#i saw a post like this floating around a while ago and might have internalized parts so apologies if this unintentionally copies anyone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asimplearchivist · 1 year

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ℂℍ. 𝕀 — 𝕀𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕥

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary 🗡 ⤏ cade yeager’s older sister never knows what she’ll find in their barn upon returning from her routine antiquing trips—the submission box at the driveway is often littered with junk of all kinds that they try to fix for a living. ⤏ you just never would have expected for him to take on the task of repairing a cybertronian. pairing 🗡 bayverse!optimus prime/yeager!reader word count 🗡 8.7k a/n 🗡⤏ i've been cleaning out my docs drafts debating on whether to upload certain unfinished works, seeing as some of them are partially complete (like this one). this was going to be a longfic that followed the events of aoe and would go on to tlk, but i lost steam for it pretty early on. there are a few more snippets that wouldn't stand well enough on their own to be posted, but i thought these three chapters would express the vibes i was attempting to convey. ⤏ this is an aoe ua where lucas didn't call the government about optimus right away, cemetery wind didn't find him immediately, and cade has an older sister by one year. the reader is ex-military and protective by nature, and not one to be trifled with - especially in regards to her family, as she would gladly sacrifice her life for theirs. she suffers from a psychosomatic limp in her right leg after sustaining a gunshot to her left shoulder while serving in afghanistan years prior. still suffering from ptsd, she's turned to exercise and bodybuilding as an outlet. she spends her time and makes money restoring antiques and furniture and occasionally collaborating with cade on his robotics. ⤏ this is kind of silly looking back on it (also not as well written, seeing as i created it back in 2017 [oh my god that was six years ago]), but i've promised myself i would try to work against my internal criticism and not cringe at something i spent a lot of time and love to make. i saw a few posts on tumblr floating around about posting old drafts and i thought i might do that with this, among others, so keep your eyes peeled for those.⤏ let me know if you see any glaring grammatical mistakes/spelling errors i missed, but more importantly, please enjoy this gem of my past! :)🗡 MASTERPOST 🗡 🗡 ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER 🗡

Tessa woke dreamily, a pleasantly warm haze dampening her thoughts as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. Shimmering sunlight streamed in through the window, lighting up her room and causing motes of dust floating in the air to gleam like tiny flecks of gold. She stretched slowly, enjoying the feeling of tension releasing in her muscles. She smiled when she remembered that finals were over. She was free. (Until she went to college, that is. If she went to college.)

Though with the bliss of waking up to a quiet morning, she realized that it was actually quite out of place. It was suspiciously quiet. There wasn't any shouting from the landlord trying to sell the house again, or explosions coming from the barn. It was awfully peaceful, and Tessa really didn't know how to feel about it. It was only when she closed her eyes in contemplation of dozing off again that she remembered.

They had a transformer in the barn.

"Dad," she groaned, rubbing at her face and sitting up slowly.

A week had passed since Cade Yeager had unknowingly brought home a wanted, illegal alien (a literal alien, funnily enough) in an attempt to dismantle it for salable parts. But of course - of course it had to have been her dad. It couldn't have been anyone else's, because that's just what her life was: hectic and chock-full of crazy shit. So why not add housing an Autobot to the list?

She still couldn't believe her dad had managed to talk both her and Lucas down from making a call to the government about their accidental find. She didn't know how he did it - but he'd kept haggling and nagging and pushing until they'd acquiesced, and now they had a half-destroyed thirty-foot robot living in their barn.

Tessa couldn't say that she disliked Optimus, however - on the contrary, she was rather intrigued by him. He was very benevolent and soft-spoken (only did this show after their initial scare - Lucas wouldn't step close to the 'Bot for a solid two days afterward), and his voice never failed to soothe her with its otherworldly rumble. He was quiet, though, and didn't talk much - at least around her. Her dad said that he spoke with him very frequently, usually while he was repairing or constructing a makeshift part for the injured Autobot, and that entailed them being alone.

Cade had told her, the first night after he’d convinced her and Lucas not to call in the government, that he intended to let Optimus stay there for as long as he needed - until Cade could get him back into fighting shape, at the very least. It was wrong, what the government was doing to the Autobots - hunting them down like animals - and Cade sympathized greatly. Tessa admitted that she did, too, now that she knew the government wasn't actually targeting just Decepticons, but she was scared of the repercussions that it could potentially have on her family. Her father had assured her that nothing was going to happen to them, and that helping Optimus was the best thing that they could do right then. And he was already getting better info on robotics, just by looking at the 'Bot's inner mechanisms - not to mention that the Cybertronian made the continuous effort to answer any sort of question that Cade asked him. It was benefiting them already, he'd said. Tessa had sighed softly, pushing the tray of already lukewarm dinner into her father's hands before returning to the safety of their room.

Needless to say, Tessa made sure to give them both ample space. She would rather not have another missile ricochet through the house.

Tessa yawned, stood, and trudged into her bathroom, already resigning herself to cooking breakfast (again). She figured that the typical eggs and bacon would suffice - she just sincerely hoped that her dad hadn't pulled another all-nighter. Optimus had urged the stubborn human male to rest accordingly before, so maybe he'd done the same the previous night. She'd noticed that her dad was starting to get dark circles under his eyes.

After taking a soothingly hot shower and dressing for the day, she wandered downstairs and into the kitchen. It was methodical, routine, how she went about cooking the eggs and frying the bacon to her dad’s taste. Soon the savory smells were wafting from the stove, and when she heard the dull thumps of heavy, uneven footsteps descending the staircase she breathed out a sigh of relief. Cade shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and tugging the hem of his shirt down over his stomach. His hair was mussed, his movements stiff, and Tessa lamented her lack of foresight in not setting up the coffee pot beforehand.

"Morning, Dad," she said, flipping the bacon as it sizzled and hissed up at her. He mumbled something that could have potentially been English, trudging over to the fridge to pop the door open and draw a glass bottle of soda from its depths. He twisted the cap off, tossing it haphazardly towards the trashcan tucked into the corner of the kitchen (and effectively missing it by a long shot) before sinking into the chair already pulled out from beneath the table. His head fell into his hand, his shoulders slumping as he mumbled under his breath.

He was tired.

"How late did you stay up last night?" she asked him, transferring the now crisp bacon over onto the plate already loaded with heavily salted and peppered eggs. She moved over to him, setting it down in front of him before shuffling back to grab him a fork from the drawer.

Cade, obviously still submerged in a half-catatonic state, made the mistake of plucking up a strip of bacon. He jolted up, hissing and cussing as he swiped his fingertips against his pajama pants. Tessa gave him a scolding look, handing him a fork.

Cade sighed, taking it. "Eleven...?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, cocking her hip and planting a fist above it.

He averted his gaze guiltily, looking entirely like the man-child he was. "...Maybe closer to two. Or three. Or was it three thirty...?"

"Dad," she groaned, tugging at her hair in frustration. "Nothing good is going to come out of this if you work yourself into the ground! Optimus doesn't need to be repaired in the span of four nights-"

"Tessa - honey, you don't understand!" he interjected, squinting against the sunlight streaming in from the window. "I've already been able to make three of my inventions work because of him! He's helping me build these things, and the sooner I can sell them, the sooner we can get some money rolling in."

The young blonde opened her mouth to argue further, but the genuine look in her father's eyes made her stop short. She hesitated, and he took the opportunity to stand and grasp her arms gently, drawing her into a tight, reassuring hug. She resisted but for a few seconds before sighing and giving in, wrapping her arms around him and breathing in the familiar scent of mechanical grease and sweat. Memories lingered in the back of her consciousness. This was her father, what embodied him. Comfort and grease.

How lovely.

"Tess, baby," he murmured into her hair, brushing his fingers through it slowly, "I promise this will turn out okay. Just give me a little time. Optimus is genuinely grateful for what we're doing for him, and he's trying to repay us in any way that he can." He squeezed her affectionately. "We'll get out of this soon. Everything will go back to normal."

"I sincerely doubt that," she mumbled into his shirt, though secretly she was soothed by his words. He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head before they both drew away from each other. Cade returned to his seat, digging into his cooling breakfast while Tessa moved over to the coffee pot to get a fresh brew going. She knew he was going to need it, if he was going to function at all that day.

"Did Lucas get those parts you need?" Tessa asked, popping the top off of the coffee maker before grimacing. She hadn't made coffee in a week, how old were these grounds? Yuck.

"Yeah. Most of them," Cade said through a mouthful of eggs. Tessa sighed, but did not scold him. "I'll have to order some. If I can fix up that old tape recorder, I've got a buyer on Ebay. Fifty bucks."

"Hmm." Tessa tossed the old filter out, disposing the forgotten bottle cap while she was at it. She opened up the cabinet, straining on her tiptoes to reach the filters and grounds. Curse her short genes.

"Optimus says that a lot of his self-regenerating systems have kicked in now that he's out of emergency stasis-lock. Whatever that means." Cade swallowed before shoving a wad of bacon into his mouth. "But he's still looking pretty rough. I think he needs a good wash."

"But won't that make him more obvious?" she asked, filling the pot up in the sink and pouring it into the tank. "Won't the government be looking for his old paintjob? Maybe we should paint him a different color or something."

"He mentioned that he changed his vehicle mode while on the run from that ambush," he said. "Combine that with all the rust he's got, I don't think he'll be easily identifiable for a while. But, still..." He polished off the soda before sighing. "I feel bad for him. He seems to be in a lot of discomfort, and I'm pretty sure he's still in pain. He's cooped up in that barn, having to crouch or sit all the time. The guy can't even step outside for fear of satellites seeing him..."

"Maybe he can go out at night," she suggested, sympathizing greatly. Texas heat sucked sometimes, and some days in the summer you couldn't even step outside for fear of suffocating on contact. "He can stretch his legs a bit without so much fear of being seen."

Cade visibly brightened. "Good idea. I didn't think of that."

Probably because you're just running on fumes, Tessa thought wryly as she flicked on the coffee pot.

"In any case," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the counter. She jabbed a finger at him, giving him a firm (and faintly pleading) look. "I want you in bed before midnight tonight."

Cade grinned around his fork, his eyes glittering with faint amusement. "I'll try," he said, swallowing, "but I can't make any promises."

"I'll make Optimus lock you out of the barn," she warned, knowing full well that the thirty-foot mech would most definitely agree to it. They both knew it. "Just...try, okay? Or I'll spike your dinner with melatonin, too."

Cade shuddered, cringing. "Okay, okay, chill," he said, picking up the last strip of bacon before standing with his plate and wandering over to the sink. "I'll go to sleep at midnight."

"Before midnight," she pressed.

"Before midnight," he acquiesced.

Cade washed off the plate, chewing studiously on the bacon like a tobacco addict while Tessa stepped over to the fridge and unraveled the loaf of bread. She dropped two slices into the toaster when Cade's cell phone began to ring.

He growled softly, flicking the faucet off before fumbling with his pajama pants. "It had better not be that damn..." He drew out the phone from his pocket, squinting at the name before the blood drained from his face.

Tessa's face creased in immediate concern. "What? Who is it?"

Cade's trembling thumb slid across the screen before he lifted it to his ear. "Heeyyy, sis..."

Tessa felt her blood run cold, a thrum of nervousness welling up in her stomach. Cade cast her an anxious glance before rubbing at the back of his head. "I'm fine. Tessa's fine...wait, you found a what? That's awesome!"

His enthusiasm was short-lived, as it died just as quickly as it had come when Tessa gave him a sour, pointed look. "Uh, yeah...Tessa finished up her finals. Yeah. No, I haven't finished that...you found a part for it? Nice." He fidgeted where he stood, leaning against the counter and rubbing at his mouth. "Listen, we've, uh...I made a big buy here a few days ago...no, it wasn't...okay. I, uh..." He grimaced, his teeth bared as he ran his fingers through his hair. "How long's it going to be 'til you get here?" He paused, listening intently, before the barest iota of relief relaxed the muscles in his shoulders. "Okay. This evening? Later? All right...yeah, see you then. Love you, too. Bye."

The second he lowered the phone from his ear and ended the call, he let out a prolonged, hissing curse through his teeth. Tessa worried her lower lip between her teeth, waiting for the ball to drop. Cade sank back against the cabinetry, his head hitting the upper section with a dull thunk. "We're screwed. I completely forgot about..." He shook his head slowly. "She's coming back tonight, maybe around seven. We've got to hide Optimus somehow."

Tessa stared at him incredulously. "How? He's a thirty-foot robot!" she hissed at him. "She practically lives in the barn, and that's the only place he can hide! She'll sniff him out in minutes!"

"I know that," Cade pressed, shoving the phone back into his pocket so he could scrape his hands down his face. "But she'll kill me when she finds out-"

"What, that you accidentally bought a literal illegal alien and now you’re trying to fix him?!" she cried exasperatedly. "Of course she's going to kill you!"

"We can't tell her," he insisted. "She's ex-military. Who knows how she'll react when she finds out we've got a Cybertronian in the barn."

"We can't keep it from her," she protested. "Even if we do manage to hide him at first, she'll find him eventually. She spends as much time in there as you do, if not more - which is stupid," she muttered. "And you'll have to continue repairs on him eventually."

Cade sighed resignedly, dropping his face into his hands. "At least make spaghetti for her," he mumbled, voice muffled. "The most we can do is butter her up before we tell her. I...I need at least tonight, so I can think about how I'm going to tell her."

Tessa stared at him for a long moment, but the tense silence that threatened to fall was broken by the toaster popping. At least that was one device in the house that Cade hadn't tampered with.

"Don't worry about it," Tessa told him, trying to offer some relief to his nervousness. "I'm sure once you explain everything to her, she'll understand. Like you said, he's helping out a lot with your robotics, so it's not a completely fruitless endeavor. And, once he's fixed up and leaves, we can call the government and point them in the opposite direction. That way we'll get the money but we'll throw them off his trail."

Cade looked up at her, a slow smile tugging the corners of his mouth apart. "I love you," he cooed. "You're smart like your mother."

Tessa flushed, turning to she could both pluck her toast out of the toaster and hide the smile that split her face in two.

It turned out to be a terribly hot day, as was typical of an early Texas summer. The only respite against the blazing sun was the industrial-sized fan humming near the barn door and the tin roofing reflecting most of the sun's oppressive heat. Sunlight streamed in from between the wood paneling and the opened loft window, providing enough illumination to cast dark shadows against the interior of the barn not under its direct assault. But, despite the dust and rust and grime clinging to his plating, the few unmarred spots of Optimus' armor gleamed.

Cade swiped an arm over his forehead, the beads of sweat and friction serving to wipe away at least some of the grime that had collected there. He had half the mind to take off his shirt, soaked and sticking to him in all the wrong places. He felt about as dirty as he probably looked. Even still, he doubted that Optimus would appreciate seeing a half-naked human - especially a half-naked human that was as dirty and unkempt as Cade knew he was. Or maybe the mech wouldn't care at all. Either way, he wasn't going to risk it, particularly since he was working with hot metal. He'd experienced the repercussions of that before and it had been no bueno.

Hefting the heavy-weighted hammer and setting the rounded metal casing against the molding sphere, he tapped out an angle that had been too sharp. The shift and scrape of metal on concrete almost made him flinch, but the movement in his peripheral reminded him of the barn's other occupant. Optimus was clearly uncomfortable, hunched over and grimacing every time he jostled one of the chains hanging from the ceiling or bumped against the scaffolding Cade had set up so he could reach his chassis. It had struck Cade how clearly he could read the mech's expressions - he was certainly human-like, despite the vastly differing components that made up the Cybertronian's faceplate.

"You took a hell of a hit, you know," he said, squinting at the casing with a merciless eye before wandering over to the standing cutting torch. "The missile just missed your power source."

The massive mech blinked, tilting his helm slightly, before he glanced down to the exposed internal workings within his chassis. His spark flickered erratically, casting an eerie glow against the dim shadows within the barn. "We call it a spark," he responded softly. "It contains our life force...and our memories."

Cade stilled, staring up at him in surprise. He hadn't thought... "Yeah...we call it a soul."

Optimus ex-vented slowly, his optics flicking away. He absently scratched at part of his pectoral plating, rolling his shoulders slowly. Cade inwardly winced at the metallic grating noise, trying to remember if he had some car grease. Yeah...add that to the growing list of things he was going to have to fix.

God, this guy was a mess.

Optimus grimaced suddenly, glancing down at his armor and plucking at a sizable shell casing embedded in the rusted, peeling metal. He tugged it free, staring down at it rather apathetically before flicking it away. Cade heard it bounce off the side of something somewhere to his right with a sharp cling. "Cade..." The Autobot hesitated, blinking as his optics shuttered, making the mechanic wonder if it indicated deep thought. "...why are you willing to help me?"

Cade paused, fiddling with the nozzle of the blow torch. "I guess maybe because you trust me to," he mused, leaning back as the torch roared to life and illuminated everything around him in a flaring orange glow. He quickly popped the welding mask down over his face, adjusting his grip on the round casing before bathing it in the spurting flame. Optimus watched his actions in rapt attention, seeming to absorb the human's reply.

When the metal was glowing as orange as the flames that were heating it, Cade shut off the torch and trotted back over to the ball bearing before pounding out more angles. He eyed it one last time before trotting over to the barrel of oil he'd had for years, dipping it in gingerly and being wary of the flames that flared and licked up at his hands. He then doused it in the barrel of water he'd set up next to it, turning his face away from the steam that hissed and shot up into the air. When he lifted the mask again to admire his handiwork, Optimus leaned over slightly as though to look at it, too.

"It look okay?" Cade asked while popping the mask back up onto his head, turning and walking up to the massive 'Bot so he could inspect it. The Prime nodded and reached out with an open servo, taking the casing before slowly and carefully fitting it around the flickering blue light within the depths of his chassis. He let out a heavy gush of hot air that ruffled Cade's oily hair, not quite a sigh of what must've been relief but probably the closest thing he could come to it.

"Thank you, Cade," he murmured sincerely. His shoulders slumped as though he finally had the chance to relax. Cade supposed he would, too, had the physical manifestation of his soul been so exposed for so long - and around strangers, no less.

Around strangers who were the same species as those who had made him wary of them in the first place.

"Hey, Optimus," Cade began tentatively, drawing out his syllables as he tried to conjure up the right words to inform the Autobot of their growing predicament. He didn't really know how he was going to react. "I've...got some good news and some bad news."

This seemed to set the mech on his guard, as his shoulders drew up again subtly with a tenseness that Cade suddenly regretted inciting in him. His optics shuttered, narrowed, and focused wholly on Cade, quiet and waiting. Of course, the moment he'd finally had a chance to relax, Cade had to go and ruin it.

The inventor sighed, pulling the mask from his head and rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. "Good news is my sister is coming back." He looked back up to Optimus. "The bad news is that my sister's coming back."

Optimus shifted restlessly, optics flickering rapidly between extreme dimness and flaring brightness. "Is she one that could pose potential danger?"

"Not really - at least, I don't think so," Cade added hurriedly. "I just...I don't know how she's going to react to...this." He gestured towards Optimus vaguely, for lack of a better word. Or any word, for that matter. "She's ex-military, and I know you guys worked with them for a long time. I don't think she ever worked with the Autobots, though, since she was discharged before the first attack in Qatar, but..."

Optimus stilled, tilting his helm slightly. "Do you wish me to tell her the circumstances of how I arrived here?"

"No - no, it's fine," Cade responded, "I can handle it. I've just...I've been trying to figure out how to tell her."

"Tell her the truth," Optimus said simply, gently. "That is was an accident. It was most definitely not your fault." He paused. "If she should wish me to leave, then I will be on my way. I do not wish to cause dissonance within your family."

It's a bit late for that, he thought wryly, but didn't voice it. "Optimus, we've been through this - I want to help you. I want to help you get back on your feet, if nothing else - it's just not fair how these guys are chasing you around like you're some wild dog." He frowned, anger beginning to simmer low in his gut. "I think she'll understand."

...At least, I hope she will.

Dear God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, it was good to be home.

You pulled off of the interstate onto the highway branching off and directing you closer to your destination. You hummed softly along with the radio playing just over the rumble of your tires rolling over the pavement. Your arm was probably well sunburned by this point, having laid across the open windowsill for five days straight. The wind tugged at your tightly-bound hair, warm and dry as the sun brushed the edge of the horizon. The scent of flat, grassy plains - the scent of home - had you finally, finally relaxed after your trip.

Finding fixer-uppers for Cade and yourself to restore proved to be something you'd long ago gotten into the habit of doing - every three weeks you'd pack up your truck and trailer and drive around your proud home state in search of potential quarry. Scholarship opportunities for Tessa, as well as acceptable colleges, had recently been added to your list. None particularly met your standard, but...it was your niece in question, and you had always been protective of Tessa. Perhaps more so than Cade, in your mind. Maybe it was a Yeager trait.

You breathed out a sigh as you slipped your sunglasses off the top of your head and over your eyes. The sunset was certainly a sight - vivid oranges and reds melting together like a forge, blazing just as hot. You couldn't wait to take a long, hot shower and sleep in your own bed - cheap inns and motels be damned to the seventh circle of Dante's hell, honestly.

Paris, Texas welcomed you soon enough. There were a few people lingering in the streets or stores, but it was quiet for the most part. You waved towards a few acquaintances as you drove by, feeling relieved excitement bubbling up in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to home. You couldn't wait to work with Cade on some of the things you'd found in your brief travel. You'd even bought a couple of things for Tessa that you could freshen up and give her for her college dorm as a going-away present.

God, you were going to miss her. But...it would be nice to have the house to Cade and yourself again. Just like the good old days.

A flush of warm contentment washed over you when you pulled onto the familiar old farm road, dust swelling up from your tires and rising up in a thick cloud behind your trailer. You slowed down as you approached the rickety old mailbox and the metal crate welded beneath it, turning in slowly. You stopped when you saw that the electrical lines were crossed.

Oh, boy...maybe you shouldn't have gone on this last trip.

It seemed that your arrival was well anticipated. The robotic mut you and Cade had built what seemed to be forever ago was already whirling around in circles, yapping on and on about voice recognition and dialing nine-one-one. You could've sworn you'd fixed that. Cade was standing on the front porch, arms folded over his chest and fingers drumming against his arm.

He was nervous. What the hell did he do this time?

Parking and disengaging the engine, you grabbed your duffel and purse out of the passenger's seat before sliding out of the truck. Cade stepped down from the porch to take them, to which you waved him off and instead pulled him into a tight hug. The strong, familiar scent of motor oil and grease filled your nose. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," he said, arms resting on your back. He rested his cheek against the crown of your head, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Drive back was okay?"

"Yeah. Didn't shoot anyone."

"Always a good thing." He pulled back, grinning and grasping your arms gently. "Tessa made spaghetti."

Your hunger, now making itself apparent in the way your stomach twisted and growled irritably, predominated your rising suspicion. "Praise God. I've had enough McDonald's to last me three lifetimes."

Your brother's warm laugh, more relaxed than his tense body language had been moments before, followed you into the house as you both went inside. The hearty smell of the Yeager family spaghetti sauce filled your nostrils and your mouth watered immediately, the tension draining from your limbs as you cast a glance back at Cade. "Let me go put this up real quick," you told him, trotting up the stairs. You heard him acknowledge you with a grunt as he turned into the kitchen.

The upper floor was dark and quiet, and it allowed you to breathe in the scent of home as you made a beeline for your room. You entered, tossing both bags onto your bed and making a flying trip to the bathroom to relieve yourself. You made quick work of washing your hands, simply wiping off the warm water on your jeans as you descended the stairs. You heard Cade's voice before you got to the doorway leading to the kitchen, the urgent, low tones initially obscuring Tessa's lighter whispers. Your suspicion returned, but you couldn't make out what they were saying because of the music playing softly from the radio.

You really hoped they hadn't broken something they shouldn't have. Didn't matter if it was a law or piece of equipment - if Lucas had been messing with your punching bag again, you'd be wringing his skinny little neck soon enough.

You made a show of yawning, stretching your arms over your head as you clomped around the corner. Cade turned to you, holding a pitcher of tea in one hand and a glass of ice in the other.

"I'm assuming you wanted tea," he said.

"Yeah, that's fine," you said, taking the glass after he filled it and sitting at the table. Tessa was distributing spaghetti on three different plates, as well as corn and salad. She set it in front of you with a swift one-armed hug around your shoulders, which you readily returned. "Heard about your finals. Good job, kiddo."

"Thanks!" she said, smiling and practically oozing pride in light of your praise. She meandered over to the oven, popping it open and grabbing an oven mitt to draw out a tray of garlic bread. "Want one?"

"Yes, please," you breathed, plucking one from the tray when she proffered it to you before dropping it on the edge of your plate to save your fingertips from the hot sting.

Cade plopped down in the seat across from you, reclining back and exhaling deeply. He rubbed at the dark circles beneath his eyes. You squinted at him, about to ask if he had been staying up late again, when Tessa, too, sat to your left.

"Pray?" she said, glancing between the two of you. You nodded, and all three of you bowed your heads so you could utter a brief prayer of thanks. Afterwards, you scooped a generous forkful of spaghetti into your mouth, practically melting in your chair as the warmth and flavor blossomed over your tongue.

"Oh my god, Tessa, never change," you told her firmly after swallowing. She flushed, hiding her smile behind her glass as she sipped lightly.

"How was the trip?" Cade asked, tearing the slice of garlic bread apart and stuffing a chunk past his lips.

"Good, for the most part," you said, reaching for the salad dressing to drizzle it over the chopped lettuce and tomatoes. "Got a few things that I can fix up pretty quick. Joe Anderson's been nagging me for a table for three months now. I think it's Amy's birthday soon and he's looking for something to give her."

Cade breathed out a sigh of relief. "I've almost got a couple of doohickeys fixed. Got a couple of buyers on Ebay. I think I'll be able to pay the electric bill with them."

You looked up at him, your chewing slowing to a stop. "Is that why we're borrowing the neighbor's electricity?"

Both Cade and Tessa stilled, exchanging a hesitant glance. The nervousness in the air was palpable.

"Is that what's going on?" you asked, voice simultaneously firm yet gentle. "You've been acting weird. Were you not wanting to tell me?"

You didn't miss the very pointed look that Tessa directed at her father.

"I thought I shouldn't have gone on this trip," you muttered. "I'll try to get that table done tomorrow. The sooner we can pay it, the better."

Cade shifted uncomfortably in his seat, rubbing at his neck anxiously. "That's...not what I wanted to tell you."

You raised a brow. "Is it about that 'big buy' you made?"

"I...yes," he replied hesitantly. "It's a truck."

You blinked. "A truck."

"Yes - an old truck. A semi. A cabover. I was planning on dismantling the engine for parts to sell."

"Planning on it?" you asked curiously.

"Yeah. I...ran into some...trouble with it." He straightened, fiddled with his fork. "You'll have to see it for yourself."

"If all you needed was help on it, all you had to do was ask," you told him gently. "But we'll start on that in the morning. I'm tired. You look tired - have you been staying up late again?"

He flushed, opened his mouth perhaps to protest, but Tessa interjected with a flat expression and a strong nod.

"Sleep," you pressed firmly, "and we'll tackle it when we're both fresh. Comprende?"

"Sí," he muttered, casting his eyes downward.

"Good." You smiled, half affectionate and half exasperated. "I'll cuddle you aggressively if you don't."

"Resistance is futile," Tessa chimed in, spearing a chunk of lettuce with her fork.

You reached over and squeezed her arm with a grin, directing it at Cade. He finally met your eyes, and after a long moment he returned it, looking as tired as you'd ever seen him.

You had once been a very deep sleeper. When you were younger, back when Cade was smaller than you, he always thought something was wrong whenever he would get up in the mornings and fail to rouse you unless he were to practically scream in your ear. You slept through thunderstorms and fireworks alike, never once stirring from your oft dreamless slumber. Very rarely did you dream, even rarer did you suffer from nightmares.

Unfortunately, that was a long time ago.

After graduating from high school and enlisting your services in the marine corps, you'd quickly learned that sleeping deeply was not an asset useful to a soldier. Countless times of interrupted rest trained you to be instantly alert at the slightest of noises or potential dangers. It had served you well, the night your base in Iraq had been attacked - you'd heard the distant rumble of non-American military engines across the way and you'd saved your troop by waking and warning them just in time to escape your bunker before it was incinerated into smoke and ash.

The ambush had been long and violent. They'd come in under cover of the dunes on the far east side, near a mountain range, and had wreaked havoc on the base, killing many and injuring more. Snipers, unfortunately, were present - when you'd gone to rescue your superior officer from a burning quonset, one had nearly managed to blow your left arm out of its socket. It was only by God's grace that your squadron's medic had gotten to you in time to staunch the bleeding. Your arm barely survived, and as a result of some psychological bullshit, you now had a rather inconvenient limp in the opposite leg. Unnoticeable to you (and your family) now that you've all gotten accustomed to it and have dealt with it long enough that it wasn't as bad as it used to be. Only if you had one of your spells did it act up again.

And by 'spell', it obviously meant a full-blown anxiety attack courtesy of your PTSD, which used to be triggered by anything ranging from the sound of someone dropping a pen to having night terrors. The night terrors, in themselves, were not particularly bad - you'd gotten used to the images of blood spattered across the sand and the sounds of screams and explosions ringing in your ears, echoing over the rivulets of time and memory. No, it was the aftereffects that you hated; waking in a cold sweat, trembling all over, nausea and lightheadedness threatening to send you over the side of your bed. Over the years, however, you'd gradually recovered - returning home after being medically discharged and falling back into a semi-normal, tamer routine certainly helped. The night terrors and your spells grew fewer and farther between as the years drew on. Having Cade and Tessa as a support system helped majorly, as well.

But, as is the case with everything, there were always exceptions. Sometimes, out of nowhere, you would dream of the ambush - crying out in your sleep as a result and never failing to draw Cade into your bed to wrap you up in a tight, warm embrace. His presence, the sound of his heartbeat and his gentle murmurings and reassurances helped to calm you down, but it still frustrated you every time that it would happen. You thought you were getting better. You thought that you'd forgotten the terror and the pain. But revisitations of it were inevitable.

Tonight, it would seem, would be one of those nights.

