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honeyandbloodpoetry · 3 years

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Gender Thoughts Pt 1 and 2

The first time I put a binder on, a little under a week ago, I felt euphoric. Ever since I hit puberty very early on, I felt uncomfortable with my breasts. They never felt right on me, and even though I’ve come to love them sometimes, they still don’t always feel like they match up. I hated how people always looked at them, pointed out how much they showed in low cut shirts when I never even noticed they were--or even wanted them to. They were just there. I liked the way low cut shirts feel and look on me, I just can’t help these giant sacks of flesh that sit on my chest.

Except...now I can! I ran my hands over my smooth chest, feeling bright. I looked into the mirror, and felt something warm wash over me. I put on my new masculine clothes, letting my partner clip on my new suspenders. I realized that I was shaking as I looked at myself again… I looked like a boy. I felt like a boy. Like a man. And I liked it. I wanted it. Admitting that to myself was like coming home.

I remember being in sixth grade, walking around the track for my civil air patrol class. I had been slotted in with the rest of the girls, the boys walking ahead of us. I remember feeling uncomfortable being shoved in with only girls, and looking at the gaggle of boys ahead. The exact thought that whispered in my brain was “I wish I was a boy. I want to be like them, with them.” I never forgot that moment, and how strange it made me feel. How it was easier to shake that thought away, and dismiss those feelings. Except they never really left, did they?

I remember sitting on my bed, crying with my best friend kneeling in front of me. I remember telling her how I didn’t like feeling like a woman all the time. That I wished I could be a black shadow, monstrous, androdynous. Specifically like Venom. She took my hand, did my makeup all in black and helped me pick out the perfect black outfit to achieve that dark, gothic look. I was so incredibly happy and validated. But I still felt like something was missing.

I remember going into an Adam and Eve for laugh, not expecting much since I am an asexual with a low libido. I remember seeing packers and feeling my chest tighten. I never liked my genitalia--I had wished for a cloaca or something akin to that, but since that was biologically impossible for a human… I sometimes wished I had the opposite of a vagina. I frequently imagined what it would be like to have a penis. I frequently lamented the fact that I didn’t have one. I took the box up to the counter to ask some questions, my dress swishing as I went. The cashier told me it was for trans people only, and a girl like me couldn’t have it. She didn’t know what asexuality was, and had tried polyamory once but decided it was bad when her girlfriend kissed her boyfriend. I was upset, disheartened, and left the store empty handed feeling frustrated and lost.

I remember finally cutting the long, curly locks that had frustrated and imprisoned me for so long. Seeing all of my hair fall to the floor, staring into the mirror as the barber buzzed the back of my head… It made me want to cry tears of joy. It was the first time in my entire life that I had looked at my hair and was happy. The first time I could look in the mirror and feel like myself. Then I remember wanting to go shorter, and my barber encouraging me to keep it a little longer so I didn’t look manly, so I could still be soft and feminine. The way my stomach dropped and the sick feeling in my chest only increased when he began to make fun of the gay men who came down the street near his favorite restaurant. I never saw that barber again. I instead found a nice local place down the road from my apartment, where the kind lady cut it all off without question, other than “Why?” and accepted my warm “It makes me happy. It makes me feel beautiful.”

But wearing that binder for the first time? It was as if a beam of light had funneled its way directly into my heart. I felt like a handsome man, with just a little bit of striking man boob, and it felt so right. My partner called me a dashing boy and my heart began to race. I still feel his hand tracing my jawline as he called me handsome, and the butterflies it sent up through my belly, even after more than eleven years.

I love my partner--he identifies as agender and primarily masculine, and has been on the lookout for a good pair of size thirteen shoes to wear with a dress. They also wear joggers and flip flops and graphic tees and can’t seem to stop talking about the ocean and outer space. They’re probably one of my biggest inspirations for finding myself, and being authentically me.

I’m not super sure who or what I am right now. I’m still figuring that out, but I’m pretty sure I’m somewhere between agender and genderfluid. I feel like me more than anything else, but all pronouns make me feel good. I feel like all of them and none of them at once, but I swing between wanting to be feminine and masculine pretty strongly, though I enjoy being masculine most of all--even when I’m wearing dresses and pink. I feel like a beautiful person in a dress or a button down, no matter what gender I feel like today or tomorrow.

I am me. And I am one dashing boy, and one beautiful girl.

4 July 2021

XXX

Since first writing this little essay, I’ve been doing a lot more examination of my gender. I have come to the conclusion that I am transmasc and nonbinary, and am shaky on the title of genderfluid. I am feeling less and less like a woman--if anything, occasionally adjacent to a woman rather than actually being one. I love feeling like and presenting as a man. I have my first appointment with a gender services doctor at my local community clinic for consultation on starting hrt testosterone. I am planning to start with low dose first, and see how I feel.

I am still unsure of my exact identity, but I have found great euphoria with being and presenting as a man. I love being a man and everything that entails. I have loved myself like never before. Being with my partner is amazing, and he has been endlessly supportive--even recounting little things they had noticed throughout the years. One of the funniest being that I only ever referred to my body parts--my belly, hands, hair, genitalia--with masculine pronouns. I always seemed to see my body as male even if I had a certain sort of dissonance from it.

Coming out has been difficult. I have had both positive and negative experiences from it. I have been told going on testosterone would be self harm, and that I can’t be something I’m not. I’ve had coworkers I trusted out me without my permission. But I have also had positive affirmation, polite questions, and discussions. I am terrified to tell my mother and her boyfriend--I have no idea how they will react and am terrified that I will be disrespected and disowned.

But I am prepared to do whatever it takes to be my happiest and most authentic self.

I have been binding a lot more often, wearing sports bras for long shifts at work, and occasionally going without either when I feel like letting my man boobs hang free. I’ve had the delightful experience of going to a men’s big and tall store and finally wearing pants. I grew up as a fat girl and felt as if I had to perform high femininity to be taken seriously and be treated well--and had been told by someone I trusted that I was too fat to wear pants, which I heavily internalized. So I had completely cast them away in favor of dresses and skirts, bows and gaudy jewelry. Realizing that I could wear pants was...totally wild. That I could be comfortable and look good in pants and shorts, and that it didn’t matter what people did or thought of me was life changing. Maybe I’ll feel like being feminine again someday, but right now this masculinity and masculine clothing, with perhaps the added spice of funky earrings, feels like home.

