#i feel a bit guilty for saying it will come in november but i knew that shit wasn't gonna be done oof | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lucreziaq2001 · 4 months

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•TV show: "Criminal minds".

•Content warnings: A girl being called to help her hospitalized friend because she is barely alive basically, her having to sneak out of the house to do it and worrying about her parents finding out she had gone out, mentions of conversion therapy and forced gender roles, mentions of electroshock sessions, their effects and the marks they eft on people, the girl who was subjected to electroshock therapy asking her friend to kill her and the friend smothering her with a pillow, then taking her body out of the hospital with her cousin's help and mentions of a young girl with brain damage's last wishes before dying.

•I made up JJ's cousin Arthur, obviously. I did it because I needed someone who could have helped her get to Philadelphia (where I've decided for Brockview Hospital to be) and take Emily's body out of the hospital, since a small 14-year-old wouldn't have been able to carry a slightly bigger 18-year-old like that.

•Some of the lines are almost the same that are in a scene of the "Cold case" episode this story is inspired by. I did modify them a bit, though. I didn't just copy and paste them.

•VERY IMPORTANT THING: This chapter was pretty upsetting for me to write, so if you find it upsetting to read, I understand. Feel free to skip it.

•Tags: @lex13cm, @golden1u5t, @avis-writeshq, @rynwritesreid, @chrrysgirl, @amerrymango, @marie-sworld, @iluvreid, @babygirl-garcia, @hugyourlungs, @strangermoonlove.

The bridge to Heaven

Chapter 21: Finally free

The night between November 21 and November 22, 1963 was full of fears for Jennifer.

The day before, Nurse Pauline Leonard had come to see her at school and asked her to help Emily, which she had agreed to do, but that meant sneaking out of her house at night.

She knew that if her father had woken up and seen her leave, she would have been in for a rough time, but much to her relief, that didn't happen.

Her cousin Arthur, who was 21 years old and owned a car, had accepted to help her get to Brockview Hospital when she had asked him to, and throughout their less than an hour-long journey to Philadelphia, Jennifer was very concerned.

Her worries weren't about her parents waking up and noticing that she wasn't in the house anymore, though, her mom and dad were far away from her thoughts.

What she was afraid of was seeing Emily again.

Besides still feeling guilty for what she had done to her on her last day of school, she was scared to find out what state her friend was in.

All the nurse had told her was "It's bad", and at that moment, Jennifer had just accepted it, but on her way to Brockview, she was extremely worried about what she was going to see.

When she arrived in front of Emily's room's door, for a few seconds she thought about just turning around and leaving, but that only lasted a brief moment.

She couldn't abandon her friend again, so she took a deep breath, then opened the door and walked into her hospital room.

"Emily, come on, I've come to get you out of here. Let's go!" she exclaimed excitedly, hoping Emily would have just gotten up from the bed she was laying on and come with her.

Emily, however, didn't move an inch.

She didn't even make a sound.

She just stayed curled up under the bedsheet and didn't even look at Jennifer.

So, the younger girl walked up to her bed, and it was only at that moment that she actually saw what Pauline Leonard had meant by "It's bad".

Emily looked exhausted, as if she hadn't slept in days, and also scared, and the deep red marks on her temples were evident signs of what she had been put through.

And when Jennifer took the bedsheet off her body to see if she had any injuries there too, she saw what Emily was wearing and her disbelief only grew.

Her friend had an elegant black dress on and she was also wearing nail polish and make-up.

In their eyes, the people she had been in the care of in that place had probably succeeded.

To them, they had finally turned Emily into a "real woman", but all Jennifer could say when she saw her friend like that was a weak "Oh, my God!".

She knew she couldn't just stand there doing nothing, though, so she sat on Emily's bed and gently helped her sit up, holding her up by putting her hands on her hips.

"Hey, Emily, I know this can be reversed" she then told her, pulling her into a hug and holding her tight "Come back, please. I betrayed you, I know, but I'm here now. I'm here to take you home. Remember what you told me that night? At the lake. That you always wanted to be yourself and you would have rather died than changed. Remember?".

For probably just a minute that seemed to last forever to Jennifer, Emily said nothing, but then, her unfocusing eyes looking at her friend for a brief moment, she mumbled a weak "Please, kill me".

When she heard those words, Jennifer couldn't help but burst into tears.

She couldn't even imagine doing such a thing to one of her closest friends, especially after the ways in which she had already hurt her less than a month prior.

"No. No, I can't. I won't" she replied, shaking her head "I know you are still in there, Emily, and I also know you'll get better. What about your mother and your son? No, I can't do that to them, or to you".

"Am I pretty now?" Emily asked her weakly a few seconds later, trying and failing to lift her head up to look into Jennifer's eyes again.

Full-on sobbing by that time, Jennifer gently put her hand on Emily's cheek and removed the lipstick from the girl's lips with her thumb.

"Yes, now you are" she then told her softly, and kissed her on the lips for what would have been their second and last time.

Then, when she broke the kiss, she gently laid Emily back on her bed, took the pillow from the bed next to hers and, without looking, put it on Emily's face and smothered her.

It only took about five minutes for the girl to leave this world.

And while Jennifer and Arthur, who was carrying Emily's body, slowly walked out of the hospital a few minutes later, the girl weirdly didn't feel guilty about what she had just done.

She had done right by Emily and made her last wishes come true.

Her friend had finally been set free, and she couldn't have been more relieved about it.

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ellissay-morningstar · 5 months

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DWC November 2023, Day 6, Expectation

Ellissay knew her aunt wouldn't go far. Elutia didn't trust the man on her couch and worried for her niece. She had seen the look in her eyes when she bid her farewell and knew that she would probably go to the village nearby and would remain there until she knew her niece was safe.

Ellissay takes a deep breath, and her thoughts turn toward the man. He had moved a few times, and his eyes fluttered, but he had yet to wake. Perhaps he had lost too much blood. She had had to clean up the floor; there had been so much of it. It had caught her attention while sifting through the photographs, and for a moment, she had just stared at it, going over the night's events in her head.

Finally, she had moved to get some rags and water to clean it up. She doubted she would get her deposit back if she left blood dried on the wood floor like some murder scene.

Suddenly, the man made a coughing sound. She jumps slightly, pulling herself out of her thoughts and toward him. He moved, winced, and his hand moved to his head as if it pained him. She presses her lips together into a thin line, waiting cautiously to see what he might do.

"I'm not going to hurt you if that is your concern." his voice sounded raspy and not nearly as confident as it had sounded the first time they had met. "Besides, you poisoned me, not the other way around." He failed to mention she was also most likely the reason he ended up half-dead on her cabin floor.

A soft bit of heat comes to her cheeks. The man wasn't wrong, but being called out on it had been unexpected. Still, if he expected her to feel guilty, it wouldn't happen. She had been paid for a job, and she had done that job.

"Why did you come here, Mr…? She pauses, waiting for him to give her a name.

His eyes waver for a moment as if he is trying to decide if he should trust her.

She makes a soft tsk tsk sound. "Come now, let's not be shy. You show up at my doorstep, beaten, stabbed, and practically on death's door. If I wanted you dead, you would be dead."

He closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath before pulling himself up in a sitting position; he makes it about halfway before having to pause and take a deep breath. "You are right. You could have easily kicked me out into the cold and left me for dead. I'm Shiloh." He didn't offer his last name, and she let it go for now.

"Well, Shiloh, I would say it is a pleasure to meet you, but that would be a lie under the circumstances. Perhaps you can explain to me how you ended up here, of all places, just days after I drugged you."

He gave a half-cocked chuckle and winced again. "You are exactly what I expected if I am honest. My sister has been keeping an eye on you for a while."

He clears his throat. "Perhaps I could have some water."

His sister? What the…?

She furrows her brow for a moment but lets out a breath of air and stands, making her way into the kitchen. It gave her a moment to think as she turned on the spigot, filling a water glass. She moves back into the living area to hand it to him. He brings it eagerly to his lips.

"Slowly." she looks down at him with a stern look. He pauses and drinks it a bit slower. She returned to the chair and waited for him to finish the water so he could continue.

He looks down into the now-empty glass. "I knew who you were as soon as I saw you. I didn't know you were going to drug me. That was my bad. I know you work sometimes for SI:7. Work being a loose term. You don't truly work for anyone but yourself. You keep a pretty solitary life. You don't have many friends, probably due to your half-elf heritage, which makes you feel distant from others. You and your brothers are close, but you have lost touch with your mother. Your work with SI:7 is to make you feel like you have something in common with her. Truth is, you and she are quite alike. Resourceful and intelligent. Both good at what you do."

His knuckles turn white as his hold on the glass tightens with his following words. Ellissay can hear the glass stress. "I, on the other hand, perhaps not as good. Somebody ratted me out. I thought it was you. I was on my way here to confront you when I got ambushed. And well, I am sure you can put two and two together."

She furrows her brow again and tilts her head cause she isn't putting two and two together. "I don't follow. What do you mean ratted you out? To SI:7?"

His words had her confused. What was there to rat him out about? Her information said he was the go-to guy for the operation that SI:7 was trying to take down. The ring leader of sorts. They already knew that, didn't they? Though she would admit she had gone over those damn photos again and again, and there was nothing. If there was a paper trail, she hadn't found it. Had she been lied to?

He looked exhausted and frustrated. "Well, since I am alive and not a frozen corpse, you either didn't rat me out, or you are an excellent little actress." He runs his fingers through his curls, clearly a nervous habit of sorts. He sighs heavily, closing his eyes for a moment.

Ellissay shakes her head. "I feel like there is some major information I am unaware of." She lets out a swift puff of air. "And we clearly don't trust one another, so I am unsure how far this conversation will take us. But since nobody has shown up to finish the job, I will assume they think they already did. You should be safe here. You might not trust me, but clearly, I don't want you dead."

He purses his lips together tightly and nods his head in understanding.

Ellissay takes a deep breath in and out through her nose. "I had you healed, but you lost a lot of blood before I could get somebody here to do so."

Shiloh's eyes widen, and she raises her hand before he can say anything. "I couldn't just call anybody; there would be too many questions, and I didn't have answers. But I assume you will recognize the name Elutia. I called in my aunt to heal you. I trusted her, knowing she would keep things between us. I doubt she has gone far, and knowing her, she will return to make sure you didn't do something stupid like try to kill me."

He nods, seeming suddenly tired again, and lies back on the couch, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. Ellissay watches him for a moment before she stands and decides to give him a few minutes, which she knows he probably needs. "I will be in my room if you need anything." She doesn't wait for an answer, and as she walks away, she doesn't seem to get one.

@daily-writing-challenge

#novemberdwc2023 #novemberday62023 #ellissay-morningstar #world of warcraft #expectations #day 6 #writing

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alarrytale · 27 days

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Hello Marte!

A little ask for you as I just want to understand it all completely - why was H saying "We're all a little bit gay, aren’t we" that big deal? He said it after years again during my show in Vienna which also makes me wonder if it was because he knows his "iconic" quotes and how popular it became or it´s just his sublte way to express he´s gay but if he´ll say it every other show it won´t be that big deal.

Also wondering about the missing English breakfast while on tour gif from like 2013-2014? Hope you´ll remember which one I mean, it was from some interview on red carpet I guess, H was wearing beige jacket and he´s holding microfone and fonding like crazy while looking down to the floor. What was the context and why it was such a big deal for larries? I know that Louis said he has a proper english breakfast and how happy it made him for some interview last year while touring in US but that gif with H was during 1D so Louis was with him all the time.

And my last question. How do you think Louis deals with H stunting when it comes to him doing pda with those women? We know they both were really jealous about each other in the beginning and it breaks my heart both of them had to deal with their closet this way and went that far with acting straight that they had to do pda. But imo it´s worse with H ´cause he´s a big celebrity with his womanizerTM image and him doing pda always end up in tabloids ´cause we all are meant to see it. Idk but it makes me really sad whenever I saw him kissing his stunt and that´s not how gf harries like call it "you´re jealous ´cause it´s not you, he will never date you" but it´s just makes me so weird to see him go this far and cross this intimate line and I just don´t want to see him doing this while I´m just a random person but...how Louis must feel? And especially during that awful 2 years of h*livia when she was clinging on him like crazy thinking she can actually make him fall in love with him, the yachtgate 2.0 when she touched him while he was almost naked, he had to kiss her etc. Idk how hard it can be for H but imo it´s much worse for his real partner.

Hi, anon!

It was a big deal because it was the first time (and one of the only times) he's said the G-word (gay). He also basically admitted to being gay. He hid it behind a claim that everyone is a little bit gay (that's just not true). I think he said it because he knew he could get away with it (it did create plenty of headlines though).

About the english breakfast incident. I think you're mixing things up a bit. 1D was performing on Good Morning America in november 2013. They were interviewed on stage between songs, and they were asked what they miss the most when they're away from home. Louis answered a good fry up and started to explain everything that's needed to make a perfect English breakfast.

We all know he can't cook for shit, so someone at home most be cooking this for him to miss it. Harry looked particularly guilty lol. It's just domestic!larry and confirmation that H cooks breakfast for L. H also confirmed he was single in this interview, so it was good times.

I think L deals okay with H stunting and doing PDA with women. I think it was harder for him in the beginning. I also think it's harder for him when H isn't getting along with the beard or when fandom buys into the stunt. I think both H and L approach their stunts like an actor. For all we know it's rehearsed, discussed and maybe they even got intimacy coordinators involved. H knows how hard it felt when L was stunting with E, so they've both gone through it and know how the other one feels. I think L is busy doing his thing and he isn't exposing himself to the stunt articles, narrative and pictures. Why would he? If seeing pics of H doing PDA is hurting him, or he's seeing H hurting while doing it, he won't look. He knows how this goes and is used to it by now.

#harry image #go gay go!#larry genuinely happy #stunting #bearding

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squad3-sevcase · 2 years

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I Know Your Heart (8) Professional Courtesy [part 2] | Chicago Fire Fanfic

Summary: The Casey siblings are cornered by Detective Voight following their decision to release reports recounting the true events of the night of the accident. Later, Becker admits that she’s known about Kelly’s injury all along.

Warnings: General Chicago Fire warnings apply. Read at your own discretion.

A/N: closing out episode 3, Professional Courtesy. It’s nice to see Matt taking a bit more responsibility and attempting to take care of Becker. Really, though, who’s here for the back-and-forth between Mini Casey and Severide? Edited 14th November 2022.

Taglist: @campingmonkey @fullwattpadmusictree @marvelatthetwilight @fictionlover100 @deardelicatedamage (Taglist is open, if you’d like to be added, let me know)

Night fell; Becker felt strange after her talk with Matt and the chief. The plan was for her to release a written statement of everything she saw to go along with Matt's incident report. A heavy heart beat within the walls of Becker's chest; who knew what would become of the Hail Mary chance they were taking?

Voices echoed distant and distorted as Becker locked herself behind sturdy walls to keep the company out. She told herself no one else had to know. It was better to suffer alone in silence, better that they did not see her weaknesses, better that they could not see her scars.

A light hand on her shoulder pulled Becker out of the chasm of her thoughts, and she greeted her brother with a soft smile.

“Come with me,” he said, and she chewed the inside of her cheek before obediently following behind him. He led her outside where the t-shirt table stood abandoned for the day, and the two began packing the shirts away for storage.

Becker knew he brought her out there to keep an eye on her, to keep her close while everything settled in. She recognized the guilt in his eyes, the pain and the struggle to understand. She wished she could tell him it was okay, that he had nothing to feel guilty for, but she couldn't find the words just yet.