The air was cold. The sand was cold. Your heart, heavy and lodged in your throat, was thumping painfully as you crouched low and wide-eyed in a grenade-blown pit, avoiding crossfire and the sight of the enemy. You were trembling, deep and wholesome panic thrumming through your entire body as you tried to think, tried to comprehend what was happening, tried to articulate what you needed to do. A distant murmur of sentimentality in the back of your mind told you that you should go back to your bunker, try to salvage what few belongings you were permitted to have. Shock and the ingrained soldier's sense would not let you.

Gun. You needed your gun. You needed your gun so you could fire back, save others, protect your squadron. Where was it?

In the smoldering remains of your bunker, along with everything else you'd owned.

Another grenade clattered against the smoldering side of the communications center, falling dangerously close to an armored Jeep and rocking it on its wheels with its concussive explosion. You winced, shied away from the flash of fire and shrapnel, and looked wildly, desperately around for an ally, someone you knew, someone you trusted.

"Yeager!"

Your head shot up, eyes focusing in on the medical facility. The chief medic was hunched in the doorway, clutching an IV bag in one hand and its partnering needle in the other as he stared straight at you.

"Merendsen!" he shouted. "Merendsen's trapped in his bunker!"

Now given an order, a purpose, your mind locked onto it with renewed determination. However, when you told your body to move, it did not budge. You shook and shivered, but your limbs would not accept the commands given to them. You heard an unintelligible shout from another point in the camp, closer to the medicinal facility, and the chief medic looked back to you with furrowed brows. "They're readying a mortar! We've got to evacuate!"

To this day, you still don't recall ever getting up. All you remember is no longer laying in the sand, only running headlong through the crossfire and explosions and yelling towards the bunker where your commanding officer dwelled. The building was half collapsed, crackling and hissing with flames that licked against the shadows of light. You stumbled to your knees, digging at the crumbling and charred cement and hoping you wouldn't get hit. You gasped and cursed when you scorched your hand, but you were rewarded when you heard a groan amidst the rubble.

"Sir!" you gasped, trying to find the location of the sound. "Merendsen! Captain Merendsen!"

"Yeager...?" he rasped, and grunted when you shifted a rather large chunk of rock.

"Help me, sir," you panted. "I can't get you out by myself."

He groaned, though whether through pain or delirium you didn't know. You saw his bloodied, swelling fingers poke out from between a gap in the debris. Several painstaking and anxiety-riddled moments slid by, and as soon as his shoulders were visible you grappled for him and tugged him free of the debris. He choked out a curse, blood dripping from his head and hands as you dragged him onto the sand.

"We - we need to evac," he wheezed, glazed eyes taking in the decimation that was once home camp.

"We're working on it, sir," you managed, using a sizable chunk of concrete for cover as you tried to plot the best route to the medical facility. There was heavy fire being exchanged through the main route, several of your comrades hollering and bleeding while trying to hurl back as much as was being given to them. None noticed your predicament.

The medical facility. If you could get him there, he'd be safe until everyone got organized. It was the most well-protected place in camp (or what used to be the camp).

"Can you walk?" you hollered above the blast of fire swelling around a Jeep that had been turned over on the edge of camp.

"I'm fine!" he shouted back, gritting his teeth and trying to get his legs beneath him. His pupils were blown. He had a concussion. "Let's move! We need to get out of here!"

You hauled his arm around your neck, drawing his weight into your side and hefting both yourself and him to your feet. You huffed and strained beneath the extra weight, eyes stinging as sweat and dirt and smoke blurred your vision.

It was painstaking, bobbing and weaving through debris and smoke for cover. Your comrades made way for you, giving you cover-fire when crossing areas where you were plainly visible. Your commanding officer was grunting and cursing due to pain, trying his best to support his weight despite the fact that his leg was bent at a rather unnatural angle.

You rounded the corner, spotting the welcoming entryway to the medical bunker, and somewhere in the back of your conscious mind you recognized it - recognized this moment - and began to dread despite not being able to change the events of the past. All you registered was the distant flicker of red right before Merendsen was hollering in your ear. Your mind and focus clicked into place in that instant - sniper. Deeply ingrained instinct kicked in and you threw your weight to the side, shoving your captain into the sand as pain unfathomable exploded in your uncovered shoulder.

The next thing you knew was Merenden's face over yours, mouth moving but no sound coming forth. You realized you couldn't hear - not just him, but everything else. Your ears were ringing, body cold and frozen. Your heartbeat, hot and painful, throbbed in your shoulder (or, in retrospect, what was left of it).

Turning your head in an attempt to gain your bearings, you saw the sickening color of scarlet staining the sand beneath you, splattered over Merendsen's pinched face as he hunched over you protectively. He dug his palms into your shoulder, eliciting a weak, breathless gasp as pain bloomed across the forefront of your psyche. You felt the squish of blood against your torn and rent flesh. Your vision flickered, the dark draw of unconsciousness tugging at the edges of your consciousness. You were suddenly tired. Tired, and dazed, and hurting.

"...eager! Yeager! Stay with me, soldier! Don't you dare give up on your family!"

You blinked slowly, eyes listlessly returning to Merendsen's. His face was twisted into a pained, worried grimace.

"You've got a niece to go home to!" he shouted above the din, and you vaguely recognized the shift of sand as someone else skidded to a stop beside your head. The chief medic's face, illuminated by fire, swam on the side of your vision as though submerged in water. "Your brother needs you! Your family needs you!" Merendsen lifted his hands away from your shoulder so the medic could replace them, and your captain moved to grip your limp, trembling hand with his own. "Don't let go, soldier - that's an order!"

You remembered smiling, thanking him with a broken and soft and terrified voice. Then you remembered no more.

You remembered the pain, and its clawed grip upon your rapidly fluttering heart, and that was the first thing you felt when you jolted awake - except for the fact that there was no pain, and no slick, stickiness of blood soaking your shoulder and the cold sand beneath it. Your heart was still beating, though, thumping in your temples and throat and making quite the impression of itself on the inside of your chest cavity.

You blinked and sat up slowly, sucking in several lungfuls of cool, clear air. Your brain began to reboot slowly, gradually swimming out of the dark depths it had submersed itself in. You exhaled shakily, your hand going to your left shoulder. A pang of remembered agony tingled through the damaged nerve endings. Damn phantom pains.

Several tense, quiet moments passed. You breathed, focused on your heartbeat, closed your eyes against the vestiges of fear and shock. Your heart calmed, your body stopped trembling. You brushed your dampened hair away from your neck and grimaced as you registered the sweat clinging to your skin. Your eyes settled on the band of moonlight shining through your opened window, allowing the pleasant night air passage. A cursory glance towards your alarm clock assured you that yes, it was far too early to be awake.

4:21. Great.

Your eyes adjusted slowly, and you frowned when you saw your bedroom door still secured tightly shut, realizing your brother's warm presence wasn't currently wrapped around yours.

Cade hadn't come. He always came. He always knew. Where was he?

The distant clatter of metal against wood caused you to freeze. Your senses focused in on the sound, ears straining to hear anything else. Instead, dead silence settled over the outside world once more.

Your hand slipped silently under your pillow, the familiar bite of cold metal a comfortable weight in your hand as you settled your fingers around the grip and drew it out into open air. Your pistol gleamed in the moonlight as you slid your legs off the bed and slowly eased your weight into your feet. The floor did not creak nor groan as you crept to your window, peering around the edge to scrutinize the yard below.

No signs of life, nor disturbances. All was quiet.

Your eyes narrowed, and you made your way into the hall to check on your brood. Tessa was asleep beneath her sheets, hair strewn out over the pillow beneath her head. You closed the door silently. Cade, too, was in bed (thankfully), snoring and sprawled out over his mattress. He was deeply under, you could tell - how much had he been working before you'd returned?

Assured that they were safe, you padded down the stairs and made your way to the back door, grabbing a flashlight on your way by and stealing outside without a sound. You kept to the shadows, prowling towards the barn warily. Though every fiber in your body was tensed and focused on making your approach undetectable, your mind was buzzing. Who would be in your barn at this time of the night? Your first thought went to some wayward teenager or young adult looking for a quick buck, but you found that unlikely given you hadn’t heard a vehicle approach. A glance to the field and road beyond your home also proved that fact, as there was not a vehicle in sight. It could've been a raccoon, but you found that unlikely. Maybe something had just fallen over?

Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to check. You just really hoped that you wouldn't have to use your gun. You really weren't in the mood to shoot anybody.

Circling around to the back of the barn where the larger door rested, you readjusted your grip on your gun and tucked it behind the barn’s door handle. You braced yourself, taking a steadying breath. In one smooth motion you clicked on your flashlight and raised it level with your head, throwing the massive but relatively light door open before raising your gun to the immediate darkness within. "Whoever the hell you are, raise your hands - and don't make a mistake you'll regret, because I will shoot you!"

Two wide, startled, glowing blue eyes blinked down at you from inside the depths of the barn.

Shocked out of words for a split second, you froze. Then, "What the actual f-"

You had only a moment to register that the eyes belonged to a gargantuan, alien frame. It seemed that it, too, had been stunned by the mutual shock of discovering the other, but not for a moment longer. In that same instant, the gargantuan, alien frame lunged for you.

Screw not being in the mood to shoot somebody.

You raised your pistol and your finger twitched over the trigger, but the unknown figure was faster. A massive hand swiped out at you from the shadows, knocking both the gun from your grip and your entire body off of your own feet. The breath gushed out of you as you made harsh contact with the ground, the jolt stunning and dazing you. You scrabbled for purchase on the dewy grass beneath you as the figure leapt to loom over you, blocking a huge portion of the sky and casting a dark shadow over you. That same massive hand slammed down into the soft soil next to your head, fingers groping for your comparatively tiny body. You rolled away, stuttering out a curse as your hand found purchase on something cold and metal and heavy enough to be used as a weapon. Without thinking (not that you had the capacity, with your mind scattered and adrenaline coursing through your limbs), you found the creature's glowing, narrowed eyes in the dark and chucked the object at its crested head.

The clang of metal meeting metal rang out with the brief flash of sparks right before it was drowned out by a deafening bellow of pain. A disk-like shape fell from the creature's head and you had naught but a second to again roll to safety before it sank into the ground like a blade while your flashlight clattered a few feet away from you, light flickering across the ground. Green fluid spurted freely from the figure's cracked skull, but you were distantly confused to see electrical sparks shooting from the open wound.

Cade's shocked outcry of your name snapped you back into focus. Your head whirled to see him jumping from the front porch, sprinting straight for you and your still growling attacker. The ground shook beneath you and you were startled to hear the unknown figure (danger threat protect) garble out a roughened, pained version of your brother's name before its massive hand made another move to grab you.

"Optimus, no, don't-!"

"Cade, stay back - this human has a gun!"

"What the hell?!" you cried, staggering to your feet and away from the - holy shit, was it-?

Was it a transformer?

"Cade, get back!" you shouted, your eyes now finding the metallic sheen gleaming off the figure's silhouette. "Get back, get the shotgun!"

"Wait, just - wait a second!" Cade sounded panicked, worried, though you realized with terror he was running for the transformer and not you. "Optimus, wait!"

'Optimus'? Why did that...

The gargantuan figure froze as the human male stopped between it and you, waving his arms frantically and looking as pale as a sheet in the moonlight. "Please, just hang on a second!" He glanced wildly between the both of you, eyes pleading. "Let me explain!"

Both you and the transformer stilled, chests heaving and eyes looking from Cade to the other with suspicion and wariness.

"This is your sister?" the robotic alien rumbled, taking you off guard. It eased onto its haunches, sitting up and allowing the moonlight to illuminate its figure. Rust and peeling paint caught your eye, dust and grime obscuring much of what must've once been shiny metal. Its face was twisted, mouth pinched as it turned its glowing gaze to you. You realized that the disk that had fallen from its head was one of two ear-like arrays with sensor finials. The open wound(?) was still dribbling that same green substance. Blood?

"Yes, Optimus, this-" Cade exhaled heavily, hands and voice shaking with relief as you both stood down. He looked to you, guilt and apprehension forming in his eyes as he gestured towards the mechanical being behind him. "I..."

A short silence settled upon the three of you, tense and anxious. After a beat, you sighed and glanced up at the transformer, leveling it with a pointedly non-aggressive look. You saw the stiffness in its metal-plated shoulders relax minutely, then looked back to Cade only when you were sure the unspoken ceasefire was cemented.

"So..." you deadpanned, a wry, weary quirk forming at the edge of your mouth as you rubbed your sore cranium. "...who put him in your basket?"

#fisara's codices #fanfiction #transformers #bayverse #aoe #transformers: age of extinction #optimus prime #reader insert #optimus prime/reader #mine

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nevermindirah · 3 years

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Non-Jewish friends, y’all might be wondering right now: Israel is doing clearly unacceptable shit to Palestinians. So, why are some Jews ardent Zionists, and why do some Jews seem to feel personally attacked by criticism of Israel?

A lot of (non-Palestinian) non-Jews have asked me where I stand on Israel/Palestine over the years, apropos of nothing, just because I’m Jewish. For the longest time I felt so stuck because I just didn’t know much about Israel/Palestine and what little I did know turned out to be largely misinformation and I felt so much pressure to say The Correct Thing That All Jews Should Say About This Issue. Obviously the violence Israel is committing against Palestinians is horrific and the interpersonal weirdness individual Jews might experience as people discuss Israel’s horrific violence doesn’t compare. I’m making this post as a small supplement to the important conversations going on about what Israel is doing to Palestinians in East Jerusalem, Gaza, and the West Bank, as well as Palestinian citizens of Israel and Palestinian refugees and their descendants living outside land Israel controls. I’m making this post because non-Jews might be feeling confused by conflicting messages about Zionism as either settler colonialism or Jewish self-determination. It sucks feeling like you have to choose only one oppressed group or another. It’s possible to support Palestinian liberation and Jewish liberation at the same time! Here’s some context that might help.

Palestinian friends will probably want to ignore this post, y’all shouldn’t have to deal with your oppressors’ feelings, and especially not right now.

Zionism is the ideology behind the devastating violence Israel is committing against Palestinians right now and has been committing against Palestinians since 1947-48. It’s heartbreaking and messy to talk about this reality, because Zionism originated as a strategy to protect Jews from antisemitism.

Any oppressed group can turn into oppressors under enough pressure, because humans are flawed. Jews fleeing antisemitism turning into Israelis ethnically cleansing Palestinians happened because Zionism is profoundly influenced by its time and place of origin: 19th century Europe.

Europe invented antisemitism, and basically every European country has done at least one very very bad structural antisemitism, like expelling all the country's Jews (the monarch and/or the church then stole all the wealth the expelled people had to leave behind), looking the other way when peasants murdered a bunch of Jews as an outlet for their frustration with the actual (non-Jewish) ruling class, banning Jews from owning property or holding certain jobs or being members of guilds etc, and of course the big horrific state-sponsored mass-murder operations the Inquisition and the Holocaust. From the 1790s through the 19th century different European governments emancipated their Jews, ie removed legal barriers to full citizenship and economic participation. But this didn't end antisemitism. Just like the legal improvements of the 19th and 20th centuries didn't end antiblackness in the United States.

Also happening in this time: nationalism swept Europe. From the French Revolution through the end of World War I, Europe’s predominant form of government transformed from multiethnic empires to nation-states, countries led by and for a particular ethnic group.

So this Austro-Hungarian dude Theodor Herzl came up with this idea for Jewish nationalism. Every other European ethnic group is getting their own country, so why not Jews? Maybe this is the solution to antisemitism! Maybe we’ll finally be safe if we just all move en masse out of Europe to a place that will take all of us and never expel us!

But also also happening in Europe and around the world in this time: European imperialism and white supremacist settler colonialism. Chattel slavery saw its height and then its end (legally, at least) during this era, but white supremacy entrenched itself across the planet in post-slavery economic practices and cultural imperialism as well as national and international laws.

I believe countries have a moral obligation to take in as many refugees as they can squeeze in. International law protecting refugees has evolved a lot over the past century, but we’re still devastatingly far from every refugee getting a safe place to call home, and the main reason for that is white supremacy. The Biden administration didn’t undo the Trump administration’s horrifically low cap on refugees until like last week and it’s because Democratic party leaders treat centrist white people as more valuable voters than the huge and growing numbers of people of color, immigrants, LGBT people, unmarried women, and working class people who want to vote for elected leaders who get that nobody’s free until we’re all free. Ahem. Back to the topic at hand, the US and many other countries turned away untold numbers of refugees fleeing the fucking Holocaust, so odds are slim they’d be more welcoming in less desperate times. Moving from places where Jews are an unwanted minority to places where Jews are still a minority and either still unwanted or little understood and unlikely to win revolutionary levels of support from a largely non-Jewish public seems like a bad plan.

In the mid to late 19th century, lots of Jews took the kernel of Zionism and ran with it in different directions. Maybe this ideology could mean Jewish cultural flourishing alongside stronger political/economic integration into the societies where we’re already living! Maybe it could mean a particular kind of socialism that advocates for the liberation of Jews both as Jews and as workers! Maybe it could mean a revitalization of Jewish religious practice both in Jerusalem where we have important heritage sites and everywhere we live across the world!

Eventually Herzl’s vision of Zionism won out over the others: Jewish nationalism in the sense of a Jewish nation-state, a country that has a Jewish demographic majority and/or that legally privileges Jews over non-Jews.

Problem is, if you want to do that, you have to find a piece of land on which to do it, and Earth was already a pretty crowded place a hundred years ago. Many locations were considered, and the one that ended up winning that debate was Palestine. Where a shit ton of people, mostly non-Jews, were already living. They were forming their own nationalist movement at the time: in the waning days of the Ottoman Empire they began to organize for local self-determination in Palestine.

The Herzl types who developed Zionism as an ideology and built institutions to advocate for and create a Jewish ethnostate in Palestine were a small subset of European Jews, mostly men, mostly with significant economic privilege within what Jews were able to achieve in their particular societies at the time. They were just as Orientalist as the non-Jews around them, just as antiblack, just as racist generally for all that Jews were (and sometimes still are) considered non-white in much of Europe. They had a cool idea (put a lot of effort into something that could protect Jews from antisemitism) floating in a bathtub full of shit, and they did practically nothing to protect the cool idea from absorbing that shit. Results of this include thinking about the millions of people already living in Palestine as if they were either like the rocks and the trees that will go with the flow and accept a new ruling class, or indistinct Arabs who would just leave for other Arab countries because what could be the difference — in the staggeringly small amount of time they considered the existing residents of Palestine at all.

This racist hand-waving extended to Zionist leaders’ attitudes about Jews outside Europe as well. White Jews in settler colonies like the US were largely anti-Zionist at the time (not wanting their own countries to accuse them of dual loyalty was a common reason) but European Zionist leaders took what help they could get from Jews in the US, South Africa, Australia, etc. Jews across the Middle East and North Africa, however, barely heard from Zionist leaders about any of this until Zionist militias had removed enough Palestinians from the land and it was time to repopulate it with whichever Jewish bodies were convenient. You might have heard "all the Arab countries expelled their Jews in 1948" but lots of first-person accounts tell a different story of Israel coercing Jews who’d lived securely for a long time in places like Morocco to immigrate to Israel and then confiscating their passports and forcing them to live on less-fertile land with fewer resources while serving as a buffer between Palestinians and European Jewish immigrants. Ella Shohat is the best-known writer on Israeli racism against non-European Jews and I strongly recommend Sephardim in Israel: Zionism from the Perspective of Its Jewish Victims as a starting point to learn more about this.

Which brings us to today. We still haven’t eradicated antisemitism, several European governments that did a lot of structural antisemitism they still haven’t made meaningful reparations for get to feel good about themselves for “giving the Jews a state” as if carving up the former Ottoman Empire was up to them and not the people who lived there, and millions of people across the world who previously either lived peacefully enough alongside Jews or hadn’t really thought about us much at all now have very valid reasons to be pissed at this country that claims it represents all of us.

Zionism was supposed to protect Jews from antisemitism. And Israel has saved Jewish lives! But if we hadn’t sunk the past 70+ years into an ethnostate we could’ve been putting that energy into other political and economic activity to create adequate international support for refugees while we work on ending root causes of refugee crises, like antisemitism, racism, climate change, and capitalism. Meanwhile Zionism has killed, maimed, incarcerated, stolen from, traumatized, and erased the history of millions of Palestinians just because they happened to be living on land that some dudes who had a lot more in common with Thomas Jefferson and Donald Trump than with you or me decided needed to be cleansed for a Jewish ethnostate.

White nationalists in the US love Israel because they want American Jews to go away. Fascist leaders across Europe love Israel for the same reason, so much so that Israel’s prime minister is buddy-buddy with Trump and the equivalent shitstains of several European far-right parties. And I don’t know what it’s like in other white supremacist countries that are close allies of Israel, but the overwhelming majority of Zionist lobbying that pushes the US to give so much aid to Israel comes from Evangelical Christians, because they believe all the Jews have to be in the Holy Land for Jesus to come back. No thanks.

This whole thing fucking sucks. Jews and Palestinians, like all human beings, deserve to be free. Many Jews are understandably afraid of what might happen next if Israel decided to give up on ethnonationalism, allow Palestinian refugees to return, make reparations, and establish a pluralistic democracy that represents and protects all its residents — will some Palestinians murder Jews in revenge? That’s genuinely fucking scary. And it’s genuinely fucking scary to be a Palestinian in Israel/Palestine, and has been for over 70 years. We’ve gotta do something different. I say that as a white person sitting on land stolen from Piscataway people who has thought in detail about what portion of my income would be reasonable for my government to tax in order to fund reparations for the descendants of enslaved people.

Ok. One final piece of context before I wrap this up.

Most Jewish institutions in the US are explicitly Zionist, teach children that Zionism is THE way to ensure Jewish safety, and increasingly tell non-Zionist Jews that we're unwelcome or even that we’re not “real” Jews. This comes in a context where it’s only been 76 years since the latest and most gruesome of several attempts to wipe our entire people off the face of the planet. If you grew up in that environment, you, too, might be jumpy about even hearing the words Zionism or Israel, let alone considering the devastation this ideology and country have caused Palestinians.

Jews have a right to exist. Jews have a millennia-old connection to this scrap of land in the Levant, and we have a right to access religiously and culturally important geographic landmarks. What we don't have a right to is murdering or expelling other people in order to make an ethnostate, on that land or any other. Zionism is settler colonialism, but it’s settler colonialism by and for people who have a valid need for protection from structural antisemitism, which means that it’s going to take a lot of messy empathy to undo. The members of my extended family who voted for Trump (non-Jews in my case, though Jared Kushner isn’t the only Jewish Trumpite) are afraid that ending white supremacy will demote them from a privileged class to equal footing with everyone else — that’s the kind of fear individuals work on in therapy, not the kind that’s reasonable for a whole society to prevent from happening. I and millions of Jews do deserve for whole societies to work hard to end antisemitism.

I would never and will never ask a Palestinian to gently request their liberation. But if you’re not Palestinian, and you’ve got a little extra empathy to spare this week, I ask you to remember what I’ve shared here when interacting with Jews about Israel/Palestine.

If you’re a fellow Jew reading this and you feel like Israel is the only way to guarantee our safety, all I ask of you is to sit with the idea that what Israel is doing to Palestinians is too high a cost for safety that’s still not guaranteed, and start to imagine real-world ways we can protect our people from antisemitism without an ethnostate.

I made this post for people who know me (or know of me I guess?) in Old Guard and Cap fandom, despite my better judgment, because talking about Jewish Booker and Jewish Bucky and Jewish Natasha makes me so happy and I think some of the people I love on these characters with might appreciate this perspective. I didn’t provide any links in this post on purpose (to decrease its usefulness, so fewer people will reblog it) because the risk of anon hate when talking about Zionism outside my immediate fandom circles is so high. You’re welcome to reblog this post if you find it helpful! Unless you’re not within a few concentric circles of me, in which case, maybe don’t? If seeing this post makes you want to send me anon hate, no need: many people who share your perspective have already done so on Twitter.

Reliable sources on all this info are a few googles away, and I apologize for the things I know I oversimplified as well as any things I might have misremembered. I’m an American who’s never lived in Israel/Palestine who is posting this on my fandom blog.

TL;DR: This is a short ‘n pithy post about the same idea.

TL;DR, fandom edition: The shortest distillation of this anti-Zionist Jew’s feelings on the matter can be found in segment 4 of Five Times Booker Got Wasted on Purim and One Time He Didn’t.

#palestinian liberation #hi i'm an antizionist jew no i don't really want to talk about it #and yet #here we are #long post #mine #antisemitism #settler colonialism #racism #european imperialism #genocide cw

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desolateice · 2 years

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I came across “Root Beer Floats and Green Tea” a few days ago read it for like two days straight because it was so amazing and I was totally hooked. I really enjoyed all the little details you put into the story and loved following Johnny’s internal thinking and everyone’s characterizations. I wished so much that there was more and behold I just saw you posted a cut scene of them going to the theater which was perfect! Protective Daniel just made my day. Thank you for the wonderful story!!

Hello Anon! I'm glad you've been enjoying "Root Beer Floats and Green Tea"! 🥰💖 It's definitely a lot to read in one sitting. I just googled it and it's nearly at the word count of "War and Peace" (600K) and has surpassed the word count of "The Lord of the Rings". 😅

I've got a few more of those where I changed the plan. In the case of the theater scene, I didn't think Johnny's mental health at that point could really handle a scary film. Plus Daniel might've murdered one of his new friends and that's not good so it got rewritten to a different movie. I think I've got 4 more total, I need to dig around and double-check to see if there are any other ones hiding. I've found 2 and I think 2 I deleted. (Kinda bummed because it's interesting to see what I wrote back then.) One's from after Valentine's Day (the first one) that got deleted, but I remember most of it so I'll do a write-up of what changed and why I rewrote it. I've got a Mr. Miyagi scene that I cut because I couldn't make it a full chapter so it's not a rewrite but something I cut because I couldn't fit into the story. That one I do have. I changed my mind several times during the Okinawan arc so I might do a short write-up about that. It was mostly Johnny's internal thoughts that got changed because I changed the scene but it was like half a chapter's worth that last minute I rewrote and I like the version that I published much better. And then I've got a massive one because chapters 89-92 went differently originally and then it just hurt me too much so I changed it. That is currently in my drafts and it's massive since I essentially scrapped multiple chapters and rewrote them. I'll probably share it in about this order while I'm working on the final chapter along with the food and recipe round-ups and a few other things hiding in my drafts. Thank you for the message Anon and I'm glad you enjoyed the rewritten/cut scene. 🥰💖💖

#asks #root beer floats and green tea #I also have a few drabbles that I feel like are part of this fic #mostly the miyagi sato and yukie ones #but I also envisioned the christmas one as part of it too #I did a ton of research for that drabble 🤣 that I didn't end up using #so one day I might expand on it and make it a little one shot #😂 a lot of why I cut things were I wrote them and then was like calm down edgelord this isn't the direction this fic is going #I broke my own heart so much writing this fic and would be like nope this is too much let's try this again #and I'm happy with what the results were that I published #so just be prepared with those rewritten scenes #I might break up that last one I mentioned just because it is massive #like they'll all be under a cut because I don't want to spoil anyone or like destroy anyone's feeds with long fic chapters #honestly all the crying I did writing this fic was probably good for me

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elhokar-kholin · 3 years

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For the ask meme. Aesudan.

cracks knuckles

Sexuality Headcanon: luke you specifically know about the way i interpret this. for the rest of you, straight*

Gender Headcanon: aesudan does not really lend herself to gender nonconformity and for that reason i think she is cis, but i haven't like tried to see all the angles on it like i haven't had late nights or spent more than 10 minutes thinking about her gender in my waking hours. i think if she wasn't cis she wouldn't really know or care enough about it to change how she presents. the dream i had where she was trans notwithstanding because she was one of many including the big man himself

A ship I said with said character: who the fuck ships aesudan like honest to god question. i know there was one person in the aesudan tag like 4 years ago who shipped her with elhokar. one day i will get around to inventing men for her to have affairs with in my little headcanon world or boyfriends pre marriage but those aren't Ships they're just worldbuilding

A BROTP I have with said character: elhokar pre gavilar death... i mean their relationship (IN MY HEAD like i could talk about speculation using knowledge we have about their relationship pre gavilar death but this is just my inner headcanon world where everything is how i want it) is not necessarily Healthy but they do rely on and lean on each other a lot and they do do friend things. so probably that. i've toyed around with lalai (Lalai. not ialai.) and her being besties but i haven't developed any of it

A NOTP I have with said character: elhokar/aesudan. listen i know this might sound like then reading about her in any effect would be unpleasant since they're married but actually its really not cause like. they're so??????????? whatever they are. they're not close like that. elhokar doesn't know her circa oathbringer like At All cuz he's so flabbergasted by all these things that she's been doing for Years. the only scene they have together is them arguing (and in the row prologue navani is briefly like oh look aesudan is talking to elhokar For Once instead of other men). even more than what was maybe supposed to be implied cheating circa row prologue. they just. I DONT KNOW!! THEYRE JUST FUNNY!!! other than elhokar like i dont give a shit if you shipped her with anyone else in the world. i swear i saw someone at one point talk about aesudan/jasnah and i laughed my head off but like if it floats your boat man!!! WAIT I DO HAVE ONE MORE THING callout post to my tomodachi life save for trying to get dalinar and aesudan together like 3 times

A random headcanon: she internally promised herself not to let elhokar name their child after he named his horse Vengeance. also she draws Stylized Art like she's the kid in middle school art class who gets told to stop drawing anime by the teacher and she goes "No 🖤" and keeps turning in "referenced" pictures of anime guys for every assignment. but she's on roshar and anime doesn't exist so basically she draws but she just didn't start with the fundamentals so her drawings look Cool but also Off like in the anatomy or whatever. but elhokar who likes art but doesn't have a Refined Eye for it goes crazy for it since everything else he sees is realism

General Opinion over said character: thats a big question. she is Bad and i will be the first to point out her flaws because i know all her sins that have been talked about. i love her though cheer every time she's on screen or mentioned like YES!!! CAUSE PROBLEMS!!!! i dont think i need to elaborate i trust that you guys understand and/or comprehend liking a character without condoning their actions. i like that i basically have her to myself because while some people in the world also give a shit about elhokar, no one gives the shit about aesudan. im the only mf out here as far as im aware, and i have scowered internet spaces for people talking about aesudan. i have this message i wrote from march 2021 which haunts me which reads "i wonder if anyone out in the world genuinely cares about aesudan". its you. you do.