I also grew up autistic and with PCOS, both which I think have affected my gender identity. Being autistic, I truly struggled to connect to others socially, and especially to understand societal norms. Being a proper woman felt like I was making up for everything else I was lacking--I may have been awkward, semi-verbal and weird with no friends, but at least I was cute and girlish. I never connected to womanhood though, and always felt out of place no matter how hard I tried. With PCOS, I had heightened testosterone, which meant wider breasts and shoulders, a lack of periods, and excessive body hair. I recall the endocrinologist asking high school age me if I had excessive body hair around my stomach, breasts, etc. and my mother jumping to say no I didn’t...even though I did. I remember suddenly feeling very self aware and ashamed of something completely natural, and even something I started to enjoy. I started shaving my entire body then.

I even remember being in middle school, and thinking nothing of my hairy legs. In fact, I loved my body hair and how it felt. A rude girl began making fun of me though, tutting her tongue as she cooed, “Aw, does your mommy not let you shave?” Among other things, all throughout many years of severe bullying and abuse. I remember feeling ashamed, but not knowing why, and immediately shaving my legs, covering them in nicks from my shaky and unsteady hands, that same night.

So many things set me back in my gender expression. So many things contributed to me willful ignorance and denial. I remember wanting to be butch, and everyone in my life laughing at me and saying I was too soft for that. That sweet, sharp ache in my chest. I remember going to a salad bar with my mother, wearing a button up and telling her I wanted to wear some more boyish clothes around that same time--I had already told her that I was bi sometime earlier. I remember her lip curling, looking uncomfortable, and telling me that I better not become one of those boy girls. My late father was very vocal in denouncing homosexuality and specifically men loving men--something which always sat horribly wrong with me on a deeper level.

I think I might ending up being a trans man. I am still unsure and figuring myself out, but I struggle greatly with the autistic need for sameness vs. the trans need for change. My sapphic love of women has always been very important to me, and fully becoming a man rather than genderfluid is scary for that very reason. I am still navigating my identity and what it means to me and my reality--but no matter what, being a man, being masculine is integral to who I am.

I was called a “sir” at a job interview for the first time the other day, and nearly began to bawl from sheer joy. The gender euphoria from that and so many moments is worth so much more to me than the years of suffering and ignorance and my ongoing struggles with dysphoria. I finally got a packer and have had help from my partner in learning to position it properly--I am thinking of cutting my hair even shorter. I have almost perfected a pretty basic tie tying skill. Okay, not really, but I’m getting there. I feel deep inside that even though my father loved me, he would not like who and what I am. Still, I wear the last watch he ever wore, and hope to be a good man like him--and to learn from the toxic parts of him to be an even better man.

I am very excited to start hrt. I am terrified of hair loss and vaginal atrophy, but I look forward to so much more. I cannot wait for bottom growth and body hair, for the voice drop that will hopefully get me misgendered less. I have always felt disconnected from my voice and look forward to getting to know it better as it changes with me. I look forward to meeting with new facial hair. Working out and growing muscle. I just look forward to my second puberty and becoming more like myself. I look forward to navigating and exploring my gender even further, both with loved ones, support groups, and myself.

More than anything, I am just happy to be me.

25 August 2021

#transmasc #ftm #ftx #gender #genderqueer #transgender #trans #lgbt #lgbtq #trans man #nonbinary #genderfluid #poets of tumblr #spilled thoughts #gender expression #low dose t #hrt

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

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Prequel to ‘The Crow’s Funeral’: How Agnes + Gerry met, then proceeded to set Jon on fire.

Exactly what it says on the tin. This exists because I was rereading TCF and went “hey did I ever figure out how Agnes and Gerry met”. I didn’t, so this is it. Rest under the cut. No specific warnings except for the fact that, shockingly enough, Jon had gone through a lot of character development prior to the start of TCF and was actually a complete asshole for a year or two.

“Daisy? What are you looking for?”

Agnes’s expression stretched into terror. She mouthed ‘fuck!’, and slapped a hand over her mouth. She didn’t breathe, and her chest never rose and fell, but she abruptly started trembling.

For the first time, Gerry reached out to reassure her. But her body heat had abruptly tripled, and Gerry was forced to pull back. In the small, unventilated space, it quickly became overwhelmingly hot.

“Shut it off!” Gerry hissed, as quietly as he physically could. “They’ll feel it -”

“That is the most dangerous monster in the world,” Agnes whispered, and Gerry fell silent. “Don’t move.”

For the first time in a very long time, in an apocalyptic world built on terror and fear, Gerry felt afraid.

Agnes was back.

Gerry didn’t know how she had found him. His hiding place was pretty well hidden, thank-you-very-much. Adults were always trying to barricade themselves in houses - stupid, when the nightshades could drift through shit - and kids were always trying to hide in closets or attics. But Gerry was the perfect mix of adult and child - or, as they’re known, teenagers - and he had way too much experience stripping houses down for the possessions of the recently deceased.

So Gerry knew about crawl spaces. Like in the Magician’s Nephew, some older row houses had little secret tunnels between each house. You couldn’t quite get into each house normally, but there were always gaps and weak points and hatches. Even better, at the very top there was a hidden attic where the generator and power box lived. It was small, and there were definitely some gross animal corpses that Gerry could have sworn moved, but it was mostly safe. So much as anything was safe.

But, somehow, Agnes had found him. Gerry didn’t know what she was doing exploring row houses for fun, but judging from the scent of smoke that’s been in the air lately he didn’t want to know.

The sharp rapping echoed through the small attic, directly under the hatch with a huge heavy space heater dumped on it. Gerry had other means of entry, and Agnes thought that was the only door. Please! As if Gerry would live somewhere with only one escape exit. That was just asking to get stuck in a nightmare for a month.

But, then again, maybe Agnes had never had to worry about that.

“I brought food!” The high, clear voice called out - slightly muffled from the ceiling/floor, but unmistakable. “It’s Twinkies! Come down to eat it!”

“No way!” Gerry called down back. “I bet you put offal in it!”

“What does offal mean!”

“It’s, like, organs! Go away, lady!”

“I told you!” Agnes called back, weirdly delighted. “My name’s Agnes! I’m a Princess!”

“Princess of what, being lame!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you, Princess Agnes!”

“Fuck me yourself!”

Ugh! She was so annoying! This was her fourth fucking time coming by here, and ever since she had realized that he was just a teenage boy she had been leaving food in front of the attic door. It was always weird food, too. Didn’t she know what humans ate?

Stupidly on cue, Gerry’s stomach rumbled. Ugh.