“Hey, Casey.” Vargas met the pair at the table, nodding to Becker as he did that morning in the locker room.

“What's up?” Matt replied. He refolded the t-shirts and handed them to Becker who stacked them neatly in the boxes they brought with them. Keeping her hands occupied kept her mind off of the memories.

“Just wanted to let you know that I reached my Squad certification,” Vargas said.

“Okay.” Matt side-eyed his sister, and she raised her eyebrows in response. She wouldn't tell him.

Vargas continued, “And I put in for a transfer. So I just wanted you to know beforehand.”

The conversation seemed pointless to Becker considering “beforehand” should have been before placing the transfer request, but most of the guys seemed to get that backward. Vargas, she considered, didn't strike her as having what it takes to be on Squad. Now that she thought about it, Kelly was telling her as much that morning but she had tuned him out.

She looked over at her brother, his expression hadn't changed. He handed her the rest of the shirts for the box and closed it up. Vargas stood awkwardly beside the siblings; he looked between the youngest of them and his lieutenant, unsure of what to do. When he turned to leave, Becker elbowed Matt in the side and gestured to the retreating man.

“Say something,” she muttered. Men.

“Vargas.” Matt handed the box to Becker and stepped around the table. “Congratulations, man. Seriously. Severide will be lucky to have you.”

Vargas smiled. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

“Was that so hard?” Becker chided.

“Not now, MC.”

“Oh, no. You're not getting out of this. The hell is wrong with you?”

“Just got a lot on my mind.”

“And the rest of us don't? Casey, you can't let your emotions keep you from leading your team.”

“You don't get it, MC,” he said. He knelt in front of the table to remove the sign, shaking his head. How was he supposed to look her in the eyes after tonight? “I don't understand why you never told me about what happened. I'm your brother, I―”

“Which is exactly why I never told you,” she answered.

He threw his hands in the air. “That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” she challenged. “Forget that we are First Responders for a moment, forget that you're Truck Lieutenant Matthew Casey, forget that I'm on Rescue Squad 3. . . I mean, look at you. You haven't looked at me the same way since you found out. Tell me I'm wrong, Matt.”

He couldn't and they both knew it.

“You can't. Because something like that,” she scoffed, “changes people. It changed me. And it changed the way you see me. That is why I didn't tell you. And I'm not gonna feel bad for that.”

Matt sighed. She was right, she always was.

“MC?” Matt looked up to find Becker standing still as stone, body rigid and eyes unmoving. He glanced over his shoulder as a man walked up behind him, eyes trained on the unsuspecting duo. He recognized him as the detective pointed out to him at the wreck from the other night and instinctively positioned himself in front of Becker, a barrier between his sister and the detective.

“You Casey?” the man greeted, extending his hand to the lieutenant.

“Yeah.”

“I'm Hank Voight.”

Matt shook his hand. The box of t-shirts was forgotten in favour of ensuring his sister's safety. He felt her step away from him in an effort to put distance between her and Voight.

“Got time for a drink?”

Becker sat in the booth next to Matt and felt her whole body vibrating in Hank Voight's presence. She wondered why he brought her along instead of leaving her at the firehouse. It was her nightmare.

“Lotta cops got dinosaur arms when it comes to pulling their gun,” Voight explained. Becker didn't see what that had to do with anything. “Not me. You know, I've always been aggressive. It's the only way to get anything done in my line of work.”

Matt nodder, unenthused. He shared Becker's annoyance at having their conversation interrupted but felt safer knowing she was sitting next to him. He failed to protect her two months ago, he wouldn't fail now.

Voight looked from Casey to Becker, the reason behind the impromptu meeting was indecipherable and she was certain he wanted to keep it that way. She felt his gaze analyzing her. “The reason I'm telling you this is. . . I put a lot of time into my job. I mean, I cared a lot about protecting the city and the people in it. Maybe too much, 'cause. . . I wasn't at home a lot, and I took my eye off my son. That's on me. But I am telling you right now I am gonna be up that kid's ass until he gets his head on straight. I'm gonna get him in a program, the whole deal. You have my word on it.”

“Good to hear,” Matt said. Becker knew that tone well. He didn't believe a single word coming out of Voight's mouth but he'd played that game too many times before, he knew what he was doing.

“See, the thing is, Justin ― that's my son. He's got some priors.”

“Yeah, I've, uh. . . I've heard about some of those priors.”

“This thing that happened the other night, if there was alcohol involved, that's a felony. He does time. Real time. You ever been to lockup? You been to Statesville? You been to these places? You don't want your kid there, trust me.”

“I'm sympathetic, but. . . That's got nothing to do with me, nothing to do with my sister.”

“Sure it does,” Voight insisted.

Becker felt the air around her thin. She told Matt that would happen, she told him that was what they did. They made it disappear.

Voight watched the siblings sternly. He set hard, dark eyes on Becker's face and her blood chilled. She hated that man. He returned his gaze to Matt. “You filed a report that said my son was drunk that night. And you”―he turned to Becker―“released a witness statement confirming that report.”

“He was,” Matt said.

“Well, I need you to retract it. Let me tell you. . . I will owe you, both of you. Big time. And I'm a good guy to have a favour bank with.”

“The kid in the other car, did you know he's paralyzed?”

“Yeah. And it breaks my heart. But there is no sense in having two tragedies coming from that night. And putting 10 years on my son would be a tragedy, 'cause he's a great guy.”

“My sister needed a month and a half off of work because of your son,” Matt said flatly. He leaned forward on the table, levelling his gaze with Detective Voight's. “I've been to Statesville. You ever been to a spinal injury centre? The family watches their kid drag his feet while gripping some parallel bars, clinging to the fantasy that he'll walk again one day. And the dad quits his job to help the mom care for him, and take a second mortgage out on their house to pay for it. And on top of that, they have to live with the shame that the police and fire department shoved a lie down their throat that they caused the accident?

“You ever wake up one day and look at the one person who knows you better than anyone in the world, who you know better than anyone in the world, and realize that you don't recognize her at all? Despite growing up together, despite everything you would do for her, she feels like she can't trust you with the biggest secret of her life. So she takes off for six weeks until the memories of what happened to her aren't as haunting. And when she comes back she is hardly a glimpse of her past self, but she tries tirelessly to be the same person you know she is because she doesn't want to be a burden on anyone or let you down, and when you find out why, she's the one comforting you instead of the other way around?”

A lump formed in Becker's throat, and she hated that she was not invisible at that moment.

Matt shook his head. “What you're asking me, asking us to do―”

Voight launched himself out of the booth and into the siblings' space, rage painted his face a bright shade of red. “I'm not asking!”

Matt's left arm rose in front of Becker pushing her back into the booth and away from the man across from them. No matter what happened, he'd be damned if he didn't protect her this time.

“If you're not the kind of man or woman to do a cop a favour, then I can take this to the next level real easy. It was the end of your shift, you were tired, you got your paperwork mixed up, you got your calls mixed up. There's a million excuses. Pick one. 'Cause believe me. . . You are gonna retract that statement. 'Cause if you don't, I swear to God. . .” he trailed off.

Chief Boden appeared behind the Casey siblings and Becker wondered how long it had been since they left. “Casey, MC.”

“Chief,” they said. Matt dropped his arm from Becker's chest and the two barely relaxed. The chief took a seat at the bar with his back to their booth.

“Hey, Chief, can you give us a minute? This is kind of a private conversation,” Voight requested.

The chief turned in his seat. “No, I'm good.”

Detective Voight looked back at Matt and Becker again before rising from the booth, digging in his wallet for some cash that he tossed at the table, and exiting the bar. Once he was gone, Chief Boden took the open spot across from his firefighters.

Becker's heart beat wildly against her ribcage. She squeezed her eyes shut, and dug her fingernails into her palms. This can't be happening. Not again. This is why I left. I shouldn't have come home. This cannot be happening again! Matt's hands rested on top of her own, working her fingers to relax. She startled at his touch but allowed him to hold her hands in his.

“Hey, Bec, look at me. Look at me,” he coached softly. His baby blue eyes were filled with concern and desperation. That moment was just like all the others. . . The ones from before, when they were kids. He reached up with his right hand and guided her head down, levelling her eyes with his. “Look at me. I'm right here,” his voice was soft, he knew it wwe what would bring her back but only if she let him.

Becker flinched away from his touch. His voice sounded past the white noise in her ears and she calmed slowly. She opened her eyes.

“Breathe,” he soothed. “I'm right here, it’s me and you.”

Chief Boden sat back, giving them space to work through the chaos of what occurred with Voight. A valuable part of leading 51 had been learning to step back and let his team work through the difficult moments on their own; when it came to Matt and Becker Casey, there was more to it than what appeared on the surface. He understood the lieutenant needed that time to protect Becker then in a way he couldn't before.

Matt squeezed Becker's hands. She calmed into his presence and the bubble surrounding them expanded to include the chief. “You good?”

She nodded. “'M good. Hey, Chief.”

The chief's expression asked a simple question.

“We're not changing a word,” Becker confirmed.

The following afternoon Becker walked into Kelly and Shay's condo reeling from the confrontation with Detective Voight. She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell them yet or keep it between those who already knew. Once Kelly found out, there was no telling what he would do.

Kelly looked up from the island in the kitchen as she entered. “Didn't think I'd see you today. What happened to you last night?”

Becker shrugged, sitting down on the stool across from him. “Make me one,” she said.

“Yep. So?”

“Drinks with Matt. Sibling bonding or whatever.”

Kelly's eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Ah. How's that going?”

She shrugged again, picking at the slices of cheese on the counter. “As well as it can be. He's still an insufferable ass.”

Kelly laughed.

“Hey, Bec,” Shay called, joining the duo. “Kelly didn't tell me you were coming over.”

Becker noted the strangeness of Shay's tone; she felt like there was something she was interrupting but neither one would tell her what it was. She narrowed her eyes at her friends. “Okay, what is up with the two of you?”

“Why do you think something's up?” Shay asked. Her eyes flickered to Kelly then back to Becker.

“That right there, that look. I've seen you do it countless times when you think I'm not looking.” She pointed at her friend's face, squinting. “What are you hiding?”

Shay ignored Becker's questioning. “So, how'd it go?”

Kelly kept his eyes on the two sandwiches he was constructing for himself and Becker. “Good. Nice lady. Just gotta find a way to manage the pain.”

“Yeah, Kendra said you―you basically have a broken neck,” Shay concluded without thinking. Becker stiffened next to her.

Becker had known about Kelly's injury since her return to work, the severity of it, however. . . She kept her awareness private, hoping he would come out and tell her on his own. Then again, how could she expect the truth from Kelly when she was keeping secrets from him, too?

Kelly's head snapped up. “Shay.”

She ducked her head. “Sorry.”

“Well, if the two of you already talked, then why are you asking me?” He set the plate with Becker's sandwich in front of her. “Guess I should tell you now, huh?”

“I already know,” Becker said flatly, biting into her sandwich. Kelly stared at her, mouth agape. She shrugged. “You're shit at hiding things from me, Kel. I'm your partner, remember? It's my job to be aware of what's going on with you.”

He scoffed, “Then why'd you let me think you had no idea this whole time?”

“'Cause I was hoping you'd man up and tell me yourself. Not just as your partner, but as your best friend. So, what are you gonna do?”

“Look, I get that surgery, there's follow-up exams. There's paperwork involved. The department doesn't like how it looks, I go on long-term disability.”

“That's 75% pay,” Shay reasoned.

“And then do what, Shay? I fish off Navy Pier for the next 20 years? Working Squad is all I want, it's all I have.” Kelly missed the way that last part momentarily twisted Becker's face into a scowl. “If I have to eat the pain, then I will.”

A knock on the door suspended the rest of the discussion; Shay and Becker shared worrying glances between them as they followed Kelly to the door. When he answered, their confusion only grew.

“Hey, you remember me?” an older man asked, stepping toward Kelly and he straightened up.

“I do,” he said.

“Nicki is engaged.” He looked beyond Kelly's shoulder at the two women standing behind him. “Besides, looks like you're already having your fun, there. This conversation need to continue?”

“No, sir, it doesn't.”

“Right.”

Kelly closed the door and looked at Shay and Becker. “There you have it.”

Becker's eyes widened. “What the hell did you do?”

“What do you mean ‘what the hell did I do?’ You two are all buddy-buddy now, she didn't tell you?”

“We're not ‘buddy-buddy.’ I told her I didn't want to be in the middle of it and I meant it. Oh, my God. You slept with her last night!” Becker turned on Shay. “And you knew!”

Shay grinned, shrugging. “Looks like there are some things he can hide from you, MC.”

“What do you want me to say, Bec? Women like that are. . . Irresistible.”

Becker squinted. “Women like what?”

Kelly crossed the room to stand in front of her. He lifted his hand to her hair, twirling a honey-blonde curl around his forefinger; that close, his aftershave and cologne wafted around them. His blue eyes drew across her face, and he leaned in close. Kelly's breath fanned over the shell of Becker's ear as he whispered, “Women who enjoy a challenge, who don't take no for an answer.”

They both knew he was describing her, too.

He let go of her hair and the curl sprang back into place. He left her with a wink. “You jealous, Casey?”

She laughed, shaking her head at his antics. He wa good, too good. “You don't have anything worth being jealous of, Severide.”

“One of these days, Bec.”

“In your dreams, Kel.”

Shay faked gagging from the couch where she sat watching her friends interact. “Hey, can you two flirt when I'm not around?”

“Shut up, Shay,” they retorted. Becker let last night fade into the background.

#chicago fire fanfiction #one chicago fanfiction #kelly severide fanfiction #matt casey fanfiction #chicago fire series #i know your heart series

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among-mad-wolves · 7 months

Text

November 20, 1985

Dear Diary, I had a dream just now that makes me believe I will not be sleeping tonight. I was in a room. It was very empty, and I was feeling badly that it was empty. I thought it was my fault that nothing was there. I was crouched in one of the comers of the room, and I was staring at this one spot at the other end of the room, because I knew something was going to be there, soon. After a minute, I started to get very cold. And I thought that I saw something, but it disappeared. Then I looked away because I was trying to find the door that went to another room and out of this one, because I wanted to see if the furniture was in another room. I felt very bad about something and I wanted to fix things, so that I could stop feeling so . . . guilty. I guess that's what I was feeling. Guilt. I turned back to look across the room and there was an enormous rat sitting there. I knew in the dream that it was coming after me, and that it wanted to bite my foot off. I became so afraid! I saw it come closer and closer to me and I tried to think of a way to stop it, or a place to run away, but there wasn't anywhere to go, or anything I could do! I know it may sound funny, but it was so frightening. I sat very still and tried to keep my feet tight against my body so that the rat couldn't get to my foot. I couldn't stop thinking of how awful it was going to feel when it closed its jaws around my ankle and bit down. I didn't want to feel that, and I didn't want the rat to come near me. Don't come near me! I just kept thinking of how much pain there would be. . . . And so, in the dream, because I knew all he wanted was my foot, I bit my foot off myself. When I woke up, I could barely breathe, I was so scared! I can still see the rat, and I think it was after me because something was wrong with the room, or I was being punished for something. But I was more afraid of the rat's teeth and how much it would hurt. . . . So I decided I would do it. I would hurt myself, before he could. Even though I didn't understand why the rat wanted to hurt me, I just knew I had to do it myself, or he would. I didn't like that dream at all. Please, Diary, I know it sounds silly, but don't judge me the way someone might if they heard me tell them this dream. I hope I never dream like that again. I don't even want to know what it means, or if I'm sure I even want to remember it. I'll decide that tomorrow, when the darkness is gone, and things are easier to see when they come after you. It makes me mad that I feel like I can't go and tell Mom about this. I'm afraid she'll laugh and then maybe tell it to everyone and embarrass me. I'm so afraid people will laugh at me. I am going to try to be more like Donna. I'll be good and I'll do everything I'm supposed to do. That way, there won't be anything anyone can find out and make fun of me for. There will be nothing they can say I have done wrong. I bet that what I did with Donna and the boys is causing this. I can't even think straight enough to decide if one feeling was worth the other. Something has to be causing nights like this. I will try to be better. I will stop doing things that older girls should be doing. I will not let anyone hurt me, like in the dream. I'll hurt myself first. I know the places that are the most delicate. I'll do the hurting from now on, as long as all of this stops!!!! I wish I could talk to my mommy. Laura

#laura palmer

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casspurrjoybell-25 · 8 months

Text

November - Chapter 2

*Warning Adult Content*

- Oliver -

A bump of turbulence jolts Oliver awake.