#thanks luke for the ask #my posts #ask #unmade magnet #long post #i should tag those

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anywhozits · 3 years

Text

A Christmas Announcement

Rating: T Words: 5172

Verse: Canonverse Pairing: Kristanna

Summary: Kristoff and Anna are excited to finally share the news of their heir-on-the-way with the Kingdom of Arendelle.

Notes: I wrote this last year and forgot to post it, but this is somewhat related to the Christmas fic I’m writing for this year so wanted to get this out before that one! (at least it’s in the same verse and has similar themes, hah) Anyway hope you enjoy and happy holidays!! Thanks for reading :)

READ ON AO3 HERE

The day was Christmas Eve, 1843. A couple years ago, the whole kingdom of Arendelle began celebrating together at the castle’s now officially annual Christmas ball. Something that Anna had begged Elsa to start since the great freeze ended and the doors to the castle became permanently open. It had taken awhile, but finally Elsa caved to her sister’s wishes, likely only partially due to years of internalized guilt for pushing her away, and the ball quickly became one of Anna’s most anticipated nights of the year. Now with Anna as Queen, the tradition continued.

The entire ballroom was filled with glittering decorations, tinsel adorning the sturdy wood beams. Buffet tables sat lining almost the entire left side of the room, filled bountifully with food to feed the whole town and then some. Lefse, lutefisk (the bane of child and teen Anna’s existence), farikal, pickled herring, kjottkaker, salmon, whale steak, sheep, all the traditional favorites. And that, of course, didn’t even including the two tables of desserts and pastries or the sprawling drink selection. A massive 12-foot Christmas tree stood proudly in the right corner of the space, decorated with great care by Anna and Kristoff themselves. Year after year, Anna always insisted she didn’t need any help from the castle attendants, only a few ladders and a few hours of time alone. She always pulled through. The tree—her pride and joy. This Christmas, Anna had also taken the time to pick out hundreds of presents for the Arendellian children and children-at-heart. Kristoff even did some woodworking for the occasion. Highlights included hand carved rocking horses, rolling reindeer on a string, and building blocks. They couldn’t wait for those presents to be torn open by frantic hands, truly cherishing the visual of children playing for hours on the sweeping ballroom floor, both King and Queen watching misty eyed as they imagined their own child playing along next year. A new tradition.

They had hired both a 5-piece band and a choir to make sure that the ball was not lacking in festive music and thus not lacking in dancing. The choir had kicked off the party singing Christmas songs in perfect harmony, the music floating through the castle, making the previously cold stone walls feel more comforting and protective. Guests had started arriving, smiles plastered on each of their faces as they ran through the open castle gates, eyes wide in childlike awe when they entered the ballroom to see the most elaborate Christmas ball yet.

But two people were thus far missing from the party.

Kristoff knocked softly on his and Anna’s chamber door before letting himself in. He saw Anna, dressed to the nines in a green velvet gown topped with white ruffles that hugged her shoulders. Her upper chest was left bare save for a three-layered pearl necklace, an early Christmas gift from Mattias. The sleeves gaped open, lined by white fur that Kristoff knew felt as soft as it looked. Her hair laid atop her head in an intricately braided bun, her gold and emerald crown placed perfectly in the middle, always bringing out the brilliant green that usually hid within her typically cerulean eyes. Kristoff could only think one word. Radiant. Anna was radiant. Sincerely, Anna sparkled. She always sparkled. But something about walking in on her like this, dressed for the ball, so majestic in every single way… made Kristoff feel as if he might cry for the love that grew and blossomed within his heart. A love so permanent… a love so unyielding that he felt it with both a fiery passion and a patient comfort. He took in a breath. Regarding her magnificence for a second time. Her gold shoes sparkled in the candlelight, heels subtle enough to allow her to dance for hours but tall enough to allow her to kiss him without getting on her tip toes. His eyes floated up to her dress yet again. Even though the gown cinched at her waist, Kristoff swore he could make out a little bit of the swell that was their growing child. He took in another breath. She looked ravishing. How could he be so lucky to call her his wife?

But Anna paid no mind to Kristoff, not then. She was looking in the mirror. Frowning. Frustrated.

But still so beautiful.

“Anna, honey, are you ready to go downstairs? The doors are open, and people are flooding in… I think even Elsa and Honeymaren are already here.” Elsa was finishing up the ice sculptures. Her only task this year, something that made her beyond thankful.

“I’m almost ready! I’m just… I don’t know. I don’t feel right. But I can’t put my finger on why.” Anna twirled around in front of the mirror. “The only thing keeping me chugging along is the promise of lots of food. I’m starving.”

“Yes—that was the journal entry for this week. Ravenously hungry. Insatiable I think was the word I used.” For Anna, eighteen-ish weeks pregnant meant the constant desire to stuff her face with literally everything she laid her eyes on. It was like she had this itch that could never be scratched. A deep hole in her stomach that could not ever be fully filled. But the most unfortunate part was that she somehow had recently begun to crave lutefisk. Lutefisk. The food she would have to plug her nose to eat as a kid. Clearly pregnancy made her leave logic at the door. Kristoff sauntered up to her and brought her in close, wrapping his strong arms around her frame, resting them gently on her mid-section, hooking his chin over her right shoulder and kissing her softly on first her shoulder and then her neck and then her cheek before settling back into the crook of her neck. He smiled. This was pure bliss.

Anna entangled her fingers with his own, both resting on her belly. She sighed. “I swear I could eat literally all of Sven right now and only feel a little bit guilty.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Kristoff laughed into her shoulder.

“I’m starving!” Anna pouted, but then Kristoff kissed her neck again softly and she shivered. Too distracting.

“Well, I know for a fact there’s a lot of food in the ballroom if you want to get a move on…”

“I want to, I really do… but. Still. I’m … you know what? I think I know what it is,” Anna said, pulling away from Kristoff suddenly. “You know how a few weeks ago I had to switch to the maternity corset? Because I really uh—popped out that one morning and couldn’t fit into my old one anymore even with the laces practically undone?” One midwife had even said that Anna looked much bigger than what women usually did at this point in pregnancy. Something that she said could mean there was more than one baby on the way…Anna and Kristoff were far too thrilled with that possibility but had mutually decided they didn’t want to get their hopes up if it didn’t come to fruition. Their baby coming into the world already with a friend… already decidedly not alone. It felt almost serendipitous to Anna, but she still refused to think of it more than fleetingly. So for now—one baby. Singular baby.

“I remember,” he said.

“Well, I hate this thing. It’s so … constricting and it hurts and I can hardly breathe let alone gorge myself with disgusting and foul and gross but somehow still super satisfying lutefisk. Like do you really think this is good for the baby?”

Kristoff shook his head. “Probably not—”

But Anna was on a roll. She bulldozed through the answer he gave to her likely rhetorical question. “I know it’s not breathing or anything right? But … it kind of feels like I’m squishing the baby or something and knowing it’s yours and everything it’ll probably be massive so needs lots of room to… get that way. Oh wait no I can’t think about that. Oh God. Massive. Get that image out of my head please. Too big to come out of me and the pain and owwwww.”

Kristoff stepped closer to Anna and hugged her close, stroking comforting circles on her back. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said. She whimpered. “For the record, I don’t think I was too big as a baby. Although, you know… I don’t remember.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Very helpful.”

“I do have some chocolate to tide you over, though. That’s helpful, right?”

Her eyes lit up instantly, nodding her head in ferocious fervor. “Yes, yes, yes. Super, super helpful. Very helpful. The most helpful of all helpful!” Kristoff reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out maybe six truffles. Anna ate them in a flash. “God, these are so good.” Then she frowned again. “But I can already feel my corset getting tighter! And, you know what? What’s it all for, hmm? So I can better hide I’m pregnant? Yeah that’s right I said the word. So, what? You know, it’s really grating to me that something that really deserves to celebrated is instead something that needs to be … hidden away. Like the expectation for a queen is to be prim and proper and ladylike and pure or—whatever…while also producing heirs upon heirs. So, what happens when the very thought of being ‘with child’ comes with this implication that you’re not pure? Even though obviously I mean it’s way more concerning if you’re married and still pure, right? And I know I’m saying this about royalty and everything but that’s just my situation. Generally it’s definitely not just for queens. This is any woman. The expectation of any woman. Nobody cares if men are pure. So they’re just producing heirs or kids or namesakes? … left and right and it’s all fine and dandy. It’s just ... really frustrating. And this stupid corset is like the physical proof of this horrible thing and it’s really making me…so—angry.” Anna let out a long breath. It felt good to get all that out. It truly had been building upon itself in this storm of emotions for the last couple weeks. Constantly growing until this moment.

“You know you’re the Queen, right?”

“Uh—yeah. Pretty sure I just talked a lot about that in my little speech.”

“Yes, right. Yes. But I mean… you’re the Queen.”

“Yes, I know. What’s your point?”

“Well, you’ve got the power, baby,” Kristoff said. “Show them how it’s done. You can … make a decree or—or something. Or you can just lead by example. I’ll support you, Anna. You know I’ll support you. And I agree with you, too. The whole thing’s pretty ridiculous. And definitely not healthy for our massive baby.”

Anna crossed her arms over her chest. “Not funny.”

“Take it off, baby. Off with the maternity corset.”

“I want to … but then people will be able to tell, right?”

“You really think they don’t know? Let me ask you this. Truly—how many people do you think are actually in the dark?”

“Uh—I don’t know. Maybe … four?”

“Exactly! Don’t feel like you need to still hide it. The whole castle has known for a long time. You were wearing the maternity corsets! Someone had to make that for you and you know your maids knew right away. Word is out, Anna. We just can’t be open open about it yet. Soon … but you don’t need to hide it. You shouldn’t hide it.”

She contemplated his words for a minute or so before planting a chaste kiss on his lips. “Thanks, husband. You’re the best listener.” He grabbed her hand and gave her a quick twirl, already preparing for the dancing he knew would take up most of his night.

“Always, my sweet love.”

“Now help me get this thing off. Right now. Please.” Anna turned so her back was to him. His large hands wrapped around the velvet buttons of her dress, undoing them at an unparalleled pace. Soon, the dress dropped to the floor and Anna stepped out of it, only standing in her off-white corset and bloomers. The maternity corset had a slightly different shape, dipping lower to cover her entire stomach, and had two extra sets of laces, one on each side that supposedly allowed for more breathing room and expansion along with a growing belly, but Anna disagreed. It felt just as constricting as her usual corset. She jumped in front of Kristoff again. “Off, off, off!”

He obeyed again, large hands undoing the laces but moving closer as he did this, planting periodic kisses on her shoulders. His mind instantly shot back to the first time he unlaced her corset. Years ago.

The beginning of their … exploration was too hurried. They so rarely got time alone and took it whenever they could … wherever they could … as fast as they could. There was never time to take off any clothes. Dress scrunched up her waist, drawers and breeches pushed down to their ankles was the name of their game. But eventually they got bolder. They snuck around in the middle of the night… and in those stolen moments in the moonlight, they had more time. Kristoff remembered ripping off her dress, throwing it into the corner of her room. Turning his attention to her undergarments, working his hands around the laces, trying to figure out how to make this as swift as possible. He smirked. “Is this appropriate?”

“Of course not,” Anna giggled. Kristoff planted kisses on her bare shoulders and then her collarbones. “But when have I ever been concerned with what’s appropriate?”

Kristoff smiled again at the memory. When he finally shot back to reality, he saw that he was almost done with the laces. He pulled the last few and threw the corset far away from them. It landed with an air of dramatics on her dressing partition.

Anna sighed in relief. “God, you’re so much faster at this than my maids.”

“Years of practice paired with years of … urgency.” Kristoff said, smirking.

It had taken him much longer than he felt comfortable admitting to take that corset off that first night, but since then he’d figured out a foolproof strategy.

She turned around to give him a deep kiss. “I’m free. Thank you.”

Kristoff inhaled sharply. She was even more magnificent like this, ballgown tossed to the side. He brought a hand up to cup her chin and his other drifted down to her stomach. He gave it a rub and she kissed him in response, giggling slightly. “You’re radiant, baby. So beautiful.”

“You really think so?”

“You take my breath away,” Kristoff said, meaning it truly and genuinely from the bottom of his heart. Anna beamed at him, feeling both unparalleled awe and unparalleled respect boiling deep within her soul. She regarded him now. The way the left side of his smile cocked up more than his right, sending him into an eternal mischievous smirk. The way his brown eyes always somehow teemed with an unusual mixture of curiosity and warmth. He was her rock. Her ocean. Her world. And she knew that the same was true for him. She was his rock. His ocean. His world.

Anna tried to put all of those feelings into words. “You—I need you to know that you’re—uh—perfect, Kristoff. Really perfect.” She used this word a lot. He doesn’t like it, he said. It’s not true, he said. He has his flaws, he said. But to Anna, even his flaws were perfect. So, he was perfect.

Kristoff smiled again. Mischievous still. But happy. Pleased. Tonight, he wouldn’t argue with her. He placed his hand on Anna’s swollen belly, rubbing gently. “I like this. Baby is free to be massive now.”

“Oh, shut up and help me put my dress back on,” Anna said through a laugh. “Might be a tough task since my waistline has expanded probably five sizes.”

“I’m up for the challenge.” Kristoff said, pulling desperately hard on either side of her dress before he could button them together. Eventually, he managed. Sure, the button stretched a bit and it threatened to pop off, but he thought maybe it would hold. At least for that evening.

“How do I look?” She gave him a twirl, settling in closer to him and cupping her belly slightly. She loved showing it off. The exciting proof of their future. Of what would come in May. “Ugh. I don’t wanna keep this a secret anymore. This is awful. How I lasted this long—it’s torture! Kristoff! Encourage our little one to make its presence known. Please, please, please.”

He smiled at his wife, dropping to his knees. Rubbing circles on her belly and planting gentle kisses all over before pulling away slightly, both hands still resting on the swell. Kristoff leaned in closer again and whispered, “Hey, little one…your mama and papa love you so much and want to tell the whole world how much we love you so we can celebrate you and love you publicly and—can you stretch out for us or move your little arms and legs or something? Mama and Papa are here for you, watching you grow… loving you…” He kissed her belly again. “We love you, little one.”

“Aww, Kris. You’re so cute.”

He stood up slowly. Waiting to see if it worked. Not that it had in the past… but still hopeful. Nothing. “You ready to go?”

“I’m ready to eat if that’s what you mean.”

They walked hand in hand through the castle hallways, still bursting with the beautiful harmonies of the choir, and finally through the doors of the ballroom. Each and every Arendellian guest turned to watch the Queen and King, or Prince—whatever—consort’s grand entrance. Some even started clapping. Clearly the party was already considered a hit.

Anna noticed out of the corner of her eye that a few of the women had started whispering to each other, their eyes glued to Anna’s midsection. Maybe even saying four people didn’t know was an overestimation.

Come on, little one. Move.

But still nothing.

Instead, Anna’s stomach growled, and she knew she needed to get to the food tables. Pronto. She saw Elsa there, too, finishing up the last of the ice sculptures. A reindeer looking much like Sven perched excitedly by the pickled herring. Perfect. Two birds, one stone.

Anna bounded up to her sister first, skipping in an unbridled excitement. Unfortunately, this excitement was almost purely due to the promise of stuffing lutefisk into her belly which made her mind want to stage a rebellion against her stomach at the very idea. But she paid no mind.

Her fabulous sister, first.

“Elsa, I’m so glad you came!”

Elsa laughed. Remaining calm, of course. As usual. She stood tall as Anna collapsed into her arms. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss your favorite night of the year.”

“Thanks for doing the sculptures, too. Everybody loves them,” Anna said, eyes drifting to the series of sculptures that adorned the space, catching a glimpse of a replica of her favorite snowman and smiling widely. “Especially giant Olaf at the dessert table.”

“That one’s my favorite to make.” Elsa took a step back, away from her sister by a couple paces. She took a moment to gaze intently at Anna, something that apparently had become the theme for the day, pursing her lips while deep in some train of thought. And then, suddenly, the corners of her mouth curled into a giddy grin. She closed the gap between them and whispered in Anna’s ear, “You’re glowing.”

Anna laughed. Elsa’s breath kind of tickled her ear. “I know, right?!”

“Is it weird if I say that I think pregnancy suits you?”

“Whoa, Elsa. That is way out of line. And you said the word pregnant? Shame on you!” Anna’s voice got dramatically low when she uttered the taboo word she didn’t actually think needed to be taboo.

Elsa blushed. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“I’m kidding, Elsa! I agree with you. Will come in handy—you know—because we want lots of babies and everything,” Anna said. “I love the word pregnant, too. It’s so much easier and less awkward than the whole with child or in the family way nonsense. Like talk about beating around the bush. Jesus.”

“You hungry?”

“Oh, God yes. Thanks for reminding me.” Anna turned, reading to make a beeline for the lutefisk. But then she chuckled slightly and spun back to face her sister. “You’ll never guess what I want to eat, though.”

“Uh—herring?”

“Lutefisk.”

“Lutefisk? You—Anna—want to eat lutefisk?”

“I legitimately want to stuff twenty-five pounds of lutefisk into my mouth right now.”

Elsa laughed in pure shock. “You’re right. I never would’ve guessed.”

“I don’t know if it’s the salt or the disgustingly chewy yet soft consistency that’s getting me going, but it’s doing it. I’m feeling all tingly thinking about it.” Anna shuddered involuntarily How did that sound so good? Truly how? Repulsive. Lutefisk was nothing short of repulsive. “Can you help me fill some plates full?”

“I think your King already has you covered.”

Kristoff, goofy grin plastered on his face, approached the sisters with three plates full of lutefisk and potatoes precariously perched on top of each other. Somehow his left hand held two full glasses of mulled wine.

He passed her a glass of wine and one plate of lutefisk to start. “For you, my love.” He handed the other glass of wine to Elsa who graciously accepted.

Anna attacked the plate. Slurping down the fish in record time. Her face twisted in to some kind of combination of a gag and a smile. “Oh God this is truly horrendous.” Gulp. “Horrid. No…disgusting.” Gulp. “And so grossly…slimy?” Gulp. One plate down. Kristoff handed her the next one. “But also… man oh man does it really hit the spot.”

“I always liked lutefisk,” Kristoff said, taking a piece for himself.

Anna stopped what she was doing and shot daggers at him. “So this is your fault? Lutefisk and a massive … I swear we’re gonna find a way for the trolls to make you go through this next time.”

“You know you love it.” Kristoff smiled mischievously yet again. Taking another satisfied bite of the lutefisk.

Anna pouted playfully and grabbed one handful of lutefisk, flinging it directly into Kristoff’s face. “Trolls.” Another piece. “You.” And another. Kristoff had started opening his mouth to catch the pieces, swallowing in bliss with each successful catch and each delicious bite. “Next.” Anna tried to remain serious, but a smile was toying on her lips. Another toss. “Time.” The grand finale. Anna tricked Kristoff with a fake throw and tossed it into her own mouth instead. He furrowed her eyebrows and looked around, confused. Not having any inkling as to what actually happened. Elsa had started cracking up. Those two. Always getting up to some kind of ridiculous antics.

Anna couldn’t contain her laughter anymore and it came spilling out quickly to the point where she could barely catch her breath. She felt something like gas bubbling in her stomach and tried to calm herself, worried she had upset the whole peace of her body by gorging herself with food and then laughing too hard. But she didn’t have any burp in her… curious. Gassy without gas. Once she had successfully quelled her laughter, she started feeling it again. Gas … or bubbles … or butterflies teeming in her stomach?

Or…

OR…

OR!

Anna outwardly gasped. One hand immediately shot to her abdomen and the other covered her mouth.

Elsa and Kristoff both looked at her curiously, both cocking their head in the exact same way.

“Oh my God it’s happening!” Anna squealed, bouncing up and down so frantically that her mulled wine kept spilling over the cup.

They continued to look at her, confused as ever.

Both her hands rested on her stomach now. “It feels like… all of Elsa’s ice fireworks are going off in here!”

Now Kristoff and Elsa understood. Their eyes widened, they audibly gasped.

Still bouncing, Anna giggled. “Oooh tickly!”

“Anna?!” Kristoff ventured. She beamed at him and motioned him closer. He wrapped one strong arm around her and pulled her in for a hug, other hand staying low, secretly stroking her stomach.

She whispered in his ear. “Can you feel it? Can you feel our little one? At least…I think that’s what’s happening. I’ve never felt anything like this before. I mean gassy but—not gassy…” Plus, mother’s intuition? She just knew this was it. The Quickening. Finally!

He shook his head. “I don’t feel anything. But—I think that’s normal? I can…imagine it takes a while to feel it on the—outside,” Kristoff said, still close to her, hand still firmly on her belly. “But you feel it. Anna, it’s—wow. It’s real. This is happening. I’m so—I’ve never been more—this is the happiest I’ve ever felt.” He kissed her, passionately, on the lips.

“Me too,” Anna said as she pulled away, looking longingly into his fiery brown eyes. Another little flutter resonated through her and she giggled. Pressing her hand and thus Kristoff’s hand deeper into her stomach. “I wish you could feel it.”

“Someday.” He kissed her again.

“Screw the troll idea. You were right. This is so cool. Totally worth the lutefisk cravings.” Their laughter was interrupted by Elsa’s hands looping over both of their shoulders, hugging them tightly. Excitedly.

“Kristoff, Anna! Congratulations. Both of you.”

“Aww, thanks, sister,” Anna said, chuckling into her smile. Noting that Elsa’s cheeks seemed markedly more flushed and she wondered if the mulled wine had already gotten to her. “Wait.” Anna started bouncing again. So enthusiastically that neither Elsa nor Kristoff could keep holding onto her. “This means we can tell people! Oh my gosh can we tell them tonight? Can we, can we, can we?”

“How about right now?”

“Right now?” Anna’s voice cracked. “Right now right now?”

“Let’s go.” Kristoff held out his hand and Anna grabbed it quickly, forcefully. With all the intent in the whole world.

They raced to the small stage where the choir and the band performed. Their royal presence was enough to stop the singing mid-phrase, choir members bowing at attention.

“You don’t need to do that,” Anna said. “Your singing is beautiful, by the way. Thank you for being here. Uh—we just wanted to make an announcement. If that’s okay, of course. We can wait!” Somehow, Anna’s extreme giddiness was still manifesting as a constant and consistent bounce.

The choir singers looked at each other with what Anna perceived as knowing glances, and then nodded for the King and Queen to proceed.

They took center stage, Anna still bouncing, hand-in-hand. “Uh—hello, Arendelle! We wanted to take the time to thank you all for coming to the annual Christmas Ball. We hope you’re enjoying the food and the music and the holiday merriment! We are so happy this has become a tradition, and if I do say so myself, this might be the best ball yet. And not only because of—well, the ball… as of well—tonight, actually, Kristoff and I can finally announce that …” Anna took a moment to scan the crowd of eager faces. Maybe there were more than four who had no idea. “We’re having a baby!” Anna squealed and then screamed, raising her arm and thus also Kristoff’s arm into the air. Kristoff had also let out a few cheers. The crowd applauded, reaching a steady crescendo just as Kristoff picked Anna up and spun her around, giddily laughing, before bringing her face into his hands for a tender kiss. He then dropped to his knees in front of his wife, leaning in slightly, large hands now cupping her belly. Showing off her belly. Celebrating her belly. No more hiding. Just like Anna had wanted. He planted a tender kiss on the curve and the crowd cheered once again. Anna’s hands found their way into his hair and she ruffled it a bit, messing it up in a way she found exceedingly adorable. She turned back to the crowd, Kristoff still rubbing her belly in elation. “Baby Bjorgman is coming at the end of May!” Now Anna noticed a small corner of the crowd exchanging pieces of gold. Of course there had been some bets going on. She wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Kristoff stood up, kissed Anna once more, and then grabbed her hand, interlacing her fingers with his own. Anna took her other hand and cupped her belly, showing the crowd in more detail exactly how far along she was. Exactly. No mind games from any extra clothing. The buttons on her dress were still close to breaking loose. “Oh, and another thing! Maternity corsets are for the birds. It can’t be healthy to wear them all… tight and constricting and—” Without knowing how to control it, Anna shuddered a bit. So happy to be free. And safe. “Besides—let it all hang out, baby!” She did a little dance right then, shaking her rump and rubbing her belly. Laughter echoed throughout the crowd and then a whole conversation stirred. Anna hoped it wasn’t too judgmental… she didn’t want them to think she had taken anything too far.

But no matter. Kristoff was right. As Queen, she could make some rules. She could set some expectations. Even if not well received in the beginning, they could still hold weight.

Kristoff leaned in to whisper in Anna’s ear. “No more secrets.”

She smiled. Thank God. “Shall we celebrate?”

He nodded. “Let’s dance.”

The choir started singing again. The band joined in. The Holly and The Ivy, a Christmas classic. Merriment abound. Merriment all around. Although Kristoff and Anna took the lead, dancing alone for a few minutes, eventually more and more guests joined in. A little bit of Hallingdansen, a lot bit of pols, and the most bit of Kristoff taking advantage of the fact that the whole kingdom knew how overjoyed they were with the news of their growing family by essentially hardcore smooching in the middle of the dance floor. Their tongues had a good time dancing the Halling, too, and they paid absolutely no mind to the fact that all eyes were on them. Maybe the mulled wine was getting to them, too, or perhaps it was simply euphoria. Between the kisses, Kristoff frequently dropped to his knees to kiss Anna’s stomach or rub excited circles over the curves during the dances. Anna giggled each time, noticing that the flutters seemed to come in more enthusiastic waves when Kristoff’s hands or lips came in contact with her belly.

This felt good. To finally have the freedom to really celebrate. True bliss. True happiness. The best of all the past Christmas Balls. And they had a feeling no future ball could ever compare.

#kristanna #frozen #fanfic #fanfiction #myfics #christmas #fluff #canonverse

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leviskokoro · 4 years

Text

Mari in Twisted Wonderland | abridged version

ayyyy bois guess who finally decidied to write that headcanon post about my mc in twisted wonderland.

Warnings | brief mention of a suicide attempt

Prologue

As Mari stepped out the portal back home, she gave a shaky sigh. The amount of emotions racking her body was nearly overwhelming. Her stay in the Devildom was over. The faces she grew used to were gone. She was left in a place that she stopped calling home a long time ago.

Her chocolate gaze turned to the environment around her. It seemed to be the rooftop that she stood on before she was dropped into Hell. She recalled why she was there in the first place. It was certainly fortunate that she was prevented from doing what she was going to do and was given a chance at a better life.

She placed her bag down and sat on a bench nearby. The weather was actually quite pleasant, not a single cloud in sight. Her eyelids fluttered shut, resting for a moment.

But when they opened, she wasn’t in the same place anymore.

Darkness surrounded her vision. A single mirror was in front of her.

Her eyebrows furrowed. Huh? What’s this?

A hand reached out from the mirror. Oddly enough, it seemed to beckon to her. A strong urge to take the hand.

And before she could understand what was going on, Mari felt her body act on its own, reaching for the hand and taking it.

Everything that happened after was but a blur.

When Mari came to, she found herself in a strange place filled with coffins. And in front of her was this strange creature that resembled a cat.

The cat introduced himself as “The Great Grim” and threatened her with roasting her if she didn’t give him the clothes in the suitcase beside her.

From one world to another. It seemed that she couldn’t catch a break. Regardless, she started running out of the room of coffins once she heard him, mentally thanking Mammon for teaching her how to run from danger.

The place she was in turned out to be another school, seeing the classrooms and hallways. She ended up in the library, thinking it might be a good hiding spot from that strange being.

Only to find herself wrong when she turned around to see him.

Fortunately, this man with a crow mask saved her using his “whip of love”

That sounded awfully familiar…

Then, he started scolding her, thinking she was a student and that this Grim guy was her familiar. But it was only until he turned to her that he noticed that she was a girl.

“You’re… a woman?!”

Her eyes narrowed at him and placed her hands on her hips. “I can leave if you want me to. Just tell me where I am and I’ll be on my way.”

He cleared his throat and apologized. “Excuse me, the teleportation magic must’ve left you disoriented. Well, it’s fine. It doesn’t make too much of a difference. I’ll explain it to you along the way, for I am gracious.”

He explained to her that she was in Night Raven College and introduced himself as Dire Crowley. It appeared that the world she was in was called Twisted Wonderland. Strange.

As she listened to him, she wondered if she should tell him she couldn’t use magic. But then figured that it’d be rude to interrupt him.

They finally got to the entrance ceremony. People saw her and seemed to be surprised, whispering stuff like “What’s a girl doing in here?”

Dark Mirror was like “bro this bitch empty (of magic)” and hell broke loose especially after Grimm broke free to set everything on fire.

Time for Mari’s first impressions of the dorm leaders so far

Riddle - Reminds her of Luke. Short and strict.

Kalim - poor guy got his butt set on fire

Leona - he hot (not literally like Kalim tho) but grumpy

Vil - hair goals. Probably takes better care of his hair than her mother has taken care of her in her entire lifetime. Has a pleasing color scheme as well.

Azul - why does he talk like he’s always being overdramatic?

But also

Riddle: collars Grim

Azul: I want it… No. I wouldn’t ever want that cast on me

Mari, internally: kinky…??

Idia - Well, he wasn’t even physically there and seemed to just be using a floating tablet to talk. Might be a shut-in like Levi.

Malleus - she felt bad for a guy she’s never met. Like damn he didn’t get invited

So then Crowley was like “you can't stay here bc you dont have magic”

Mari is like “understandable have a good day”

Man, that was a quick adventure. At least she won’t have to stay for long.

Lol sike

Dark Mirror: lol I can’t find this bitch’s home in this world

Mari tells Crowley where she’s from. He’s like “Never heard of it” and checks the library, only to find nothing in the world maps.��

He decides to let her stay in the Ramshackle Dorm. She sees it and is like “Damn, why does Literal Hell look more appealing than this place?”

Mari’s like “I’ve been in the Devildom. Ghosts don’t scare me” when she meets the ghosts in the dorm.

Timeskip to when she and Grimm meet Ace because she doesn’t do much ngl.