“Go away,” Gerry called back, eager for her to just leave already so he could eat the shitty food she had undoubtedly left. “I don’t feel like getting turned into a candle today!”

For some reason, she didn’t reply to that. Gerry wondered if she was trying to fool him into thinking she was leaving, but joke’s on her - Gerry could hear footsteps all the way through the house. He waited with bated breath for a minute, two minutes, slowly growing confused why she wasn’t either yelling at him or leaving.

He’d never tell her, but he kind of enjoyed fighting with her.

Finally, she called out, with an emotion in her voice that he had never heard from her before, “Is that why you won’t come out? You think I’d turn you into a candle?”

Gerry was flabbergasted. “Yes?” he called back. “You turn everyone into candles.”

“...it’s not just because you don’t like me?”

Aw, man. Gerry abruptly felt a little bad for the flame monster cult leader lady. She couldn’t be any older than him. “You’re really nice,” Gerry called back, feeling like an idiot. “I just didn’t make it this far by not being careful! Thanks for the food, though!”

A longer silence this time. For some reason, Gerry felt a weird kind of anxious. Not the normal level of ‘aaah im gonna get eaten’ anxious. But something different. He couldn’t describe it.

Finally, Agnes called back, “Do you want me to stop bothering you? I’m sorry if I’ve been harassing you. I’m not good at - at all of this.”

Gerry sat in his own silence, sitting cross-legged in front of the space heater on top of the hatch. His baggy jeans clung to his legs, slightly sweaty and definitely unwashed, and his raggedy thin black jacket was also a little sweaty. His hair was plastered to his head, limp and dirty. Wherever Agnes went, heat followed.

People who made dumb decisions didn’t live very long. Gerry had lived for quite a while - well, he was fifteen, but he had made it all year without getting eaten, which was really quite impressive.

And he had made it alone. When he woke up in this green and terrifying world, Mum hadn’t been there. He had looked for her for months. He had almost been ripped to shreds in Pinhole Books. She wasn’t in any of their usual London hideaways, either. Maybe she was outside of London, somewhere far away…

In all of Gerry’s books, he’d pack up his backpack and set out to look for Mum. He wouldn’t stop until he found her. Then he’d find out that she’d been embroiled in some plot to stop all of this, and he’d help her, and she’d hug him…

But it wasn’t a book. No matter how strange this new world was, fiction couldn’t begin to match. And Gerry didn’t really miss his Mum. Not really. He missed the fact that he was alone. He missed the fact that she was powerful and smart and talented, and definitely would have been able to protect the both of them. Gerry had to protect himself now, and he missed that safety more than he ever missed Mum.

Gerry wondered if Agnes was lonely. How could she, with a whole cult?

It was a stupid decision. But Gerry had always trusted too easy, anyway.

He stood up and pushed the space heater with a thick, screeching grinding sound that scraped uncomfortably along the wood. With a final heave, he pushed it off the hatch, and reluctantly bent down to lift the hatch and unfold the ladder.

“If you turn me into a candle I’m giving you an allergy attack,” Gerry called down, and the girl known as Agnes Montague smiled up at him brilliantly.

***

That wasn’t how Agnes and Gerry started. But it had been, maybe, how they got going.

Agnes, Gerry found out very quickly, was a hot-tempered girl. Save the jokes. She was always dressed like a sixties hippie, and her long red hair was always somehow glistening and clean. She let Gerry touch it, very carefully, and - yep, even the hair was wax. What a weird person.

After a bit of frantic introductions and suspicious squinting from both sides, Gerry and Agnes had eventually sat down cross-legged from each other as Gerry stuffed Twinkies in his mouth and she eyed them warily. She had eyed them with a bit of trepidation, but Gerry’s obvious joy at eating them must have made her curious. That was one thing Agnes was: curious. Almost to death.

“You really live up here? And you’ve never gotten trapped by a nightmare?”

Gerry shrugged uncomfortably, sucking at his fingers. “Yep. I run around town a lot too, cuz I get bored otherwise. It’s easy to evade all of that shit if you know how.”

“Wow.” It was probably her being a fire person or whatever, but Agnes’ eyes seemed to sparkle a little bit. “My cult members barely even let me outside by myself, and I can set shit on fire. You’re really weird for a human.”

Gerry couldn’t help but puff out his chest a little, even if he would have preferred her to use any other word than ‘weird’. “That’s what happens when your Mum trains you since birth to be a demon hunter.” He faltered a little. “I’m not sure if she knew this would happen, but I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Your mum knew?” Agnes gasped. “I thought nobody knew about the Entities before the apocalypse!”

“Your cult members must have known, right?” Gerry pointed out, and Agnes nodded in concession of the point. “Yeah, there were always a few of us. Not a lot, though. Tight-knit community, everyone knew each other. Hobbyists, you know. It sucked. Most of the people who got involved in the supernatural were jerks.” Actually, now that Gerry thought about it… “That crazy apocalypse prepper Salasea must be coming out like a bandit right now.”

Agnes nodded sagely, as if she knew who Salasea was. Maybe she did? Gerry had always gotten the impression that if all of the demon hunters knew each other, then maybe all of the demons did too. Eventually word about Mum had really started to get around.

“You’re the first interesting human I’ve met,” Agnes said thoughtfully. “Most of them just - like, scream, you know? Or pretend I’m not there. Like if they don’t acknowledge me then I can’t hurt them. And, like, that’s the way it works for a lot of these things! But I’m a person too, you know?”

“You really aren’t.”

“I have feelings,” Agnes said firmly. “But maybe the reason why you’re still safe isn’t because you’re a super cool human hunter, Gerry.”

“It has to be a part of it,” Gerry said aggressively, eager to assert his masculinity and how cool he was.

“Of course,” Agnes allowed, making Gerry huff. “But I think it’s because you aren’t scared. You were wondering how I found you, right?” Gerry nodded slowly. He had been wondering how Agnes had caught on that he was living here. “It was because I felt a person - I can always feel body heat - but I didn’t taste any fear. I was setting some row houses on fire just to feel something, and you weren’t feeling anything either!” She set her expression firmly, almost bravely. “I think we’re the same.”

“A goth human teenager living in an attic and a flame princess of the fire cult?” Gerry asked skeptically. They couldn’t be less similar. Gerry lived each day in - well, as Agnes pointed out, not fear, but he was constantly just trying to survive. It was all he had ever known, but he knew that others didn’t live like that. He had known when he was a kid - that other kids were normal, were happy - and he knew it now. That a small handful of people in this world were having a blast, and that everyone else suffered. “We’re nothing alike.”