The side of his face is resting against something warm and solid.

"Brad?" he mumbles.

"Nope, not Brad."

Quickly, Oliver pulls away and sit up straight, rubbing his face.

"Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

The corners of Cooper's eyes crinkle as he smiles at the young man next to him.

"It's okay. I've been told I make an excellent pillow."

"I can believe it. Do you have a girlfriend or wife waiting for you to come home to and to be her pillow?"

"Nah. I haven't found anyone who will put up with me being gone for months at a time with my job. There also isn't a huge selection of gay men on the peninsula."

Oliver whipped my head around to stare at the large man to the left of him.

"You're gay?"

Cooper grins.

"Sure am."

"I thought you were just being extra friendly and strangely tolerant of another man sleeping on you."

"Well, I'm that too."

Oliver felt himself blushing.

"Well thanks, you know, for everything. I was prepared to sit here and sulk for the whole flight but I got lucky having you in my row."

"Those are words that I've never heard come out of anybody's mouth before," Cooper laughs.

"I'm grateful you tolerated having me invade your personal space. It won't have been fun having someone cursing my existence the whole time."

"I'm grateful for your existence," Oliver replies, knowing he was flirting a bit.

Oliver knew he shouldn't be doing that but he was having a hard time feeling guilty about it.

He leaned forward and grabbed his small backpack from underneath the seat in front of him and pulled out a container of peanut butter cookies.

"Do you want some?" Oliver asked, showing them to Cooper.

I baked these for Brad and I to eat on the plane trip but he's probably got a meal included with his seat."

"I'd love some. It's going to be a long drive back home after we land, so I could use a snack."

After he took a few, Oliver offered some to the woman sitting in the window seat. When he turned back, Cooper was smiling at him.

"How did someone as generous as you end up with a guy who booked you a cheap seat away from him?"

Oliver knew Cooper didn't mean any offense but he felt like he had to defend Brad.

"He's not all that bad. It's his money after all and he worked hard for it. He's not obligated to spend any of it on me."

"What does he do for a living?"

“He's a consultant for a software company. He manages projects and flies all over the whole to meet with his clients."

"And what do you do for a living, Oliver?"

"I'm a research assistant. I enter data for clinical trials and give the trial drugs to patients in the study."

"So you're in the medical field?"

“Kind of. I have a nursing background but I want to get into the research side of it. I'm hoping to manage my own clinical trials someday."

Cooper raises an eyebrow.

"Seems to me like your job is hard work and more meaningful."

Oliver shrugs.

"Maybe. Depends on who you ask."

"What do you like about Brad?"

"He's charming and smart. A great dancer and and he always looks amazing."

"All good things," Cooper replied.

But generous didn't make the list."

"He's generous when it counts. You know, at Christmas and my birthday. And every once in a while he gets the check at dinner. I'm not expecting anything more than that."

"Sorry, I'm not trying to judge," Cooper said.

"It's your business. It just doesn't sit right with me, what he did."

Oliver didn't know what to say.

It felt shitty that his relationship looked bad to an outsider but deep down, he knew Cooper probably had a point.

If the situation had been reversed, Oliver would have bought Brad a first class seat, as well.

And if he couldn't, he would have sat in economy with him.

Fortunately, the intercom crackled to life as the pilot informed us that they were going to start their descent.

Oliver didn't want the flight to end with awkwardness, so he turned to Cooper and smiled.

"Hey, would it be okay if I reached out for more recommendations or questions about the area for my trip, while I'm here?" he asks.

"Of course," Cooper says and holds out his hand for Oliver’s cell-phone.

"You're going to love Washington. You really can't go wrong."

"Thanks. We're here for two weeks, including Thanksgiving, so we've got a lot of time to explore."

"Why did you decide to visit this time of year? Most tourists come in the summer."

"November is usually a slow time for Brad at work, so we had to put it off until now. I know it's going to be rainy, but will we still have a good time?"

Cooper nods.

"Fall on the peninsula is my favorite. Everything gets a little dried out during the summer, so the moss looks better when the rain returns. And I like the grey, blustery days."

"It'll be a change from the constant sunshine in San Diego," Oliver says, smiling at the handsome man next to him.

"I'm looking forward to it."

- Cooper -

As they filed off the plane and into the airport, Cooper grips Oliver's shoulder.

"Have a great trip. It was nice meeting you."

Oliver smiles, the dimple in his left cheek deepening.

"It was nice meeting you too. I'll be sure to reach out if I have questions or need a trail recommendation."

Cooper nods and takes his large hand off Oliver’s tiny shoulder and then watches as he walked over to the window where his boyfriend is standing, already on his cell-phone.

Cooper was sad to see the cute man leave, especially knowing he'd be with his jerk of a boyfriend.

Sighing, Cooper readjusts my backpack and started walking.

He knew he shouldn't judge.

He had only seen one interaction between Oliver and his boyfriend and maybe it was one bad moment among a lot of good ones.

Besides, it's not like I had a lot of experience with relationships.

Cooper’s relationships had all been short-lived or they'd been long distance since he was either living on the peninsula or gone for months on a fishing job.

Okay, maybe he was right about Oliver’s boyfriend being a jerk.

After seeing this, he didn't have much confidence that Oliver was going to have a good trip.

This Brad guy seemed more interested in just about anything that wasn't Oliver.

Shaking his head, Cooper turns back to pay for his snacks and drink.

There was nothing he could do about it.

- Oliver -

When Brad and Oliver reached the rental car desk, Brad finally got off his cell-phone.

"Sorry. Trying to make sure everything is set with work."

As disappointed as Oliver was about them spending the plane flight apart, he tried to cut Brad some slack.

It probably wasn't easy for him to step away from his job for two weeks and maybe he needed the last few hours on the plane to wrap everything up.

He wouldn't have been able to do that if Oliver was sitting next to him and now, he could give me all his attention for the rest of the trip.

"It's okay," Oliver tells him.

"Let's get the car and start driving so we can get dinner before it gets too late."

Brad frowns at this comment.

"I don't want to wait until we get to Port Angeles to eat. Let's stop in Seattle before we get on the ferry. There's a restaurant here that I want to try out."

Oliver was excited to get out to the Olympic Peninsula but he wanted to make Brad happy as well. It was his trip too after all.

"Okay," the young man agrees but half hour later, he wished I hadn't.

The restaurant they walked into was located on a pier on the waterfront.

Judging by the décor, the waitstaff and the clientele, it looked very expensive.

As they were seated, Oliver steeled himself for the prices on the menu.

He'd saved up for months for this trip and he had just enough funds if he kept all of his meals around twenty dollars.

Oliver shouldn't have been surprised to see that most of the appetizers were twenty dollars.

The entrees started at fifty and topped out around eighty.

Oliver was hungry but he'd have to settle for a plain salad.

At least those were in his price range.

"I know this probably isn't in your budget," Brad says, scanning the menu.

"But I wanted to try this restaurant. We're only going to be in Seattle for a couple hours and they're known for seafood."

Oliver gave Brad a half smile.

"I understand but since I wouldn't have picked this restaurant, could you cover for me? Just for this. It'll help me a lot."

Brad closes his eyes and sighs and Oliver immediately regrets asking.

"Oliver, you know how I feel about this. I'm not here to provide for you or for any man, for that matter. I'm looking for a partner in life, not someone I have to take care of."

"Right, sorry. Forget I asked," Oliver replies, as his heart sank.

"If I choose to treat you, it's just that, a treat. It's because I want to do it not because you ask me or because I feel obligated."

Oliver nods, staring down at the tablecloth. Sometimes he hated how Brad made him feel.

Like he was less than or like he wasn't capable of taking care of himself.

If they weren't on a two week vacation and it was any other month, Oliver would be able to afford dinner here.

It's not something he could do all the time but he could pull it off once in a while.

His job didn't pay much but that didn't mean he was living in poverty.

Before Brad, he'd done just fine living in a modest apartments with roommates, grabbing take out or getting brunch together on weekends.

Brad's taste was a lot more expensive.

When Oliver moved in with him, he could barely afford his half of the rent for his boyfriend’s condo.

Everything started to feel like a struggle after that.

"We can split an appetizer if you want," Brad offered.

That would still put Oliver over budget but at least he'd get more food.

"Okay, thanks."

Brad reaches over and takes Oliver’s tiny hand in his hand.

"I love you and I'm looking forward to this trip and to spending more time with you."

Oliver tried to smile.

"I love you too."

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celestialjupe · 1 year

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Girlblogging: 1/11/23 20:46

Today was weird but chill? i woke up violently hungover, which was surprising. I went to the bar with my dad last night, i had a lemon drop martini and a shot of fireball, from the bar we went to kroger and i got a six pack of these twisted tea things. When i got home i realized they were only 4% so naturally, i drank four as quickly as possible....that was my mistake. It was overall a pretty chill hangover though, i threw up twice and slept my day away. also got my period..slay.

After i woke up i joined a livestream with some of my friends and after a bit decided to take a shower. I have a friend I'm not talking to currently, and today is her birthday and i wrote a message out to send but decided that might be a bad idea. I mean, it's kind of selfish to send a message to someone on their birthday when yall arent talking, right? idk the night is young and i don't want to throw her off by sending a message, i do feel shitty though, about the whole situation, mainly because im so confused lmao. Overall, i figured if she wanted me to say something then we would probably still be talking right? Plus, all i could think of was everytime a friend of mine gets a message from someone they aren't talking to on their birthday, and they never feel good about the message, regardless if the gesture was genuine. So overall it seems like something you do when you just want to make yourself feel good, but there's a lack of self awareness in taking that sort of action i think. It does suck though, but I'm okay with that, i just hope she enjoys her birthday and idk i hope it's the best one yet because she deserves the best.

Anyways, i think the playlist i put together for january is actually so good. I always like my monthly playlists obviously, but this one is really matching my mood so far. I've listened to it all the way through a few times already, which i usually never really do, at least not in one day. I'm going to catch up tonight and do my laundry and clean my bathroom. my room is still clean, but i could organize it a bit more. I'm a lot happier since i've stopped transiting my 8-12 houses, right now im transiting through my first house so thats been nice and i feel like i am finding a lot out about myself. I'm also so so happy that the holidays are finally over. It's nice to have alone time again, i always feel completely strung out by thanksgiving, and then comes christmas. It's torture! i dont get it! I did have a good christmas this year though, i think im starting to understand my extended family on a new level and thats so cool. Regardless, i think I'd rather chill alone, but i feel guilty about that obviously , because i do love and care for my family, especially as i get older. Memories soften, ya know? Thanksgiving was hard though, november in general was hard. And seeing everyone just really highlighted this rejection wound which kind of sucks because you sit there and you wonder why you're so different from all of your family, and you wonder why that difference makes it hard for them to talk to you, and then you wonder how they knew about that difference before you did. THEN you have to realize that no one is talking to you because you're the one being quiet, sitting there overanalyzing everything, when its supposed to be easy. Talking to your family is supposed to happen naturally and smoothly, and you're the one with the problem because for you it doesn't come naturally. Tough, girthy pill to swallow but i think i finally got it down this thanksgiving, because christmas came with ease. So, I'm thankful for that.

I also think the amount that i think is rotting my brain. Like shhhhh...shh...shh stop talking to yourself and start doing actual things. Actual things are fun, sitting in the same spot for hours and reminiscing on every negative experience you've ever had is not fun. I also heard something the other day thats maybe kind of silly, but it put a lot into perspective for me. Someone said that the way you spend your day to day is the way you live your life. first of all, duh. second of all thats literally the most profound discovery and i can't believe i haven't thought of that! what the fuck? So, I've really been putting in an effort to be more mindful and present instead of living in my head because im getting nothing done with that. I'm thinking of sobering up too, at least with alcohol. The hangovers are not worth it, and i just feel like it's not as fun as it used to be, plus i think i have a bad handle on my limitations. I don't get extremely white girl wasted or anything, but theres been a few times where i start to pass out and i worry that i might have given myself alcohol poisoning and my dad is gonna find me dead and drunk and that would be terrible i would be dead but i would still feel so bad if my dad had to find me, like fucking idiot!!! anyways yeah, plus being drunk is like, the opposite of being mindful and present. So it seems i have more reasons to sober up than to not sober up, drinking doesn't really serve me. Just like psychedelics always drag me down a bit, at least acid does really really drag me down. Acid is confusing because the entire time you're on it you're just like, jesus christ why did i do this? SIX MORE HOURS? oh god what if it never ends, what if this is just my life now? and then you still take it again, i don't get what that's all about. I haven't done acid since july, and that trip was cool but it also kind of sucked. It made me really self-concious and reclusive afterwards. Then i did shrooms a few times and stopped in august. My shroom trips are usually pretty cool, shroom trips are just like: YOU HAVe A LIFE!!! YOU FUCK!!! A LIIIIFEEE!!!!!!! The last time i did them, it hit me in the shower, and i knew i had done too much, but the good thing about shrooms is you can just watch fantasia and then its pretty much over, so thats what i did. I sat in my bed and just focused on fantasia, which is one of my favorite movies now, it's impossible to have a bad trip to fantasia. After fantasia i had this realization that i spend a lot of my time being miserable, so i just decided to not be miserable anymore. It's not quite that easy, especially when you're insane, but it did help! I think i might watch fantasia tonight actually, im overdue for a rewatch.

That's all i have for today. Thank you if you took the time to read! please eat well, stay hydrated, and focus on what you love!!

#girlblogging

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separatist-apologist · 2 years

Text

Who asked for part 2 of this? No one but @spell-cleavers said the funniest thing about Lucien getting Helion back by convincing his mother Helion wanted to participate in no nut November and here we are.

Grow up, Lucien told himself, stalking the halls of the Day Court palace. Helion’s prank had worked out for him, in the end. Elain was passed out in his bed, her nose a little burned from the sun and her body utterly wrung out. He’d spent hours with her, first at the beach and then in his bedroom. If anything, he thought he was better off throwing himself at Helion’s feet and thanking him. Lucien was nothing if not petty. He’d read too many words about his parents and their sex life and for that, he would have his revenge.

“Mother,” he said with a smile, joining her on the darkened patio. “How are you doing?”

She smiled, looking up from her book. Lucien scowled at the title—The High Lord Who Loved Me, another by Sellyn Drake. He didn’t want to know the plot of that book, didn’t want to know the horror liking lurking within those pages. Helion was a menace, despite his clandestine status as a best-selling author.