She’s trying to yell at Grim to stop but can’t get close bc ow fire

They burnt the Queen of Hearts’ statue and Crowley is like “fuck you. Go clean like 100 windows”

Mari and Grim wait for Ace but realize he’s ditching so they chase after him.

She runs into Deuce and asks him for help but he was just “GIRL?!”

Fortunately Grim stepped in and yelled at him to help.

BOOM! Cauldron.

More chaos ensued after Grim ran off and they ended up breaking the chandelier.

Then they gotta find that magic crystal to give to Crowley or else they get expelled. Mari is just exasperated. Why did literal demons from hell give her less trouble than these people? They even tried to murder her a few times!

Regardless, she still keeps her cool and guides them when it comes to fighting that shadow beast monster.

Ace: How are you so calm?!

Mari: Have you ever been to Hell?

They get the crystal, Grim eats the black rock, she’s just like “Oh he’s like Beel”

They get the rock to Crowley, he’s like “wow i didn’t think you’d actually do it”

Mari explained what happened and he’s like -surprised pika- then cries about something about her being a beast tamer or whatever before being like “aight you and grim are one student now and also you’re not expelled anymore.”

“But Headmaster, she’s a girl-” “shhh she’s an exception. As I am so gracious, I am giving her a place to stay while I try to find a way for her to get home.”

“Also have this Ghost Camera lmao. You’re barely ever gonna use it in the story but have it anyway”

And she’s like “Understandable have a good day”

Deuce wanted to thank her but still has trouble talking to her bc girl and Ace teases him for it

She told him she wasn’t going to bite him or anything which made him relax slightly. Everyone is happy. Mari thinks that these guys might not be so bad.

Soon enough, they went on their separate ways to their dorms.

Happily Ever After. Lol jk there are like 4 more chapters to this story as of now. Suffering doesn’t end

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland headcanons #ace trappola #deuce spade #dire crowley

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princessjungeun · 4 years

Text

Christmas Time: Momo x Reader

Request: Momo and you reuniting after breaking up for years. It's christmas and you spent your time together because no one else was available and you fall in love again.

The cold December air hit your skin sending chills down your spine. You just got home from being in Korea. It was December 24th and you had absolutely no plans for Christmas. On top of this your parents and younger sister were on a vacation visiting your grandparents in Okinawa. But unfortunately their flight got cancelled last minute, and they wouldn’t be coming home until the 27th. Which meant you were going to be spending the holidays alone in Kyoto.

You’ve never spent a holiday alone and it was worse because your parents just moved here a year ago. You were born and raised in Okinawa with your parents and grandparents. Your little sister was born once you were in University. But, when your dad was offered a better job here in Kyoto, your parents didn’t hesitate. After all you were a university student in Korea, it wasn’t like you’d have to move schools and leave all of your friends.

As you walked through the streets of Kyoto you remembered how just two years ago you spent the holidays at your girlfriend, now ex girlfriend’s place. She lived very close to where you were. You remembered the way you two would make Christmas cookies together, sing Christmas songs as loud as you could at 2 am, and how you’d watch Christmas movies in pajamas with her dogs curled up to the two of you. You felt your heart sink a little as you remembered how much you used to love the holidays, but now they weren’t as nice.

You and Momo were together for three years until she broke up with you. With time her schedules became more and more busy giving her less time to see you. As things happened she felt like she fell out of love with you. She didn’t want to drag along a relationship where she felt like she didn’t love you anymore. She thought it would be selfish. She knew that if there was nothing there to just let go.

So she did.

Since then you’ve been on a few dates here and there but none of them even got past the second date. Momo had been on a few dates with two idols you happened to know, they were friends of yours too. Not close enough for the girl code rule to apply but they were definitely close enough for you to be slightly hurt when you found out.

You walked mindlessly through the streets trying to familiarize yourself with the city. As you walked you saw a dog strolling along beside you, it was a cute little brown one. You tried your best to pay no mind to it but the second the dog started sniffing your feet and jumping to be pet you gave in. Crouching down you petted the little dog and scratched behind its ears. He licked your hands and made those cute happy dog noises.

You looked at the Monsters Inc dog collar around his neck. Reading the name plate your heart stopped:

Hirai Boo

You told yourself “ok maybe it’s not the same Boo that Momo adopted a few weeks before you two broke up. Also Hirai is a slightly common last name...ish.” Slowly you flipped over the name plate hoping and praying Momo’s phone number wasn’t printed on the back. Sure enough. It was.

You immediately stood up and looked around in a circle. Behind you a few feet away stood your ex girlfriend. You both stood looking at each other for a minute before actually saying something.

“I-I’m sorry he ran away before I clipped on his leash.” She responded as she reached down and picked up her puppy. You replied “it’s fine. He was no trouble...still as cute as the day you got him.” She laughed and kissed her dog’s head.

“Why’re you here? Like in Kyoto?” She asked curiously. You responded “my uh... my parents live here now. My dad got offered a really good job a few months ago” She hesitated for a second then asked “what are you doing for Christmas?” You replied “probably sleeping all day. My parents are with my grandparents in Okinawa and their flight got cancelled. So they’re coming home a few days after Christmas...how about you?”

She stated “my parents are in Hawaii with my sister. Originally the group wasn’t getting a break due to promotions but things changed I guess. So it’s just me and Boo this year.” You nodded and found it funny how you both were alone on Christmas.

You shifted your weight back and forth before asking “since you’re gonna be alone...and i’m gonna be alone...do you maybe wanna-” She cut you off “I’d love to” You told her “I’ll come over later tonight.” She responded “deal. But in your pajamas.” You gave her a thumbs up before turning around and walking back home.

You got home and showered before choosing your red Christmas onesie your little sister got you last year. Heading out the door, you walked letting your mind lead the way. After a few blocks you ended up at Momo’s house. She opened the door in her pajamas and looked you up in down, your onesie that matched your little sisters.

Out of nowhere she asked “So have you seen anyone?” You responded “here and there but they never went anywhere. And you?” She nodded and said “yeah but both times we decided it was too weird and to just be friends. Those both ended after a few dates too..”

An awkward silence fell between the two of you before you asked “do you remember when we made Christmas cookies and had a holiday movie marathon?” She nodded and laughed at the memory of you spilling sprinkles all over the countertops and floor as she tried to hold back Boo from licking them up. She asked “Wanna do it again?” You immediately nodded and you both ran to the kitchen.

Momo in the kitchen was definitely a hit or miss. In this case it was a miss. She was possibly the worst baker you’d ever met. The ingredients almost always landed on the floor or in her mouth instead of the mixing bowl. But eventually you were able to somehow make enough cookie dough to make two dozen cookies.

As they baked Momo decided to grab her old karaoke machine before loudly singing her rendition of My Heart Will Go On. The two of you couldn’t take each other seriously whatsoever.

When the cookies were done she pulled them out of the oven, almost burning her hand off in the process. When it came to decorating Momo took it very seriously. You watched as she focused intently on perfectly icing the small snowflake cookie. Watching her you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked. Even with a messy ponytail and flour smeared on her cheeks, she was still as beautiful as the day you last saw her.

She caught you staring at her “What?” You shook your head “nothing...just looking at the huge splotch of flour on your face.” She shoved you playfully and went back to decorating her cookies. You ended up decorating all of them the same because you liked everything to be coordinated. Momo’s however were an array of different colors. You could barely see the cookie underneath all the sprinkles and icing but that’s just how she likes it.

She turned to you “are you up for a little competition?” You raised an eyebrow and she responded “let’s have my fans judge who’s cookie is better.” You nodded and said “and what does the loser do? She responded “sing a song... For real this time.” You remembered how much Momo loved hearing your singing voice when you two were together.

Momo knew immediately her fans would know which cookie was hers, was she setting you up? Yes. But would it pay of later? Possibly. She took a picture of her favorite and your favorite cookie before adding a poll. She posted the picture and said “Ok and now we wait!”

In the mean time you two both cleaned up the kitchen and your faces. It took an hour to clean everything but eventually it got done. She stated “Ok let’s look, I think mine won.”

You knew she was probably right. Everything Momo did was praised by not only her fans but also her members. She could literally clap to the beat of a song and everyone will treat her like she just put all the stars in the sky. But it was cute, especially when you all saw how happy she’d get.

Sure enough Momo’s cookie was the one that won the poll. You begged the older girl “please don’t judge me, you know I can’t sing like you.” She responded “you’ll do fine.”

She handed you the microphone and you watched as the lyrics came into the screen. As you sang the lyrics she felt her heart sink a tiny bit. You didn’t want to sing because you didn’t like your voice. But she won fair and square.

I won't tell you I'm lonely

'Cause it might be selfish

I won't ask you to hold me

'Cause that won't mend what's helpless

There's not a thing I could say

Not a song I could sing

For your mind to change

Nothing can fill up the space

Won't ask you to stay

But let me ask you one thing

Oh, when did you fall out of love?

Out of love

Oh, when did you fall out of love with me?

I can't float in an ocean

That's already been drained

I won't cry at your feet now

I know my tears will fall in vain

There's not a thing I could say

Not a song I could sing

For your mind to change

Nothing can fill up the space

Won't ask you to stay

But let me ask you one thing

Oh, when did you fall out of love?

Out of love

Oh, when did you fall out of love with me?

No use wondering

While your change in heart has wandered

So I ask you this question

'Cause it might help me sleep longer

Oh, when did you fall out of love?

Out of love

Oh, when did you run out of love for me?

Out of love

Out of love with me

When you finished singing you turned around to her and tears were welling up in her eyes. You stood in front of her and asked “when?” She opened her arms and you sat in her lap. She tried her best to hold in her tears “When I broke up with you I thought I didn’t love you. But then I realized I made a mistake. I tried to move on but I couldn’t love anyone like I loved you...I-I still love you Y/N.”

You looked at her and held her face in your hands. She let her tears flow down her cheeks internally hoping you felt the same way.

You wiped her tears and said “I still love you.” Pulling her close you kissed her softly. When you both pulled away you hugged her close allowing her to release the second wave of tears. You kissed her head and whispered “Merry Christmas Momo.”

#kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #twice fluff #twice scenarios #twice momo #momo hirai #momo imagines #twice

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lifeinahole27 · 4 years

Text

CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 2/10) (au)

Summary: Killian’s daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn’t care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself.

Rating: E (much later in the story)

Content Warnings: Maybe some language in this chapter but nothing more.

A Special Thank You: My continued gratitude to my lovely friends, @captainstudmuffin and @phiralovesloki. And a heap of love to @captainswanbigbang for putting this together and helping me accomplish this.

A/N: I have crawled out of my deathbed long enough to post this. Thank you to everyone who has read so far, and I hope your enjoyment continues with this next installment! xo

Chapter 1 |

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 2: Meet Me in the Morning

October 5: Saturday

Emma Swan doesn’t care about routines. She does most things at the same time each day, but that’s only because she wakes up, takes a shower, gets ready, and goes to work at the same time. Every day.

On the weekends, she’s a mess. She’s not entirely ashamed to admit there are some weekends she doesn’t even bother showering. She’s a single woman living alone so she’s the only one who has to deal with it.

It was by chance that, a little more than a month ago, she decided to walk to work early and saw Killian Jones for the first time. She’s been walking the same route for so long but she had never seen him before, more than likely because he seems to like to get to work early and she prefers to run in at the last second before she’d be considered late.

That first time was a fluke – she told David she would come in a little early to help haul records out of storage and there was this newcomer standing at the corner she crosses in order to get to Main Street. Storybrooke doesn’t get a lot of tourists, and of course she’d heard rumors that there was someone new, but to see him in person was a jolt of excitement.

He was reading something on his phone and looked like he was going to walk straight into the street. She had hustled to get to the corner sooner to stop him in case a car was coming (unlikely with how early it was and in this town) but he stopped, as if his shoes had suddenly stuck him to the spot. Without looking, he pushed the button for the crosswalk and kept on reading. Emma realized that this was something he had ingrained into him so deeply that he even knew where to stop because of muscle memory. Pretty impressive for a guy who’d only lived here a handful of weeks.

Despite being unconsciously aware of his surroundings, he didn’t seem to even notice her following him at a distance, so she lurked in her own way until she got to Granny’s, watching with interest as he took the left at the post office and went on his way.

Curious to see if he would repeat this chain of events, Emma showed up early again the next day just in time to see him walking up, but it was all wrong. He wasn’t reading, so he wasn’t lost in whatever was on his phone, and instead of just blindly stopping and pushing the button, his eyes met hers and he stumbled just the tiniest bit during the approach.

Suddenly, Emma kind of liked the idea of showing up every day around the same time to see if any of the above happened again – would be he lost in technology or would his steps falter again?

And both events did happen, but every time he’d get close to the corner, he’d look up and around, oftentimes catching the moment she was just approaching the crosswalk. Six weeks straight, every Monday through Friday, they walk together.

But last Monday he didn’t show up. She waited a couple minutes, but he still didn’t show. So she did what any sane person would do and went about her business. On a whim, she got two coffees at Granny’s and proceeded to stand outside for an extra ten minutes, not even sure he would pass by. Maybe he didn’t have to go to work. Maybe while she was getting the coffee, he went speeding past. Maybe he was dead in a ditch somewhere. She didn’t even know him but she was tempted to set out a search party for the man who always walks to work looking like a GQ model.

With that in mind, she’d started texting David asking how out of line it would be to create a missing persons report for someone who was, by her calculations, twenty minutes late.

“Who do you think is missing?” he’d texted back, clearly humoring her.

But that brought up a whole new set of problems because sure, she knew his name. How could she explain to David that she wanted to check up on someone she’d never even had a conversation with? And how could she do it without making David incredibly suspicious of Killian Jones?

When she looked up, Killian was there, looking just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. She had a moment of mild panic, locking and shoving her phone in her pocket without responding to her brother. She grabbed the coffees and started to just leave, but she noticed he didn’t have his to-go mug in hand and remembered why she ordered two on impulse.

So she officially met Killian that day, embarrassingly asking for his name even though she already knew it, and their daily interactions subtly changed again. She ponders this over a late breakfast the day after their bar run-in, marveling at the fact that she didn’t drink that much, that she’s not nursing a hangover with greasy food and a whole pot of coffee. Instead, she settles on the couch with a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and stares at the TV screen as she tries to decide which Netflix show to go for first.

Halfway through the first show, though, her thoughts keep drifting to the way Killian’s lips felt on the back of her hand. It’s occurred to her that she’s in trouble because he’s already gotten closer than she’s let most men in the last few years. She all but swore off relationships after the last one, but there’s something magnetic about Killian that keeps drawing her back. There’s a kinship, maybe. She sees it in his eyes some mornings - just a flash of something she can’t quite name but that lives inside her as well.

Knowing this is where dangerous thoughts lead, she finishes her cereal and eyes the visible messes in her apartment. Maybe some cleaning will help wipe the thoughts of getting those lips on hers from her brain. She starts with the overflowing sink.

By the end of the weekend, her apartment is spotless but her mind is more restless than it’s been in ages.

It doesn’t help that David calls her Sunday evening, making sure to emphasize that Killian seems like a nice guy. She’s just gathering the last of her laundry to tackle while dinner is still in the oven, so she hauls the hamper down to the basement of her building while David pries into her personal life.

“Yeah, he does,” Emma replies nonchalantly. “Do you want me to bring breakfast to the station tomorrow?” If she tries to change the subject, no one can really blame her for it.

“No need. It’s muffin Monday. But back to the guy that suddenly showed up after you were just texting me about putting out a missing person report on someone?”

“Geez, David. Way to be subtle,” she huffs as she finishes stuffing the clothes in the washer, starting the cycle before walking back to her apartment and pacing a circuit as the conversation continues. “So, was it Killian? How long have you been seeing him?”

“I’m not seeing him,” she defends, even though David’s tone is less stern and more overly-cautious-about-who-dates-his-sister. “We just sort of walk together for a bit in the mornings. I got worried when he showed up late one day. The guy is like an advertisement for punctuality.”

David hums a response, not sounding convinced. “And spending time alone with him last night? How does that figure into all this?”

With an exasperated sigh, Emma stops walking around her living room and drops onto the edge of the couch. “It just means that I have a new friend or something. That’s all. Nothing more than that.”

“Uh huh. So make sure the Save-the-Dates have ‘David was right’ written somewhere on them, okay?”

“Oh, would you look at the time? Dinner’s burning. Gotta go!”

This is one of those moments she sincerely misses phones with cords because it’s not nearly as satisfying to click the lock button to end the call and toss her phone on the coffee table as it would’ve been to slam down the receiver. She leaves it there for the rest of the night until it’s time to plug it in before bed, letting it represent all the truths she isn’t ready to face yet.

Killian is just on his way to becoming one of her friends. There’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing more than that, either.

-x- October 7: Monday

On Monday, Emma follows her own version of her morning routine and gets to the corner just as Killian is pushing the button for the crosswalk. She’s exhausted from a night of intermittent sleep, but can’t resist returning the gesture when Killian smiles and waves when he sees her.

“Good morning, Swan,” he greets, his cheery demeanor trying its best to rub off on her but failing miserably.

“It’s certainly morning,” Emma grumbles, wanting to reach out and grab the stainless steel mug from his hand and chug until she can function again.

“Well, that’s certainly a Monday mood if I’ve ever heard one. Not enough sleep last night?”

She shakes her head instead of responding, not really sure how to explain that he’s the reason without it sounding like either flattery or an insult. Truly, it was her own internal fuck-ups that kept her awake, and the fear that Killian Jones might be someone she wants to think about more often. This all floats through her brain on a lazy river of thought, and meanwhile, the light changes and Killian ushers her across the street and maneuvers her up the path to Granny’s before she can even register that she’s moved at all.

But instead of that being the end of their daily interactions, Killian is still walking beside her, opening the door for her when they walk up the few steps to the entrance, and somehow herding her without touching her all the way to the proprietress.

“Granny, I do believe our good deputy here is suffering from severe sleep deprivation. Might you have something strong enough to knock out her Monday?”

“You’re consorting with this one, now?” Granny asks her, confusion popping up one gray eyebrow above her spectacles.

“I wouldn’t say consorting, as such, but we’ve become acquainted,” Killian says when she still can’t seem to find her words.

“Americano,” Emma finally spits out. “Make that a double.” Her brain is trying so hard to catch up to everything but somehow hearing Killian describe them as not-quite-consorting is the comforting wake-up she needed.

“There she is!” Killian’s exuberant tone jolts her a little bit, but she snorts a little and shakes her head.

“I’m good now, Jones. Thanks.”

“No worries, love. Happy to help.”

She remembers hearing the endearment the first time, that split-second instinct she had to correct him and tell him she was nothing to him at all, before she realized she’s been called the same by Robin and Will on more occasions than she can count.

Killian waits with her until the coffee is in her hands and walks the short length down to where they have to split in opposite directions to go to their places of employment. Emma tries not to linger once they get to that point, not wanting to hold him up from getting to work on time.

“Until tomorrow, then?” he asks, a gentle hint to the words. There’s something in his expression that speaks volumes more than his voice does, though.

“Until tomorrow, Jones.” She gives him a sly smile when she does it, lifting her coffee in thanks like he did the morning they officially met.

At lunch time, she’s feeling a little more like herself thanks to the coffee, but her energy is flagging and she realizes she never even ate breakfast, either. Just a granola bar she had in her desk from who knows when.

“I’m gonna walk down to Granny’s and get some lunch. What do you want?”

“Usual burger and fries?” David sounds as drained as she feels thanks to the stacks of files he’s been working on all morning, so she makes up her own mind to bring back more coffee to save them both from the ancient pot they still keep in the corner for some reason.

There’s something a lot more enticing than caffeine waiting in the diner, however, since she spots Killian in one of the booths almost as soon as she enters. He’s elbow deep in a stack of pages, oblivious to the world around him as it all bustles along. Instead, she has a suspicion that whatever he’s reading is where he lives now.

She wars with herself over whether or not to disturb him when he looks so engrossed, but it also looks like he hasn’t stopped in a while if his half-eaten lunch is anything to go by. With a quick stop by the counter, Emma places her to-go order and asks for a refill on Killian’s drink.

There’s a knowing arch to Granny’s eyebrow as she hands over the coffee and Emma pretends not to notice it, instead telling the older woman to let her know when her order is all ready.

“Careful, Jones. You look like you’re about to blow a fuse,” Emma says as she reaches the table, leaning casually against the other side of the booth after setting his drink in the last clean space. Even with the blatant approach, Emma can still tell she’s surprised him by the way he jumps a little in his seat. It takes a moment for him to speak, his eyes never leaving the page.

“I have to concentrate a little harder when there are beautiful women standing beside my temporary work space,” comes his response as he marks his spot on the page he’s working through. It’s then that he looks up at her, his eyes shining with humor but also the truth of his words. She knows it; she has a thing about people and lies. So of course she blushes, averting her eyes to scan around his mess of a table.

“I figured you were more of a neat, orderly pile kind of person,” she says with a gesture to the table. “I mean, you just seem the type.”

If he notices her weird tone of embarrassment, he ignores it. “You’re not wrong. I’ve just been so lost in the stories here that I’ve let the chaos take over a little bit. Thankfully, everything is numbered, or else I’d be in trouble.” “Why read here? Don’t you have an office with that fancy publishing company?”

“I do. It’s a very small, very modest office that I probably sit in more often than my home. But it also has other people who don’t like to respect my closed door in the afternoons. Namely, of course, Will Scarlet.”

She chuckles at that, not entirely surprised that he would choose to escape instead of trying to deal with Will. “Of course he wouldn’t.”

“And you? What brings you in? You look far more alert than you did this morning, by the way.”

“Thanks, I think? I’m here for lunch and coffee. We’re just getting started trying to get the old reports all transfered to our digital format. I love him, but David primarily uses the single fingers typing method that’s popular with dads and I couldn’t stand the sound of it anymore.”

“Emma!” They both jolt at the calling of her name, looking over to see Granny holding the bag with her order inside.

“Speaking of which, sounds like I’m up. I guess I should leave you to it, then. Wouldn’t want to add to your distractions list.”

“For the record, Swan, you’re always welcome to interrupt my work without ending up on my naughty list.” There’s just something about the way he says the line that Emma thinks is 99.9% totally innocent, but the very use of the word “naughty” has her 100% sure he could take it in a very dirty direction if given the chance. The most shocking part is that she kinda wants to walk right into it. “And thanks for the refresher on the coffee.”

“Don’t fry your brain,” she comments before pushing away from the booth and collecting her lunch. With reluctance, she walks out the door instead of going back to the damn booth and taking up more of his time.

-x- October 11: Friday & October 18: Friday

The rest of the work week passes quickly, with greetings to Killian in the mornings, steady work in the afternoons, and dinner spent alone in the evenings. With each new day, her conversations with Killian got a little longer, more drawn-out, and she was finding out so much more about him.

By that Friday, they’ve talked about work, and bickered about the best toppings to go on waffles, what their sweet tooth go-to is. And then, again, their habits change a little bit more.

“Are you going out tonight?” she asks, not even sure what prompted her to say anything. She wasn’t initially planning on heading to the bar after her shift, but their morning topic of pet ownership is apparently enough that it makes her want to talk to him more.

“Maybe,” he tells her. He means “yes” if his expression is anything to go on.

“Maybe isn’t yes, Jones.”

“It’s not a no, either,” he tells her, reaching up to push her hair off her shoulder with his hook. With that same smug expression on his face, he waves goodbye and leaves her outside Granny’s to get her coffee. One of these days she’s just going to steal his as retribution for saying that Pop-Tarts are not a suitable breakfast.

He does make an appearance that night, sitting between herself and Snow after he wanders in with Will. She can already tell that he’s worming his way into Snow’s heart, and while that will ultimately make her life more complicated when the other woman starts pressuring her to date him, at least she’ll have her sister’s approval.

He doesn’t stay long, claiming at one point that he could very well fall asleep on his walk back home. Emma is this tempted to ask if he wants her to walk with him, but he bumps her shoulder companionably and says he’ll see her on Monday before he rises from the table and walks to the bar to pay his tab.

She keeps her eyes peeled on her own walk home to make sure he isn’t asleep somewhere along the route, just to be safe, and that’s damning enough on its own to indicate how she feels about him.

The next Friday, she’s lost in thought picking up dinner from Granny’s when the voice of Will Scarlet intrudes her personal space.

“Get your boyfriend to go out with us tonight. He’s refusing to leave his office,” he says bluntly, sliding up next to Emma at the counter. She’s thrown for a second by the word ‘boyfriend’ and stares at him for a moment before she realizes Will’s talking about Killian.

“Killian’s not my boyfriend,” she says, trying not to sound too bristly.

“Well, not with that bloody attitude he’s not,” Will says, grin still in place.

“Go away.”

“I will as soon as I’ve got food for that prickly bastard I work with.”

“Why’s he prickly?”

“He’s been locked away in that bloody office all week. Never left the room except for toilet breaks today. Propped a chair in front of the door so I couldn’t get in to try to make him break for lunch.”

“Doesn’t his door have a lock?”

“Do you really think a locked door can keep me out?”

It’s none of her business, not really, but she’s still a little concerned about that much work.

“C’mon, Lady Sheriff. I figure if anyone is going to get him to cut back a little bit and take a night to recharge, it’ll be the woman he fancies.”

There are so many things for her to unpack in that sentence.

“I’m the deputy,” she corrects almost absently because the rest of her brain and a thumping portion of her heart are still stuck on the idea that Killian fancies her - the very British way for Will to say that he like likes her. Has he said that out loud to Will? Does he talk about her?

“I don’t have his number or anything. It’s not like I can just text him and tell him what to do.”

“Okay then, you can take him the dinner I was planning on dropping off and use your womanly charms to get him away from that bloody computer screen for a night.”

Emma snorts at the idea of trying to use any kind of womanly charms, since she hasn’t used those since she was helping chase bail skips back in her early twenties. She doesn’t think Will has the same ideas as she does when she hears those words, and thank goodness for that.

In the end, when the food is ready to go, Emma takes the bag from Will. “Fine. But only because he’s probably so sick of your face that he’d just as soon starve than open that door for you again.”

Will is clearly torn between celebrating that his plan has worked and being an ass about her reasoning, but Belle walks in and diverts his attention, so Emma starts edging towards the door with the two bags of food in hand.

“You know where the building is, yeah?”

“I do.”

“Turn to the left past reception and it’s down the second hall to the right.”

It’s almost pointless that Will gave her the directions, since there’s only one office in the whole building that seems to be lit up. The rest of the place is deserted, but his door is propped open and she’s about to knock, but takes a moment instead to appreciate how intense Killian looks while he’s working.

He’s chewing on his lip, eyes scanning his computer screen with fervor. He’s wearing glasses, which she’s never seen before, and even though she’s been standing here for at least thirty seconds, he still hasn’t seemed to notice she’s there with how deep he’s in the story. With a shifting of bags, she lightly knocks on the doorframe to catch his attention.

“If you’ve come to get me out of this office, you’ll have to try harder than by bringing me food.”

“Even if it’s really good food?” Emma asks. “I see you unblocked the door.”

Killian’s head snaps up so fast that she’s sure he’s given himself whiplash.

As such, his voice is breathless when he says her last name, as if she’s a mere mirage standing in his doorway and he is a man dying of thirst. With the expression on his face, she’s pretty sure that’s not far from the truth.

“You’re not Will.”

“And thank god for that,” Emma says, finally entering his office and presenting him with the bag of food marked with his name on it.

“Ah, but he sent you,” Killian retorts as he accepts the bag. He sees the second bag in Emma’s hand. “Do you have time? Would you like to eat, as well?”

She hesitates for a moment, thinking about how all she was going to do was drop off the food and go, maybe remind him to drink water or something, but he looks like he could use the company of someone other than the fictional characters in front of him. “Sure,” she finally says, moving the chair in front of his desk closer so she can place her own food on the surface.

As they each eat their dinners, Killian tells her more about the project he’s been assigned.

“It’s a relatively short book compared to the other projects I’ve worked on, but because of how much is riding on this one thing, I feel like I’m hyper-obsessing over every detail. I read the whole thing that day you saw me at the diner, and I’m still in the first chapter making edits and comments because I keep wondering if it’s the right call or not. I meet the author in a couple weeks and I want to have more than three pages marked up before that day.”

“You need to stop psyching yourself out so much,” Emma concludes as she pops another onion ring in her mouth. “And you definitely need to ease up on the time in the office. How long ago did everyone leave today?”

“Most cut out by three on Fridays.”

“So you’ve just been here for three hours working by yourself in a dark office building? With the front door unlocked?”

“It’s Storybrooke, love. Who’s going to even want to come here?”

“You have a point, I guess.” She wipes her hands with a napkin, shoving her trash back in the bag and crumpling it up. “But still, you should consider going out with everyone tonight. Or at least going home and drinking a lot of water and thinking about self-care.”

“Will you be included in this everyone?” He sounds a little quiet, a little unsure, a little nervous when he asks.

The woman he fancies, marches back through her head and Emma’s heart flutters a little. “Yeah,” she says, with no intentions of teasing him or leading him on. She gives a little shrug, smirking along with it. “Besides, it’s… also my birthday. Just so you know.”

“Today?” His full attention is on her, now, even forgetting about the fry that was halfway to his mouth.

“Tuesday, but since it’s a weekday, we’re celebrating tonight.” The wheels are turning behind those tired eyes and she knows she almost has him. “You can tell me about how you finished this chapter when you get to the bar tonight.”

“Maybe,” he says, but there are cracks in the facade he’s trying to hold onto.

“Maybe isn’t yes, Jones.” Last Friday comes back to mind, and she thinks this may just be the start of a routine or something now if he keeps this up.

“It’s not a no either, Swan,” he says with a smile that she’s beginning to recognize as the same she gets on her face when she thinks about him. She is so screwed.

“Yeah, I know,” she says, standing from her chair and flippantly tossing the trash from her dinner into the wastebasket by his desk. “See you later.” She winks when she says it, and his responding smile gives away that he’ll definitely be there.

-x- October 18: Friday

Fifteen minutes after Emma gets to the bar, she finally orders her drink. She knows Killian will show, but it’s a matter of how much longer. The drink has barely been in front of her for thirty seconds when she hears the door open and close again. She doesn’t even flinch when he appears by her elbow and orders his usual.