But Agnes faltered, just a bit, and Gerry just a little bit of that loneliness in her expression again. “You’re the only other kid who’s had a conversation with me.” She paused a beat. “Besides, like, Callum, but he’s a baby.”

Maybe, in a schoolyard or a town or a world, Gerry and Agnes weren’t so similar. Maybe they’d have nothing in common. But maybe, in this world that was both so isolated and so unified, they could be a little similar after all.

“I’ll allow it,” Gerry said graciously. He wanted to shake her hand, but he deeply knew that it was a bad idea. Instead, he broke his Twinkie in half, and held out the other one to her. “Friends?”

Agnes eyed the Twinkie warily. “Do you become friends by asking to be friends with someone?”

“I dunno, I don’t have any friends.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

But she took the Twinkie. It was a start.

****

Of course, Gerry and Agnes were far more alike than they had first thought. Mostly in the fact that their evil mothers had killed their fathers (which Gerry had the sneaking suspicion wasn’t a universal experience) and that the both of them were actually kind of literally protagonists of a YA book.

Well, Gerry had always been the protagonist of his own life. But he would write a story about Agnes too: about the spoiled princess who rejected her destiny. Who had a really cool previous life where she was all dramatic and sad and stuff, who died tragically only to be reborn as a magical teenage girl. Seriously, it was right out of a Sarah J Maas novel.

Maybe they latched onto each other too quickly, but it was the kind of latching on when you made friends with another kid at the orientation to summer camp and then religiously stuck to the kid once the actual camp started until you got another friend. Maybe. Gerry's never been to summer camp, how was he supposed to know.

But Agnes was sharply quick, surprisingly kind, and fiercely protective. Gerry had never met somebody who cared as much as her. It was really weird. He supposed that people like her, the powerful and destructive, had the privilege to care.

Agnes snuck over more and more often, and sometimes Gerry went to go visit her. Eventually they started roaming the streets together, loitering in businesses and committing general acts of tomfoolery. Gerry was an old hat at tomfoolery - he had only been vaguely supervised most of his life - but Agnes encroached every second of minor rule breaking with cautious glee.

Not that there really were rules anymore. Even if you were the kind of juvenile delinquent that got adults yelling at you and caused minor or major property damage, it wasn’t as if the cops were going to come and take you away. Either you got away with it, or you were eaten for a while. This was very natural to Gerry, and after a little bit of convincing it came easily to Agnes too. Maybe they really were well-suited for each other after all.

If Gerry’s Mum could see him now, she would call him ‘dreadful’ and ‘ill-mannered’ and ‘badly behaved’. But...she wasn’t there, so she could hardly complain. Served her right.

Months - maybe - later, Gerry and Agnes were hanging out in Gerry’s crawlspace again after a long day terrorizing demons and old men alike. They were splitting a blood orange - literally - and letting the sticky juice (juice?) run down their hands, laughing as Agnes imitated the look of shock on the old man’s face. Sitting down on the floor, flavor bursting sweet on his tongue, as Agnes teased him for dropping peels everywhere...Gerry was almost happy.

Rookie mistake.

Agnes sensed it first, stiffening slightly as her body pulsed slightly warmer. Gerry scooted a little further away from her carefully as she turned to look at the thin plaster wall, brow furrowing.

“Is it a nightmare?” Gerry whispered. “Or a person?”

“Neither,” Agnes whispered back. “It’s…”

Then Gerry heard it too: the clack of nails on hardwood, and a sound so terrifying it made his gut tie itself into knots. It was a growl, bestial and wet. Something was snarling outside.

Gerry stopped breathing, sitting absolutely still. The sounds of sniffing and snarling were loud and distinct, and he couldn’t help but stare at the sticky, juicy, smelly orange in his hands. Agnes was also still, far more completely than Gerry ever could be, carefully listening.

He wanted to whisper to Agnes, make a game plan, but the monster would hear them. Part of Gerry wanted to tremble in fear, but that wasn’t useful. He forced himself to calm down as best as he could while keeping his breaths minimal. Remember Dune. Fear was the mind killer. Fear is the little death.

But then Agnes smiled at him faintly, making a gentle gesture with her hand. Agnes was a literal fire messiah. She could take almost any monster. Gerry had never seen her afraid of anything, just contemptuous or annoyed. Having her there with him was more reassuring than any book quote, and Gerry exhaled softly as he smiled back at her. Agnes was going to torch that monster, and it would be super cool, and they’d high five, and -

“Daisy? What are you looking for?”

Agnes’s expression stretched into terror. She mouthed ‘fuck!’, and slapped a hand over her mouth. She didn’t breathe, and her chest never rose and fell, but she abruptly started trembling.

“Shut it off!” Gerry hissed, as quietly as he physically could. “They’ll feel it -”

“That is the most dangerous monster in the world,” Agnes whispered, and Gerry fell silent. “Don’t move.”

For the first time in a very long time, in an apocalyptic world built on terror and fear, Gerry felt afraid.

A faint yipping echoed through the space, almost like a dog. It could never be mistaken for a dog.

“Well, yes, there’s people everywhere. Other places have more people, even. Why can’t we just go there?” Another bark, a low bass cut. “Oh, if it’s a Hunt, then it’s alright.”

The heat was growing oppressive, and Gerry frantically motioned for Agnes to cut it out. He was withholding his own ragged breathing, and abruptly Gerry felt as if he couldn’t breathe. It was just making him more scared, the sweat trickling down his neck -

There was another yip, so close it might as well be made in his ear. It clearly came from directly in front of him.

Gerry couldn’t help it - he screamed, overwhelmed with fire and heat and fear and the wolf at their door.

The wall exploded.

Dust and insulation burst outwards in a fine white cloud, and Gerry and Agnes were abruptly coughing intensely and the wall cracked, folded, and collapsed inwards. Gerry was showered with fragments of wood and plaster, stifling another scream, and screwed his eyes shut against the sudden influx of light.

He cracked them open as quickly as he could, unwilling to meet whatever was in front of him with his eyes closed. Instantly, overwhelmingly, Gerry was brought face to snout with a giant wolf.

Gerry firmly believed that people weren’t meant to see apex predators up close. Nobody should be able to touch a bear, was Gerry’s opinion. What was an anaconda? Gerry was on the opposite side of the room. He wasn’t afraid, but he hadn’t made it to the ripe old age of fifteen without being highly cautious.