“I saw Elain earlier. She looked so happy,” his mother told him with a smile, drawing Lucien out of his irritation. She ought to have been happy, Lucien thought privately. He’d certainly spent enough time eating her out on that beach.

“I think she is,” he agreed with a curl of pleasure. “How are you, though?”

Her smile, radiant and unguarded, was enough to almost make him feel guilty. “Happy,” she admitted, settling against her reclining chair. “The sun, the weather…your father…it’s enough.”

Lucien nodded. “About that. Can I just start by saying how much you deserve to be happy, mother? Truly.”

She beamed. Lucien took a breath. “This is awkward. I didn’t want to be in the middle of this but Helion begged…don’t tell him I said anything, okay? I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he could cajole me into bending to his will.”

She straightened, her face tightening with worry. “What is it?”

“Day Court has a…peculiar religious practice in the Autumn months where males ah…attempt to forego any…release—”

Her eyes widened. “Oh. Oh.”

Lucien nodded. “Like I said, this is really awkward for me.”

She held up a hand. “Say no more, Lucien. Thank you for being such a good son.”

He almost felt guilty. Lucien kissed her cheek and left her on the patio, making a beeline straight for Elain, grinning the whole way there.

How long would it take Helion to figure out what had happened?

Helion sauntered the halls of his palace, feeling every inch a High Lord for the first time in his life. He’d heard Lucien and Elain earlier that day causing a ruckus on the beach and assumed his little trick with the book had worked. He wondered if Lucien had pieced it together—he knew, from the look on Lucien’s face, the male had likely only skimmed the book at best. Helion though he was pretty upfront, what with the cover, the title…but for all Lucien’s smarts, he could be dumb when it came to Elain.

Helion knew the feeling well. He felt the same about Amera, his female, his love…his everything. Tucked up in his bed, waiting for him just as he’d always dreamed. Autumn had come and Helion intended to take her out to the countryside where it would be just the two of them hidden among the orchards.

He opened the door, half hard, mind spinning with fantasies. Amera, though, was no where to be found and neither were her things. Helion frowned, rounding on a nearby servant.

“Where is my wife?” he asked, wondering if he’d done something that she was punishing him for.

The female bit her bottom lip nervously. “Your lady believes you have taken on a vow of celibacy, High Lord.”

Helion choked on the air he breathed. “Celibacy?” he gasped, mind whirling. Why the fuck would she think that?

“She is in one of the guest rooms,” the servant added helpfully. Helion left them standing there, striding quickly through the palace. He replayed every conversation they’d had over the course of the week—there had been very little talking, in his defense—trying to figure out where she’d gotten such a silly idea.

Amera was laying in a bed draped in white, her body hidden beneath a short, strappy blue night dress. Long red curls spilled around her perfect face, stopping him for a moment.

“Amera,” he managed, his brain short circuiting at the sight of her. “Come back.”

She scrambled, pulling the blanket up to her neck. “Helion. I’m so sorry, if I’d known I would have put on a more modest dressing gown.”

Modest? He was wheezing. “Darling, you don’t need to worry about modesty with me.” She nodded, her russet eyes blazing with sympathy. “I don’t want to make this any harder on you than it already is. Three months will zip by if we stay separated.”

Helion paused. “Three months?” He could scarcely go three hours without touching her and she wanted to go three months?

“Amera…come back to bed with me. I don’t know where you got the idea—”

“I know, Helion,” she told him, holding up a hand. “Our courts are very different and I didn’t realize how important it was for males to forego release in Autumn. You don’t have to compromise your religious beliefs for me. I want to help.”

“Religious…beliefs…” Helion repeated, certain he was missing something. “Sweetheart, what did you do today?”

Perhaps she’d hit her head while swimming? Nothing else made sense to him. He walked to her, kneeling at the edge of the bed and taking her hands. “I spent it in the palace. I meant to go to the beach but Elain and Lucien were there, of course—”

“Lucien,” he hissed, the pieces clicking in his mind. “You spoke with Lucien today?” She bit her bottom lip nervously. “He told me you two spoke…he was quite uncomfortable but I am so happy the two of you are bonding. Helion, truly, I do not mind. You could have just told me. You didn’t need to send Lucien in your stead.”

Helion bit his tongue so hard he could taste blood in his mouth. So Lucien had realized the book was about his parents. How far had he gotten, then? When had he put the pieces together? Helion couldn’t stand to destroy Amera’s belief that he and Lucien were finally getting along and suspected Lucien, the two faced fox, had been well aware of that when he crafted his little lie.

“It’s not the whole season, my love,” Helion finally told her, kissing her hand as he instructed his cock to get real comfortable not being touched. “Just the month.”

She seemed relieved to know that. “A month will fly by,”she promised.

“It will,” he agreed. “But not if you sleep elsewhere. I can control myself now that I know we are on the same page. Come back with me, hm?”

“Give me the night? I just got settled in.”

Grumbling to himself, Helion kissed the top of her head. He didn’t dare kiss any other part, not when he was already so wound up. “I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning.”

He left here there, door closed behind him as he turned slowly, a predator looking for prey. Lucien was lurking somewhere in the palace…though it was Elain he stumbled into first.

“Helion!” she said sweetly, a robe tucked around her body. She reeked of sex, her cheeks flushed sweetly.

“Elain,” he replied with a smile. “Just the female I was hoping to see. Would you care to join me for lunch tomorrow? I have something that might interest you.”

Elain brightened. “Yes! I would love that.”

Helion nodded. He’d show Lucien how the game was played.

“Excellent.”

#elucien #helion spell cleaver #lady of the autumn court #hot sun dad #hot pumpkin mom #lucien and helion creating problems for the others as a form of bonding is my new HC #and if youre wondering #what is helion planning #he's about to unleash the true master of chaos on lucien: big bro eris

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heliads · 3 years

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Touch-starved

Based on this request: “after getting close to the reader before the Orpheum through writing sessions and such and hating the fact that they “couldn’t touch”... well now that Julie freed them from Caleb... it’s game over now and Luke uses every chance he gets to express his love for y/n.”

masterlist

You sit on the edge of your bed, legs pulled up around your chest. A never ending stream of tears leaks from your eyes, and you stare unseeingly at your feet. It’s over now, isn’t it? Luke is gone, and there’s no coming back from this. Not ever.

You had thought that he might be coming back just once, when Julie walked out onto the stage of the Orpheum. You think you might have been one of the only people in the audience to see the red rims of her eyes, and realize that she would be alone for that performance. Had the boys crossed over already? You never even got the chance to say goodbye.

Then they had appeared, bursting into existence on the stage in time to the music. Luke had been there too, and you’d watched with bated breath as he flickered in and out of sight before finally making it through, away from whatever was holding him back to stay decisively with his band. You had allowed yourself a sigh of relief, the hope that he might have finally completed his unfinished business and be allowed to stay with you.

Even the thought of Luke makes you break out into a fresh wave of sobs. How long had it been since you had met him? Two weeks? Three? It didn’t really matter- it still wasn’t enough time. He had burst into your world in a splash of color and music, bringing with him endless memories and good times. At first, he’d been mainly concerned with your best friend, Julie, but after he realized your skill at songwriting, he started dropping by your house too.

Then ten minute writing sessions became half an hour, and you started visiting Julie’s studio to hear Luke play and offer advice. They became more frequent, a part of your life that you grew to depend on just like food or drink. You became close friends, and then even that wasn’t enough for the two of you. You’d look up from your notebook to see a pair of warm brown eyes hurriedly glancing away, a blush starting to form on his cheeks. You’d stare at the way his hair fell in his face and the curve of his hand as he pushed it away. You knew it when time seemed to pass far faster with him than anywhere else, or when all your songs seemed to be about him. You knew then that you loved him.

You were afraid to say anything about it, too terrified to lose those golden hours in the brightly lit studio and dark, star-studded nights. When he first told you that he loved you too, you weren’t sure what to say. Could it ever be true that Luke, this boy full of sunshine and overwhelming happiness, would ever fall for a girl like you? Yet it was, and you loved him all the more for it.

Like it or not, there was always something hovering in the corner of your mind every time his hand brushed over yours just to pass through it, or when you turned to see Luke staring at your lips, knowing that there was nothing he could do. In the end, Luke was a ghost and you were human. No amount of love could change that, although the two of you certainly gave it your best try.

But none of that mattered now, did it? You’d take a thousand missed kisses, a hundred lingering stares just to have him back. You had looked up when the boys disappeared after their final bow, and seen the look on Julie’s face. The two of you had locked eyes, and that one stare communicated a thousand words and pains, all saying the same thing. They’re gone. They won’t come back, not this time.

You knew that if you were a good friend, you would have gone to talk to Julie after her concert, but you just couldn’t bear it. You did talk to her, technically, you gave her a hurried hug and brief exclamations of pride over her performance. You both knew it was only superficial, like if you focused on the songs themselves you wouldn’t have to think about the fact that the boys were truly gone from you. She understood, and she had pulled you tight one last time before you disappeared, both of you mourning silently for the bandmates never to be seen again.

You had driven home silently, flying up the stairs and closing your bedroom door behind you with a click. Only then, with the door firmly shut and with yourself finally alone did you let the tears come. They washed over you in waves, racking your body in sobs. You missed Luke, missed him more than everything. You’ve never loved anyone like you love Luke. Loved Luke. Now he’s gone, and you cannot imagine what you’re supposed to do with yourself.

So you sit alone, crying your heart out. The tears have subsided a little bit. Gone are the loud sobs, replaced instead by inaudible agony. In a way, the silence hurts even more. There’s a sound behind you, the click of your window sliding open. You don’t bother to turn around, speaking to the person with your back facing them. “I’m sorry, Julie, but I really can’t talk right now.” You continue nursing your tissue box, but freeze when you hear a new voice instead.

“I’m not Julie, Y/N.” Your eyes widen, and you whirl around to see him. Luke. Can it really be Luke? You stand up hesitantly, your knees buckling. In the back of your mind you realize you must be a mess, with your teary eyes and everything, but none of that matters. The only thing that’s worth a fragment of your time is the fact that the boy you love is here, and walking towards you. “Luke?”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged. Oh, and I’ve got one last trick up my sleeve.” You frown at him, confused, and then he reaches out and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to him. Stunned into silence, you return the embrace, burying your face against his shoulder. Your hands clasp around his back, and it takes everything in you to just stand there.

After a moment that seems more like a year, he leans away, tracing your cheek gently with his hands to wipe away your tears. “You don’t have to cry anymore, Y/N. I’m here. I promise.” You shake your head slowly in bewilderment. “How is this possible? I mean, you’re here, and I can-” You break off, unable to think about anything more than his hand on your cheek, your palm pressed up against the curve of his back.

Luke smiles slightly, the corners of his mouth sliding up. “I don’t know. All I know is that I’m here with you, and that’s more than I can ask for.” He looks at you for a moment, then leans forward and presses a kiss to your lips. You feel your heart race in your chest, and kiss him back.

After that, you feel like you’re on top of the world. You have Luke, even when it seemed like you’d never see him again. You find yourself making excuses to drop by the studio and feel his kiss on your cheek, to walk home with him, hands linked together, to do anything and everything with him.

On one of these days, you’re stretched out on the faded sofa in Julie’s studio, brow furrowed as you study your math notes. There’s a test tomorrow, and you’d be a lot more miserable were it not for the fact that your legs are draped across Luke’s lap, his hand tracing idle patterns into your skin as he considers his battered songwriting notebook.

Luke must feel your gaze lingering on him, because he looks up with a grin. “Hey, I know I’m good-looking and everything, but I think you should be focusing more on your math. That’s what you said you needed to do, isn’t it?” You feel your cheeks burning and roll your eyes, pretending to be unaffected. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. If anything, I should go study somewhere else so I don’t have to be distracted by your, uh, hideousness.”

Luke laughs, the sound ringing like a bell in the empty studio. “My hideousness?” You nod. “Yes. I know it can be hard to hear, but-” Luke leans forward, cutting you off with a kiss. He pulls away, noting the blush spreading about your cheeks with a grin. “You still sure about that?” You huff in irritation and look away, but can’t help a grin.

It is a frigid November afternoon, and a walk through the neighbourhood on the way to Julie’s house has only made you even colder. Rubbing your arms in an attempt to keep warm, you open the studio doors and slip inside, where it’s not much better than the outdoors. You don’t see anyone inside, so it looks like you’ll be waiting for at least a little longer.

You glance around, hoping to see a blanket or something to keep you warm, but your eyes fall instead on a flannel jacket. It’s brown and soft, tossed casually across a chair. Nobody’s here, and you’re absolutely freezing, so you put your backpack down on the ground, picking up the jacket and sliding your arms into it. The flannel is warm, and you wrap it around yourself, breathing in the familiar scent.

You’re only in the studio for a few moments longer when Luke poofs into the room. He spies you and grins, heading towards you with a flurry of conversation. “There you are, Y/N! I was hoping you’d drop by. Alex and Julie just came up with this amazing idea for a song, it’s got a good melody but I know you’d come up with some killer lyrics if you heard it, and-”

His words die off as he comes to a stop in front of you. “Is that my jacket?” You glance up at him, then back at the flannel still wrapped around you. Your hands fly to the sleeves, and you start to tug it off. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that. It was really cold, and it was the closest thing and-” Luke’s hands cover yours, stopping you from removing the coat. “No, it’s fine.”

He grins at you. “Looks good on you.” His hands leave yours, traveling up to rest instead on the curve of your hips as he pulls you close to him. Your hands thread in the soft curls of his hair as he kisses you. You’re beginning to think that you could stay here forever, but then you hear the faint sounds of commotion drifting up from the area outside the studio doors, and Luke groans softly.

“That’s the boys.” You pull away, laughing at the disappointed look on his face. “They’re your friends, try not to look so sad about it.” Luke reaches for your hands again, slowly running his thumb against the curves of your wrist. You shiver slightly, although this time it has nothing to do with the cold. Alex and Reggie are getting closer to the studio, so Luke presses one last kiss to your forehead before it’s too late. “Tell me when you’re ready to leave so I can walk you home?” He mumbles against your cheek, and you nod, a soft smile playing on your lips. This moment, right here, so close to Luke? You wouldn’t trade it for anything, and you know right then that you’ll be in love with him forever, as long as he stays by your side and you stay by his. Forever sounds good to you.

#luke patterson #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson imagines #jatp #jatp imagine #jatp x reader #jatp imagines #jatp luke #jatp luke imagine #jatp luke x reader #jatp luke imagines #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms imagine #julie and the phantoms x reader #julie and the phantoms imagines #sunset curve

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reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

Text

Invisible String

Ship: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: None, this is just fluff.

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Spencer Reid don’t know it, but you’ve almost met quite a few times. What happens when you do?

A/N: This is potentially a bit on the wrong side of the cheesy line, but I was listening to invisible string by Taylor Swift and couldn’t get this idea out of my head. Pls bare in mind I’m from the UK and my only understanding of the US college system is from Google searches, so pls be forgiving of any misunderstandings about that.

November 6th, 2007

Dr. Spencer Reid. As you sat, thumbing through the article he’d written about the formation of ionic compounds in a chemical whose name you could not for the life of you spell or pronounce, you couldn’t help but resent the man.

Sure, the paper was very well-written and as cohesive as possible given the complex subject matter. But Dr. Spencer Reid, whoever he was, was the current source of your resentment at selecting chemistry to make up your science credit. Highlighting the name of a substance you’d have to look up later, you sighed. It was getting late but you had to hand in a critical summary of the paper on Friday.