With a casual glance, she sees that he’s still in his suit and tie. He looks a little ruffled from the long day, but even at what she’s sure is a rough state, he still looks like she’d like to kiss him. That thought isn’t new, but the intensity of it is.

“What a surprise to see you, Jones.” She takes a sip of her drink before she looks at him again.

He’s shaking his head, looking like he’s trying not to smile but she gets to watch the grin fully bloom as he fails to keep a straight face. He glances around the empty tables where everyone usually congregates. “Where is everyone?”

“Well, I told Will that you wouldn’t go out unless we went to Aesop’s Tables. So I assume that’s where he is. And David and Snow had plans tonight.”

“Trying to get me alone, Swan?”

“I figured you could use a night to decompress without Will challenging you to a chugging contest.”

“You’re a savior, you know that?”

“I’ve been called that once or twice,” she admits, grabbing her drink and standing from the barstool. “Let’s go.”

“Go?”

“Yeah. Decompress. I have darts. You have a long week to put behind you. We both have good, strong drinks. Let’s go.”

He still looks baffled by the whole thing, and Emma’s not really sure why she’s so intent on trying to get him to loosen up, besides the fact that he’s one of the most put-together people she’s ever met and to see him a little disheveled is… kinda nice. She turns him and nudges him towards the other end of the bar where the dartboards are set up.

“Oh!” Killian stops in his tracks in front of her for a second and turns around. “What about your birthday?”

“What about it?”

“You said you were supposed to celebrate tonight.”

Emma fights with the smile forming on her lips. “Yeah, I did.”

“You didn’t have plans,” he says, the words tinted with a bit of confusion, but it’s definitely a statement.

“Nope,” she says, popping the last consonant. “C’mon. Tell me about your book thing.” She gets him moving again with a gentle jab to the middle of his chest.

And he does. As soon as they settle into a rhythm at the boards, Killian goes through the general premise of the twist on fairy tales. His arms are constantly moving as he talks, something that Emma finds fascinating. The impressive part is how he can do that and still throw without really concentrating. Sometimes, however, that doesn’t mean the throw is good.

“I haven’t played in a while,” he confesses after his first dart ends up on the floor and the second ends up embedded in the light cover above the board.

“Mmmhmm. Keep telling yourself that’s the reason,” Emma teases, collecting the darts and hitting three numbers she needs.

The game progresses with ease, however, and they keep up a steady conversation with the music buffering them from the other patrons and conversations. Round 1 ends up going to Emma.

“He still has one detail I wouldn’t have written if it were my book,” he tells her when they’re deep in round two.

“Oh?”

“There’s the ever-present failsafe: True Love’s Kiss.”

“And why wouldn’t you have written that into the stories?”

“Because if these are twisted tales, why should that be the save-all? Case in point, what if it were a curse instead of the fixer?”

“What do you mean?” She takes her throw, but it’s a bad shot. She’s officially more interested in what he’s saying so her game is going to shit.

“Bear with me a moment. In most stories, that kiss is the thing that fixes everything, breaks the curse, completes someone, etc. etc.”

She nods as she takes a sip of her drink which is slowly becoming more water than alcohol from the ice melting. It’s clear he’s on a roll, both in telling the story and with the darts. With the first throw, he hits the triple 20.

“So if I were to meet and kiss my true love, in Henry’s version, I would live happily ever after. But if I were the one twisting the fairy tales, my true love would turn into a hand. The thing that would literally complete me, so to speak.” The second dart hits the outer ring of single 19, leaving him with one more dart and only needing the double bullseye to win the game.

“Then I’d just be this poor, lonely bastard with a reminder of this great love I was owed and instead have a hand to carry around at all times.” The dart goes flying, sinking into the middle of the board with ease. He spins, his look of disbelief fighting with the full-blown smile taking over his face. All Emma can do is laugh.

“One hell of an ending, Jones,” she says, not sure if she’s talking about the game or the curse. “But for the record, I hope you don’t think that a missing limb makes you any less whole.”

He’s at the dartboard collecting the darts when she says it, and he leaves two of them on the board as he comes back to the table they’re set up at. She’s surprised the words even came out of her mouth, unsure of where the need to tell him that came from.

“I did once, after it first happened. I was young and suddenly down one hand, discharged from the Navy because of it, and had no direction.”

“How did you find your way again?”

It’s so close to home. She thinks about being 18 and alone in Tallahassee, trying to find any way she could to make money to get back to David and Storybrooke without breaking down and asking him for money.

“Mostly with the help of my brother, Liam. He kept me moving forward when I wanted to slide down the hill.”

“That’s one of the perks of having a brother,” Emma says, clearing her throat and taking a sip from her drink.

“It certainly is,” he replies. Sensing the shift in tone, Killian offers to refresh their drinks.

“Sure. But light on the vodka in this one.”

While he’s getting the drinks, she shakes off the memories. Maybe she should share with him that they have more in common than a route to work, but she also thinks that can be saved for another time. Because although they still haven’t exchanged numbers or full back-stories, she feels like this is all much bigger than a morning routine, now.

They throw for best out of five. In the end, Killian is the victor of their mini-tournament.

“Re-beginner’s luck,” Killian tells her as they settle their tabs and wish Jefferson a goodnight.

When they step outside, they start a slow, meandering walk back towards their homes. The October wind picks up, whipping her hair around her face and forcing her to zip her jacket up all the way. Without meaning to, Emma ends up huddled against Killian’s side, trying to escape the bitter wind. Somehow in the mix, she also ends up holding onto his arm, enjoying the way the fabric of his suit jacket feels beneath her fingertips. There’s a little smile on his face when she glances up at him, and when his eyes meet hers she can’t help but notice the way a quiet affection shines through.

They don’t talk much, mostly about the nothings that get lost in the mundane details of their day, like how she’ll start driving the Bug again soon when it gets colder. At this, Killian seems to deflate a little, and she realizes that it’ll bring an end to their walks down the street until the weather warms up again.

“But that’s not for another couple weeks,” she says, trying to make up for the fact that yeah, eventually she won’t be up for frigid commutes to the station in the snow. It’s not until she glances around that she realizes they’ve walked all the way back to her apartment complex. “Oh. This is me,” she says, pointing with her free hand up at the modest building. “I didn’t mean to make you walk this far out of your way.”

“I’m always happy to escort Storybrooke’s finest,” he mentions. “And thank you for getting me to relax tonight. I’d probably still be in that bloody office if it weren’t for you.”

“Or be three sheets to the wind thanks to Will.”

“Again, you’ve saved me in multiple ways today, Swan.”

“And yet, this was my birthday celebration and you got me no gift.”

With a glint in his eyes, Killian sways just the tiniest bit closer. “Only one gift I’ve got to offer,” he says, his index finger going from nervously rubbing a spot behind his ear to tapping his lips twice, the smile that overtakes those lips knowing and teasing and everything she’s wanted to kiss since he touched her hand that first time.

“Please,” Emma says, her voice dipping low. “You couldn’t handle it.” Even so, she’s moving closer without really meaning to, magnetically pulled towards his body in ways she can’t even explain.

“Perhaps you’re the one that couldn’t handle it,” he retorts, holding eye contact with her the whole time.

It’s a challenge. And she doesn’t like backing down from a challenge.

Her eyes shift between his for a second more, and then she’s hauling him towards her by the lapels on his suit jacket. Their mouths connect, both anticipating, both going for it like there’s a prize for who wrecks the other more. Back and forth they go with who leads and who takes, coming up for air twice in the process, until they’re both breathing heavily and she has to hold onto him to steady herself for an extra second.

“That was…” he mutters, his voice low.

They sway closer one more time and Emma’s pretty sure he’s going to kiss her again, but suddenly, the flight instinct takes over. She can’t like him. Can’t let him in. With barely a glance up, she decides to ruin the only good thing she’s had going for a while.

“A one time thing. Goodnight, Killian.” She says it with pain in her voice as she gently untangles herself from his embrace. It takes a lot of effort to command her own fingers to let go of his coat lapels and start walking away.

She doesn’t turn back, doesn’t want to see the look on his face that she knows is the same one on hers. Because they only walk together for part of their daily commutes. Nothing more. More is what leaves her in the middle of the night. More is what falls for her and dies in her arms. More is a lying, cheating asshole.

The door to the building closes firmly behind her, cutting off “more” before it even begins.

-x-

Chapter 3

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan ff #csrt #sarah writes ff

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0vorenation0 · 4 years

Text

The Island (series #3)

(This might look like a peaceful island, but step on within and the shadows with creep out. This part in the series is made with the help by @thecorruptisland and his magical island. The island is his original idea from a while ago. He posts about the island and I wanted to feature it in my series. Thanks for allowing me too and enjoy the posts, I will be making a two part for the island. Enjoy.)

Friday 1:00 pm (Streets of VoreNation)

“As the parade continues down past the famous saloon that Cal designed for preds. We should be able to see the king any moment” an announcer says as the parade passes. I walk out on the balcony and an eruption of cheers fills the air, I wave to all the amazing citizens and travels of VoreNation. The celebration comes to a halt in front of the building and I walk up to a microphone. “Hello great citizens and travelers of VoreNation, we are here to celebrate the Minister of War. MOW Nightly has served his nation proud and deserves a great celebration and promotion. I could think of no man greater, who I trust more to earn such a title of MOW. With that enjoy the day, and let’s get the parade rolling!!!!” I say with vigor and excitement and sit back done in my chair. The parade goes on with MOW Nightly on the first float, he saluted me as he went by. At the end was a float commemorating Private Scotty, for his bravery and abrupt end. His family would be well taken care of by the city.

As the festivities continue, I turn to Corey, I was happy to hear he could make the event. It’s always nice to see an old friend like him, apparently, he made a lot of changes to his own nation and requested I come see them sometime. I obligated and said it would be an honor, once the festival was over. At that moment my top researcher came in and told me it was urgent. Dr. Miller sounded excited so I assumed it was good news. Miller had been the head of the researching team for under a year now with one mission. Find an ancient land and civilization my grandfather used to tell me about as a kid. The citizens of VoreNation knew this place only as a legend but I had reason to believe it was real. I recently uncovered some ancient ruins before the construction of VoreNation. Hidden beneath the dirt and rock, was a clay pot. It contained ancient scrolls and texts, which were dated back before the rule of my family.

One of the scrolls contained details about this ancient land that was once legend. Even some coordinates but sadly hale of the text was damaged and couldn’t be salvaged. That’s when I tasked a research team to find the mysterious lost land. So I was excited and left immediately with him. “Corey I’m sorry, I’m going to have to reschedule. Important stuff has come up, thanks for coming” I said to Corey as I shook his hand and left. We entered the elevator and went to the research lab, once on the floor we went to a massive futuristic map lay out that was 3D. It was an island to the west of the city, it was mountainous that led in a valley and then a forest. It was a huge island, that looked uninhabited. I turned to Dr. Miller and spoke, “ congratulations Dr, you have found it. I couldn’t have done it without you. Task a team of you and two on your brightest researchers. We leave in the morning. I’ll have my ship out at the harbor and we will depart at sunrise!!”

The following morning.... 6:00 AM

“Hello Dr. Miller, did you bring your researchers? I hope the island hasn’t been a waste of time. You know my grandfather used to talk about it all the time. He even said that the royal family originated from there. When I asked however about why they left the place, he had fear in his eyes. This expedition must be classified” I told the Doctor as I waved my hand to the captain to get a move on. As we set the course, we went over the island layout. The island was massive and surprisingly not on any modern world maps. This was strange to me because I had many people map out the world years ago. Made the island was dangerous, I thought as I ponder what could have made my family leave there home. We were preds after all, nothing really was above us in the food chain.

“CAPTAIN SHIP DEAD AHEAD” a shipmate yelled through the intercom. I ran up the stairs and saw a massive ship, not bigger then mine though. It was head right for us and I told the Captain to halt and keep guns pointed at the ship. “Stay the props, keep all weaponry aimed at the ship. No one fires with out my orders.” I spoke through the intercom to the ship’s defense team. That’s when I saw a flag being raised, colored bright blue. The international sign of peace, I was relieved. Must be a cargo ship, but where was it going. We were very close to the island as it looked like it can out of nowhere but in the direction of the island.

We dropped anchor, watched as the ship did the same. After a few minutes, a small passenger ship came out and headed towards us. It docked by our ship and a man walked on the boat up to me. He was escorted by my men and stoped right in front of me and said “ Hello I’m Saladin, nice ship you have here. You look like a very important person. Might I ask who you are?” He greeted me and asked. I put out my hand and shook his before saying” Hello my name is Cal, I’m the ruler of VoreNation and it’s a pleasure to meet you. Might I ask why you are out here and where you can from?” I asked curious about this man before me. He began to tell me he was out here with his research team, studying and researching rare sea creatures. “Ohhh Wow it’s an honor to meet your acquaintance, your majesty. I live on a massive island about 30 minutes In that direction.” He said casually. I was shocked he was an inhabitant of the island. Come to find out he is a researcher of not just creatures but history as well. He asked if I would like to come visit the island and I obliged. He stayed on my ship and I told him about the scroll I found and about my grandfather's stories. “Wait it can’t be, your apart of a tribe that left the island hundreds maybe thousands of years ago. I must take you to the ruins where our ancestors used to live.”

“Wait are you serious? This can’t be real, I knew nothing about my family’s past. They lived here on the island, my grandfather was right? This is amazing I can’t wait to see the ruins.” I said seemingly as happy as when Dr. Miller told me he found the island. The ships docked at a harbor, the island was massive and looked like a continent. Turns out the island was full of life, there were even cities. They weren’t as advanced as VoreNation but it was still impressive. We got in vehicles and drove to the site. We passed so many strand animals and plants. One plant even looked more then alive but carnivores. “ Haha yeah be careful some of these plants are actually carnivores. They will eat any livening thing even you. So the island is supposedly older than all other lands but has never been altered by evolution. What I mean is the island is so what prehistoric. I’ve been studying it for years and you wouldn’t believe the stuff I’ve found. We’re actually going to a research facility set up right outside of the ruins of your ancestors old tribe.” Saladin spoke as he drove through the vegetation. I was completely shocked but also thought that maybe one of my land surveyor teams came across the island and never got out. That’s why the island was never mapped. We pulled up to this facility creepy looking but me and my guards went in and we headed down.

“So what do you know about monsters?” Saladin asked me as we went down the elevator. “ hahaha monsters, and here I thought you were a scientist. Monster is legend, not real.” I said joking around. The door open and we stepped inside. That’s when I saw it, a massive box. Inside was a massive wolf like man. It was asleep but realized it was sedated. “You think monsters are legend now, Cal? This massive werewolf was captured by me 2 years and I’ve spent the last two years conducting vore tests on him. Apparently he is extremely powerful and can swallow anything. That’s not the amazing thing though, what’s fascinating is that I’ve developed a serum from him. It allows the victim to be swallowed but once digest water by stomach or cock can regenerate into there original form once out of the werewolf or a man.” He told me as he handed me a shot of the serum. “ this is amazing I never knew this was possible, and werewolves and pred plants. I mean what is this place, it’s so fascinating. Wait where did you capture the werewolf again?” I asked curious. “He was right out of the edge of our family’s ruins. I assume that’s why your family left, the pack of werewolf’s ravaged this twin and vored most everyone in the town. The few survivors left for new land, never to come back again.” He said

A little time later....

“Cal I suggest you drink that serum just in case this island is very dangerous. I should know, I’m a descendant of the original founders of the island. Werewolf’s still run around, and other creatures. This werewolf is actually the last one of the alpha originals pack. There are no more like him on the island. I’ve been researching these ruins for ages and studying the ancient family who lived here. I’ve found texts about what happened by a survivor. I assume they left it so one day someone would find it and know what happened here. If you want to explorer feel free to, I know there’s an old grave yard up the hill passed the well.” He told me and he showed me a map layout of the ruins. I was nearly bursting with knowledge, it was so much to process. I need to be by myself for a minute, plus I wanted to explore the ruins.

#vorenation #cock vore #orginal #series

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cbyauthor · 3 years

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Ch 6: At Your Side Clear Space For Me

Read Here on AO3!

The dirt from the pavilion stones had worked its way under Wei Wuxian's fingers. There wasn't much he could do about it, since he'd already clipped his nails so short the pink of his skin felt raw, and there was only so much scrubbing he could handle without his already chafed and blistered skin fell off.

That was just his lot in life for now, he supposed. Nothing wrong with being a labourer, but like any job, it carried a price.

That didn't make him any less conscious of the state of his hands as he knocked on Lan Zhan's door.

It was stupid. He'd done this every day for the past three days, and a few times before that, but this felt different, because before, he'd been working. Now, he had no reason to be here with his dirty hands, other than the fact that he wanted to see Lan Zhan.

And he didn't think he was imagining that Lan Zhan wanted him, too.

So when no one answered, he tried not to be disappointed. He just knocked again. And called out, just in case Lan Zhan's sensitive ears somehow hadn't heard.

I should go, he thought after knocking for a third time. There was no point in staying if Lan Zhan either wasn't home or wasn't answering.

But intuition was a powerful thing.

And it kept him standing outside Lan Zhan's door, the hair on the back of his neck standing up with the need to see and hear him, to know that he was alright.

"Wei Wuxian."

This time, Lan Xichen didn't make him jump, but he'd been just as silent as before.

"Hi."

"Are you delivering something?"

Wei Wuxian clasped his hands behind his back. "No. I just...No, I'm not."

"I see." Lan Xichen smiled as if he actually did. "The door is unlocked."

"Huh?" He looked to the lock, as if he could see the disengaged tumblers.

"You should go in. Today was...difficult. He needs someone, and I'm not always able to be that person."

Today? What happened today? An anniversary or something?

Maybe. Or maybe not. Grief was tricky, Wei Wuxian knew by experience. Sometimes there wasn't any one thing that pulled people back into the pit of despair. Just life, and living it while part of you was missing. It could have been anything from memories of Lan Zhan's mother, to running out of coffee.

"But I'm not…"

Lan Xichen silenced him with a look. Not a cruel one, or quelling. Just penetrating , and he really couldn't think of a better word to use. Lan Xichen saw right through him, to the innermost parts of him, where Lan Zhan had worked his way in.

"You are," he said, tilting his head in the first catlike gesture Wei Wuxian had seen. "And I think you should go in."

Who was he to refuse, when that was what he desperately wanted to do anyway?

He gave Lan Xichen a nod and opened the door.

The apartment was different when the sun was setting outside. The cool blues, greys and whites were warmer, splashed with orange. The immaculate living room was suddenly alive with dust.

Wei Wuxian went right past it all to Lan Zhan's bedroom, where he'd never been.

The door wasn't quite closed, but neither was it open.

He knocked with the outer edge of his knuckle.

"Lan Zhan," he whispered. "Your brother sent me—oh. Oh, pet. What's the matter, hmm?"

Wei Wuxian had seen real cats before, even if he'd never owned one, and he knew what a cozy and comfortable nap looked like.

This was not that.

Lan Zhan was curled in a ball of white and grey in the centre of the tightly made bed, facing away from the door. His cat form wasn't plush or covered in fur to sink fingers deep into. Even with his limbs pulled in, it was obvious that he was sleek and long, just like how he was as a human. It was also obvious that every one of his bones was dragged down and wasted by misery.

Without thinking too much about it, Wei Wuxian toed off his shoes and climbed onto the wide bed. Lying on his side, he curled around the little puddle Lan Zhan made, leaving a few inches of space all around Lan Zhan's curved back.

At first, he didn't do anything, letting Lan Zhan get used to his presence, and hopefully breathe in a familiar smell that would settle him instead of making him feel like an intruder was soiling his space.

Then, when he spotted a single twitch of Lan Zhan's ear, he floated a hand over Lan Zhan's back and laid one long, broad stroke down the whole length. Under his palm, Lan Zhan's muscles convulsed in turn, but he didn't lift his head, so Wei Wuxian just kept doing it.

It was different from the tail petting of yesterday. That was companionship. This was comfort. So where that ended with the movie, and Wei Wuxian leaving, without escalating at all, this didn't.

It started with Lan Zhan moving his head. Suddenly, his long, pointed face was closer to Wei Wuxian's, slitted eyes still closed but somehow begging. Wei Wuxian's hand switched trajectories so he could gently scratch the silky soft fur between Lan Zhan's tall ears.

"You're okay," he murmured. "Everything will be okay, you'll see."

If he'd ever thought Lan Zhan was emotionless—he hadn't—Lan Zhan in cat form would have proved him wrong.

After a couple minutes of head-scratching, Lan Zhan started to bump his head up into Wei Wuxian's hand, demanding more. Wei Wuxian obliged as long as he could, but pretty soon after that Lan Zhan stood up and moved, uncurling enough that he could wipe the smooth side of his face against Wei Wuxian's jaw.

He purred. A deep rumble that jerked and jarred in waves, like he was unused to it.

Lan Zhan ended up curled right into Wei Wuxian's chest, chin propped on his arm as they cuddled. That same arm went a little numb from leaning on it, but the sound of that purr was worth it, and so was the gradual loosening of Lan Zhan's little body, until it was almost like he was sleeping, even though his eyes blinked slow and even.

It couldn't last, but it felt as if they'd made it last for as long as they both needed it.

(And Wei Wuxian would be the last to admit that he'd needed it, too, at least outside of his head.)

Lan Zhan's short fur still managed to be wrinkled as he stood up and hopped gracefully to the floor. Wei Wuxian watched him pad silently out of the room, then sat up, leaning his back against the headboard.

With someone else, he might have started wondering if he should leave, but not Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan would tell him if he needed to be alone, or Wei Wuxian would just know .

Instead, when Lan Zhan came back—dressed in soft pastel blue cotton pants and a loose white shirt, with his hair a little mussed, and not pulled up and away from his face like normal—he climbed up on the bed next to Wei Wuxian and radiated an energy that asked him to stay.

I will , he tried to say back, silently. As long as you want me to.

"Feeling better?" Wei Wuxian asked.

"I thought I was." Lan Zhan's Adam's apple bobbed roughly. "I thought—"

That he didn't need to run away anymore? That he wouldn't require comfort that he couldn't ask for as a human? Clearly not.

"It'll be okay," he said. "You've already come so far."

"I haven't. I still need it."

"Who cares?"

Lan Zhan's hands, laid flat on his thighs, tightened, dimpling the soft material of his pants. "I do. I've tried very hard, but I still feel so far from human sometimes."

"Of course you do. It was three years, you can't just shake it off like a bad dream. You're doing great, Lan Zhan, even if you took a step back. Give yourself a break."

There wasn't as much tension in Lan Zhan's body as there had been before, but he obviously wasn't in the state of mind to fully accept what Wei Wuxian was saying. He could relate. Wen Qing had been telling him he didn't owe the Jiangs anything since they were in high school, and he had yet to really get it.

So, if Lan Zhan couldn't internalize advice, then at least he could be soothed by something else.

Lan Zhan's hand left his leg and clawed into the hair next to his face, getting stuck in a tangle. Frustration bled into the muscles of his face even as he tried to yank his hand away, probably ashamed that even after acknowledging that he wasn't as far along into his full-time human journey, he still had the instinct to self-groom.

"Do you have a brush?" Wei Wuxian asked.

Lan Zhan nodded and pointed to the bedside drawer on Wei Wuxian's side with a hand that was still tense from keeping it away from his face and hair.

The brush was wide and made of wooden bristles. It felt heavy and expensive in Wei Wuxian's hand, but he tried not to be tentative with it, or with the thick front piece of Lan Zhan's hair that he gathered up in his fingers.

He set the brush to the wispy tips of his hair, then stopped. "Is this okay?"

The answer came right away. "Yes."

Somehow, even though he'd had his hands all over Lan Zhan's body just a few minutes ago, it was harder to touch him like this. The places he put his hands when he started to brush the tips of his hair were objectively less intimate, but it didn't feel that way.

It helped that this wasn't just intimacy for the sake of it. Lan Zhan had a need for a repetitive motion that left him cleaner or more put together at the end, so he put some real effort into it, untangling every snag until each piece was completely smooth.

Every once in a while, he'd ask Lan Zhan for some small accommodation. Turn a bit. Put your head down. Tilt it back. Every time, Lan Zhan obeyed without question, and his shoulders became less of a taut line.

"Turn to face me."

This time was no different.

When he settled himself in front of Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan's lips were parted, and his eyelids lowered. He blinked at half-time. He looked...sated. Post-coital, almost, except without the sex hair. That was perfect, falling away from his face in thick, shiny sheets.

It made Wei Wuxian want to undo all his work right away.

He stroked the brush through the front parts a few cursory times, but there wasn't much left to do. No more excuses to touch him, unless he wanted to actually man up and do what he'd wanted to for days.

Bad fucking timing, he scolded himself. Lan Zhan might have looked like hot sin on a cracker, but he was dealing with some shit. Not the right moment to put the moves on.

Never would probably be a better time to try it on with his boss's brother.

"You'll be okay," he said again, setting the brush on top of the bedside table.

Lan Zhan nodded, then silence descended, but it wasn't a comfortable one, not like the ones they'd enjoyed before.

Wei Wuxian started to panic a little bit, even as he knew it was dumb. What had happened? Had Wei Wuxian done something to ruin the easy companionship they'd had? Maybe Lan Zhan had figured out that he wanted more, and wasn't—

"Sh."

It wasn't a soothing noise of comfort like any of the things Wei Wuxian had said in the heat of the moment when he'd been petting Lan Zhan. This was a command, and Wei Wuxian was powerless not to obey.

The silence was back—it had never really left—but it had a lot more intent this time. Lan Zhan was looking a lot less sleepy.

"Should I go?" Wei Wuxian whispered, his hands tightening on his knees with how much he did not want to do that.

"No." Leaning forward, Lan Zhan prowled the couple inches between them and captured Wei Wuxian's lips in a clumsy kiss.

It didn't stay clumsy for long.

Like everything that was coming back to Lan Zhan after three years, he picked it up incredibly fast. Wei Wuxian led them at first, slowing it all down so he could savour it.

But Lan Zhan was back to taking over soon, pushing it in every way, until Wei Wuxian was literally almost tipping off the bed.

"Wait," he said against those satiny lips, "Let me…"

"More," Lan Zhan said.

"Yes."

Getting their clothes off was a nightmare, mostly because neither of them wanted to separate for longer than a second. At least Lan Zhan's clothes didn't have any buttons or zips. Wei Wuxian's jeans were resisting, not helped by the fact that while he was struggling, Lan Zhan had picked up Wei Wuxian's shirt.

He held it to his face, still warm from his body, his eyes closing as he inhaled noisily.

"God," Wei Wuxian said, pushing off his jeans and underwear with a speed that hurt.

When he came back, it was his turn to push, until Lan Zhan was under him, laid out on the bed, miles and miles of skin that looked golden in the light from the fading sunset and against the white of his sheets.

Wei Wuxian wanted to look forever, but he was too eager to be intoxicated by sweet fruit and conifer trees.

He buried his face in the hair he'd just spent so long taming, pulling in a deep lungful of its scent before he turned his nose into Lan Zhan, behind his ear, down his neck...

Where he placed a sharp bite to the muscle that cushioned Lan Zhan's shoulder.

Lan Zhan let out a quick exhale, his eyes going wide, and he couldn't help but grin. And lean in to do it again.

Not just an exhale this time. A moan. Just small, but subsonic and heartfelt.

"Will you fuck me?" Wei Wuxian asked, throwing his leg over Lan Zhan's stomach, trying not to sit too heavily.

"Yes."

"Lube?" Before he could get an answer, he leaned down for a probing kiss. While their tongues were still exploring each other, Lan Zhan dug around in the nearest drawer until he found what he was looking for.

Wei Wuxian took the little bottle—green, with leaves on it, like it was all natural or some shit. Pretentious Lans—and uncapped it, squirting too much on his fingers. Some of it dripped onto Lan Zhan's chest, catching the light, and Wei Wuxian couldn't take his eyes off of that one shining drop as he spread the wetness where he needed it.

Lan Zhan's lungs were working double-time, a V of florid red blooming around his collarbone. He laid mostly still while Wei Wuxian prepared himself, except for the travelling palms that mapped every inch of his thighs.

He probably felt them tensing before Wei Wuxian lifted up, awkwardly shuffling into place. He definitely noticed when Wei Wuxian leaned forward, the hair that had fallen out of his ribbon trailing temptingly close to one small, seized-up nipple.

Not right now. Focus.

If getting himself ready with his fingers was awkward, then actually getting Lan Zhan's dick inside him was excruciating. He couldn't see, could only grasp and hope he got it right, fumble and blush, then finally, finally start sinking down.

His mouth fell open as he was filled, his legs already trembling even though they had the whole ride still to go.

"God," he said as he twitched his hips forward just a bit.

"Mm." Lan Zhan's eyes were wide and unblinking, bouncing around as he tried to watch every movement.

Wei Wuxian was too tired to really do it justice. If he hadn't been squatting over broken stones all day, walking back and forth from the pavilion to the wheelbarrow, he would've given Lan Zhan the ride of his life. He still tried, though.

Lifting up and dropping back down was too much work, so he just swivelled his hips, rocking them in a motion that hypnotised himself. His cock leaked on Lan Zhan's belly, untouched and happy to stay that way, to make this delicious, unsatisfactory bliss last.

He let his head fall back on one particularly clever jolt of his muscles, baring his throat and that was all it took for Lan Zhan to get tired of the dance.

Wei Wuxian shrieked a laugh as he was flipped over, but it turned into a moan when Lan Zhan nipped at his collarbone.

"Yeah," he said, "Mark me up." Hickies were so high school, but fuck if he didn't want them. All of them, on every inch of him.

Lan Zhan probably would've done it, too, but they were a little busy for that. Wrapped up in each other, they rocked from the powerful thrusts of Lan Zhan's hips. This was more like it. The animal drive for harder, faster , fulfilled by Lan Zhan who had the energy to go and fucking go.

Wei Wuxian was dying. Ascending. All that shit.

And for a full five minutes, he was sofuckingclose , but not quite there, and he couldn't ask for what he needed, not when his brain didn't want to work, and when this was Lan Zhan , who mattered too much.

So instead, he sank claws into Lan Zhan's back and pulled, and hoped that would—

Ah, it did.