It wasn’t right, staring this wolf in the face. Every inch of it stood out to him: the slobber, the snarl, the canines almost as long as his hand. It was silvery white, with a thick ruff and coat, and Gerry watched in awe as the wolf snarled and -

And stopped snarling. It started looking at him curiously instead, bushy tail sweeping gently side to side.

The immediate problem almost solved, Gerry was able to take in the figure behind the wolf.

He was a guy. Unfairly tall, Black with curly hair drawn tight into a ponytail. Sharp features, undercut by unnaturally green eyes. He was in a suit that looked like he had put it on three months ago and had never changed. He was...wearing a trenchcoat? He was just a guy!

“A human!” The man - monster? Guy? Nightmare? Avatar? - cried. “Oh, good job, Daisy! You’re a fantastic investigator.” The wolf - Daisy was a stupid name for a wolf - barked lowly. “Yes, it is like an oven in here, isn’t it?”

Gerry opened his mouth, then closed it. He was still cowering on his ass, covered in dust and plaster. This guy was Agnes’ monster? Maybe she had mistaken him for someone else. “Who -”

“He’s even talking!” The man exclaimed, as if he was a dancing monkey. “They never talk to me voluntarily, you know.” Daisy barked again. “I think it’s cute! Kids are so repetitive, but this one smells great. Good job, Daisy.”

Before Gerry could protest the man stepped forward and looked down at him, and a sick realization trickled through him.

The man had nothing behind his eyes. Bright green, sick and churning, radioactive and poisonous. His expression was absent and vaguely curious, like a child watching an ant crawl through its anthill. Slowly, intensely, the man’s placid expression broke into a sharp and demented smile.

It wasn’t the smile of a human staring at a tasty sandwich. It wasn’t even the smile of a monster drawing a human into a nightmare. It was the smile of a child holding the magnifying glass to the ant: triumphant, because now the child got to see what happens when an ant blackened to a crisp. Elated, because they were the child, and not the ant. Victorious, because they could only remember the distinction in the act of causing harm.

“Statement of -”

“Leave him alone!”

The monster exploded into flames.

Agnes leapt from her position in the crawlspace, slightly tucked away out of sight, and shoved at the wolf hard. The wolf yowled, her handprints blackening its fur, and it retreated snarling.

It was not the first time Gerry had seen someone set on fire. It happened a lot, when you hung out with Agnes. But the man burned, in bright and beautiful red-hot flames, crackling and searing the skin and air and sky. His mouth was open in a silent scream.

Something green shone from within the flames.

Then the flames were gone. It was as if he had never been set on fire at all. At most he smelled vaguely of burning flesh, and his hair had broken free of its ponytail to settle in fuzzy waves.

The monster looked mildly peeved.

Agnes grabbed Gerry, leaving red-hot scorch marks on his hoodie, and yanked him behind her. Gerry was not embarrassed to say that he absolutely hid behind Agnes as she put herself between him and the monster and his wolf. The wolf who was now snarling deeply at them, and the slightly irritated monster who shook ash off his unharmed trench coat.

“I don’t care if you called dibs on him,” the monster bitched. “You don’t get to stop me in the middle of a - oh, Agnes!” The monster’s expression brightened as he snapped his fingers. “Agnes Montague, right? Your cult introduced me to you at - what was it -”

“Annabelle’s annual party five months ago,” Agnes said flatly. Her wax hair was still burning at the ends, and although Gerry couldn’t see her expression he knew it had to be fierce. “Nice to see you again, Jon. Now stay away from him.”

“If you called dibs then you shouldn’t have let me try to eat him,” Jon - which was the dumbest name for an evil monster - complained. He smelled his arm, grimacing. “Setting me on fire’s downright rude, Agnes. Didn’t Jude teach you any manners?”

“Go away!” Agnes yelled. Gerry realized quietly that she was still shaking. “He’s not yours! He’s the one thing you aren’t allowed to hurt!”

Jon frowned at her. Gerry could practically see it: Did_not_compute.exe. It simply didn’t make sense: that there was something in the world that he wasn’t allowed to hurt. That there was something in the world that was not his.

Before Jon could speak again, his wolf barked harshly at him. She kept barking, completely indecipherably, as Jon’s expression screwed up in uncomprehension. “What does it matter if they’re children.” The wolf barked. “I mean, I don’t actually care if we piss off the Desolation or not.” Bark, bark. “Why are you always guilt tripping me!” Bark, bark, bark, bark. Eventually Jon’s expression turned somewhat abashed, and then downright embarrassed.

“Right, right.” He turned back to Agnes and Gerry, a little sulky. “Sorry for trying to eat your human, Agnes. In my defense, he was quite -” The dog yipped. “ - innocent, and I’m sure he’s very fun. Great. Well, this was a waste of time. Call me if you get tired of him, Agnes.”

Jon turned to go, and Gerry could not see his back soon enough. The heat had died as Agnes calmed down, her arms crossed over her chest and scowling fiercely.

“Apologize to him!”

Jon froze, halfway across the room. Gerry quietly wanted to die.

The monster slowly turned on his heel, looking at Agnes with a faintly flabbergasted expression. “You can’t be serious -” The wolf barked again. Gerry had the impression that the wolf was in charge of him. “Stop ganging up on me -” Bark. “I don’t know how to talk to humans, don’t make me!” A very firm bark.

“Do it,” Agnes said firmly. “Or I’ll set you on fire again.”

Unbelievably, the monster groaned. He turned to Gerry, fluorescent eye twitching. “Alright, alright! Listen, uh - kiddo? Kiddo. I am very sorry that you tasted - I am very sorry that I tried to scar you for life and consume your trauma. I cannot stress enough how it’s nothing personal. There.” Weirdly enough, he looked a little proud of himself. “Hah. Totally rocked that talking to a human thing.”

“Uh,” Gerry said, too dizzy with the events of the last ten minutes to care very much about what he said, “is the wolf in charge of you?”

Even more unbelievably, the man brightened. “I’m her assistant! Not very many people pick that up. You’re very bright, little human. Do you want to pet her?” Jon glanced at Daisy, who looked unimpressed. Very loudly, he hissed at her, “Do children like petting dogs?”

The wolf, somehow, seemed to inform him that yes, they did.

They were in too deep now. Gerry walked up and petted the wolf. It was fucking awesome. Agnes groaned and pulled him back again very quickly. She seemed a little jealous. The wolf yipped at her and Agnes reluctantly petted the wolf too.

Jon clapped his hands. “Well! That was very unpleasant. I won’t ask what you’re doing hiding in a wall, Agnes. As a personal favor to you.”

“Thanks,” Agnes said flatly.