It didn’t help that Dr. Reid was: a) a triple doctorate holder by the age of 22, or b) that your chemistry lecturer was none other than his old chemistry lecturer from Caltech and practically glowed with pride whenever he got to bring him up.

You chew on the end of your pen, having now distracted yourself from the notes. Not that you were particularly focused anyway.

In another life, maybe you’d have been a budding chemist who could describe an ionic lattice off rote. In this one, however, you’d just have to settle for slogging through the list of chemical processes and hoping you understood it well enough to please Dr. Reid’s biggest fan.

***

April 16th, 2008

Spencer hated flaking on commitments. It caused him a great deal of anxiety, the feeling of disappointing someone. He didn’t have much choice in this circumstance though.

Diana had taken ill over the last weekend. Nothing serious, some stomach bug or other. She’d become severely dehydated though, and had been hospitalised as a precautionary measure. Truth be told, he might not have gone if she hadn’t caught him on the phone. He was already feeling guilty for not having visited since Christmas. He wrote her letters everyday, yet still felt like he was neglecting his duties as a son. Rubbing his hands over his face, he lets out a deep sigh. Then takes out his laptop, to send another email.

Dear. Dr Abraham

I sincerely apologise again for my last minute cancellation. Excluding any unforeseen circumstances, myself and SSA Hotchner will be available to present the lecture on May 12th.

Yours sincerely,

Dr. Spencer Reid.

***

May 12th, 2008

Considering this was your third year on campus, you sure were bad at finding your way around. In your defence, they were doing maintenance in one of the main buildings, meaning that lectures got shuffled around and relocated. You probably had a higher change of attending the right lecture by accident than on purpose.

It doesn’t help that you’re running a little late this morning. You rush into Room 203. A lot of the seats are taken, you have to meander your way past quite a few people until you end up sat almost directly in the middle. Only moments before the lecture starts.

“I’m SSA Hotchner, and this is SSA Reid. We’re members of the BAU which is based at FBI quarters in Quantico. Today, we’ll be talking to you about profiling.”

This is not your forensic linguistics lecture.

Panic hits you, hot in your gut. Scanning the room anxiously, you suddenly become conscious that you’re drawing attention to yourself when you feel the eyes of the man who is not SSA Hotchner on you. Fuck.

There’s no way for you to escape now, not without disturbing half the lecture hall.

So you sit back in your seat, resigning yourself to sit awkwardly in the lecture you’re not supposed to be in and hoping nobody notices.

But then, it’s really interesting, actually. The work that Dr. Reid does sounds similar to work you’ve done in forensic linguistics, analysing patterns of speech and minor phrase formations that can give things away about the perpetrator. By the end of the seminar, you’re sat leaning forward. Enraptured by almost every word coming out of their mouths.

It seems to be the general mood: everyone is enamoured. People are clammering to speak to them at the end. After a brief inner battle, myou decide that you should talk to them too.

What’s the harm?

You’ve decided that you’ll speak to Dr. Reid, since he seems to share more of a field focus. However, as you’re heading down, you spot him. Dr Adams, your chemistry lecturer from last year. Oh shit, it’s that Dr. Reid.

Speaking to SSA Hotchner will just have to do instead.

----

“I’ve been majoring in forensic linguistics and criminal psychology,” You tell him, “Do you think ... I mean, I know it’s a pretty exclusive team to get on to. But is that the kind of thing that could maybe get me there one day?”

Hotchner nods, “Forensic linguistics is something that comes in very useful in the investigative aspects of cases. The FBI is always looking for new angles and perspectives, those are both good subjects to study if you were thinking of signing up to the academy.”

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner,” You say, suddenly a little bashful as you notice the queue of people lingering behind you, “That was a really interesting lecture. It’s definitely something I’ll think about.”

“You should talk to Dr. Reid if you have a particular interest in the linguistic aspect of profiling. He’s more specialised in that area than I am. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to discuss any research you’re conducting at the moment and suggest materials that might be helpful in furthering your understanding of the area.”

“Thank you,” You smile, and he nods at you again.

Stepping away from Agent Hotchner, you look to your right. Dr. Reid is still engaged deeply in conversation with Dr. Adams. You glance at your watch. There was time before your next class, you supposed, so you could wait. It couldn’t hurt to find out more, could it? It wasn‘t like you were getting your hopes up or anything.

It’s then that you feel a pair of arms around your waist, a familiar scent of cologne.

“Hey!” You whip around to see your boyfriend, grinning widely.

“Hey,” You reply, “How’d you find me?”

“I was walking past when I saw you talking to that FBI agent. Seriously, FBI?” He asks, with a disapproving quirk of his eyebrow, “You want to grab a coffee before Psych?”

You want to say no. But he’s got his hand on the small of your back, leading you out of the room before you even get a chance to reply. You glance back over your shoulder, making eye contact with Dr. Reid for all of two seconds before you’re swept away.

“Seriously though babe, FBI?”

Unsurpisingly, you don’t mention your potential change in career path to him.

***

March 8th, 2009

“Come in,” Hotch calls. He looks up from the paperwork on his desk to see Spencer entering the room, clutching a report in his hand.

“That last case we were on. I was doing some more research, just for future reference about linguistic patterns. Have you read this?” He asks, sliding a copy of your paper across the desk.

Hotch gives it a cursary look over, nodding, “Yes. It’s interesting. She’s signed up as an NAT. I believe I actually spoke to her at one of our lectures last year.”

"Her work is really impressive for somebody whose only studied this at a master level.”

Hotch almost smiles, “Yes. That’s exactly why I’ve recommended to the bureau that she signs up for profiling classes. Her work shows a lot of promise. They’re sending over a copy of her completed thesis, if you’d like to read it.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, thank you,” Spencer says, struggling to conceal the smile playing on the corner of his lips.

“I’ll email it to you as soon as I receive it.”

Spencer nods, smiling properly to himself as he leaves the room. It wasn’t unusual, exactly, for him to share new research that was relevant to cases. It was important that they all kept themselves fresh and acquainted with new theories about the field. Hotch, however, didn’t miss the excited way Spencer had presented it to him. Talking about how impressive you were, as if to subtly hint. He thinks it’s quite typical, actually, that Spencer could take such an interest in someone he only knew via an essay.

Although Spencer’s response does get Hotch to send a follow-up email, inquiring about whether you’d agreed to the classes. If Spencer was this impressed with your work, it must be good.

***

June 1st, 2009

The Metro that morning is packed. It doesn’t help that you’ve not been living here long, and don’t exactly know the route from your flat to the station off by heart yet.

You'd also had to make a detour to the post office. Your, firmly ex, boyfriend had mailed over the last of your things. Really, it was good riddance. His hounding you about your choice in job had only worsened. The relationship had been hanging on by a thread long before you’d moved away last month. You were more than a little grateful that it was finally over, that you could draw a line under it all and focus on your career.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t stopped you having a little cry to yourself on the way over.

Rushing, you make it onto the Metro just as the doors are about to close, falling against the railing on the left side. You grip onto it for dear life.

On the other side of the carriage, Spencer notices someone hurrying for the train. He had been buried deep in the paper he's reading, but the bustle had pulled his attention. Your back is to him, and there’s a scarf at your feet. He wants to say something, to try and get your attention, but he can’t from where he is.

“Miss, I think you’ve dropped something,” The woman you’re standing in front of says, gesturing to the scarf pooled at your feet.

You meet her eyes, sniffling slightly, “Thank you.”

Spencer watches as you pick it up, back still to him. Crisis averted, he turns his attention back to what he's reading: the published copy of your thesis Hotch had emailed him last week.

***

September 2nd, 2009

"This is SSA ____, the newest member of our team. She’s recently graduated from the academy and has an excellent knowledge of linguistics that the bureau feels will be a great advantage to this team. She’s had her induction and now will be joining the team on a probationary basis. She’ll be spending a little time with each of you in between cases to make sure she forms well-rounded knowledge of all aspects of what we do.”

It’s a little overwhelming, having everybody’s eyes on you.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Emily is the first over, offering her hand for you to shake.

“You too, it’s really nice to meet all of you,” You say, shaking hands in turn with her, Morgan, Rossi, J.J, and Garcia.

“Hi,” Spencer calls from behind you.

You turn around to face him. You remember what Hotch had mentioned to you about him being a bit of a germaphobe, so you keep your hand by your side.

“Hi,” You say, “Dr. Reid, right?”

“You can call me Spencer,” He says, a little bashful, “I read your thesis, the study about you did about the construction of passive clauses as an indicator of guilt in adolescent offenders. It was fascinating.”

You feel yourself getting a little warm under his gaze, “Thank you. I'm surprised you’re even aware it existed.”

Hotch interrupts then, “Reid, do you want to sit with ____ while she goes over the case file? It’d be useful if you could go over how you’d go about constructing a linguistic profile.”

That’s how you end up spending much of your first day: with Spencer, huddled up over case files as he explains his profile-building process to you. Spencer’s an incredible teacher, you think. He explains his thought process without ever being condescending, leaving little gaps for you to answer.

You’re incredible, Spencer thinks. You seem to grasp exactly what he’s saying, filling in the gaps based on the clues that are actually in front of you, not letting yourself be guided too much by bias.

***

October 29th, 2009

Spencer loves everyone at the BAU. They’re all the family he never had, and he has relatively good friendships with all of them. Just, they aren’t quite the same as they are with you.

He struggles to put his finger on it, exactly. It’s a unique relationship. He shares very familial bonds with a lot of them: he and Morgan are brotherly, Rossi is fatherly, Garcia’s somewhat like an overexcited little sister.

The friendship he has with you is special. You always listen to him, even as he rambles on about inane things that anybody else would tell him to shut up about. In fact, sometimes about the exact things that they do tell him to shut up about. Just last week, he was rambling on about Star Trek when Morgan told him, not altogether unkindly, to “give it a rest, kid.”

“What was that you were saying?” You’d asked, sidling up to him, “I’ve never watched Star Trek but I thought the quote was beam me up Scotty.”

He’d looked at you, considering you for a moment, “You don’t have to-”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know Spence. You think I’d ask for a 15 minute lecture on Star Trek if I wasn’t interested in it?”

A warm feeling flooded his chest. The look on your face was so genuine, and you’d perched on the edge of his desk as he gesticulated, getting deep into the lore and how the misconception had come about. He still didn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, until he got to the end of his spiel. And then you asked him a question. You asked him a question to make sure you understood what he was talking about. You were listening the whole time, and you genuinely cared about the point he was making.

It's then that he realises, it was hard to pinpoint because it wasn’t friendship. He likes you. Shit.

***

November 2nd, 2009

You like everybody at the BAU. They’re all quite patient with you, really, happy to walk you through how they do things. Morgan’s taught you quite a bit about the tactical side of things already, and Rossi has been working with you on your interrogation techniques. Emily’s generally just a great mentor, always happy to listen and support however she can. She’s more experienced, but still relatively new to the team too, so you feel like there’s a certain understanding between you.

However, you’d definitely be lying if you said the person you hadn’t learnt the most from, or spent the most time with, was Spencer.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the team, either. You seemed to gravitate towards one another, forever sitting side-by-side on the plane. Sharing a line of thinking that usually led to devolved rambling, and scribbling, until you came up with something coherent.

It isn’t until November 2nd that you realise you have feelings for him.

You’re sitting at your desk, filling out a case report that Emily had promised to go over with you before she left for lunch.

“Hey,” Spencer’s familiar soothing voice comes, as he sidles up to you, “I got you something.”

Looking up, you notice the coffee cup in his right hand, “You are my caffeine lifesaver.”

He hands it to you, smiling a little nervously, “It’s actually not that.”

“Oh?”

His other hand is tucked behind his back, and he pulls it foward towards you, brandishing a red sweatshirt.

“I know you uh, left your red sweater behind at the hotel on the last case. And I know it was your favourite one, and I was shopping yesterday and I saw this and...” He trails off, embarassed, “It’s not the exact same, but it’s the same kind. I just thought you might like it.”

You swallow, hard, “Spencer that’s so sweet. C-Can I hug you?”

He nods. Standing up from your desk, you wrap your arms around his frame.

“That was so thoughtful.”

He squeezes you a little, really leaning into the hug, his face pressing against your shoulder. His tousled hair tickles your nose a little and you smile, clinging onto him, relishing in the feeling of safety and warmth.

It hits you then. When you realise you don’t want to let go. When you realise he makes you feel fuzzy. Loved. Cared for in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. Eventually, you have to let him go, and it’s in a daze that you return to your desk. You’re so concentrated on your overwhelming realisation, you don’t realise how reluctant he is to let you leave his embrace.

***

December 22nd, 2009

Driving Spencer home from the office was really just an excuse to get some time alone with him. You’d said something about the Metro being busy, one of the services being cancelled. He hadn’t factchecked you on that.

The BAU had tentative plans for boxing day, with the caveat being that no emergent cases arrived in the meantime. It was only really four days you wouldn’t see him, but that was longer than you’d ever gone without seeing him in all the time you’d known him. You worked together everyday, and it was unusual for you to go a full weekend without seeing each other. Recently, you’d got into the habit of going out for Sunday brunch together.

Pulling up outside his house, you hear him sigh.

“I know it’s only four days, but I’ll miss you.”

Smiling, you turn to him, “I’ll miss you too.”

Something in you changes then. He’s looking at you. You may be relatively new to profiling but you can see something behind his eyes, feel the charge of unsaid words electrifying the air.

“Can I hug you?” He asks.

“You can always hug me,” You reply, undoing your seatbelt and opening your arms for him.

He embraces you the way he always has: tightly. Like he doesn’t want to let go, couldn’t imagine ever letting you go. His face nuzzles to the crook of your neck, and then you feel his thumb brush your chin. Tilting your head down.

You exchange a look. His eyes flicker from your eyes, to your lips, and back. You nod your head, just slightly.

He kisses you then. Tender. You melt into one another, lips moving quickly as you drink one another in. Kissing each other breathless, your fingers intertwine in his hair and his hand comes up to cup your cheek. Nothing has ever felt so right.

***

June 10th, 2011

Neither of you have ever really believed in fate. It’s hard to - especially in your line of work - to want to interpret the workings of the universe as deliberate. Maybe you’d think a little differently though, if you knew about all the near-misses. All the times you could have met. But fate knew better. She waited until you were ready.

And as you exchange vows, promising each other your forever, you both know you couldn’t possibly deny that this was meant to be.

------

Taglists: @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician

(let me know if you would like to be added to/removed from this list!)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #imagine spencer reid #criminal minds x you #imagine criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagines #pls like this it took me so long

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causeiwanttoandican · 3 years

Text

Harry, Meghan and me: my truth as a royal reporter

I've covered elections and extremism, but nothing compares to the vitriol I've received since I started writing about the Sussexes

By Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor27 March 2021 • 6:00am

It is probably worth mentioning from the outset that I never, ever, planned to become a royal reporter. I mean, who does? It’s one of those ridiculous jobs most people fall into completely by accident.

I certainly wasn’t coveting the position when I first found out how bonkers the beat could be after covering Charles and Camilla’s wedding in 2005. Desperate for ‘a line’ on what went on at the reception, journalists were reduced to flagging down passing cars in Windsor High Street and interrogating the likes of Stephen Fry about whether they’d had the salmon or the chicken.

Watergate, this wasn’t.

Yet when my former editor called me into his office shortly afterwards and offered me the royal job ‘because you’re called Camilla and you dress nicely’, who was I to refuse?