Lan Zhan had been holding back. Incredibly, u nbelievably, he had more to give, and he gave it, until Wei Wuxian's back was arching, his hand going fast on his own cock between their bellies, making a mess and accepting everything Lan Zhan had to give him.

After, they breathed. The room smelled like them, like sex. Primal. But not savage or brutal, once the sweat started to dry.

Lan Zhan's arms came around him, bumping their foreheads together and keeping him close until they slept. That was all human.

#the untamed #cql #wangxian #mdzs #fan fiction #my writing

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multi-obsessed-fanfic-writer · 4 years

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It’s For The Best (Zuko x Reader)

Author’s Note: Ah! First fanfic post! I absolutely love Zuko and Sokka so there’s probably going to be a lot of one-shots for them right now haha. This is also set up for a part two if anyone ever wants it! I’m also content leaving it at this as well, though. I’m really excited to be writing again and I can’t wait to post more stories for everyone to read! Thank you so much!

Summary: You adjust to life with Zuko after the war when you realize it may not be everything you’ve ever wanted and more.

It’s For The Best

Zuko x Reader

Word Count: 3,164

Warnings: Angst

You had never expected to even make it out of the war alive, so how did you end up where you are now?

You’re currently sitting in the courtyard of the Fire Nation palace while feeding small pieces of bread to the floating turtle ducks in the pond. If someone had told you this is where you’d be two years ago, you would have laughed in their face. Oh, how times have changed.

“Hey, (Y/n),” A voice behind you causes you to turn around. You face the one and only Zuko, your ruggedly handsome boyfriend.

“Well, hello, Firelord Zuko,” You say, smirking slightly. He grimaces at the excessive use of his title.

“We’ve had this conversation already, (Y/n), I don’t-”

“You don’t want me to use your title all the time, yadda, yadda, I get it.” You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face as you turn back to your previous position facing toward the pond. You toss another piece of bread to the turtle ducks.

Zuko sits next to you, his hand finding yours. You let him take your hand and rub his calloused fingers across your smooth skin. You stop throwing bread and turn to face him.

“I’m sorry this is so hard for you,” He murmurs, bringing your hand up to his lips as he presses a feather-light kiss to the back of it. Your features soften at this side of him. It’s a special soft side of him that he saves for when the two of you are alone. You love it, though.

“It’s just...not the life I thought I’d be living, you know? It’s taking some time to adjust.” You look down at your feet, your hand dropping from his grasp.

“It’s been almost a year, (Y/n). How long do you think it’ll take to adjust?” He whispers, his eyes searching your face for an answer when you don’t give him one.

A long silence passes between the two of you before you decide to finally break it.

“I’m starting to get hungry after throwing all this bread at animals. I’m going to go get a snack from the kitchen. I’ll see you later.” You press a chaste kiss to his cheek before abruptly standing and striding off to the kitchen. Zuko stays behind.

You hate to do this to him. You hate to make things so hard on him while you try to adjust to life in the palace. However, as a waterbender from the north pole, you were way out of your element. Quite literally. You were used to freezing cold temperatures, heavy coats, and playing in the snow. Here? You feel...out of place. It’s much too hot for you, you can’t wear any of the clothes that you’re comfortable in, and there’s no place that you can feel at home at. Least of all the palace.

Zuko wants you to feel at home in the palace, he wants you to feel like you fit in. You know why, of course. As his girlfriend, it’s natural that he’d eventually want to marry you, and if that happens, you’d spend your life here. Of course he wants you to feel comfortable at the place you might potentially spend the rest of your life at. However, you just couldn’t. It had been a year and you had yet to relax in the palace. You didn’t want to be the queen of the nation that had ruined your home, not that ruining your home was something you were still upset about. The Fire Nation was better under Zuko’s rule, but you still didn’t want to rule a nation at all. It wasn’t in you. You’re just a regular girl.

“Lady (Y/n)? There are visitors here to see you.” A guard speaks to your right. You jump at his presence, having just reached your hand out for a biscuit.

“Uh, send them in. Thank you.” Your cheeks flush with embarrassment that the guard had caught you snacking and had seen you jump when he scared you. However, the guard seemed to pay no attention to this fact as he steps aside and three people rush forward to greet you.

“(Y/n)!” Katara, Aang, and Sokka grin, running toward you with arms open wide. You get enveloped in a bone-crushing bear hug from the three as a warm smile spreads across your face.

“Hey, guys! Long time no see!” You hug them back, a warmth filling your chest. It had been roughly a month since you had visited them at the south pole with Zuko on some ‘external relations’ diplomatic mission Zuko was sent on. You had tagged along to see your friends.

“It’s been too long!” Aang complains, finally breaking the hug to give you a wide smile as he laces his and Katara’s hands together. You smile at them, you’re happy that they’re still doing well together.

“How have you guys been? And where’s Toph?” You ask, looking individually at their faces. None of them have grown up too much which gives you a sense of relief even though it has only been a month since you saw them last.

“We’ve been great!” Katara grins and squeezes Aang’s hand as he blushes.

“And Toph had some important family issue at home she had to attend to. I’m not entirely convinced she just didn’t feel like traveling. But anyway, we miss you! You should come back to the south pole, we need you there,” Sokka interjects with a pout. You smile sadly at him but don’t answer, fearing you might let something slip out that you don’t necessarily mean.

“Where’s Zuko? Shouldn’t you guys be together?” Katara winks at you, giving you a playful smirk. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that you had just left him sitting alone out in the courtyard.

“Uh, I think I saw him in the courtyard last.” You feign innocence, pretending to think hard about where your boyfriend might be. They all grin widely.

“Well, let’s go pay him a visit! Come on!” Aang and Katara all-but-drag you over to the courtyard where Zuko is still sitting on the stone bench, a forlorn look on his face. You furrow your brows as you get a pang in your chest. You put that look on his face.

“Zuko! My man!” Sokka saunters up to him and sits down, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Zuko’s head shoots up, clearly not hearing the four of you approach.

“Oh, hey guys.” Zuko waves to everyone, his eyes lingering sadly on you for a moment. You look anywhere but at him.

He knows you’re not happy here and he’s having the same internal debate that you’re having. Do you stay together, hoping that one day you’ll be happy and content in the Fire Nation? Or do the two of you let go and accept that your lives may be taking you in different directions?

You’re not sure where your head was at on that question. On one hand, you love Zuko dearly, and you’re not sure you can give him up. On the other, though, you think about what it would be like to be the queen of the Fire Nation. You’re not cut out for that kind of job, and you rarely get to see Zuko now that he’s Firelord, so what would happen when you both had royal duties to attend to? Would you get to see him at all?

“How are you guys doing over here in the Fire Nation?” Aang pipes up, smiling between you and Zuko. You look over at Zuko and find that he’s already staring at you, waiting for your answer first.

“Things have been...great,” you lie straight through your teeth, “Zuko and I have been having a wonderful time. I’m so excited to be here with him.”

“Really? First you lied to me, now you’re lying to them?” Zuko mutters. Katara, Sokka, and Aang overhear this and turn to you in confusion. Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“I never lied to you, Zuko. I said I needed time and that’s exactly what I’m standing by. Are we seriously going to have this discussion right now? Here, in front of our friends?” You say, your voice quiet as you carefully plan what you’re going to say to stop the argument.

Too late.

“I think this discussion is long overdue, (Y/n). I’ve given you a year in the Fire Nation and you still refuse to call it home, to accept that this might just be where you belong. You refuse to accept me,” He breathes out, having stood up. He now stares at you from a few feet away, a fiery look in his eyes as his anger flares up. You know you’ve put him in a tough position, but this wasn’t easy for you, either.

“Zuko, I don’t want to cause a scene. Please, can we discuss this later? In private?” Your eyes flit over the faces of your friends. They all look shocked, not having known that you and Zuko were not doing well.

“I don’t want to discuss it later! I want to discuss it now! How come you aren’t comfortable with me anymore? Here? Where we belong together?” He asks, taking a few steps forward until he’s only two feet in front of you. You grit your teeth, screwing your eyes shut as he says this.

“Because this isn’t where I belong, Zuko,” you finally let out the words that felt like they were being trapped just beneath your skin for ages, itching to finally get out in the open, “I belong in the north or south pole, with my people. I belong with other waterbenders who can help me hone my waterbending skills. I belong in the cold where I can wear clothes that I’m used to instead of the sweltering heat where I feel like I’m constantly being melted alive. I belong somewhere where I might have the chance to be normal again instead of being exalted to the highest status in the nation. I don’t want to be queen, Zuko, I want to live a normal life without royal duties. I want to be able to see my husband in the future instead of constantly being told that he’s in a meeting. This is where you belong, but I don’t think it’s for me.”

Everyone is speechless. They all gape at you, eyes wide and mouths dangling open at this sudden confession. Zuko’s eyes convey fear, hurt, and betrayal all at once. You want to grab him and pull him close to you, telling him that you still love him and that you want to continue to try to be comfortable here. For him.

But you know it’s too late for that.

“Do you even still love me?” Zuko’s voice comes out barely above a whisper, only loud enough for you to hear. You mull over the question in your head.

Do you?

Before you can answer, Zuko has taken your silence as your answer and he starts to walk off in the direction of the palace, brushing past you on his way through. Your heart breaks as you feel him graze your shoulder as if you aren’t even there. This answers your question immediately.

Yes, you still love him, but you’re not sure that’s enough anymore.

“What...was that?” Sokka interrupts your thoughts, staring in shock at you. You bite your lip.

“I...I don’t know.” You manage to spit out, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes as you think about what you’ve done. You can’t just bounce back from this. You had all but admitted to Zuko that you didn’t want to be here anymore, which meant you didn’t want to be with him anymore.

“We’ll...be in the guest quarters. Come get us when you’re ready, I know you probably need some time to think.” Katara gives you a sad, knowing smile as she grabs the boys and leads them away from you. You sink to the ground, your knees grazing the water of the pond as the turtle ducks wade over to you for food. You sit back on your ankles, your mind reeling as you think over what this could mean and what your possibilities are now.

Could you go back and apologize? After everything you’ve said, would he even accept your apology? Would he want you back?

Would you even want to come back?

“I need to talk to him…” You murmur to yourself, looking over at the baby turtle ducks.

You stand, still a little numb from the previous interaction, and start to walk toward the palace. You need to sleep things over before you rush into any more tough conversations with Zuko.

You walk to your chambers, falling into the bed and falling asleep on top of the covers almost immediately. Your sleep is fitful and dreamless.

~+~

You wake up, you’re not sure how much time has passed, but it’s still day time. You look down and realize that a blanket has been draped across your body and a hot cup of tea is waiting on your bedside table. You reach over and take a quick sip, kicking the blanket off and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Once you’re standing, Zuko slips into the room quietly. He turns to face you, realizing that you’re already standing there.

“Oh! You’re awake,” He says sheepishly, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, “I didn’t know. It’s morning, by the way. You slept the whole night.”

“Oh, sorry...Did you do all of this?” You ask, motioning to the hot tea and blanket. He nods.

“Yeah, I...I did. Um, listen, we need to talk.” He sits down on one of the small couches in your room. You sit on a couch across from him.

“We do.” You nod curtly, sucking in a breath as you prepare for the pending fight.

“I-I know that I was rude yesterday, and I’m sorry. We both said things that I think we didn’t mean…” He trails off, looking up at you. You give him a sad look.

“I’m sorry, Zuko, but I meant what I said,” You say softly. Your eyes hold a tenderness that he knows you only hold for him. Zuko looks down at the carpet, a poorly attempted smile making its way onto his face.

“I know,” he murmurs, “and I understand now. It took me a few hours, but I think I know what you mean. The Fire Nation is only a burden to you, and I’m sorry it took me a year to realize that.”

His eyes look sadder than you’ve ever seen them before. You know this is hard for him, and it’s equally as hard for you, but you both know that it’s for the best.

“It’s not your fault. I was hard to decipher sometimes, and even I didn’t really know what I wanted until yesterday. I’m really sorry, I...I didn’t want for this to happen,” You reply truthfully. You didn’t. You wanted to be with him, to love him, to be his queen. But it just wasn’t in the cards for you.

“I know you didn’t. Neither of us planned for this to happen, but I think we both know what’s best for you. You should join Sokka and Katara in the South Pole, they need you there. And I wish that you could need to be here, too, but we both know that you don’t. You most of all. So, go. I want you to be happy, even if that means leaving us behind. I’m...trying really hard to be mature about this,” Zuko rants, running his hands through his hair. You grab one of them and hold it in yours, sitting next to him on the small couch space.

“I love you, Zuko. More than you could ever know. And I don’t think I’ll ever stop truly loving you…” You trail off, leaning in for one last kiss. He complies, pressing his lips to yours softly and lingering there as he soaks in every last moment with you.

“I’ll visit the South Pole soon, yeah? Just because we won’t be together doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends, right?” He rests his forehead against yours and tears slip down both of your cheeks.

“Right. This isn’t goodbye, it’s just a see you later. We’ll be on separate paths in life, but that doesn’t mean that we will never see each other again,” You murmur, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “I’ll see you soon, Zuko. I promise you that.”

“I’ll see you soon, (Y/n/n),” Zuko whispers as he watches you get up and walk away from him, through your door, and into the hallway.

Once you’re in the hallway, you let out a breath of relief. You can’t believe that conversation went as well as it did.

First thing’s first, though. You need to find Katara, Aang, and Sokka.

You run down the hall, newfound freedom running wild within you. You smile and knock on Katara’s door and it swings open in two seconds flat. Inside are Katara, Aang, and Sokka already chatting. They look confused at the smile on your face.

“I’m coming back to the South Pole with you guys,” You say, your smile only growing wider. None of them question you as they break out into wide smiles of their own.

“Heck yeah! Now we can go penguin sledding together!” Aang cheers, pumping his fist in the air. Katara gives you a slightly confused look and you shake your head, motioning that you’ll talk to her about it later. She nods and envelops you in a big hug as the boys join her. You hug back and a few tears slip down your cheek unnoticed. This is a very emotionally torn day for you since you feel happy and sad at the same time. You’re not sure whether it’s tears of joy or sadness leaking out of your eyes right now, but it doesn’t matter. You’re going home with some of the people you love.

“Let’s get going, then!” Sokka links arms with you and Katara as Aang links Katara’s other arm with his. Together, the four of you walk down to Appa and get ready to leave.

You take one last sad look over your shoulder to the Fire Nation palace and think about Zuko. You know this is the right decision, but you can’t help but feel a sad twang in your heart for leaving the one you truly love.

It’s for the best, though, and you know that. That’s the reason you muster up the courage to turn back around and climb into Appa’s saddle as Aang yells an enthusiastic “yip, yip!” and you’re headed off into the sky.

The palace descends into a small speck as you get further and further away from it on Appa, and you can’t help but shed one more tear for Zuko.

It’s for the best.

12 notes · View notes

fantasy-pens · 4 years

Text

United by Love, Rain and Forgotten Umbrellas

Her eyes as blue as the merciful drops from the heaven. His eyes as green as the happy grass enjoying the heavenly showers. A tale of how forgotten umbrellas in the rain bring together the four lovable sides of the Love Square.

Chapter 2: Chocolate with Chat (MariChat)

Summary: Thunderstorms mean hot chocolate! Hot chocolate best served with whipped cream, marshmallows and....MARICHAT!!

(Kudos to Steyna Art for the bful drawing i found on the net <3 A link to the instagram post thanks to @khanofallorcs https://www.instagram.com/p/BqVH3TvhgoE/)

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“And there, all done!” the blond boy exclaimed, stretching himself as he got up from his chair.

“Phew! I thought that homework of yours would never end and I would have to stay up all night with you, kid!” complained the tiny, floating cat-god of destruction.

“Plagg, is that another way to say that you would have been cheesily romancing your sweet-smelling Camembert all night while I would have been smashing my head on the desk, pleading for you to stop?”

“Hey! I never complain when you are all flirty with Ladybug or Pigtails!”

“I do not flirt with Marinette! She is just a friend, Plagg,” Adrien defended.

“Oh really? Then why have your cheeks suddenly decided to compete with Ladybug's superhero suit in colour, huh loverboy?”

“Embarrassment! ” squeaked the part-time superhero, as he slapped his hands onto his cheeks and fervently tried to ignore the cheshire grin his cheese-loving friend was directing at him.

Nope. Nope . Nope.

Marinette was just a friend . Ladybug was the real love of his life.

Ugh! He needed fresh air! Now!

Maybe Plagg read his thoughts, for he suddenly spoke up, “Nuh uh, kid. If you are thinking of going out for a run, not now. It is gonna rain soon.”

The kwami, sadly, was right. Dark clouds were looming in the sky.

But what better chance to escape would he get than now, especially with Father and Nathalie out on a business meeting?

It would be a quick, short run. Nothing less, nothing more.

The boy looked with his best kitten eyes at the floating furball, but he didn’t relent. And Adrien really couldn’t afford to buy the floating stomach any more Camembert. Not that he had run out of money, but bank transactions made for wheels of smelly cheese? Suspicious. (And no one certainly wants Gabriel Agreste’s secret agents skimming through their money matters. Nuh uh.)

So, there was only one way left to get Plagg to agree.

“So Plagg, are you afraid of getting drenched in the rain, huh?”

“Nope. What makes you think that, kid?” the kwami asked dismissively.

Internally the kwami thought, “ What is this not-so-smart chosen of mine trying to do? ”

“Well, I see no other reason as to why you would not agree to us going for a run. The rain hasn’t even started yet! You are a cute little kitten at heart after all, right, Plagg?” As he said so, Adrien reached out and scratched the kwami lightly behind his ears.

Oh heavenly Camembert! The petting felt so good!

The kwami purred instinctively. “Aww, Plagg,” the blond said in a sugary-sweet cookie voice ( bleh! cookies! ), “who is a good kitty, hm?”

“I. Am. NOT. A. Kitten!”

“Oh really? Prove it, then!

Challenges were one of Plagg’s main weaknesses. (After Camembert, of course.)

“Kid, I am NOT scared of rain!” With a grumble, the kwami added, “You know the magic words.”

“That’s the spirit! Plagg, Claws Out! ”

One cool transformation sequence and scratch-dance later, Chat Noir stood where the model had been a few moments ago. Flexing and stretching himself like a feline, the superhero grabbed the baton clipped behind his back, and jumped onto and out of the open windowsill into the awaiting city.

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Jumping over rooftops with the cool wind blowing on his face sure was exhilarating.

The black-leather-clad boy was enjoying his sprint when suddenly something wet hit his head.

Wait, wet?

Looking up, Chat Noir caught just a glimpse of the heavy, dark clouds before SPLAT! Another drop fell on his forehead.

Damn, it hadn’t even been half an hour and he needed to get home soon. It wouldn’t do him good to fall sick, especially when he technically had not been out in the rain.

Breaking into another sprint, Chat Noir prepared himself to scale the alley in front of him when he felt the roof under him move. Or rather, his foot was moving back faster than normal.

With a yelp, the cat lost his footing and slid down the slanted roof into the alley below.

Oh god no! He surely wasn’t in the mood to be soaked-cat-pancake today!!

Grabbing his baton, Chat pressed the pawprint on it just in time for the device to lengthen up and get lodged in between two open windows (truly the luck of a ladybug), leaving him hanging from it, badly shaken but safe and sound.

As he tried to get his bearings back, he heard someone entering the dark alley.

“It surely is raining Chats and dogs today,” a familiar voice called out from below.

“Purrincess!” Chat exclaimed, shrinking his baton back to normal and landing softly (and with normalcy) on the ground.”To what does this knight owe the purr-leasure?”

“Well, I was passing by, and saw you experimenting whether Newton was correct with his claims about gravity,” Marinette said, bursting into laughter. “Sorry chaton , I just couldn’t help myself. Especially after that nerve-wracking study session I had with Alya.” The girl held her forehead in a dramatic manner. “Oh goodness! Woe is me!”

The superhero-in-black couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, well, little lady. Have you secretly been taking drama lessons from my kwami in exchange for cheese danishes?” Chat added with a wink.

Earlier, Marinette would have had to act all stupidly confused about what a kwami was. But now that Chat knew that she was Multimouse, things were a lot easier between the two.

Ever since Chat had first appeared on her balcony an year ago, the two of them had struck a chord. Somewhere, maybe in the banters, puns or the heartfelt emotions shared under the starry sky, the two of them had grown close, becoming the best of friends.

“Who knows? Maybe I am?” she said nonchalantly with a shrug, a hint of smirk visible on her face.

Striking up a mock thinking pose, Chat commented, “Well, well, mice love cheese. You two would have surely bon- ACHOO!”

The sneeze seemed to bring Marinette back to awareness that the teenage superhero was soaked head-to-toe in the rain.

“Damn, Kitty, which wise sage gave you the advice to go patrolling on a day like this? Come’ere,” saying so, the girl pulled him in with herself under her umbrella. “Good thing I left Alya's place after the rain started and she gave me this umbrella, or else I myself would have been drenched by now. Forgetful me. But anyways, you," she said, shoving a finger in his chest and eliciting an “oof! ” from him, “are coming with me and getting all warmed up before you catch a cold. I won’t accept a no,” she added, making the cat hero close his mouth that he had opened in hopes of protest. Instead, he smirked and bent down in an elaborate bow.

“Your wish is my command, ma princesse .”

His comment was rewarded by an eye-roll and slight chuckle.

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Marinette ushered the young superhero in through the backdoor, away from the prying eyes of any customers, and especially her parents.

However, it seemed as though Chat’s bad luck had finally caught up with them (or more specifically, her ) as she opened the door to the house only to find her dad standing there, in a position that clearly showed that he had been about to open the door just a moment ago.

“Mon petit cupcake , welcome back! How were your lessons with Al...” her dad’s voice trailed off as he noticed the cat-themed boy behind her.

Meanwhile, Chat was a bit….nervous? Queasy? Or was terrified a more appropriate word? After all, having seen and been beaten up by Weredad had NOT been a pleasant experience. And who knows what thoughts were right now running through Mr. Dupain’s mind on seeing his daughter (whose heart Chat had once broken) with him? It was extremely natural for him to feel self-conscious all of a sudden. But now that he had been noticed, well.

“Hi, Mr. Dupain,” the boy weakly offered, plastering a shaky, nervous smile on his face.

The huge man kept looking at him blankly. Chat started mentally pep-talking to himself to deal with this awkw- WOAH! All the air left the boy’s lungs as he was suddenly scooped up in a teddy-bear hug.

“My goodness, Chat Noir! Superheroing has sure made you go thin, my boy! And please, just call me Tom,” the baker said laughing.

“Su-sure….thi-thing, Mr. Dup-I mean...To-Tom,” the hero wheezed.

“Papa! Chat Noir will be able to call you Tom only when you give him some air to breathe!!” Marinette interjected, worried that the black cat might pass out soon from the lack of air.

“Ah! Sorry young man,” Tom put the boy down, clapping his shoulders. “I must say, you are all drenched! I don’t know if that suit is designed to keep you from getting soaked, so get warmed up and stay here till the rain stops, okay?” He turned to Marinette, “Sweetheart, make sure to keep our guest cosy. We wouldn’t want our superheroes to fall sick, after all! In case you children need anything, Sabine and I will be downstairs. Have fun!” With a booming laugh, the guardian of the house took his leave.

“Well, that hug certainly warmed me up,” Chat said, breaking the silence. “I am glad he is not mad at me anymore. For the...uh, you know..”

The ravenette smiled and placed a comforting hand on his shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault, Kitty. What I had was a fleeting celebrity crush. And what really makes me glad is that you truly adore Ladybug. Now,” grasping the blonde hero’s shoulders, Marinette turned him around, pushing him up the stairs, “go up and dry yourself up. You will find the towel on the chaise, if I remember correctly. I will make us some hot chocolate.”

“Okay, okay, princesse , I am going up!”

Saying so, the hero went away and Marinette busied herself in the kitchen. She had just put milk in a saucepan when...

“Wow! I must say, your room sure has some interesting decorations, purrincess!”

Interesting decorations? Wait, she had taken off the Adrien pictures from her walls and..

GOD!! Did she leave her computer on??!! Oh, hell no!!!

Dashing up the stairs, Marinette threw the trapdoor open, not caring about the banging sound it made. She COULD NOT let the sauve cat see the heart doodle background of Adrien on her computer!! Oh goodness, she would never hea-

Her computer was turned off.

Laughter attracted her attention, making her turn her head to see the teenage hero on the ground, laughing and struggling for air.

“Oh. My. Kwami. Tha-that rea-reaction...wow princess! HAHAHAHAHAHA! You just made my day!” He broke into another fit of giggles.

“Not. Funny. Dry yourself up, chaton ,” the girl deadpanned, giving him her best you-do-not-amuse-me look.

“Aww come on princess,” Chat said, putting up a mock pout as he literally crawled towards her, “don’t be a wet blanket, paw-lease?”

“Wet blanket? What on earth are you- CHAT, NO! ” the girl screeched as all of a sudden, the hero shook his head, spraying water droplets on her.

Stopping the activity, the hero looked up at her flirtatiously through the wet hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, water still dripping from them. “Chat, yes, Purr-incess,” he said, winking at her as he flicked her nose.

Damn. He looked so flirtatiously ho-

NO! Bad Marinette! Your heart is reserved only for Adrien.

Well, best to break the kitty’s smoulder.

“No cookies for you,” saying so, the girl smugly walked down the stairs, ignoring the mock wail of despair that followed her.

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So will our kitty get the cookies? Or is Marinette going to punish him for his tomfoolery? With Marichat, fluff and fun are bound to happen! And so are the heart-to-heart talks. To know what happens next, continue reading the chapter on the links below!

Read on Ao3 here

Read on ffn here

Thanks for all the reviews, likes, reblogs, favorites, subscribes, follows, kudos and comments <3

#miraculous fanfic #marichat #fluff #friendship #hurt #comfort #heart to heart talks #adrien needs a good parent #humor #cuteness #chat being an idiot #puns #miraculous love square

16 notes · View notes

secretgamergirl · 4 years

Text

Hate Mobs Gotta Go

Last night, I did something I have never expected to do, and just full on gave up on a fun RPG writing assignment. Which I had to do because I hit a point where it was so overdue and unfinished that I was falling asleep sitting up and stress vomiting and other such things. There’s a whole lot of factors behind that. Other health issues, the toll of being on total pandemic lockdown for months, with neighbors just straight up open mouth coughing at my door, emergencies with friends and family, multiple fires and hardware failures, but the main thing was, and still is, the constant harassment from a militant hate mob, completely out of touch with reality.

Years ago, I remember there was this thing the internet at large was fond of doing with foaming at the mouth far right religious extremists- Mercilessly ridiculing them in public to expose how disconnected everything they said or did was from reality. Remember seeing this one float around and laughing your head off?

And if I mention the Westboro Baptist Church, you immediately picture a single family of raving bigots picketing funerals and such with their big homophobic signs, with a bigger crowd mocking them, right?

For some reason, the modern version of that particular flavor of fringe weirdo doesn’t get that sort of ridicule. Presumably because they’re focusing almost exclusively on trans people, and most people have this weird thing where like if you stick up for trans people you get cooties or something and never dig into the real juicy ridicule fodder. But for real, this stuff is OUT THERE. Just look at a few examples here.

Come for the weird ravings about harvesting baby organs. Stay for the... adult woman who apparently believes breasts get their shape from actually being sacks filled with milk under women’s skin? Now, how about this colorful comparison?

For anyone who wasn’t aware, pronouns are words like “I” “you” “he” “she” “it” and “this,” while rohypnol is colloquially known as “the date rape drug,” so this is utter gibberish. The full context of course is that this person is trying to make the argument that forcing this bigot to refer to women she’s prejudiced against as “she” instead of arbitrarily tossing around “he” or “it” is... raping her brain, I guess?

So... this is pretty clearly some creep’s weird little fantasy. The obvious giveaway is pretending that trans women “aren’t in the correct bathroom” when going to... the correct bathroom, and that the non-existent law about this is somehow enforced by... random bigots opting to deputize themselves. What DOES happen for real though is bigots like this being arrested for barging into public restroom stalls with camcorders aimed at the crotches of women on toilets and trying to defend themselves by insisting they have some duty to check what their genitals look like. On which note...

That’s just disgusting. It’s also as close as I feel comfortable to posting all the graphic fantasies I see from these people about the barbaric genital mutilation they imagine trans women subject ourselves to which really has no basis at all in reality. Well maybe I can post this one.

I’m not going to go through and itemize all the baldfaced lies in that, because I really kinda hope I don’t have to, and also because the person who slapped this together was kind enough to break it up in such a way that I legitimately can say “every single line of this is a completely baseless lie.” Also the art in the corner is stolen from a child-friendly comic whose author is trans, so, that’s extra slimy. Also wow that “bone scans” bit is actually one I’ve never seen. Where the hell do they even get these ideas?

Also this one needs some setup. If you have time, this right here is a freaking journey, if not, I’ll try to summarize.

So a while ago, this one particular unhinged bigot decided the most productive way to spend all her time was to get in touch with a bulk sticker printing business and order thousands if not millions of these weird gross poorly framed slabs with a really crude drawing of a penis and bunch of gibberish she really wishes were the names of popular twitter hashtags that nobody else but her ever uses. And then after receiving these, just... wandering around the city she lives in all day every day plastering them on phone booths and power poles and the mirrors of bathrooms in like.. elementary schools and park benches, just everywhere. And then makes multiple passes a day apparently to make sure nobody has tried to remove any of them, as detailed in this amazing thread I’ll link again.

So the latest break in that particular saga is that same zealot going around plastering stickers like this around too, to make it seem like “both sides do it.”

It should be obvious that that’s a “blacks rule!” sort of fake between the baffling text and using the extra inclusive, particular emphasis on supporting people of color, general purpose LGBT+ flag, but also, like their fellows on 4chan, they plan this sort of “false flag” crap in broad daylight:

I should really properly credit the whistle-blowing on that particular oddity, and I should also note that aside from the breast milk sacks, this is all just stuff I saw TODAY catching up on my twitter feed, but my main point with all this is to illustrate that we really are dealing with Jack Chick/Westboro Baptist-level unhinged zealotry... but again, nobody’s out there pointing and laughing. And it turns out, when you don’t have people pointing and laughing at this sort of thing, you get people taking it seriously. So... when I went to quickly search for a news story to link with the bit about creeps barging in on women with cameras, the results I got were... this.

