ace, Alakazam. It’s characterized by her giving orders without talking- aka, though Alakazam can’t physically hear her, he can still hear her.

In JN137, Ash is captured by Team Rocket’s ‘Supercooled Capsule’. Here, Ash’s voice is extremely muffled- to the point that even Team Rocket (1-2m away from him) can’t hear him well. Meanwhile, Pikachu is uhhh 25-40m away? Down on the forest floor. (perspective is unhelpful, here’s the best screenshot I got).

Anyway, while being extremely muffled and getting progressively further away, AND while having his back turned on Pikachu- Ash proceeds to practically whisper his command to Pikachu to aim a 10, 000 Volts at him. And Pikachu understands instantly. Like yeah, I get it, this is an anime, not everything is realistic- but doesn’t this feel at least a little sus to y’all?

(left: Ash’s whisper, right: Anabel’s Empathy)

So yeah uh. I’ve yet to watch the other episodes of this anime. But if he gets overlaid on Pikachu at any point to give commands, then Imma 100% claim Empathy my dudes.

Especially since, the next RSE episode (S9E25, ‘Second Time’s The Charm’) is partially about Anabel trying to teach Ash Empathy- with the final line of the episode being her thinking- “I guess you can’t sense feelings yet, Ash [��]”. Here, please just picture me pointing commandingly at the word ‘yet’. She reckons he had potential- and maybe that potential is finally coming true.

Since we’re doing Anabel quotes right now, I’m going to throw another one at you- her response to being asked how she talks to Pokemon like that (aka while using Empathy):

“"I don't even really know how I do it. I guess its been happening ever since I was a little girl. I'd come to the forest and talk to everything. Trees, grass, the stars; and all the wild pokemon- and that's how it all started!" (S9E25)

So you know. She went into the forest. Not much of a goal. Interacted with literally everything she saw, without discrimination. Sounds kinda like the start of the episode; with Ash stopping to interact with every single wild Pokemon he sees. That’s how she developed Empathy- so maybe this is how he develops it too.

Like, this is Ash’s final series. Why start with him just wandering around looking at random mons, unless that act is something seriously important?

Finally, just to add a bit more pizzazz; this episode is about Latias and Mew. (Oak’s poem at the start is something about if you want to make a lot of friends, you need to find 151- and 151 is Mew’s Pokedex number so. Yeah.) These two just so happen to be two of 9-12 ‘Empath Pokemon’ I have currently identified.

I’m counting Empath Pokemon as anything that has a Pokedex entry that mentions its ability to sense emotions (like Anabel does). Not just influence emotions (like Milotic), or get attracted by specific emotions (like Shuppet/Togetic/Blissey), but actively sense all emotions.

Latias’s Pokedex entry mentions that it “…is highly sensitive to the emotions of people.”

Meanwhile, Mew’s Pokedex entry mentions that it “…only appears to those with a pure heart.” (this is one of my ‘debateable’ Empath mons, as like. What is a pure heart exactly. I’m guessing it needs to be able to see all emotions in someone to decide whether their heart is pure or not, but I could be wrong.)

But yeah, if this series is about him trying to acquire two Empath Pokemon… it might also be about him trying to acquire Empathy itself.

Anyway I’m gonna. I’m gonna watch the other episodes eventually. Not just yet, cos I wanna dream about a world in which this conspiracy theory is any way feasible-

(oh yeah also before anyone asks. Anabel didn’t use an Empathy Pokemon in the anime, but in the games (Emerald and USUM) her ace is either Raikou or Latios, with the latter being another Empathy Pokemon- “…it can sense the emotions of others.”.)

(oh and full Empathy Pokemon list: Latias, Latios, Ralts, Indeedee, Hatterene, Sylveon, Audino, Solrock, Finizen. Bonus: Mew (how do you determine a ‘pure heart’), Mesprit (it created emotions so surely it can sense them?? But no pokedex entries on that) and Lucario (can sense emotions but through Aura not Empathy).)

#pokeani spoilers #pokemon #pokemon theory #ash ketchum #pokemon journeys #aim to be a pokemon master #salon maiden anabel #how to make me interested in ash as a character: add vague parallels to my blorbo from 2004 #anyway adios ash this is the first and last time i will ever post about you lol

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