Having planned to get married myself that summer, and start a family soon afterwards, I looked to the likes of Jennie Bond and Penny Junor and figured it would be a good patch for a working mother as well as being one I could grow old with. Unlike show business, when celebrities are ‘in’ one minute and ‘out’ the next, the royals would stay the same, making it easier to build – and keep – contacts.

So if you’d told me that 16 years later, I would find myself at the centre of a media storm over a royal interview with Oprah Winfrey, I’d have probably laughed in your face. First of all, only royals like Fergie do interviews with Oprah. And since when did journalists become the story?

Yet as I have experienced since the arrival of Meghan Markle on the royal scene in 2016 – a move that roughly coincided with Twitter doubling its 140-character limitation to 280 – royal reporters like me now find themselves in the line of fire like never before.

We are used to the likes of Kate Adie coming under attack in the Middle East, but now it is the correspondents who write up events like Trooping the Colour and the Royal Windsor Horse Show having to take cover from the keyboard warriors supposedly defending the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s ‘truth’.

Accusations of racism have long been levelled against anyone who has dared to write less than undiluted praise of Harry and Meghan. But even I have been taken aback by the vitriol on social media in the wake of the couple’s televised two-hour talk-a-thon, in which they branded both the Royal family and the British press racist while complaining about their ‘almost unsurvivable’ multimillionaire lives at the hands of the evil monarchy. And all while the rest of the UK were losing their loved ones and livelihoods in a global pandemic.

Having covered Brexit, general elections and stories about Islamic extremism, I’ve grown used to being sprayed with viral vomit on a fairly regular basis, but when you’ve got complete strangers trolling your best friend’s Instagram feed by association? That’s Britney Spears levels of toxic.

Having a hind thicker than a rhino’s, it wasn’t the repeated references to my being ‘a total c—’ that particularly bothered me, nor even the suggestion that I should have my three children put up for adoption. At one point someone even said it would be a good idea for me to drink myself to death like my mother, about whose chronic alcoholism I have written extensively.

No, what really got me was the appalling spelling and grammar. I mean, if you’re going to hurl insults, at least have the decency to get my name right.

Yet in order to understand just how it has come to pass that so-called #SussexSquaders think nothing of branding all royal correspondents ‘white supremacists’ regardless of who they write for, or sending hate mail to our email addresses, offices – and in some cases, even our homes – it’s worth briefly going to back to when I first broke the story that Prince Harry was dating an American actor in the Sunday Express on 31 October 2016. Headlined: ‘Royal world exclusive: Harry’s secret romance with TV star’, the splash revealed how the popular prince was ‘secretly dating a stunning US actress, model and human rights campaigner’.

Despite my now apparently being on a par with the Ku Klux Klan for failing to acknowledge Meghan as the next messiah, it was actually not until the fifteenth paragraph of that original article that the ‘confident and intelligent’ Northwestern University graduate was described as ‘the daughter of an African-American mother and a father of Dutch and Irish descent’.

Call me superficial, but I was genuinely far more interested in the fact that Harry ‘I-come-with-baggage’ Wales was dating a former ‘briefcase girl’ from the US version of Deal or No Deal than the colour of her skin. A ginger prince punching well above his weight? This was the stuff of tabloid dreams. Little did I know then that covering the trials and tribulations of these two lovebirds would turn into such a nightmare.

The online hostility began bubbling up about eight days after that first story, when Harry’s then communications secretary Jason Knauf issued an ‘unprecedented’ statement accusing the media of ‘crossing a line’.

‘His girlfriend, Meghan Markle, has been subject to a wave of abuse and harassment’, it read, referencing a ‘smear on the front page of a national newspaper; the racial undertones of comment pieces; and the outright sexism and racism of social media trolls and web article comments’. Meghan’s mother, Doria Ragland, had apparently been besieged by photographers, while bribes had been offered to Meghan’s ex-boyfriend along with ‘the bombardment of nearly every friend, coworker, and loved one in her life’.

Suffice to say, I did feel a bit guilty. Although I hadn’t written anything remotely racist or sexist, I had started the ball rolling for headlines like the MailOnline’s ‘(Almost) straight outta Compton’ (referencing a song by hip-hop group NWA about gang violence and Meghan’s upbringing in the nearby LA district of Crenshaw), along with her ‘exotic’ DNA (which I subsequently called out, including on This Morning in the wake of ‘Megxit’ in January last year).

Omid Scobie, co-author of Finding Freedom, a highly favourable account of the Sussexes’ departure from the Royal family, written with their cooperation last summer, would later insist that the couple knew the story of their relationship was coming out and were well prepared for it.

I can tell you categorically that they weren’t, since I did not even put a call into Kensington Palace before we went to press for fear of it being leaked. (I did later discuss this with Harry, when I covered his trip to the Caribbean in November 2016, and to be fair he was pretty philosophical, agreeing it would have come out sooner or later. But that was before the former Army Captain decided to well and truly shoot the messenger, latterly telling journalists covering the newly-weds’ tax-payer-funded October 2018 tour of Australia and the south Pacific: ‘Thanks for coming, even though you weren’t invited.’)

The royal press pack is the group of dedicated writers who cover all the official engagements and tours on a rota system, in exchange for not bothering the royals as they go about their private business. It was a shame this ragtag bunch, of which I am an associate member, was never personally introduced to Meghan when the couple got engaged in November 2017.

I still have fond memories of a then Kate Middleton, upon her engagement to Prince William in November 2010, showing me her huge sapphire and diamond ring following a press conference at St James’s Palace with the words, ‘It was William’s mother’s so it is very special.’

I replied that she might want to consider buying ‘one of those expanding accordion style file holders’ to organise all her wedding paperwork. (Reader, I had given birth to my second child less than four months earlier and was still lactating.)

Not meeting Meghan did not stop royal commentators like me writing reams about her being ‘a breath of fresh air’ and telling practically every TV show I appeared on that she was the ‘best thing to have happened to the Royal Family in years’.

As the world followed the joyous news of the Windsors’ resident strip billiards star having finally found ‘the one’, the couple enjoyed overwhelmingly positive press culminating in their fairy-tale wedding in May 2018, which we headlined ‘So in love’ above a picture of the bride and groom kissing. I tweeted the wedding front page, along with the original story breaking the news of their relationship with the words, ‘Job done’. Yet, as Meghan would later point out in a glossy Santa Barbara garden, that was by far the end of the story.

According to the Duchess’s testimony before a global audience of millions, the seeds for their royal departure were actually sown by an article I wrote in November 2018 suggesting she made Kate cry during a bridesmaid’s dress fitting for Princess Charlotte.

Claiming the ‘reverse happened’, the former Suits star railed, ‘A few days before the wedding she was upset about something, pertaining to, yes, the issue was correct, about flower-girl dresses, and it made me cry, and it really hurt my feelings.’

She then went on to criticise the palace for failing to correct the story – suggesting that royal aides had hung her out to dry to protect the Duchess of Cambridge.

All of which left me in a bit of a sticky situation. As I told Phillip Schofield on This Morning the following day, ‘I don’t write things I don’t believe to be true and that haven’t been really well sourced.’

Having seemingly been completely bowled over by Meghan’s version of events, Schofe then went for the jugular: ‘I have to say, though, that’s all addressed in that interview, isn’t it, because she [Meghan] couldn’t understand why nobody stood up for her?’

Yet someone had stood up for her, on that very same This Morning sofa: me.

As I told Phil and Holly on 14 January 2019, as more reports of ‘Duchess Difficult’ started to emerge, ‘I think she [Meghan] is doing really well, she looks amazing, she speaks well. She has played a blinder.’

So you’ll forgive me if I can’t quite understand why Meghan didn’t feel the need to correct this supposedly glaring error once she had her own dedicated head of communications from March 2019 – or indeed when she ‘collaborated’ with Scobie, who concluded in his bestselling hagiography that ‘no one cried’?

Moreover, how did the Duchess know a postnatal Kate wasn’t ‘left in tears’? And if she doesn’t know, what hope has the average troll observing events through the prism of their own deep-rooted insecurities?

It appears the actual truth ceases to matter once sides have been taken in the unedifying Team Meghan versus Team Kate battle that has divided the internet.

Make no mistake, there are abject morons at both extremes spewing the sort of bile that, ironically, makes most of the media coverage of Harry and Meghan look like a 1970s edition of Jackie magazine.

It perhaps didn’t help my case that the day before the interview was aired in the US, I had written a lengthy piece carefully weighing up the evidence behind allegations of ‘outrageous bullying’ that had been levelled against Meghan during what proved to be a miserable 20 months in the Royal family for all concerned.

The messages – to my Twitter feed, my email, my website and official Facebook page – ranged from the threatening, to the typical tropes about media ‘scum’ and the downright bizarre. Some accused me of being in cahoots with Carole Middleton, with whom I have never interacted, unless you count a last-minute Party Pieces purchase in a desperate moment of poor parental planning.

Another frequent barb was questioning why the press wasn’t writing about that ‘pedo’ [sic] Prince Andrew instead – seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one would know about the Duke of York’s links to Jeffrey Epstein if it wasn’t for the acres of coverage devoted to the story by us royal hacks over recent years.

It didn’t matter that I had repeatedly torn the Queen’s second, and, some say, favourite son to pieces for everything from his propensity to take his golf clubs on foreign tours to that disastrous Newsnight interview.

Contrary to the ‘invisible contract’ Harry claims the palace has with the press, royal coverage works roughly like this: good royal deeds = good publicity. Bad royal deeds = bad publicity. We effectively act as a critical friend, working on behalf of a public that rightly expects the royals to take the work – but not themselves – seriously.

So when a royal couple preaches about climate change before taking four private jets in 11 days, it is par for the course for a royal scribe to point out the inconsistency of that message. None of it is ever personal, as evidenced by the fact that practically every member of the monarchy has come in for flak over the years.

If Oprah wasn’t willing to point out the discrepancies in Harry and Meghan’s testimony, surely it is beholden on royal reporters to question how the Duchess had managed to undertake four foreign holidays in the six months after her wedding, in addition to official tours to Italy, Canada, and Amsterdam, as well as embarking on a lengthy honeymoon, if she had ‘turned over’ her passport?

While no one would wish to undermine the extent of her mental health problems, could it really be true that she only left the house twice in four months when she managed to cram in 73 days’ worth of engagements, according to the Court Circular, in the 17 months between her wedding and the couple’s departure to Canada?

And what of the ‘racist’ headlines flashed up during the interview purporting to be from the British press, when more than a third were actually taken from independent blogs and the foreign media? The UK media abides by the Independent Press Standards Organisation’s Code of Conduct ‘to avoid prejudicial or pejorative reference to an individual’s race’, as well as by rigorous defamation laws. And rightly so – the British press doesn’t always get it right. But social media is the Wild West by comparison, publishing vile slurs on a daily basis with impunity.

Some therefore find it strange that such a litigious couple would claim to have been ‘silenced’ when they have made so many complaints, including resorting to legal action, over stories they claim not to have even read. There is something similarly contradictory about a couple accusing the tabloids of lacking self-reflection while refusing to take any blame at all – for anything.

In any normal world, informed writing on such matters would be classed as fair comment, but not, seemingly, on Twitter where those completely lacking any objectivity whatsoever are only too willing to virtue signal and manoeuvre.

As the trolling reached fever pitch in the aftermath of the interview, veteran royal reporter Robert Jobson of the Evening Standard called me. ‘Don’t respond to these freaks,’ he advised. ‘It’s getting nasty out there. Watch your back!’

Yet despite my general sense of bewilderment at the menacing Megbots, I can’t say it didn’t appal me to discover a close friend had received online abuse, purely by dint of being my mate. After discussing the lengths the troll must have gone to to track her down, she asked me, ‘Do you ever worry someone might do something awful to you?’ Er, not until now, no.

Of course it’s upsetting, even for a cynical old-timer like me. Worse still are people who actually know me casting aspersions on my profession on social media. Often these are the same charlatans who would think nothing of sidling up to me for the latest gossip on the Royal family, while publicly pretending that reading any such coverage is completely beneath them.

Most pernicious of all though – not least after Piers Morgan’s departure from Good Morning Britain following a complaint to ITV and Ofcom from the Duchess – is the corrosive effect this whole hullabaloo is having on freedom of speech. When you’ve got a former actor effectively editing a British breakfast show from an £11 million Montecito mansion, what next?

I cannot help but think we are in danger of setting race relations back 30 years if people are seriously suggesting that any criticism of Meghan is racially motivated. It’s the hypocrisy that gets me. When Priti Patel was accused of bullying, the very same people who willingly hung the Home Secretary out to dry are now the ones defending Meghan against such claims, saying they have been levelled at her simply because she is ‘a strong woman of colour’.

Of course journalists should take responsibility for everything they report and be held to account for it – but Harry and Meghan do not have a monopoly on the truth simply because the close friend and neighbour who interviewed them in return for £7 million from CBS took what they said as gospel.

If she isn’t willing to probe the disparity between Meghan saying someone questioned the colour of Archie’s skin when she was pregnant, and Harry suggesting it happened before they were even married, then someone must. There’s a name for such scrutiny. It’s called journalism.

The public reserves the right to make up its own mind – with the help of the watchful eye of a free and fair press. But that press can never be free or fair if journalists do not feel they can report without fear or favour. I’m lucky that a lot of the criticism I face is more than balanced out by hugely supportive members of the public and online community who either agree – or respect the right to disagree. Along with the hate mail, I have had many thoughtful and eloquent missives, including those that good naturedly challenge what I have written in the paper or said on TV, which have genuinely given me pause for thought.

I am more than happy to enter into constructive discourse with these correspondents, who are frankly sometimes the only people who keep me on Twitter. I mean, let’s face it, I wouldn’t be anywhere near the bloody thing if this wasn’t my day job.

With the National Union of Journalists this month declaring that harassment and abuse had ‘become normalised’ within the industry, never have members of Britain’s press needed more courage. As Winston Churchill famously said, ‘You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.’

Who would have thought that the preservation of the fundamental freedoms that we hold so dear should partially rest on the shoulders of those who follow around a 94-year-old woman and her family for a living?

If I’d known then what I know now, would I still have written the bridesmaid’s dress story?

Yes – doubtlessly reflecting sisterly sobs all round. But after two decades in this business, I am clear-eyed enough to know this for certain: whatever I had written, it would still have ended in tears.

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cloverthirteen · 3 years

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Was Ace Attorney made as a satire on Japan’s legal system? -- An analysis

I wouldn’t really call myself an Ace Attorney fan--I’ve never played any of the games, the closest I’ve come being watching other people’s let’s plays. I do like reading about the series on wikis and interacting with fan content for it, though, so I do know a fair amount about it.

One thing I see being said pretty often by fans is that the series was intended as a satire/parody of the Japanese legal system, which is why the courts are ridiculously biased towards the prosecution, prosecutors often care more about perfect win records more than putting actual guilty people behind bars, etc. If you’re familiar with this, you’ve probably heard of Japan’s 99% conviction rate. This interpretation of the games and the way they work definitely makes sense.

But after hearing this many times I eventually noticed something. There isn’t a single actual source (creator statement, interview, etc.) that backs up this claim. Every time I see someone online say “the series creator made Ace Attorney to parody Japan’s actual legal system” there is never a link to an interview or anything that proves their statement correct. If someone has an actual, verified source from Shu Takumi or someone else who had significant involvement with the series, please prove me wrong and show it to me. But according to all of the creator’s statement’s I’ve read, there’s no evidence of the series being an intentional parody.

So, what do we know about the creation of the Ace Attorney series? Well, it was created by Shu Takumi, who wrote and directed the first three games. After working on the dinosaur survival horror game Dino Crisis for Capcom, he was given the opportunity to make any kind of game he wanted. He really wanted to make mystery and adventure games, and from that came Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney.