“Tell Diego and Jude that I’m not doing it. Or eating your human. As a personal favor to you.”

“Definitely will.”

“Fantastic.” Jon’s eyes glinted, in the soft light of Agnes’ flames. “I’m very happy you’ve reincarnated into that fun child’s body, Agnes. Children are so tempestuous and impulsive. I wouldn’t have tolerated an adult setting me on fire. You understand that, don’t you?”

Agnes nodded, almost shakily.

“You understand that for an adult, that would have had very different consequences.”

Agnes nodded again.

“Fantastic!” Then Jon was beaming again, all carelessness and laziness. “Have fun, you little delinquents. Come on, Daisy. I’m famished.”

He swanned off, wolf following closely on his tail. But the wolf looked back as it crossed the threshold, large yellow eyes piercing in a way that Gerry just couldn’t name, before they both disappeared. As slowly and terrifyingly as they had come.

Ten seconds passed, then fifteen.

Agnes crumpled to her knees and bent over the floor, shaking, and her hands pressed hot scorch marks into the wood. She was still shuddering, and Gerry bent down next to her. He couldn’t physically comfort her, but he could put his hand close to hers on the wood. As close as possible, yet never touching.

“We are so lucky to be alive,” Agnes breathed, before abruptly groaning. “I set him on fire! I set The Archivist on fire!”

The title tickled something in Gerry’s brain, bringing up an insane amount of questions, but he brushed them all aside. Gertrude was dead - or at the very least, very far away, where she was no good to him. She had to be, otherwise he would have noticed her cutting a swathe through Britain by now.

“Who is he?” Gerry asked. He didn’t really want to know, but...well, he was himself. He wanted to know everything. It was kind of his whole thing.

Agnes sat down on her knees, rubbing her forehead, and Gerry cautiously sat down next to her. “He’s the monster who sold the world. The most dangerous man ever made.”

“The most dangerous man in the world gets bossed around by his dog?” Gerry asked, before the words sunk in. “Wait, I thought that was Jonah Magnus!”

“Jonah Magnus doesn’t kill people because they annoy him!” Agnes snapped, before she groaned into her hands again. “And I set him on fire…Diego is going to kill me!”

“For what it’s worth,” Gerry said awkwardly, “I’m glad you set him on fire. He was kind of a dick.” He paused again, uncertain of how to say it. “And...thanks for caring, I guess. You really don’t have to.” He shrugged, unwilling to state what had always been unsaid between them. “I’m a human. These things happen to us. You just have to deal with it.”

That was the way of the world. It had always been that way, even before the apocalypse. The strong and powerful and important like Jon kicked around smaller people, and the smaller people just hoped they survived it.

Gerry was a survivor. Nobody had ever saved him before. Maybe because nobody had ever saved him before.

Agnes tackled Gerry in a tight, pressing hug. She wasn’t hot at all, just mildly warm - an incredible act of effort and concentration on her part. Her arms were solid and unyielding, never mistaken for flesh, but she clutched at him with a unique desperation. Gerry cautiously hugged her back, letting her bury her head into his shoulder.

“Not to you,” Agnes whispered. “Nothing bad’s going to happen to you. Not even The Archivist.”

“You can’t promise that,” Gerry whispered.

“We’re family.” Agnes separated from him, stubbornly fighting boiling tears. “And I’m sick of just dealing with it.”

Gerry opened his mouth, then closed it. “Family?” He said weakly.

Agnes blushed hotly. “If you want!” She tightened her fists on her skirt, winding the fabric between her fingers anxiously. “It’s just that - I know you don’t have anyone...and I have my cultists, but they don’t really care about me, not like you do...and I know it used to be different, that family used to mean something different, but I don’t care about what old people thought family meant. I care about you, and we’re sticking together, so that’s what we are.” She faltered a little. “If you want.”

“Siblings, then,” Gerry said faintly. “If you want.”

And he did want it. More than anything, Gerry wanted this.

When Agnes smiled at him, and she hugged him tightly again, Gerry was halfway certain that yet another disaster was about to befall them. He knew that meteors were going to strike, that the ground was going to open up and engulf them, that the world would end in fire and ice, because Gerry was so happy it clenched his heart. He was so happy he couldn’t breathe.

“It’ll be okay,” Agnes said into his shoulder, “we’ll never have to deal with Jonathan Sims again. I promise.”

****

It was not a promise Agnes kept.

They ran into him again. And again. And again. Eventually, after meeting a monstrous golem of fear and suffering that induced paralyzing fear so frequently, said simulacrum of human experience became slightly tiresome. And you realized that he was, actually, really not that bright. Or at the very least not very mature. And that his wolf sister kind of wore the pants in that relationship. That he and his wolf sister were like Agnes and Gerry, in every possible way. And that he was, weirdly, deeply kind. And that he loved, so bright and pure and fearsome that it had brought down the world. That he was capable of loving Gerry. Maybe even, given enough time, anyone.

Many months later, as Gerry, Agnes, Jon, and Daisy sat in an ice cream shop splitting blood orange ice cream (with real blood!) and bickering endlessly about if Friends was the Flesh or the Stranger, that Gerry thought he might feel something familiar in his chest.

Something that clenched his heart, something that made him so happy he couldn’t breathe. Something that felt like fire and ice and meteors and disaster.

Jon must have felt it. He looked at Gerry, surprised, with ice cream slowly dripping from his spoon and congealing on the table. “What’s wrong with you? Are you ill? Agnes, is he ill?”

“No,” Gerry said, wiping at his eyes. “I guess I’m happy again.”

Everybody stared at him, slightly dumbfounded.

Daisy barked.

“You’re quite right, Daisy,” Jon said.

He didn’t tell them what she was right about, and Gerry never asked. He already knew.

#my writing #be nice to jon this is like his first time talking with a human outside of eating them #how would YOU feel if people started waving a chicken in your face and told you to apologise #nobody asked for this and i haven't thought about jonbackers in a while but you know what? maybe i should #also I found an old scrapped short story of mine that was 'hey you know if jon hadn't run from martin in the beginning #then NONE of this story would have ever happened'#might post that too not sure #gerard keay #agnes montague #jonathan sims #daisy tonner #why the fuck do i write anybody other than teen gerry

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hexalt · 4 years

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Schitt’s Creek and the Transformative Power of Love

I first watched the pilot for Schitt’s Creek in the early part of 2019 and found it...eccentric. Not really funny, the characters weren’t speaking to me (except for Stevie (Emily Hampshire), whom I felt a kinship with), and the story seemed odd. I decided this show just wasn’t for me, and I had given it my best shot. Many months later, one of my best friends was posting about it frequently. Since we have the same taste, I thought maybe it was just the pilot. Maybe I should give it another shot. Maybe this time I’ll actually like it. So I started it from the pilot again, and I kept watching even if I wasn’t thoroughly entertained. I soon grew to love the two black sheep and having characters you understand always makes things easier.