That... sure is a lot of stories about totally innocent people in a demographic I belong to being murdered by total strangers goaded into blind murderous hatred by the sort of people I’m pointing and laughing at! Ha ha! There’s a very real chance of that happening to me every time I step outside, for any reason! Tee hee! I live in a state of constant fear! Whoopsie!

And it’s not just stuff like that. The people posting these rambling tirades about “breast milk sack implants” and putting crude penis stickers everywhere, never being called out as the unhinged weirdos they are, either have the world turning a blind eye to all this crap, or have everything they do downplayed in the media to the point where outright sexual harassment, doxing, and slurs I don’t want to repeat get headlines like “so-and-so made comments that some fringe trans activists on the internet deem ‘possibly transphobic’” and that’s AT BEST. More often you get stuff like the one incident I managed to bring a lot of public attention to way back when, where some bigot just literally walked up to someone on the street, grabbed them, savagely beat the hell out of them until pulled apart, had friends film the whole thing, and bragged after the fact about it, and every story that appeared as a result claimed the assailant was the victim, because they were all written by her friends.

Face obscuring provided by me here, by the way.

And that isn’t a one-off incident. Because, see, most of these unhinged weirdos spewing out all this transphobic gibberish are not, as you would think, a bunch of barely educated Trump hat wearing members of some fringe religious congregation. They’re editors and producers in major British news outlets. This isn’t me shouting conspiracy nonsense either, this is well-documented. Like, The Guardian gets public internal protests over this crap. So does the BBC. Yes, other respected news sites cover this. Media watchdog groups do their best to reign this in with hearings and such, but, don’t actually have any power to enforce anything really. So when there’s “reporting” on this crap, it’s coming directly from the “breast milk sack implant” people. Oh and here’s some screenshots of the headlines of those stories you’re too lazy to click through and actually read:

And of course, sometimes when they want to really come across as respectful, they try to find “scientists” and “doctors” who back up their ravings but all they have to fall back on are disgraced quacks who spend most of their time on activism work to normalize pedophilia.

I’m not bringing that point about Cantor up to discredit his writings about trans people by the way. He doesn’t really HAVE any writings about trans people. He just pasted the names of a bunch of random studies from the 70s about whether playing with barbies makes you gay into his blog a few years back and this crowd was so desperate for validation they declared him an “expert in the field” and started passing out links to his.... pro-pedophila blog. Which is part of this whole pattern, but I’ve written about that before. Oh and the governments of multiple countries manage to treat all these people as “experts” and make policy decisions based on their ravings. That’s fun.

Anyway, aside from encouraging random people to, you know, just randomly murder anyone they see who looks like maybe a trans woman, every so often this weird little cult pulls in an actual celebrity who then has a public meltdown as they post all this gibberish to a wider audience. Currently this is going on with Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling (who’s actively promoting the pedophile guy up there on Twitter), and I think also William Shatner, but I haven’t really looked into it. The last big one though was Graham Linehan. Who you might remember from co-writing some sitcoms that were popular decades ago in Britain, or from being the weird cartoon villain who tried to kill the funding of a children’s charity, prompting this strange pledge drive marathon of Donkey Kong Country.

You might also know him as one of... I think honestly just two people who have ever managed to be such out of control stalking hate mongers that they were actually given a permanent no possible appeal ban from Twitter. Personally though I know him more as, you know, that one absolute creep who’s been obsessively stalking me for like 5 years and never shutting up about his weird personal obsession with me.

I WOULD link the recent freaking filmed interview he did where he spent forever rambling about me, but I’d have to actually watch it to confirm I had the right link, and also the only place I could quickly find a link to it would be on his twitter feed, which as stated, no longer exists. Oh and random side note there, despite being personally, by name, the person he was explicitly targeting all his hateful ramblings at, he wasn’t banned from that site for any of the disgusting stuff he said to me. He just slipped up and mentioned a cis woman with a professorship while shouting about this crap recently and that caused people to actually take action. I do so love being invisible.

Anyway, point is, prior to Rowling grabbing the baton from him as his social media presence went up in flames, this guy was name-dropping me a LOT. Presumably he still is, just in places fewer people see it. And when you have as big an audience as he did, and that audience is as full of hatemongers as his was, that has a pretty noticeable effect. I’ve been deluged with so much hateful garbage for so long it’s impossible for me to put any numbers on it. The closest I can do to quantify it is note that hate dump was big enough that I was also flooded with more weird messages intended as support from total strangers than I could deal with, totally losing access to social media feeds and my e-mail from the volume for a good bit, and THAT flood was big enough that I got this whole second wave of creepy stalkers who’d built up this whole weird fanon where this stalker here is like, someone I used to date or be business partners with and not just some creepy dude like twice my age stalking me over the internet, from a completely different hemisphere.

And I mean... in the broadest of strokes, I can kinda laugh all this off. Because... these people are completely ridiculous, out of touch with reality, and mostly live in other countries. But... all the threats and shouting are very real and very constant and like.. picture someone outside on the street shouting at your windows about how they’re going to break in and kill you. You really can’t ignore that. Even if they’re unarmed, and all they’re really capable of doing is shouting and pounding on your door, you can’t really just ignore that shouting and pounding and just watch a movie or play a game or write this article you promised would be done 3 months ago. You can certainly try, but a pretty big part of your brain is going to be occupied with thoughts about how maybe you should call someone to see if they’ll escort this violent person away, or maybe you should barricade your door in case all that pounding does something.

And I mean this isn’t a bad metaphor for how all the constant threats and stalking I’m dealing with thanks to celebrity bigots personally obsessed with me impacts my life, but it also does a pretty good job of describing how my night went pretty recently when I ACTUALLY DID HAVE SOMEONE POUNDING ON MY ACTUAL REAL PHYSICAL DOOR SHOUTING ABOUT STABBING ME TO DEATH, and no, there was no resolution to that beyond the sound of sirens causing that person to back off.

I also had an experience not too long ago where I was supposed to take a cab to a routine appointment, a car showed up with the cab company’s name on it, somewhat early, and proceeded to drive me... out to the middle of the freaking woods like an hour from where I live, and when my phone rang with my actual cab asking where I was the driver freaked out, had me get out of the car, and took off leaving me just... stuck in the middle of nowhere freezing to death and trying to find a landmark an actual cab could pick me up from. Still don’t know what the hell that whole thing was about and whether a cab driver just REALLY didn’t know what he was doing and panicked or what, but I do know that talking about it publicly in the vaguest of terms lead to a bunch of unhinged shouting from... apparently some unconnected ride share driver with a habit of dumping trans women between stops when they try to get medications or something, convinced I was calling him out for that.

So.... yeah. Things aren’t exactly going great in my neck of the woods. I’d really appreciate it if people would properly treat these unhinged violent weirdos like unhinged violent weirdos and not respectable members of society so they quit getting so bold and public with the violent stuff, and people who listen to them get properly shouted down for doing so.

#transphobia #stalking

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aswallowssong · 4 years

Text

Second Child, Restless Child

Chapter 4 - Quick to Recognize

@valkyrie-5583

Read on AO3

The first part of a gap fill for 1x13, Poison. TW for illness, hospitals, and drug mentions.

When Reid won't stop sniffling in the office, Kit thinks she might lose her mind. Instead, she find some footing as the team is called to New Jersey. People are being poisoned, and the medicinal side of this case falls right up Kit's ally. Maybe Gideon won't find her a problem if she can use her expertise to help them solve this case. Maybe she can help the team's favorite, stubborn genius in the meantime, too.

Sniff.

“Táim chun m’intinn a chailleadh.”

“Sorry?”

Kit’s head snapped up, meeting Morgan’s quirked eyebrow without a moment’s hesitation.

“Huh?” She said without ceremony, reaching up to rub at her eyes. She was river deep and mountain high into a stack of paperwork for which there was no end in sight. The last case they’d done was one she’d not been required on, and when the team came back, she’d been required to do their post-takedown physicals. Considering she wasn’t there and they could have easily been looked over by the EMTs on site, she was feeling a little bitter.

Plus, they’d hauled her up from the clinic, scrubs and all, into prime stiff-ville to do said physicals instead of having the team just stay on the first floor and meet her at the clinic. She tried to tell this to Hotch, but he said it wasn’t his call, and if looks could kill, the one she got from Section Chief Strauss as she eavesdropped on their conversation would have put the head nurse six feet under.

That was Friday.

It was definitely Monday. Despite their best effort, there was a lack of enthusiasm floating around the office, and the weekend already seemed like a memory.

A beautiful, wonderful, tragically-ended memory where paperwork was nowhere to be seen and the coffee wasn’t tepid at best. Kit had learned in her two weeks on the sixth floor to lean into the slow days at the BAU, especially when they’d left her behind. It had been a super quiet couple of days, and while she was glad not to be practically alone in the bullpen, it was decidedly better than listening to the persistent sniffling coming from her right.

Morgan chuckled at the woman sitting at the desk across from him, gesturing vaguely around the room in a show of his amusement at her confusion.

“Oh nothing, just usually we speak English in here.”

She groaned, running a hand down her face. Kit hadn’t even realized she’d spoken aloud, let alone spoken in anything but English. Down in the clinic no one noticed if someone was mumbling to themselves. There was privacy in the constant flurry of activity, and Kit found herself missing it desperately.

“Right, I didn’t notice.” She stopped and pulled her eyebrows together. “I mean. I did notice. That you speak English. Up here, I mean. I-”

Kit cut herself off with a disgruntled groan, worrying the end of her braids with her hands. She tugged gently, the action always grounding her back to the task at hand as her brain attempted to spiral away.

“Can I try again?”

Morgan was laughing now. They’d found a sort-of-friendship in the time they trained around the track. Kit had started going earlier so that she could go even on the mornings that she was in stiff-ville. Morgan was always there, and while they didn’t always partner up, Kit had decided it was better to train with someone else on occasion than train alone every day. She’d missed the comradery, and honestly, Morgan was a cool guy.

“Sure, Lep,” he responded easily, a teasing smirk on his lips.

Lep. Short for Leprechaun. While she didn’t love it, it was better than him butchering her last name every time he addressed her.

“I meant that I didn’t notice I wasn’t speaking English.”

“Figured, I sort of just wanted to watch you stumble through it.”

She threw a ball of paper at him, having been previously ripped out of her notebook and snowballed until it was unrecognizable. She didn’t think that trying to keep all the notes for their “Fun Friday Health Meetings” would be such a chore, but scheduling was starting to be the most hated part of her new position. Easily.

“That’s-”

Sniff.

Her hand came down and smacked on the desk, eyes darting to the offender.

Supervisory Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid.

She was going to kill him.

Morgan would assure Elle later that the lasers in the nurse’s glare were assuredly deadly, and that maybe Gideon had been onto something when he’d mentioned on the plane that he “wasn’t sure about that Colghain girl,” and that “there’s trouble in her eyes, Hotch. You can’t tell me you didn’t see it in Wilmington.”

Morgan wasn’t sure about all of that. Kit was, for the most part, quiet and passive. But when Kit’s eyes flashed towards Reid in a frustration he didn’t understand, he thought he might have seen a little bit of what Gideon meant.

“What?” He asked quickly, “What happened?”

“Reid,” she said quietly, trying to even out her frustration and match Morgan’s confusion instead.

Morgan glanced over at the younger agent with a raised eyebrow. Reid was his friend, Kit knew that, and that they’d worked together almost two years. He clearly didn’t want to see the kid in the firing line. The younger man hadn’t even noticed that Kit had said his name, eyes scanning quickly over the page of a book, then the next, the page turning in a fraction of the time it would take any other member of their team. Or any other member of the human race, for that matter.

When Morgan looked back to his occasional training partner and saw that she still had fire in her eyes, he couldn’t help but ask.

“Woah, Lep, what’d he do?”

“He won’t stop sniffling ,” she said through clenched teeth.

Morgan looked over at Reid, then at Kit, and then shrugged a bit.

“Sniffling?”

“Yes, you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” she reasoned, coming down a bit. She’d evened her eyes, but there was obviously still tension in her shoulders.

“I haven’t. Maybe it’s allergies,” he suggested, not giving her time to tell him that Reid didn’t have seasonal allergies before he called, “Yo, Reid?”

Reid looked up at his name being said louder, eyes snapping to Morgan. They turned quickly to Kit, then back to Morgan again, as if he was trying to piece together the reason he was being called into the conversation. Neither of them gave much to go off of.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have allergies?”

Reid looked puzzled by the question, looking again from Morgan, to Kit, and back again. Slowly, he shook his head, as if the question had thrown him completely. Kit knew what he was probably thinking. First of all, it was winter in DC. What could he be allergic to if nothing was blooming? Secondly, Kit would have known that. She’d read all their medical files.

“No,” he looked at Kit, deadpanning, “You know that.”

Kit’s eyes narrowed slightly, a bit of tension coming back to her. She'd seen that coming, and there was nothing challenging about Reid’s tone. It was obvious that he didn’t mean any harm. He was confused.

And Kit did know that, of course, as she’d read their files so many times through she could probably recite them backwards. That didn’t make his lack of social grace any more tactful.

If anything, his blunt statement just pissed her off all over again.

“We were just wondering, kid,” Morgan assured quickly, glancing when Kit shifted in posture. She didn’t need him to back her up, not if she was willing to stand up to Gideon, and he didn’t know her that well.

The confusion flooding from both men was enough to make her swallow back her frustration and take a breath. If Reid was a habitual sniffler, she could get over it. Some people just did that. And the social grace, or lack-there-of? She could get over that too.

It’s not a big deal, Dakota, cut him some slack. Ever since that night at the metro station you’ve been so paranoid and on edge. You aren’t like that. You’ve dealt with loads of people way less tactful than this. Leave him be and get a grip of yourself. What would Ari say?

Reid, strangely enough, didn’t respond. He waited a moment, then shrugged and gave a wary look Kit’s way before picking his book back up and burying his nose in it once again.

Things were quiet a moment before Morgan leaned forward in his desk, setting his eyes on the red head with her face in her hands.

She’d deflated, relenting to the confusion and the frustration internally, rather than pushing it outward.

“Wanna tell me what that was about?”

Morgan’s voice was quiet and passive, not wanting to pry.

Kit sighed just as softly, taking a second before looking up at him and giving a half-hearted shrug. She could stay calm. Morgan was being nice despite her weird mood swing, and she wasn’t going to freak out.

Save the big feelings for home. When you see Ari tonight, you can lose it.

“It’s really distracting,” she offered, “I need to finish these notes if we’re going to have that health meeting on Wednesday, and the meeting has to happen so I can turn in the paperwork to Ramos. Plus, this paperwork from the case I wasn’t even on is taking forever. I don’t want to get in trouble. I want to fly under the radar.”

Morgan seemed to consider that for a moment before he dropped his voice.

“You’re fine, Kit.”

She focused fully on his words. Morgan hadn’t used her name in days, opting for “Lep” over either of her names.

“Trust me, Hotch would sign off that we did it even if we didn’t. He hates those things even more than we do.”

“Not reassuring,” she said dryly, shaking her head not to disagree, but almost as if to shake the idea off. “And no way. This is a pilot position for the whole bureau. I’m not looking to get in trouble with like, the Director or something. I’m fine, I’ll ignore it.”

Morgan didn’t look quite convinced, his mind obviously flashing the image of her smacking her desk not five minutes ago, but she nodded at him. After taking a breath, she let a small smile cross her lips.

“I’m fine.”

-----

Morgan left her alone after that, turning to his own stack of files. Thankfully, after purposefully blocking Reid out, Kit was able to focus on her notes. She actually was able to focus so well that she nearly jumped out of her chair when a light hand gave her a bit of a shake on the shoulder.

She’d never admit to it, but she might have yelped. Just a little.

“Sorry,” came a rasp that Kit couldn’t pair with one of the BAU team members immediately.

When she looked up and around for her attacker she was surprised. Reid was standing there looking sheepish, his hands twisting gently around each other in front of him.

“Hotch called for us… twice. I figured you didn’t hear him. You know, since you’re reading.”

Kit stared at him for a moment, her eyebrows coming together as she looked at him closely.

He was sort of… pale? Except his cheeks, and the tip of his nose, which were more than a barely noticeable red. Unfortunately for him, Kit was trained to notice. He was also giving off wave after wave of exhaustion, and judging by the dark circles under his eyes, it went bone deep. Everything about him, including the scarf draped around his neck in the not-super-cold bullpen screamed “I feel like garbage, please take me out,” and despite her almost outburst earlier that morning, she was a nurse first. She could be a person with pet peeves and frustrations later.

She’d been shaken out of her hyperfocus, but she was zoned back in now, quick to recognize the failing health of the youngest member of the team. Everything in her settled easily into her calm, gentle professionalism. Whatever the BAU was doing to her was exactly what she’d worked so hard to push down and away, and whatever Gideon had seen was something she was determined not to let him see again.

This, the stillness she suddenly possessed, was how others would describe her. In the clinic, this was who she was. Calm. Quiet. Focused. If there was something she was good at, this was it.

But before she could even begin to speak, Reid narrowed his eyes, physically pulling away from her.

“We don’t profile each other,” he said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest and looking anywhere but her eyes. He cleared his throat in a way that was trying to be inconspicuous, but didn’t get past Kit in the slightest.

“I’m not a profiler,” she said gently, as if she hadn’t been glaring daggers at him a few hours before. Everything about this second interaction was different. She would have pressed again, but any chance of that was dashed when Hotch leaned out of the conference room, a wave of frustration hitting Kit as if she’d been punched in the chest.

“Reid. Colghain. Now.”

It wasn’t half a second before they were both moving towards the stairs, Reid getting there significantly faster. He had at least ten inches on Kit, she guessed, and a lot of it was leg.

Once they were seated, Reid settled by JJ, and Kit in between Hotch and Elle, a video started on the screen. Kit glanced down at the file in her space and sighed before her eyes flicked back up, watching as a man, Mr. Fisher, answered questions from a detective.

“State trooper took this before the paramedics showed up. He's unconscious, has four broken bones. He's gonna be in the hospital for a month,” the detective was saying once Kit finally got her focus on his words. Her breath caught as she very quickly realized that she’d be going with them. The file should have been the tip, but Hotch’s urgency made sense now.

“I didn't hurt my son,” Mr. Fisher answered.

“You remember removing the tire iron from the trunk?”

“No! No!”

“What's the last thing you remember?”

“I picked Eric up from school. Friday, for the weekend. What day is this?”

Shit.

Hotch paused the video, starting to speak in the even voice he always took when addressing a new case.

“This happened two days ago in Beachwood, New Jersey. Mr. Fisher had ingested LSD one afternoon and didn't come down until eighteen hours later.”

“The hospital reported six other patients who ingested LSD in the last twenty four hours. The hospital called the CDC, the CDC called us,” JJ continued, turning towards the rest of the team as she spoke.

Morgan sat up straighter, leaning a bit into the table. “So, a bunch of people got spiked. What makes it a BAU case?”

“They each received 10 to 20 times the normal dose,” Hotch said, tone never wavering.

Kit felt the breath she’d been holding leave her in a bit too loud of an exhale, causing everyone to turn their eyes her way. She looked around a moment before her leg started to bounce under the table. She didn't speak in the conference room, not during the two other briefings she'd been a part of, but she found the words leaving her mouth before she could stop them.

“We used to see a lot of LSD trips when I was doing my clinicals, but nothing even close to that high. That’s-”

“It's enough to kill a small child.” Reid inserted himself into her sentence. She didn’t seem to notice, clearly deep in thought.

“Or,” Elle added, “cause a grown man to kill him with a tire iron.”

JJ looked up from her file, turning back to the screen and playing a separate video.

“Of the seven victims, there was one death and one coma. This is from the hospital's security footage the same night Fisher lost it.”

The screen flooded with the image of an ER hallway. There were nurses everywhere, and patients taking up the space they weren’t. People were in wheelchairs and there was a man on a gurney. It was chaos.

Kit hummed quietly. It wasn’t the first overrun ER she’d seen. She’d worked in an ER that was busy, often more busy than they were ready for at any given moment. Still, she didn’t know if she’d seen a hallway packed that full, or that many doctors and nurses working towards one event.

“That kind of environment is... panic,” she said. She felt Hotch shift next to her, but she didn’t stop her thought. She looked around the table, seeing that all eyes were back on her. All except Gideon. She took a moment before shrugging. While her voice was small, she wasn’t going to shy away from sharing what she knew. Serial killers were the team's specialty. Drugs and comas and hospitals? Those were her’s.

“There isn’t much space for anything else. Look at the nurses, their body language. They don’t know what they’re looking at, and it’s chaos around them. They’re as scared as those people are.”

There was a moment when everyone was quiet again, but it didn’t last long. Gideon leaned on the back of the chair next to Reid, which he had yet to occupy, and looked up towards the center of the table.

“These people didn't get spiked,” he said simply. “These people were poisoned.”

“Morgan?” Kit called as they left the conference room, her file clutched in her hand. They were grabbing their go bags and heading to the air strip as quickly as they could, but she wanted to make sure she spoke to him. “Hey, Morgan!”

He turned, his gobag in his hand, and responded quickly. “Lep, we’ve gotta go.”

“I know, I know, here, let me just-” She grabbed her coat and threw it over her cardigan before slinging her backpack around her shoulders. With her free hand she grabbed her gobag, hustling the few steps to where Morgan stood. “I wanted to talk to you before we get on the jet.”

“Alright,” he said, walking to the glass doors at a pace she scrambled to match. He was nearly as tall as Reid, and both Elle and JJ were fairly tall. Not to mention Hotch. Gideon was only a bit shorter than the other men, and standing at five-foot-three-inches had never bothered her until she’d started working with giants.

When they’d loaded into the elevator they were the only ones. The others had gone ahead, and Reid had been still grabbing his bag and pulling his scarf back around his neck. Kit hadn’t even noticed that he’d shed it before they’d raced in for the briefing.

“I, um,” Kit started haphazardly, “I wanted to apologize.”

Morgan turned to look at her as her ears started to burn, the entirety of her face and neck bright red. He was confused, she could feel it, which made it worse.

She’d waited way too long.

“Apologize for what?”

“For when I snapped at you. On the jet on the way to Wilmington,” she started talking rapidly, needing to explain her apology and get the anxiety off her chest. She had thought about it every morning when she saw him at the track, but it never seemed like the appropriate time to bring up her slightly explosive outburst.

As they headed to board the jet again, she knew it had to be right then. She didn’t have a free hand to worry at her braids, but her knee bounced where they stood in the elevator.

“It was incredibly unprofessional, and rude, especially because you were just being polite. I get really weird about attention and I try to fly under the radar as much as I can, especially now, and I should have thanked you but instead I snapped at you. Which wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I should have been focused on the team but I was focused on the file, and I know I shouldn’t do that because I can’t hear when I read and-”

“Woah, woah, hey. Hey.”

Morgan’s free hand was up, concern flooding off of him. His eyebrows were pulled tightly together, the worry evident as she started to spiral out of control. Kit had kept pretty quiet, other than her apparent tiff with Gideon, so other than that one time, he hadn't seen her lose control before. She didn't want him to again, but she was starting to go further than she'd accounted for when she started her very-rambly apology.

“You’re fine, Kit. You already apologized when we were on the jet," Morgan assured.

Bless the patience of this man.

“I know,” she said quickly, shifting the file in her hand so it couldn’t slip to the floor as her bouncing knee jostled her top half. “But it was only half an apology. My mam always said that half an apology might as well be no apology at all. So… I’m sorry.”

She was clearly really worked up over the whole event, and the last thing she needed was to board the jet as a shambled mess. The numbered days since she'd first met Morgan accidentally at the track had been nice, and if she showed up a wreck it would only give Gideon more ammunition against her, anyway.

They stood in silence for a moment before Morgan let himself nod.

“I accept your apology, and I forgive you,” he said simply.

The relief that spread across Kit’s face was immediate. The tension seemed to leave her shoulders, if just for a moment, and as the elevator dinged on the bottom floor and they stepped out, she knew Morgan didn’t miss her wistful glance towards the hallway that would lead back to the clinic.

Kit sat next to Morgan on the jet, deciding not to hide away from the team as she had on the first case. Reid had already been sitting in the seat across from her when she sat down, and she didn’t miss the hesitant look in his eyes when she peered a little too closely.

He was sick, there was no doubt in her mind about that, but she could tell by the wariness he was giving off that she shouldn't push it. He’d already made it obvious he didn’t appreciate her clinical stare. It was her job to worry about the health of the team, and according to her list of responsibilities, it was also her job to fix them.

She wasn’t sure Reid was going to even get close to admitting anything to her. They weren’t even sort of friends, like she was with Morgan. She didn’t think anyone on the team would consider her a friend, and she didn’t consider them that way either, but of the six team members she’d met she’d spoken the least to Reid. The metro interaction at the red line stop had really thrown her. Ari had suggested she just ask him about it, like she would do easily if it was one of her clinic nurses, but she’d insisted that he didn’t understand.

Spencer Reid was, in her eyes, an enigma. While his medical file had boasted an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory, she hadn’t really grasped what that meant until he was rattling off statistic after statistic during the Billie Copeland case. He was awkward and unassuming and could read faster than she thought possible. He rambled unceasingly and had an obvious attachment to Gideon.

Kit didn’t want to get within ten feet of it. He had probably already figured out her ADHD if he watched at all the way she either fidgeted and bounced, or was locked in like a homing beacon. She didn’t need to have him give Gideon any other reasons not to trust her.

Because he didn’t. He’d seen trouble in her eyes, and she knew it was going to be almost impossible to change his mind.

JJ brought her out of her own head, reaching over top of her to deposit a picture of an elderly woman onto the table between them all.

“Of the seven victims, Gail Norman was the only death. She was seventy eight. Ran out into the middle of the road, and she was hit by a car. She was DOA.”

Hotch set down another photo on their table, this one of a young girl. Kit’s heart ached as she figured out the gist before he even spoke.

“The other potentially fatal case is nine year old Brittany Canon. She fell out of a tree house and fractured her skull. She's in a coma and the doctors don't know if she's going to come out of it.”

“How do you wanna handle the press?” Gideon asked JJ.

“We still don't even know how these people got dosed. I think it would be irresponsible to issue a warning without specifics. It'll just cause panic. I did notify the local PD, though, to be discreet.

“How is it possible that none of these people knew how they got poisoned?” Morgan asked, and his body turned slightly towards Kit.

She was glad Hotch spoke up, because if he was looking for her to answer him, she hadn’t had an answer.

“None of them remembers anything about the day it happened.”

“These people were so messed up, it's made it difficult for local PD to retrace the victim's steps,” JJ supplied.

Messed up would be the lightest possible way to say it. Those people could easily be dead.

“So, we need to go on precedent,” Gideon said, causing the table to shift and face him. “We know there are four types of poisoners who target multiple victims.”

“There's the True Believer, the political terrorist-slash-religious cult,” Hotch said.

“There's the Extortionist,” Morgan added, “The product tamperer holds the business hostage in exchange for money.”

“Or the Prankster,” Elle offered, “Usually a younger offender who doesn't mean any harm, and it's basically just a big practical joke.”

“And the Avenger,” Hotch finished, “someone with a personal vendetta who chooses poison as their weapon.”

“We need to find out as quickly as possible which type he is, because with the exception of the prankster, all these types commonly test their poison on a small scale before appearing at a larger attack,” Gideon said, seeming to sum it all up.

Kit was pretty sure that the rest of the team knew that, but knew he was doing it for her sake. That also meant the team knew he was doing it for her sake, and the thought was embarrassing. She could hold her own. She was smart. She definitely didn’t need Gideon treating her like everything had to be explained.

“Then, let's hope this one was just a prank,” she said quietly, flipping her file open and gazing at the medical records of the victims. There were several, and for a moment she wished she’d ignored their talk of Extortionists and Avengers in favor of busying herself to read them in the walled off silence her mind created.

“I would suggest we split up the victims, see if there's a pattern in the victimology,” Gideon said.

“Most of them are still in the hospital,” Hotch offered, “I'll call local PD to meet us there.”

“I'll check the lab reports. Maybe there's a clue to the unsub's motive in the specific nature of the poison he used,” Reid said, his words directed mostly towards Hotch.

Hotch sighed before saying, “I can't imagine anybody could want this to happen.” There was a moment before he added. “Take Colghain with you.”

Reid’s reaction was raspy and immediate.

“Sir?”

“Me?” Kit said, the shaking of her leg stilling for a moment in surprise.

Hotch looked between the two and nodded, gesturing to Kit and the files in her hands.

“There could be something in the chemical makeup that reacted differently in different victims. Plus, Colghain’s expertise is exactly why she’s on this case. We’re using everything we have.”

There was silence for a moment, the air thick with tension as emotions started to scramble. Kit took a breath, sorting them and not allowing them to break her calm, but she was surprised herself. Of course, lab reports, chemical readings, all those things were second nature to her. Hotch calling anything her “expertise” in front of the rest of the team? That was what had surprised her. It helped to settle the feelings of inadequacy that bubbled when they were profiling, and she couldn't have been more grateful.

She was valuable. Hotch said that she was the right person for this job.

“Have you read a toxicology report before?” Reid asked her. His tone was straightforward, and Kit had to bite her lip to not react sarcastically.

“Yes, I’ve read plenty.”

“And you understand the slight differences in the compounds used in different strains of LSD?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And-”

“Reid,” Hotch said firmly. The doctor looked over, and Hotch’s still face gave no room for disagreement. “Agent Colghain is equipped for this case.”

It was only a moment of awkward silence before Reid slumped back in his chair, arms crossed over his frame again. It was another entirely awkward forty minutes until they touched down in New Jersey.

Great, this is going well. Gideon is wary of me, Reid doesn’t think I’m capable, and Hotch has had to come to my rescue on the only two cases I’ve been on. What else could this position hold?

-----

“This can’t be right,” Kit said quietly. She and Reid were looking over the lab reports, as ordered, and up to that point they had barely spoken to one another. As Kit put one report behind another and scanned again, she worried her lip between her teeth.

No PCP. Nothing that would normally cause violence. The LSD they were dosed with looked, as far as LSD went, relatively normal. But there was something that caught her eye and made her head tilt in consideration.

She looked up to address it with Reid, but stopped dead in her tracks at the look of him.