MC: Before developing Ace Attorney you worked on Dino Crisis. How does one go from dinosaur survival horror to virtual courtrooms?

ST: Dino Crisis was the brainchild of my then boss, Resident Evil creator, Shinji Mikami. Working on his projects taught me not only how to make games, but also how to think about them. After Dino Crisis 2 wrapped, Mr Mikami gave me six months in which to create any kind of game I wanted.

I was still pretty wet behind the ears, but as I'd originally joined Capcom with a desire to create mystery and adventure games, this was a huge chance for me to make my mark as a creator. In the end it took a team of seven 10 months to produce the first GBA Ace Attorney title. Having the freedom to create exactly the kind of game I wanted was amazing and it was a real pleasure to work on that project.

MC: Can you remember when the idea of Ace Attorney first came to you? How did your bosses respond to the idea of a lawyer-based adventure game when you first described it to them?

ST: It was in 2000 when Mr Mikami said I could make my own game and my original idea was a fairly typical adventure with a detective as the main character. Most mystery adventures have the player choose from a number of different dialogue options for their character in order to progress the story, but I wanted a new gameplay style that enabled players to deduce for themselves what was happening, rather than just selecting canned responses. I developed this into the concept of facing off against the suspect in a crime and exposing the contradictions in their statements.

I was sure my new idea would be a fun and original take on the genre, so I started to revise the main character, since a detective would be too traditional for such an original concept. I asked myself, "What kind of professional would face off against a suspect and expose their contradictory statements?" The answer, of course, was a lawyer and so the Ace Attorney concept was born.

(source, from an interview on the making of the series)

Takumi’s original concept for the game involved Phoenix as not a defense lawyer, but as a detective. The gameplay was to consist of “facing off against the suspect of a crime and finding the contradictions in their statements.” However, Takumi eventually realized that taking apart contradictions wasn’t really a detective’s job, and decided to change the protagonist to a lawyer and the setting to a courtroom instead. And thus, the game’s concept was finalized.

Janet: As you know, “Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney Trilogy” is coming out world-wide this winter, and as I was brainstorming what to write about for this week’s blog, I remembered your tweets from 2010.

Takumi: Tweets from 2010?

Janet: …Well, it was a long time ago…

Takumi: ???

Janet: I-It’s OK if you don’t remember…

Takumi: …Oh, THOSE! Yes!

Janet: I remember reading them and being shocked by how different the original draft of the game’s story was – how Phoenix wasn’t even a lawyer, but a private eye!

Takumi: Yes, AA was originally supposed to be a detective game, so naturally, Phoenix was to be a private eye. But then, one day, I made a startling realization: the gameplay concept I was going for was for players to enjoy finding and taking contradictions apart, but that was hardly related to investigating or detective work at all. In that moment, I had it – I realized that the main setting for the game should be the courtroom.

Janet: That’s quite the jump, but you know, I can’t imagine this series being anything else at this point.

(source, from an interview by Janet Hsu about the game’s early development)

During the development for the game, Takumi actually knew very little about the intricacies of the legal system--and in fact, he’s been very transparent about that fact in interviews. There’s even a story he talks about in a blog post where he was asked “shouldn’t we do some research on law before we make this game?” and agonized over it for a bit before deciding that being accurate about courtroom processes wasn’t important--what was important was that the game made the trials exciting and fun.

November, 2000. The characters were coming together, and I was working desperately on my first scenario (the current Turnabout Sisters). One day, I was asked about the one thing I didn’t want to be asked about.

“Mr. Takumi. Don’t we need to do some research on law?”

The knowledge I have about the law, pretty amounts to the one fact that in Japan we have the Roppō Zensho ('Complete Book of The Six Major Legal Codes').

“Don’t bother with that. This is a detective game. “

It should have been over with this one line, but…

“But this isn’t a detective game, it’s a lawyer game!”

“If it’s not going to be realistic, I don’t see why this should be about trials.”

“People who play this might get wrong knowledge from the game!”

“We might get sued by the Bar Association!”

“They’ll start complaining!”

…Gyakuten Saiban (Ace Attorney GBA) is simply a “mystery game.”　“Being realistic” is not what is important. What’s important is emphasizing, and recreating the unique “atmosphere” and “tension” of the courtroom. That is why the judge uses a gavel, even though no judge uses that, and why Naruhodō shouts "Objection!" even though nobody does that either.　This game does not need a “realistic courtroom”!

Chasing the true murderer down to the end, and then getting applauded for that in the courtroom. That feeling of thrill and excitement. It was only by February of the following year when we finally manage to recreate that in the game. The couple of months after this had happened, we looked around, got lost and troubled our minds in search for the answer of the big question of “How do we make a trial into a game?”. Fall was passing by, and the cold winter was close upon us.

(source, from an archived blog post by Takumi)

So, realism and knowledge of law wasn’t important to Takumi during the development of the series. But there’s also the fact that Takumi has actually personally denied that the Ace Attorney series was an intentional satire or criticism of the court system at any point. In fact, according to a blog post (done as if Phoenix and Maya were reading the column and commenting on it), he actually dislikes people seeing his work this way, as he never intended the games to have any big political statements.

A major prerequisite for Gyakuten Saiban is it’s so simple “even my mother could play it”. So there is only one point at the core of the game: “Seeing through lies”.

Naruhodō: It wasn’t even supposed to be a game about the trials at first. Mayoi: Eh! Really?! Naruhodō: “Simple” is basically all this game is about, according to TakuShū. Mayoi: What do you mean? Naruhodō: He didn’t want to add all kinds of elements for the player to think about, like alibis, tricks or about the culprit. It’d just confuse them. Mayoi: Really. Naruhodō: Basically, you can proceed in the game if you just think about where the contradiction is. He figured that with that, the controls of the game could also stay simple. Mayoi: But, but, why the trials then? Naruhodō: “A story about a detective seeing through lies” wouldn’t be any different from the other games out there. So that’s why he decided to have someone whose job is seeing through lies as the protagonist. Mayoi: So a defense attorney. Naruhodō: Occasionally TakuShū sees magazines introducing the game as “a work that dared to take on the theme of trials”, and that actually hurts him. Mayoi: He never meant to be something as big as that….

(source, from the mentioned blog post)

Ultimately I see how easy it is, if you know a good amount about both Ace Attorney and Japan’s legal system, to come to the conclusion that the games were made as a dig against the latter. However, somewhere along the line, people apparently stopped seeing this as merely a theory and instead as a definite fact. Now, that doesn’t mean that the theory is entirely unfounded--given that Takumi focused only on making trials interesting and fun in the games, you could say that the games work as an light, comedic parody, not meant to make any political statements. And hey, maybe there’s something I missed--maybe there were other people working on the series who did have significant knowledge of law and wrote some parts of the games as intentional satire of the system. Again, if anyone has evidence of this, don’t hesitate to provide it. But with what I know, I don’t think going “well actually” to people who point out the ridiculousness and unfairness of Ace Attorney’s court system is necessary. It’s simply that way to make the games more fun.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #this was actually kind of fun to research and write!#kinda felt like i was making a statement in a courtroom...

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phykios · 3 years

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honesty and promise me, part 10 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

“If you don’t talk to me, I’m not going to leave you my keys.”

Annabeth looks at Piper from behind the loom, glaring through the threads. “Then you won’t come back to ten bolts of fabric.”

In fairness, it was sort of an empty threat. Piper has all the good stuff: the surger, the embroidery machine, the industrial sewing machines, plus a million sources for fabric that aren’t Annabeth’s stress weaving. Annabeth only has her own shitty sewing machine at home that she’d gotten for Christmas when she was fourteen.

Also, Piper wouldn’t actually lock her out. She needs those fabrics.

“Why don’t you just not go?” Annabeth says. “If you stay, I promise to tell you all the gritty details.” She’s joking, but the second she says it, she’s hit with a strange wave of desperation.

She wants to tell Piper all the gritty details. How she had giggled and smoozed and looked so pretty on Luke’s arm, tattoos and undercut and everything else so carefully concealed. She never wanted to tell Thalia the gritty details. The dirty ones, sure, particularly when the dirty things didn’t involve Thalia’s beloved younger cousin. But she had spent two years, two hard painful years, hiding vast swaths of herself from Thalia.

She thought of the night of the gala, of Thalia telling her family she knew Luke from college. NYU. They’d been actors together.

Annabeth hadn’t been the only one hiding things.

It had stung, in all sorts of ways.

Piper stares, narrowing her eyes. “How dare you tempt me into giving up my creative retreat for gossip.”

Annabeth shrugs. “It’s one or the other.”

The glare at each other, stubborn as all hell.

Piper throws up her hands. “Fine. Just make my fabric and call Leo if you’re having another crisis.”

The truth is, she will tell Piper. Eventually. She knows she will. It will probably be in eight months, when she gets back, when hopefully the shame of her false life and the devastation of losing Percy has lessened, but she will tell her. But eight months is a long time. “I do have other friends, you know.”

“Then call Luke. Or Thalia.”

It takes absolutely everything Annabeth has not to wince at the names.

She would never have told Thalia. Not really. Even things like this, even if it hadn’t involved her. Thalia wasn’t… good at relationship stuff. Not like Piper. And she never knew all of Annabeth’s romantic history--not like Piper did, anyway.

And it wasn’t just romantic relationships.

Annabeth might have been able to share her pain, and share her pain with Thalia, but it had, in many ways, only been a surface level thing. Thalia saw her pain after Annabeth’s mom had rescinded her approval of her life, but she'd taken Annabeth’s silence as the end of the matter, and responded to it by acting out, and arguably drinking too much.

But they never talked about her mother. They never talked about Thalia’s, either, and if there was something Annabeth learned from Hazel’s gala beyond how unfairly handsome Percy was going to look in thirty years, it was that there was a lot going on there.

It is a little hurtful on reflection. Making her feel less close to Thalia, but also less guilty about what she never said. And less willing to accept her reactions.

Her emotions have been all over the place the last few weeks.

Piper notices, because of course Piper notices, but she is an angel, and has known her for a long time, so she doesn’t badger her too much. She also doesn’t mention that Annabeth’s measurements all seem to be off. Not even to say something about beauty at every size or her well publicized efforts for diverse bodies in fashion.

But it was still nice to spend time with her. It felt like the old days, staying up too late making the next thing in fashion, and then passing out together, surrounded by bobbins and bagels, Gossip Girl playing on TV.

It did make Piper’s impending departure that much harder, though.

Two weeks into November, she meets Piper and Leo for dinner, and then sees Piper off to JFK for her eight-month creativity retreat in Oklahoma. “You know, like how you decided you couldn’t have a doorman for creative reasons,” she’d said with a raised eyebrow when Annabeth had questioned the move. Piper likes to treat the last two years of Annabeth’s life like some sort of creative exercise. Her dad had done that too, once, when she bothered to answer his call.

Not that she’s not doing anything other than helping Piper pick stitches, and sewing hemlines Piper is too important to deal with herself. She wishes that earlier estimation had been true.

Since the gala she’s been living on Uber Eats at Piper’s, unless she gets bullied home, in which case it's the same but less varied selection with more meat, so the night out with Piper and Leo the night before Piper’s flight feels like a radical departure from the norm. Even though they just go to dinner.

Which does not stop her from feeling hungover the next morning.

“You had half a glass of wine last night,” Leo points out from the door of her bathroom.

“I remember,” she agrees when it lets up for a moment.

“If you get me sick,” he says, “I’m sending you the doctor's bill.”

“Fair,” she chokes out.

Leo doesn’t hug her goodbye, but he does tell her he hopes she gets better before heading back to Boston.

Annabeth, hugging porcelain, wishes she could go with him.

She was very seriously considering it a few days later. Magnus would take pity on her and Alex was always fun to hang out with. Plus, they’d probably think she was too pathetic to be called on her shit. She only did not make plans to go up to Boston because on Wednesday Luke texted her: Already a shit week, brunch this weekend? And she knew if she ran off to Boston, she wouldn’t leave Magnus and Alex’s guest room until they forced the issue.

But it would be nice to talk to someone in New York City who doesn’t hate her guts, she thought.

So, on Sunday morning, she throws up the wonton soup she’d ordered in for dinner the night before, gurgles some mouthwash, uses the expensive concealer to hide the dark circles, and over does the mascara in hopes that she mostly looks awake.

“You look terrible,” are the first words Luke says to her.

“You have no idea how to talk to women,” she says, slumping down across from him.

“I do,” Luke says, “I just know not to bother with you.” But he frowns at her, taking her in. She’s broken out a Chanel jacket, but she isn’t sure when she last washed these jeans. A real winning combo, her.

“But really,” Luke says, “you look miserable. Is it about what happened on Halloween?”

She shrugs. It isn’t not that. Percy’s words still circle through her head, his sad, defeated face as he bemoaned the, how did he put it? All the rich girls who fucked him to make a point. Made all the worse because she believes them. Probably not the same points as those princesses, but… probably not as different as she would like.

She wonders if Europe is full of very wealthy aristocratic women who are all secretly and shamefully still in love with Percy Jackson. And Frank Zhang.

It makes her feel hollow and nauseous all at once.

But she’s been feeling nauseous for weeks now, so at least it's not a new feeling. If it keeps up, she’s going to have to go to the doctor soon.

She hates going to the doctor. It feels like cheating when she just goes and pays and knows other people can’t. She had once lied to Thalia about getting money for a side gig, and then given her two hundred bucks for a trip to the clinic. Now that Annabeth has spent many hours in his cousin’s apartment, and has heard Nico talk about his yearly income on top of the money his dad gives him, she’s not sure how it came down to her.

“Not really,” Annabeth says, “I mean, I still feel just as terrible, but that’s mostly the problem. I feel sick.”

“It's been three weeks.” Luke looks genuinely concerned. “What’s going on?”

“I’m exhausted and nauseous all the time,” she says, groaning at the thought. She was okay right at this moment, but she knew it could come back at the drop of a hat.

Luke frowned at her. “That’s all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“I mean…” He looked at her, his eyes gazing lower, to her body. Luke had never really come on to her in any kind of real way. But she’s not sure he’s ever looked at her with less lust than he does right at that moment.

It is calculating. She’s gained some weight, she knows. But if Luke points it out, she’s going to kick him in the nuts with her steel toed boots. Or maybe make him explain himself and his relationship with Thalia.

“Annabeth,” Luke says, his voice lower, a frown on his face, “please don’t freak out.”

She can feel her heart pick up, just a bit. “That’s a terrible place to start.”

“Have you been feeling… emotionally volatile lately? Having a lot of mood swings?”

She frowns. She’d maybe been crying a little more than normal at sentimental hulu ads, but she always has a soft touch for that kind of thing, and she’s going through some stuff. “I don’t think you should ask a woman that.”

“You are really not going to like my next question, then.” He leans close and says, “Are your… breasts tender?”

“You’re right, I don’t like that question,” Annabeth says, crossing her arms over her chest. Even though they are. “I don’t know why you thought that, and how you knew.”

Luke looks at her with such pity, she feels like she’s suddenly eighteen years old again, and crying on his couch at the end of freshman year about the greatest heartbreak of her life. (It had moved to second place. Lucky it. The boy in that bar had only been theoretical, mostly.)

Luke reaches out, grasping one of her hands, and for a second, Annabeth is sure he is going to tell her that she’s dying.

“Have you considered you might be pregnant?”

She yanks her hand away. “I can’t be pregnant,” she says. “I haven’t had sex in weeks.”