What I didn’t realize when I started the show was that the characters were each more than they seem, they weren’t meant to be shallow jokes of themselves and their personas. The way they acted was often a façade hiding their insecurities of not being good enough in a variety of ways. The only other show that I’ve seen with a somewhat similar premise is Arrested Development, but there the characters are supposed to be absolutely ignorant, privileged assholes with no redeeming qualities.

I didn’t realize each season is better than the last, an astounding and rare feat in television. The quality of each season improves as the show quickly finds its footing by discarding early storylines that didn’t really work and letting the characters slowly becoming more grounded and open. This family that was once so distant that the parents didn’t even know their daughter’s middle name eventually develop genuine relationships for the first time with each other and other people.

Schitt’s Creek, co-created by father and son, Eugene (American Pie, Best in Show) and Dan Levy, wanted us to ultimately empathize with these characters, even if the remnants of their wealth can make them profoundly delusional and hilarious a lot of the time. Before writing the show, they created timelines going back to their characters’ elementary school years, detailing everything from where they worked to what they wore.

The fashion on the show is distinct and the best dressed I’ve seen in any show (and most films). Dan is huge into fashion and personally selects a lot of pieces worn in the show (some of David’s clothes are even from his own wardrobe). Instead of constantly telling the audience that this family used to be rich, we are reminded of it through Moira’s wall of wigs and couture black and white ensembles, David’s patterned black sweaters and low crotch pants, Alexis’s bohemian dresses and headbands, and Johnny’s array of business suits. When they enter any room in town, they are clearly fish out of water.

Schitt’s Creek centers on the Roses, a once-disgustingly wealthy family who lose their fortune and are forced to move to the only asset they have left: a small town named Schitt’s Creek that Johnny Rose (Eugene Levy) bought as a joke for his son, David (Dan Levy). So dilapidated is Schitt's Creek and so destitute are the Roses, they don't even have a house of their own; instead they are forced to live in a motel with two connecting rooms, forgoing all the luxury they had become accustomed to and, more terrifyingly, are now physically closer than ever.

While at first the family is horrified at the prospect of living in such a small town with townies, they eventually embrace the weirdness of the town, and it makes them grow in unexpected ways. Johnny was once the owner of the second-largest video rental store in the country and retains his businessman-like self through and through, but he also began the show more uppity. While he is often the most reasonable of the Roses, he often sees himself as above others in town and gets into awkward situations because of it. Over the course of the show he ends up developing a friendship with the town mayor to whom he initially had yelled “get the fuck out!” While he’s always devoted to his wife, he wasn’t so keen on his children, but being forced to live together makes him take a larger interest in their lives and become a better father.

Alexis (Annie Murphy) is the quintessential “dumb blonde” socialite who’s had a Schitt-ton of relationships with powerful men, making stories of her past highly entertaining, often illegal, and frequently frightening. She clearly grew up way too fast, never having had proper adult supervision. She’s reliant on men, and all she can think about in season one is trying to date cute guys. In the following seasons, she realizes it’s time to start growing up and gets her high school and Associate’s Degree to start her own PR business. She becomes a more enlightened version of herself, still deeply kind but also willing to put the happiness of others above her own. The Alexis who previously couldn’t see beyond her own nose becomes independent and more selfless.

David’s had hundreds of flings with people of all genders, but they seem to be replete with abuse, manipulation, and a lack of care for his being. This is unsurprising when we see how he hides his insecurity behind sarcasm and sometimes downplays things he doesn’t like to fit in. He fears showing kindness to anyone because others haven’t always been so kind to him. Early on, he has a panic attack and comes to the realization that he’s “really lonely here,” but he’s been lonely for a lot longer than that. What he doesn’t expect is to make his first best friend or find his soon-to-be husband in this backwater town. In the process, he learns to shed some of his armor.

Moira (Catherine O’Hara) was once on a soap opera, Sunrise Bay, and retains the melodrama in her day-to-day life and demeanor. She is constantly trying to become what she believes is a star: someone who acts in film, someone who everyone mourns when they die, someone who people will just pay one sliver of attention to. She’s desperately trying to cling to the spotlight, but in “Life is a Cabaret,” she finds what I believe will be her place come this final season. Rather than trying to constantly soak up attention, she gives Stevie the starring role in the town’s production of Cabaret (which Moira comes to direct) because getting that role was a “gift that once jolted [her] out of [her] little podunk routine.” From the wings of the stage, as Stevie slowly builds into “Maybe This Time” with such breathtaking passion and joy after starting off unsure and quiet, Moira is shocked at what she was able to bring out of Stevie. She’s finally realizing that her place isn’t center stage but in bringing out the best in others and helping them find their place in the world.

Stevie Budd begins as the desk clerk of the Schitt’s Creek motel until her great-aunt passes away, and she inherits the motel. From there she has to decide whether she’s ready to grow up and take over the family business, and she’s terrified. Johnny soon teams up with her in the business, renovating the motel and renaming it after both of them, so she sees the Roses aren’t going to abandon her. She is part of the Rose’s found family. Her and David are similar in their bluntness and sarcasm, but Stevie is insecure about never making it out of the town, never being more than a motel desk clerk, never having a long-term romantic relationship. She worries while everyone moves on with their lives, she’s “watching it all happen from behind the desk.”

Dan describes creating Schitt’s Creek as “writing a world that examines the transformational effects of love when the threat of hate and intolerance has been removed from the equation.” While homophobia is often front and center in any media depicting LGBT characters, Schitt’s Creek doesn’t give it as much thought. Where small towns are usually seen as ripe for homophobia, transphobia, and other discrimination, Schitt’s Creek doesn’t fall prey to this trope. Instead, this small town is bursting with love.

Dan purposely made David pansexual (it’s also the only show I’ve seen use the word) to challenge the viewer’s biases and push the boundaries of what it means to be masculine and feminine. David’s parents and others in the town never discuss it as anything strange or bad, it’s something he simply is and as common as the sky being blue. When David tells Stevie about his sexuality (“I like the wine, not the label”), she’s a bit surprised at first because she thought he was gay, but ultimately she doesn’t care.