He had his eyes shut, a hand gently massaging at his temple, though it didn’t seem as if it was helping whatever headache he was willing away. Somehow he looked even more tired, even more pale, and the sniffling hadn’t stopped.

It took her a moment to speak. She and Reid didn’t talk. They weren’t friends. But this was her job.

Here goes nothing.

“How long have you been feeling like that?”

His eyes fluttered open and he blinked at her before his head shook quickly, posture shifting so he stood up straighter.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Right,” she said, though her tone was gentle. “So you aren’t sick, then?”

“I’m fine.”

Kit’s eyes lit up at that, and Reid’s eyebrows drew together. She knew she had him, she just had to present her case perfectly.

She wasn’t a profiler. That didn’t matter to her, though. She could read them all better than they thought. And if she was reading correctly, especially after watching their last poker game on the jet, Reid couldn’t resist.

“Oh,” she said, letting a small smile work onto her face. “That’s my favorite game.”

Confusion overtook exhaustion, and she watched as he couldn’t help himself. She’d guessed correctly. Reid liked games.

“What?”

“My favorite game. ‘I’m fine.’ We play it in the clinic all the time. And you, Doctor Reid, are going to play it with me.”

He shifted his weight, one of his hands rubbing along his misplaced scarf. It wasn’t cold in the lab, yet he was trembling ever so slightly.

“It’s not really the time to play a game. We’ve got people poisoned and-”

Reid cut himself off by coughing into his elbow, turning away from her just a bit. Exhaustion seeped back into the room, and she raised an eyebrow at him when he got his composure back.

“Right,” she said again, “Anyway. This is how you play. If you say ‘I’m fine’ when someone asks if you’re sick, the game starts. The asker,” she nodded, “in this case that’s me, gets to guess five symptoms. If I get more than half, I win, and you have to relent.”

He sniffled and tilted his head. She could feel him weighing his options.

“And if you lose?”

“I relent, and you’re allowed to pretend you’re fine. I won’t say another word, and these tox screens will be my sole focus.”

They were seemingly at a stalemate. Kit held the lab reports in her hands still, and Reid cleared his throat before wincing.

This is going to be so easy.

“More than half?”

“Three out of five,” she assured, keeping her tone casual and gentle and not at all the way it had been this morning when she was seething to Morgan about his sniffling.

She could feel guilty about that later. In that moment, she was focused on winning a very winnable round of ‘I’m fine.’

He crossed his arms a bit tighter over his chest, letting the scarf fall out of his grip and hang to the side.

“Okay, go ahead.”

Reid would later come to realize he should have noted the shift in her eyes as the figurative nail in his figurative coffin.

“I’ll let you know that you shouldn’t lie. I’ll know. I always know.”

“I wouldn’t,” he said evenly, the rasp growing slightly deeper as they spoke.

That was all Kit needed.

“Well then. Let’s play. Sore throat, definitely, unless you suddenly picked up a smoking habit,” she started, feeling as his emotions flooded from annoyed to desperate.

One.

“And you’re congested. The sniffling gave you away. It was driving me crazy earlier, but I was hoping you were just a habitual sniffler.”

“I am,” he said, tugging at his scarf again.

“That’s worse,” she assured, “Because that means when whatever this is runs its course, it won't go away and I’ll still have to listen to it.” She sighed, feeling a bit of her own dread at that, but continued, “But your nose is red and raw looking, so I can assure you that you’re congested.”

She raised an eyebrow at him then, a small smile playing at her lips. The files she was holding were set down in favor of one fiddling with the hem of her cardigan, and the other playing with the end of her right braid.

“How am I doing?”

Reid’s eyebrows pulled together as he gave off a wave of skepticism. She grinned wider.

Two.

“This is pointless,” he said quietly, now avoiding her eyes.

“That means I’m winning. You’ve got a headache. Right behind your temples. Not stemming from the front and spreading like you’re assuming, because that’s the congestion. The actual headache comes from further back.”

No response.

Three.

“I’d bet you’ve got a fever. The flush in your cheeks is really prominent against how pale you are, plus I’m sure you know you’re shaking. And you’re exhausted. The fatigue coming off of you is palpable.”

She didn’t offer anything else, watching for him to respond to her. She’d made her five ‘guesses,’ though she knew all five were true of him. He was probably dizzy too, unless that wasn’t the reason he was grounding himself with his scarf. She had been wrong before, of course. She wasn’t a mind reader.

Reid took a full thirty seconds before his arms dropped, posture slipping slightly.

Four and five.

He looked defeated in a sad sort of way, and for the first time, Kit found herself actually caring about Spencer Reid past the fact that she was sort of responsible for him. He had no social grace, he was a know-it-all, and he was Gideon’s obvious pet project. But now? As he stood in front of her looking young and sad and unwell? She found a soft spot for him.

“So?” she coaxed, tilting her head just so. “How’d I do?”

He let out what sounded suspiciously like a whine before running a hand down his face.

“You know, I always win when we play games as a team.”

“Maybe poker,” she shrugged, “but this is my game. My… what did Hotch call it? My expertise?” It was definitely a light effort at teasing, something she did with academy cadets when they were in the clinic. Still, she might have put a little more meaning behind her words. Reid underestimated her, and now, she was going to have a little bit of a victory.

He rolled his eyes at her before scrunching his nose, sniffling dejectedly.

“Okay, message received. You win.” He ran a hand down his face again, and Kit noted that his hands were shaking a bit. “So what? You pull me off the case? Am I grounded?”

Something in his tone gave way to bitterness, and Kit shook her head slowly, an eyebrow raising.

“No? Has that happened before?”

“Last year,” he said, but didn’t offer anymore. There was hesitation, and while Kit didn’t want to pry, she figured right now was the only time she was really in a position to get any information. They weren’t friends. When was she going to have him this open again?

“And it bothered you?”

“It bothers me when I’m treated like a child that doesn’t know their own limits.” He shifted his feet a bit, and when she didn’t answer right away he pulled his arms across his chest again.

Defensive. He thinks I’m going to treat him like a baby.

“Well I’m not a peds nurse, and I’ve never been one, so as long as you don’t act like a child, I won’t treat you like one.” She watched his face for a moment until he dipped his head, worry seeping from his being. He didn’t believe her, that much was clear. Why would he? They didn’t know each other.

It wasn’t long before Kit was making a choice. Probably not one she was allowed to make, but one she was going to make anyway. She was hired in part for her bedside manor, so the way she treated them was going to be on her terms. If anyone had a problem, she would have no problem defending herself and her decisions.

“I’m not going to tell Hotch, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried,” he rasped, his eyes coming up to meet hers. He was squinting, tongue darting over his lips.

“Yes you are,” she said, avoiding his gaze to pull her medical pack off her belt and pull at the zipper. “And I mean it. I’m not going to tell Hotch if you just do what I tell you. I’ll keep it discreet.”

She dug her hand inside, fishing for a moment before pulling out a pack of bright orange capsules. A small hum of victory escaped her, glad that the object of her search was in the pack and not back in the SUV, nestled into her backpack. A small victory is a victory all the same.

“Okay,” she started, “here’s the deal. You’re going to take these, and then,” she pulled out a travel size pack of tissues, “you’re going to keep these in your pocket. And if you feel worse, you’re going to tell me.”

She nodded as she finished, waiting for him to respond.

He squinted at her further. “And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and’? And I'll give you more pills later? I’ve got a bunch in my backpack. I don’t have a whole water bottle in here, but this is a hospital, and I’m a nurse. I’ll find one.”

“Wait,” he said, a certain amount of relief flooding off of him, “You’re really not going to tell Hotch?”

She shook her head seriously, not sure what about her tone or demeanor made her unbelievable.

“I said I wouldn’t.”

“But, why?”

“Because,” she said with sincerity, looking right into his eyes. “I, too, know what it’s like to be treated unfairly because of my age. I’m one of the clinic’s head nurses, and I’m twenty five. Last Thursday I was questioned about my ability to do this job and that one at the same time, and my age was the biggest argument. You're not the only one that hates being treated like a child."

Something shifted a bit in his eyes, the smallest whisper of a grin falling on his lips.

“You’re twenty five?”

“Have been since June. I’m surprised you didn’t assume I was younger. My sister Ginny always says that I could pass for sixteen.”

He shook his head a little too quickly, noticeably wincing.

“You could, I guess I just thought they would have picked someone older, like in their thirties.” There was a moment before he offered, “I’m twenty four.”

“I know. You said it earlier, right? I’ve read your file.”

For the first time maybe ever, his eyes softened at her. Guilt flooded the air, and he worried at his bottom lip.

“Right. Sorry about that. I was trying to-”

“Play it off like you weren’t sick and hope I wouldn’t notice.”

“Yeah.”

She found herself chuckling, shaking her head at the idea that she wouldn’t have noticed. As if it wasn’t her job to notice.

“Well, like I said in the bullpen, I’m not a profiler. I am a nurse, though, so assume I’ll always notice.” She held out the blister pack of pills and the tissues. “Here, I’ll go find my way to a water bottle. Take another look at those tox screenings. I saw something… weird.”

Kit turned and was halfway out the door before she heard him call her name.

“Dakota?”

She blinked for a moment. There were very few people in the world that called her by her first name.

Pick your battles.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

She smiled at him, a real smile too, and nodded.

“Of course. Be right back.” She moved to step out of the door.

“Dakota?”

She took a breath.

“Yes, Spencer?”

“What exactly did you think you saw buried in the tox screen?”

She thought for a moment before giving her braid a tug, mind starting to pull away as she remembered back to the reports.

“I might have been mistaken.”

He nodded her forward, saying, “But what did you think it was?”

She shrugged, feeling her eyebrows pulling together as she looked up at him.

“Rohypnol.”

-----

Kit and Reid walked into the hallway when they heard Gideon passing about an hour later. She’d found a water bottle with the help of one of the women at the nurses’ station, and Reid looked decidedly more with it. He was less pale for sure, and there was an energy he didn’t have before as they trailed behind the rest of the team.

“Well,” Gideon was saying of Mr. Fisher, “he's raw, broken, and seriously pissed off.”

“He didn't hurt the son to get back at the mother?” Hotch asked, and Gideon shook his head.

“Not consciously, no. Rage was real but understandable, and he never apologized. When he lost control, he didn't even say, "Eric, I'm sorry." He said, "Eric, why'd this happen to you?" He never even confessed to hurting the kid.”

Hotch thought about that for a moment.

“So, the drugs tapped into the rage but didn't cause it?”

“That's my guess.”

The two men and Elle slowed to a stop, causing Kit and Reid to swing around the side. Their group formed a sort of circle in the hallway, blocking traffic if any were to come.

Normally Kit would have asked them to move, but the information they had was pressing.

Reid spoke for the pair of them, sounding congested still, and a little rough, but definitely better than before.

“That's consistent with the information we just received from the lab tox screens. They didn't find any trace of PCP or any other drug indicating the unsub was intentionally trying to make people violent. But they did find traces of rohypnol in all the victims.”

“A central nervous system depressant,” Kit filled for the sake of Hotch’s wave of confusion. “Similar to valium, only ten times more potent.”

Elle nodded, adding, “It's commonly known as a "roofie" or a date-rape drug.”

“Right, and one of its side effects is amnesia, which explains why none of the victims remember how they were poisoned,” Reid finished.

“We compared notes on the victims we talked to. So far there doesn't seem to be any pattern as to who got hit. Maybe the drugs themselves could explain what type of offender we're dealing with.” Morgan shrugged a bit as he explained. “A lot of kids are using LSD and rohypnol these days. Fisher is a high school teacher.”

“So it may be a prank after all,” Gideon said, now learning against the wall.

“Yeah, one that went horribly wrong,” was all Hotch offered.

Elle suddenly pulled her coat around herself, nearly knocking Kit in the temple with her elbow as she did so.

“I'm gonna get a list of students from Fisher, I’ll see you later."

Hotch’s phone rang just as she left. He looked disinterested in answering it, but did so as he looked around at them.

“Hotch. Okay, we'll be right there.” He shut the phone without saying goodbye, looking up at them with new interest. “Cops may have figured out where everybody was dosed.”

He started off down the hallway, speaking as he did so.

“Gideon and I will go with JJ to the possible lead. Morgan, do some more digging with Elle on the high school kids. Reid, Colghain, stay here and work victimology again. There has to be something we’re missing.”

The way they moved was fluid, all turning to go to different places without hesitation.

Kit and Reid took off down a hallway, Kit glancing around at placards before she grinned,

“Aha!” she cried, yanking the handle open and coming face to face with a pseudo conference room. She turned to Reid, handing over the tox screen reports she was still holding. “Here’s these. I’ll track down the head nurse on rotation and see if their files have any more information than the ones I was given by JJ.”

He nodded, settling down immediately and starting to fan out the reports into categories she figured only he knew the rhyme or reason for.

Kit took off into the maze of the hospital feeling comfortable and confident. This is what she was good at, and for the moment things weren’t uncomfortable with Reid. And Gideon hadn’t given her a look of annoyance when they were talking about the rohypnol.

Things could be looking up, Dakota. You’re helpful after all.

-----

It was hours later when half the team found themselves in the viewers part of the interrogation room back at the local precinct. Kit had never been on either side of the glass before, and it was strange for her to know that the interviewee couldn’t see them as they all stared inside.

The cafe had proved fruitful in getting the name of a local high school kid, and Elle had been more fruitful in getting the kid himself.

Hotch, Gideon, Reid, Morgan, and Kit were standing and watching Elle and Detective Hanover as they grilled the kid, Danny Wallace, but it wasn’t proving as fruitful as the rest of the day had been.

As he described the fact that he and his girlfriend actually had consensual sex before she was ‘freaking out’ was looking less like he was the unsub, and more like he was consoling a victim in need.

“Look,” Danny said to Elle, “she was on something, and if it was acid or something, I've taken that. You give that to someone without telling them, it doesn't exactly set the mood.”

Morgan spoke from his position in the back of the room, attention pulling away from the other side of the glass.

“Kid is right about that. If he wanted to slip her a date rape drug, why'd he give her LSD, too?”

“This boy seems too scared not to be telling us the truth,” Reid agreed, crossing his arms over himself. He’d taken the scarf off as the pills had taken effect earlier on, but Kit knew he was due for some again soon.

She hadn’t told Hotch, just like she’d promised, but she’d be damned if she wasn’t keeping tabs on Reid the rest of the case.

“So, Samantha was just the eighth victim and the boyfriend working in the cafe was just a coincidence,” Hotch said, discouragement written in the air.

“But, even so, there may be an explanation why the two drugs: LSD to hallucinate and rohypnol to forget,” Gideon said, ever the optimist.

“Forget what?” Kit asked before she could stop herself. Her tone wasn’t challenging like it had been in Curtis’s house, and the look Gideon gave her was searching, but not suspicious.

Morgan responded to her, but in the form of a question himself.

“What they were hallucinating?”

“No,” Gideon said, moving his eyes to Morgan, “how they got dosed.”

“Then, the unsub's covering his tracks. It's much too organized for a high school prank,” Hotch agreed, shifting into the conversation.

“And there still hasn't been any kind of ransom demand,” Morgan said, not following Hotch’s lead, instead choosing to stay in the back of the room.

Kit was officially not helpful anymore, watching as the men went back and forth, whittling down their possible poisoning precedents.

“Which rules out the Extortionist,” Reid said.

“Or any visible political group or cult in the area,” Hotch continued.

Morgan picked up, “Which rules out the True Believer.”

“And leaves us with the Avenger,” Reid finished.

There was a moment in which Kit looked around and felt awe. These men all knew exactly what they were talking about. It seemed as if they had one hive mind, working together to solve as many pieces of the puzzle as quickly as they could.

She wished for a moment she could do the same, but was quick to scold herself.

If you were a profiler, you would work for the BAU. Monty and Ari both told you a million times, Dakota, you’re there because you’re different. Come off the self pity for a moment and let go of your ego.

Hotch looked around at them, even Kit, and nodded.

“We can give them a profile.”

Kit looked down at her watch and raised an eyebrow. It was nearly nine, and while she didn’t want to be the one to ask or challenge, especially with Gideon right there, she said quietly, “Now? It’s almost nine.”

Gideon’s eyes bore into her and he turned towards her as he said, “Do you think the unsub cares what time it is?”

Her subconscious wanted to glance at Reid, knowing he needed to sleep. Knowing they all needed to sleep if they were going to be mentally sharp enough to catch the unsub Gideon was talking about.

She didn’t know why it was so easy for her to challenge Gideon, but she felt the annoyance of his dismissal swirl in her chest.

“No, of course not,” she said evenly, not allowing anything in her tone to indicate her annoyance, “but people are in their homes by now, sleeping, and odds are if he was going to poison someone else today, he would have already done it, right?”

Before Gideon could respond, probably to dismiss her, Hotch spoke in his ‘unit chief’ voice.

“Agreed. We’ll give the profile first thing in the morning. I’ll have Hanover gather his men early. For now, let's go back to the hotel. Gideon, you take Morgan and Elle. I’ll take Reid and Colghain, and we’ll grab JJ on our way out.”

For exactly one moment, Kit thought Gideon was going to disagree. Then, he didn’t. He simply put his hands in his pockets and nodded at Morgan.

“Go get Elle and meet out front in five.”

They moved quickly, Kit and Reid walking behind Gideon and Hotch as they marched through the precinct. Kit could have sworn she heard Gideon say something like “see, right there” and “eyes,” but she couldn’t really tell. Not with Reid mouth-breathing next to her. Either way, it was obvious Gideon was annoyed with her. They’d had such a good day in comparison to the end of the Billie Copeland case, and Kit found herself annoyed by the idea that he was now complaining about her to Hotch. She’d been quick to recognize there was something wrong with Reid, helped him without losing his thin trust, and she’d been helpful in reading the tox screens and identifying the rohypnol. So why was her comment about the time and the probable rest of the unsub taken with such hostility?

She couldn’t sigh aloud, that would probably alert not only Reid, who was right beside her, but Hotch and the man in question. She settled for letting her hands wander a bit, antsy now that her medication had started to wear off. She just hoped they didn’t notice that, either.

So much for things looking up, Dakota. Way to go.

#Brenna writes things #or at least she tries #Second Child Restless Child #SCRC #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #gaelic #OC #female OC #Spencer needs a hug so bad #1x13 Posion #gap fill #TW illness #TW hospitals #TW drug mentions

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dumbwaystodeviate · 5 years

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The violent revolution had passes. Androids were considered equals when proven to be deviants. Machines though, they were still very much second class citizens. Years passed and RK900 was bounced from post to post. Nobody wanted the responsibility of employing an obedient killing machine. It was just as well he didn’t need much. An empty room to call his own, there were charging ports dotted around the city and thirium handouts happened once a month. As a top of line android, he didn’t need a top-up all that often. So he floated around the city, haunted the streets as he tried to find somewhere to fit in. Circadian rhythms meant nothing to him and he could be on the streets at 3am or 3pm, it didn’t matter to him. He was down by the waterfront, letting his feet get soaked in the lapping waves by the foot of the bridge when someone growled at him.

“Fuck off, this is my spot. Find your own!” The ‘fuck’ was slightly mangled and the voice rough with a lingering infection. RK900 looked around to find the source of the words.

“I said fuck off you plastic prick,” the lump of discarded bedding moved and a harrowed, scarred face glowered at him. He might have looked menacing and wild to a human but to RK900 is was like a kitten hissing at him. Full of rage and indignity but about as harmful as sandpaper if it lashed out.

“I believe that this is communal area owned by the city council so we have equal rights to be here,” Nines replied easily and wriggled his toes in his soaking shoes. “I’m an RK900, what can I call you?”

“You haven’t earned the right to call me anything, dip shit. Now get the fuck out of here before I beat you to a pulp.”

More out of respect than fear, RK900 got up and took sopping, wet steps as he retreated but still heard the grumble of “fucking androids” from behind him. Even though his room was stark white, empty of all personality, at least nobody could tell him to get out of there.

The next night, he found himself back at the foot of the bridge just before sunset. Carefully stashed away, the bedding was folded up into a holey bin bag. They were rolled tight and a quick scan suggested that clothes and other knickknacks were hidden in the centre. Whether they were valuable or not, RK900 didn’t have the time to scan because a voice was yelling at him again.

“Get the fuck away from my shit!” The same man from yesterday was hobbling towards him, fury etched into every line of his face.

Obediently, RK900 stepped away, hands up to show he meant to harm. He was surprised when the man all but ignored him, instead, turned to his worldly possessions and fussed over them.

“Get lost,” he grumbled to RK900 but didn’t look up.

In the light of day, he looked even less intimidating. Dirt and grime were embedded in his skin, making his wrinkles and scars even more prominent. He couldn’t have been much older then 40 but his situation had aged him beyond his years.

“I mean no harm,” RK900 tried to placate him but went ignored.

The bedding was unrolled and a book was pushed aside, along with a change of clothes which looked just as ragged and worn as what he was currently sporting. Something metallic was quickly palmed and shoved in a pocket with a muttered “thank fuck”.

RK900 watched him make his bed under the bridge, the support leg provided some shielding from the elements but it was no doubt useless against the bitter cold that was creeping in at nights.

“Is there not a shelter you could go to?” he finally asked.

The snort and side glance he got were as bitter as the reply. “They’re all full. Government spends all their money on android shit. They’re cheaper and easier to support and make their numbers instantly look better. Why care for a human when you can sort out eight androids for the same price?”

There was nothing RK900 could say to that. After all, he was one of the ones the government was providing for. He looked over at the man as he heavily sat down in his bed, rubbing his hip with a hiss.

“What happened to you?”

“None of your concern, now piss off.”

RK900 retreated a few steps but sank onto the ground and watched. His scans indicated a low level fever was plaguing the man, given his condition, it probably was the tail end of a chest infection. But given how bad the weather forecast was, there was a 57% probability of a relapse.

“Holy shit, you’re not a deviant, are you?” The man rasped from where he’d burrowed down.

“No, I’m not.” There was no point in lying or denying it. RK900 was what he was, he felt no shame in it. He felt nothing at all. What he didn’t expect was a barked laugh that ended in a hacking cough.

They said nothing to each other until RK900 left close to midnight. His silent companion had been fitfully dozing, obviously not used to the company.

Over the course of the next week, it became a bit of a habit for RK900 to sit by the water under the bridge for the first half a the night. His chosen companion said nothing most days, they just stared out at the water and waited for the sun to go down.

“Hey,” the man called one night as RK900 got up to leave. “I know it may mean nothing to you other than a dictionary definition but thanks.”

Puzzled, RK900 nodded and returned to his room. He didn’t know why he deserved gratitude. They were just two strangers occupying the same space for a little while. It wasn’t like they talked. Still, it was nice to know that his presence wasn’t outright loathed and feared like it was by most people. RK900 had detected many things in the man but not once did he see fear.

“Evening Nines,” the man was propped up against the concrete of the bridge, huddled in his blankets. Rain pelted down around them and was slowly soaking the bedding. “Was wondering whether you’d turn up in such miserable weather.”

RK900 dropped gracefully down next to him, water dripped from his clothes but he didn’t care. Left exposed to the elements as he was, he at least shielded what he’d started calling ‘his human’ from some of the rain. He turned to look at him with a question, “Nines?”

“RK900 was a bit of a mouthful.” It looked like there was a shrug accompanying the words but a shiver swallowed half the movement up.

There was a hiss and, as it had become almost habit, the man rubbed his hip.

“Does it hurt?”

“The cold sets it off. Old battle wound. You know what it’s like.”

A quick scan showed the piece of scrap metal was clutched in his hand and Nines filtered through his potential responses.

“What happened?” He finally settled on. It was open enough to give plenty of choice in response.

Once the coughing had subsided, his companion too a breath. “What happened to everybody else. I trained years, no, decades to get where I was for my job. Then a piece of plastic waltzed in, fresh off the production line but had downloaded all the knowledge that took me years of study to accumulate.”

“I was designed for fighting in the arctic against Russian. Then the revolution happened. Now I am without purpose. Without a sense of self.” It only felt right that Nines would share a little of himself in return.

“Damn. That sucks. I had “Reed, you’re a drain on our resources, taken too many sick days, we cannot keep up this kind of wasteful behaviour.” Not even a sorry or asked to help train up cover. As I walked out with my box of shit, an android arrived, prim and proper as you please. Ready to pick up and do so much better than I did. Not like i had so much time off because I got fucking shot on a case.”

He fell silent after that, eyes tight with the pain of the memories. Nines didn’t want to press, he had a name now and that was enough. Eventually, Reed’s head tipped forward a little, face slack with sleep. On quiet feet, Nines rose up. For the first time in a long time, he had a mission objective.

Hacking into government files wasn’t a chore for an android of his calibre. Personnel files were less heavily protected. Searching for ‘Reed’ brought up several possibilities but sorting by rough age, gender and narrowing it all down to the Detroit area finalised it down to two potential people. A quick look at the attached photo and Nines had found his friend.

Gavin Reed, 41, discharged from service as a homicide detective two years ago. No known address as of 18 months ago. His last case involved a shootout where he’d jumped in front of an undeviated android, took a bullet to the hip. Insurance only covered so much of his bills and time off work. With a slow recovery hindered by infection, the DPD couldn’t keep his position open and filled it before he was fit to return to work. With no job to return to, he was fired on the pretext of too much time off work.

When Nines went to see Gavin the next day, he asked as much. Half expecting to be yelled at for such a breach of privacy, Nines didn’t expect Gavin to let out a bitter laugh.

“That’s the official story, yeah. What they don’t say it that I took the bullet for her and fell on her. Dented her chassis a little. She lodged a complaint but by the time internal affairs conducted a hearing, she’d had it replaced for an upgraded version already. Claimed that the shock of it all forced her to deviate in a traumatic way. Agreed to waive any charges if I was reprimanded and fired. Otherwise she was going to take the DPD to court over her deviation.”

There was nothing Nines could say to that, something simmered in his circuits, burned with something he’d never experienced before. Instead of speaking, he watched as Gavin got up and limped to the water, swirled his hands in it a couple of times before splashing his face. It didn’t seem to serve a purpose other than to human eyes, hide the tears on his cheeks.

“Couldn’t pay the hospital or the mortgage. Sold everything I could and have been trying to make ends meet on the street since.” He coughed weakly into the crook of his elbow as he settled back down and closed his eyes. “I’m tired Nines. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next evening saw Nines back under the bridge. He didn’t expect Gavin to push something at him. Wrapped in a plastic bag was a brand new scarf.

“For putting up with me,” Gavin shrugged and Nines ran his fingers over the material. Cheaply made polyester that was rough against his fingers. Unlikely to keep him warm and it wasn’t exactly fashionable either.

“With the cold coming, thought you might look a little less out of place. Wanted you to have something of your own.” He carefully didn’t say how the colour made him think of Nines’ eyes.

Nines tucked it in his pocket with a soft ‘thank you’, completely at a loss as to how to handle such a gift. He left shortly after, ignoring he sad look Gavin sent him.

Only at home, when he sat in the corner of his bare room did he fish the scarf out again. The tags were still attached, the price hastily torn off but a quick scan of the item and Nines knew it cost a couple of dollars from a discount store. Realisation hit Nines then. It wasn’t an extravagant gift by any means. But those couple of dollars probably meant a day’s food for Gavin. He’d sacrificed that so he could make warmth flush through the circuits of an undeviated android who sat with him most nights because neither of them had a place in the world.

The walls around Nines were cracked, holes were letting the colours of the world shine through. He picked away at them for the rest of the night and wondered whether Gavin was sleeping well. His chest infection had been getting worse, his breathing shallow and rapid even in his sleep. The more Nines let the walls crumble, the more an overwhelming sense of worry crept through him.

With nothing better to do, Nines decided to surprise Gavin by being at their usual spot by the time he returned from the city centre. Some days he tried finding a job, other days he sat with a sign begging for change from strangers who barely even glanced at him.

Walking towards the bridge, Nines watched how pages from a book were scattered along the shore. They flipped and floated in the wind, pretty in their own right. The cover of the book at some way ahead of him, ripped pages fluttered in the breeze. It was surrounded by clothes strewn in a trail with familiar bedding that was half dumped in the river, sodden. Dread finally forced its way through the gaps in the wall which crumpled under its weight.

Gavin’s things were scattered all over, ransacked and destroyed in anger when nothing valuable was found. As Nines got to the bridge, he finally saw a familiar figure lying face down on the ground, one hand outstretched. Nines ran. He was kneeling next to Gavin in the matter of seconds and rolling him onto his side. Blood coated half his face, eye swollen shut, breath a shallow wheeze.

“Gavin?” Nines shook him a little. “Gavin?”

No response. All logic suggested that Nines calls an ambulance but he didn’t know how Gavin would be able to afford any kind of medical care. He’d left his chest infection untreated for that very reason. An ambulance ride and hospital stay was too costly.

A minute later, Gavin’s lashes fluttered and he whined as the pain registered.

“Nines? What are you doing here?”

“I came to see my friend,” the reply was all too easy. It earned him a soft smile from Gavin. His fist uncurled and Nines watched as the scrap of metal his scans had picked up so often before was finally revealed.

A police badge. Or rather, what has left of it after a bullet had passed through it.

“The bastards couldn’t get this. I wouldn’t let them.” Gavin smiled proudly even as blood welled up from a split lip again.

Mind made up, Nines gathered Gavin against his chest and stood as gently as possible. None of Gavin’s belonging were salvageable. The bedding was sodden, the clothes deliberately ripped beyond use. One step at a time, Nines carried him back to his room. It wasn’t much, barren and white but at least it provided a shelter from the elements.

Since activation, Nines had been without a purpose. A machine without a function in the world he was built in. Now, as he looked at Gavin curled up and small in his room, he knew what he needed to do. Lists of mission objectives filled his HUD, maps to the nearest free treatment clinics, food banks, forms to fill in for government aid which Gavin may not have been told about yet alone given the means to access.

They were two people society had shunned, wanted to forget even existed. Nobody needed an obedient killing machine or a disabled ex-detective but somehow they’d met and, as unlikely as it was, found themselves needed of each other. The future may have looked bleak but Nines finally saw the glimmer of hope.

#reed900 #dbh rk900 #dbh gavin #dumb ways to deviate #drabbles #leader of the rebellion #cw: homelessness #cw: blood

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