“Have you had your period since then?” Luke asks.

“Not that it's any of your business,” she says, “but I haven’t had one in years.” They do talk about sex sometimes, but periods had long been off the Luke table.

Luke grimaces. “Well, you’ve been sexually active recently…”

“It’s been more than a month!”

“When did you start getting morning sickness?” Luke asks “You were throwing up at Halloween.”

“That wasn’t in the morning,” she snaps, “and I feel fine now.”

“You know morning sickness doesn’t just happen in the morning,” Luke says. “And with the rest of your symptoms, well--”

She shakes her head, glaring at Luke. His judgement would have been better than his patient mansplaining. “You think I don’t use birth control?”

Luke shrugs a little. “I mean… you’re… not great at things like daily medication. That’s what happened last time. And if a condom broke or you didn’t use one…”

Last time. Oh, last time. Last time had been the worst four hours of her life, in between realizing that she hadn’t been remembering her birth control pills every day, that her period was a few days late, and that she’d definitely been having unprotected sex with that boy in Luke’s cohort who was probably too old for her. Last time had been her having a panic attack on Luke’s Cambridge apartment couch while a very reluctant Leo was sent to buy a pregnancy test or twelve, and Piper reassuring her via speaker phone that it would be ok, while Luke rubbed her back and reminded her to breathe.

“I do remember what happened last time,” she says. “That’s why I got an IUD. Which, if you don’t know, from all your girlfriends' pregnancy scares, has the same failure rate as permanent sterilization, less than one percent. So…” So it would be okay. She couldn’t be pregnant. That’s why it had been okay for Percy and Annabeth to start fucking without a condom.

“When was the last time you got a new one?”

“August.” She says, thinking back. She was almost sure. “I remember because it was before the Eta thing--Leo called me to tell me about the ceremony while I was at the gyno.”

“So you were distracted and being a bad patient when they were trying to put it in?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

But she won’t give Luke, of all people, the satisfaction. “They are professionals. They should know what they’re doing, even if I was on the phone.”

Luke gives her his most disappointed dad face. It is worse than Annabeth’s own father. “You’re the one who always tells me I need to not make people’s jobs harder by being a bad client,” he quietly reminds her.

She fucking hates him.

But despite herself, she pulls out her phone, and begins googling misplaced IUDs and pregnancy.

They haven’t even ordered yet, but Luke is already standing up, probably based on the look on her face as she manages to fight through the dyslexia and figure out what it says. “Come on,” he says, helping her out of her chair, even though she’s not an invalid. She just might be pregnant.

She pushes that thought away as she follows Luke into a cab and then up to his apartment. He makes her some tea and hands her a banana while he goes to get her a pregnancy test, because Luke’s not quite shameless enough to have one at home. She waits for him in a living room straight out of American Psycho and reads up on IUD pregnancy complications online. Which she probably should not have done.

By the time Luke gets back, she is crying again. He’s gotten her 3 tests, which is very considerate of him, as she’s going to need them.

Walking into the bathroom, she’s shaking hard enough that she needs to brace herself on the wall. He lets her use the nice one off his bedroom, though it's not like she needs the jacuzzi tub.

When she’s done peeing, she sets a timer on her phone and sits on Luke’s bed. He tries to speak to her several times. She doesn’t respond.

It isn’t the longest ten minutes of her life, because the truth is, she knows.

She already knows.

When the alarm goes off, she shrugs off Luke’s arm and silently walks back into the bathroom.

Luke got a digital readout, because what else was he going to do. And so she looks at the little screen and just barely processes the word pregnant.

She doesn’t need to take the other tests. She doesn’t need confirmation or to be convinced.

She reaches down and pressed on her lower abdomen, lifting her shirt. She had noticed a slight change. But she’d also changed a lot of her daily routine lately, had eaten a lot more ice cream. Right now, she can’t see any kind of bump, not really, but she can see a shift. Something flat gone fuller.

Annabeth is pregnant.

Annabeth is pregnant with Percy’s baby.

Percy’s baby.

She bursts into tears all over again.

An eternity later, there is a knock on the door.

“Annabeth,” Luke calls, “can I come in?”

She manages to choke out a yes.

Luke finds her sitting on the edge of the tub. He looked at the test still sitting on the counter.

“Let me make a call,” he says, sitting next to her, resting a hand on her arm. “I know a doctor. He can get you a pill or maybe even see you if you need it. Probably today or tomorrow. We can get this all taken care of and then I’ll buy you ice cream and we can watch Legally Blonde, and you can complain about how it doesn’t accurately reflect the admissions process.”

Normally Annabeth would pre-complain, and point out that given Elle’s GPA, LSAT, and extracurricular activities, she would have been a shoe in for her program, and the movie was dismissive of her prior academic achievement. But she’s too busy parsing what Luke is saying.

He squeezes her hand in support. “It's going to be okay,” he says, sweetly.

“No.” She says. But not because it won’t be okay. “No, I’m not going to have an abortion.”

“It's okay,” Luke promises. “I would never judge you. And no one else would ever have to know. This isn’t something you have to do.”

“I know that,” Annabeth says. “I don’t have to do anything.” She detangles her hand from Luke’s and rests it on her stomach, where her uterus waits under her skin. “I want to do this.”

Luke looks at her hand. “Poseidon Olympianides’ son?” he asks. “That’s the father?”

She nods.

Blowing out a breath through his teeth, he sighs. “Well, you’ll be able to get some good child support out of him at least. That family is loaded.”

“Don’t say that,” she nearly screams, and Luke actually jerks back a little. “He doesn’t have any money. He’s his dad’s bastard kid,” she says, feeling a little bad about revealing his family history, but knowing that the word would spark something in Luke. “I don’t know if I’m even going to tell him.”

It feels like something cheap and shallow, trapping a man with a lie, then a baby.

She’s still crying and tentatively, Luke reaches out and wraps his arms around her, pulls her to him.

“Come on,” he says, pulling her up. “You still need ice cream and a movie.”

Annabeth cries. And she doesn’t fight him, but it feels so strange. Half way through her Caramel Sutra and the Legally Blonde proshot, she realizes what’s different.

For the first time since Percy walked out of her apartment without a good-bye kiss, Annabeth Chase is happy.

She’s pregnant with Percy Jackson’s baby.

She’s going to have Percy Jackson’s baby.

She’s not sure if she’s ever heard anything as wonderful in her entire life.

And if she’s going to be worthy of it, worthy of her baby, then she’s going to have to get her shit together.

#my fic #ballet au #pjo #pjo fic #percabeth #percabeth fic #darkmagyk #perseannabeth #goooooooooooooooooooood morning all!

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nothing-is-relevent-but-it-is · 3 years

Note

o// Hello!! Can I request some dreambur headcanons? Thanks!! :D

Hello! I hope you know you have opened a box you can't close.

Wilbur has wings now that he's back

Dream is mostly human, but with some divine traits. Dream XD is a part of him in some way.

During Pogtopia, Dream told Wilbur he wouldn't let him get hurt. Not believing him, Wilbur flipped a coin, saying heads, Dream was lying, tales, he's telling the truth. Dream caught the coin and promised he would always want Wilbur at his side. "We make a good team," his excuse was.

They definitely hooked up in Pogtopia. The tension from the war had evolved into something else.

Under the cut for length

Dream knew he'd fallen for Wilbur when he got a little too upset about the man hooking up with Quackity at Nikki's party.

Wilbur kissed Dream's cheek very sweetly the morning of November 16th. It wasn't meant to be a real goodbye.

Dream loved Ghostbur, but felt guilty and angry about it. Ghostbur loved Dream even though his loyalty to Tommy outweighed his feelings. Dream was always nice to him.

Dream almost cried when Ghostbur came to visit him, and he was so hurt when the floating ace appeared that the next thing he knew he was bargaining for his freedom, the ghost in his grip. And then he was somewhere else.

Limbo made Dream feel different. Like himself but not. Better. Powerful. Almost like he had a part of himself that was missing before. (XD)

When he saw Wilbur, any regrets about the sobbing ghost next to him were quelled.

Wilbur held Dream the whole train ride back to the living world, whispering "my love, my sunshine, my hero," over and over, making Dream feel lightheaded. They both cried a bit. A lot.

In Limbo, Wilbur's wings began to grow, and it was the most confusing and painful experience he'd ever had. He doesn't admit it, but they were the cause of his white streak. He keeps them hidden now.

Dream doesn't remember reviving Wilbur because of trauma induced memory loss from the awful visit from Quackity afterwards. At most, it was a n incredibly blessed and merciful dream.

Wilbur is fond of Quackity, but Dream will always come first. (He has no idea how much that statement will be tested when he finds out all that Dream did, no idea how true it will be when he finds out what Quackity's done to his hero)

He is very vocal about his opinions and feelings towards Dream now, despite not knowing everything. He's determined to love Dream no matter what because of he can't love "an irredeemable villain" how could he expect anyone to love him?

Ranboo will become like an almost son to them both (enderwalk!Ranboo and c!Dream are friends, damnit)

Wilbur's trying to figure out a way to visit Dream because every time he tries, Tommy wants to stop him or Sam isn't even there.

Sometimes Techno reminds Dream of Wilbur with the way he tells stories. He doesn't bother asking though.

The lava reminds Dream of being held. It's an awful coping mechanism but. He almost can't help himself.

When Wilbur and Dream are together again there will be lot's of scar kissing. Because healing is beautiful.

#ask response #lobi speaks #dreambur #dreblr #c!wilbur #c!dream #I tried so hard not to get too specific #i love them #tw torture mention #hqileyy

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nctinthehouse · 3 years

Text

8-9PM

pairing: reader x bf!Doyoung

genre: fluff, established relationship!au

wc: 1.3k

⚠️ warning(s): none

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a/n: sorry for the wait for this chapter, been having a bit of writers block with it but it’s here now so yaaaay!!

5th November

–

It’s been a long day.

Finally you were in your apartment building after what seemed like a super duper long day at work.

Usually, you’d already be at home around this time, probably doing some reading or catching up on your favorite shows but you wanted to pop into the supermarket real quick for a few things. It doesn’t usually take too long but this evening traffic was insane for some reason and it took you longer than usual to get home.

As you approach your apartment, you spot a figure sitting down on the floor in front of your door, head buried into their knees with arms wrapped around them. You instantly realise it’s Doyoung.

Crouching down a little, you gently shake him as you call out his name

“Doyoung?”

Doyoung slowly raises his head, starts rubbing his eyes and lets out a yawn. Seems like he had fallen asleep while waiting for you to come home.

“hey” he sleepily says

As you look at him, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Maybe if you hadn't gone to the supermarket, you could’ve avoided the insane traffic and not have left Doyoung falling asleep outside your apartment. Maybe because work was a bit stressful and you couldn’t think straight as you were tired but it hit you that Doyoung has a key to your apartment. What was he doing outside when he could’ve just waited for you inside?

"hey... w-what are you doing?" you ask him with furrowed eyebrows

"i was waiting for you. you weren't home when i came by earlier an-"

"no i meant, what are you doing outside? Doyoung, this is your home too. you have a key, don't you? did you lose it?"

“no i do have it, but i wasn’t sure if you still wanted to see me here. i rang the doorbell but you weren't in”

"you crazy man" you sigh and chuckle lightly

‏‏‎ ‎

-3 days ago-

You and Doyoung were arguing in his dorm. He had said some hurtful words to you. You knew he didn’t mean it. He was frustrated and stressed from work that he ended up taking it out on you, but it still hurts you to hear those kinds of things from someone you really love.

You had planned to stay for the night at the dorms but after all this, you just didn��t want to be in the same place as him. You couldn’t think straight and was angry at him so you grabbed your things and stormed out.

As soon as you stepped outside, you felt heavy droplets of water from above

shoot

out of all the days i forget to bring an umbrella

it was so sunny earlier though?

You had to take the bus to the dorms earlier as your car needed servicing. Though you’d be on a bus mostly, you still had to walk to the bus stop a bit as well as walking to the entrance of your apartment building. If only they could drop you off right outside your front door. Literally.

Luckily it wasn’t too far from the dorms. You let out a big sigh and leg it to the bus stop.

The next day while at work on your lunch break, you had some time to check your phone. You usually like to keep your phone on do not disturb to minimise distractions. As soon as you go on your phone, you notice a bunch of texts and some missed calls from Doyoung. He was apologising and bombarding you with i love yous and many other sweet things as well as asking you to meet up with him after his schedules in the evening. Though they were sweet, you still didn’t feel like talking to him or seeing him so you sent him a short text.

“Doyoung, I still love you but I don’t really want to talk to you right now. I think it’s best if we leave each other alone for a bit before things go the wrong way, I hope you can understand.”

Throughout the rest of the day, you went about your busy day at work. Only checking your phone every now and then as you have a lot of work to get done. Doyoung only texted you in the morning and evening; when he woke up and when he was about to go to sleep. It was something you guys usually did as a way of sending encouragement for the rest of the day and a way to let each other know that we did well for that day.

The following day was no different than the others. Another busy day at work but the good thing was that time went by really quick. Soon enough it’s bedtime and you fell asleep and woke up the next day, ready for a new day at work.

You did some thinking before you went to bed last night and decided to talk to him tomorrow about things. You did miss him a lot though it's only been 3 days.

You texted him during your lunch break asking if you could go over to his dorm the next day when he was free to hopefully talk and sort things out. You assumed that he was probably busy with some schedules because you never got a text back but didn’t expect him to be waiting for you so you were a bit surprised to see him.

You go inside and head straight to the kitchen to put your groceries down, leaving the door open for Doyoung to come in.

"sorry traffic was crazy, it's why i came home later than usual"

You take your coat and bag off and hang it on a clothes rail you have near your door. As you turned around, you weren't expecting Doyoung to be right behind you. You jumped a little before letting out a sigh

“jesus” rubbing your hand up and down on your chest

“sorry”

Doyoung hesitantly takes both of your hands and unconsciously start swinging them lightly

“Y/N listen... i’m really sorry for what i said the other day. i know what i did was wrong. i didn't mean any of it and i never should’ve lashed out at you like that. practice was just so stressful that day and everything just went downhill but it's still not an excuse for yelling at you. i understand why you didn’t want to see or talk to me, if it was the other way round, i would’ve done the same thing. i’m really sorry for hurting you baby. can you forgive me?”

You look down for a moment before looking back at him. You let go of one of his hands and stroke his cheek as you let out a small smile. Doyoung places his hand over yours that's on his cheek

“Doyoung, you know i’m here for you right? i’m your girlfriend, your problems are my problems too. i know how stressful work can get. try not to keep everything to yourself because it's not good for you. you always say that to me so i’m saying it to you. you’re not alone, you have me”

You place both of your hands on his cheeks and stroke them gently

“you know i love you right?”

“i love you more”

You scrunch your face a bit

“cheesy”

Doyoung taps your nose and you scrunch up your face even more

“i forgive you by the way”

“i figured”

Doyoung chuckles as you lightly slap his chest. You wrap your arms around him and pull him down into a hug, his face buried into your neck, arms wrapped around your waist.

After a while, you feel your stomach grumble. You pout as you pull away from him

“i’m hungry”

“me too, shall we make dinner?”

“maybe not today, too tired for that” you say as you let out a yawn

“takeout?”

You smile and nod your head

“takeout”

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#24hrswdyseries #nct #nct 127 #nct u #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #doyoung imagines #kim doyoung #doyoung x reader #doyoung angst #nct doyoung #doyoung #doyoung scenarios #nct angst

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