This doesn’t mean the show never discusses what homophobia can be like, but it comes at it from a different lens.

For example, in “Meet the Parents,” David decides to throw a surprise birthday party for his boyfriend, Patrick Brewer (Noah Reid). What David doesn’t realize is Patrick hasn’t come out to his parents yet, they think David is solely his business partner. He tells David, “I know my parents are good people, I just...can’t shake this fear that there is a small chance that this could change everything.” David himself is prepared for homophobia from Patrick’s parents, but when they tell him they don’t care about that, just that he was hiding such an important part of himself from them, David who’s been trying to stay strong through it all wipes a tear.

“When I found myself in a position to tell stories on a global scale, I seized the opportunity to make a television show that might, in its own way, offer some support, encouragement and love to those who might not have it in their homes or in their schools or in their day to day lives. It’s a place where acceptance incubates joy and creates a clarity that allows people to see themselves and each other more deeply. It’s fiction, yes. But I’ve always been told to lead by example and this felt like a good place to start.”

— Dan Levy

I would be remiss to not touch on the comedic style of the show. This is a comedy that relies heavily on the physicality of its actors. Their facial expressions, accents and tonality, their limp wrists, each create uniquely funny characters with mannerisms unlike any I’ve seen. The cast brought nuance to the characters, when they could have easily fallen into vapid stereotypes.

As season 6 premiered on January 7, Schitt’s Creek is not done yet, and I can’t wait to see how its final season concludes. The characters are all happier now that they are achieving dreams they may not have known they had, they have fulfilling relationships with family and friends, and they all have grown into better people. Schitt’s Creek truly was their saving grace.

I’m in a TV group where we wrote essays on our favorite shows of the 2010s, so here is mine on Schitt’s Creek.

#schitt's creek #television #tv #lgbt #lgbtq #writing #mine #long post #*

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whump-town · 4 years

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Quantico Hope

Based on the text post created by @criminalmindsgonewrong so lots of praise goes to her (if not for the idea than because she’s a queen and I love her content). All of my medical scenes came from E.R, Grey’s Anatomy, or Chicago Hope so don’t come for me. Hotchniss is the main ship, warning for language

Emily Prentiss wakes up in a stranger’s bed. The comforter is thick, soft but the pattern is something only a bachelor would choose. It’s a flannel pattern, blue flannel. Knowing that no woman would willingly buy it is a small comfort. She’d never done it on purpose but she can still think of more than one occasion in which a one night stand came to a crashing halt as a spouse made their existence known. She had been chased from quite a few apartments half-dressed.

Topless, she wraps the sheets around her breast as she sits up. Her John is laying on his side and she has to lean close to see his face. She peaks over his shoulder but her quick movement catches nothing but thick brown hair and a five o’clock shadow. It does nothing to spur her memory so she places a hand on his hip to stabilize herself as she leans over him.

“Fuck,” she grunts, pushing herself back away from him.

On her back, hand slapped on her forehead she breathes out a shaky sigh. “No, no, no,” she rolls off the bed. Blindly scooping up her things on the floor. Waking up in a stranger’s bed can be disorienting but waking up in a bed that is unfamiliar with your best friend sleeping right beside you- so, so much worse. This is all Jennifer Jareau’s fault. Her and her stupid sentiments about how one more drink can’t possibly hurt.

She hears a groggy groan from the bed and she winces as she draws her arms to her chest. It’s instinct to squint her eyes, her subconscious encouraging the childish idea that if she can’t see him he can’t see her. As still as she can, frozen in her spot she waits for him to move.

She is beyond relief when he sighs and settles back down.

This time, she tiptoes, now far more conscious of the noise she’s making. Her eyes sweep the floor, searching for her lost bra. She’s missing a sock too but she can leave a sock here and not think twice about it but a bra?

Last night is mostly a blur. She has a faint memory of his hand cupping her bare breast.

“Hotch,” she breathes against his neck. She’s working his belt off, letting him attack her neck. “Jesus,” his pants fall to the floor, weighed down by his useless belt. Her mouth opens to make a comment about how hard he is but the rough pads of his fingers cup her breast and she arches into the touch.

“Are you sure?” He whispers. “I don’t want you to-”

Both of her hands wrap around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. “Trust me,” she says, breathlessly. “I want this.” She’s wanted it for as long as she’s known him but he was married. So, she stuck to being his friend. His sounding board. “God,” she’s standing in his room, his rough hands pulling her panties to the side to work a finger inside her.

He pushes her onto the bed, laughing that silly laugh that makes her chest ache, and for the first time in her life, she’s able to kiss him. She shares his goofy joy and she can feel him smiling as he kisses her tenderly. It occurs to her that their quick drunk fuck isn’t going to be so simple. His eyes are sober and his actions are soft.

His lips start to wander and her stomach flutters as he kisses her hip bones. He looks up at her suggestively, his hands spreading her thighs. He kisses the inside of her thigh, smiling as she can’t control the way they shake.

“Aaron!”

Emily shudders as she’s pulled from the memory, heart pounding as he groans from beneath the mound of comforter he’s curled under.

The sheets rustle and Emily turns from the door to watch Hotch bolt upright in the bed. He’s on his feet in a flash, stumbling to the bathroom. He’s not of the state of mind to shut the door behind him so she hears as he gags and vomits into the toilet.

She closes her eyes and curses him. She can’t leave him alone and if the clock on his nightstand is right, she’s got three hours before she’s due for rounds anyway. Which means, she’s just an awful friend to leave him like this.

“That was gross,” she leans against the bathroom door frame. “You got a little-” she pats the side of her lip. She’s grinning ear-to-ear at his expense. He may be her best friend but it’s still far and in-between when she gets to see him so human. Without the white coat and stoic frown, he can be himself. He can be the stressed-out single father, going through a tough divorce, who spends nearly all of his waking hours depriving himself of comfort.

He drops his forehead against the cool toilet lid and groans. Wrapping a hand around his stomach, he curls his long legs beneath him. “Why are you being mean to me?” He rubs at his mouth, disgusted when his fingers find a bit of vomit on his lip. It makes his stomach roll with a vengeance that makes his head pound mercilessly. He ends up, gagging miserably again, nothing coming up.

“Alright,” Emily steps in, rubbing at his back. She stands beside him, rubbing his back until he pulls his head up. “Let’s get back to bed,” she hooks her arm under his. It takes a moment, he doesn’t want to let her help him. She doesn’t relent and he caves, allowing her to ease him to his feet.

She’s pretty tall for a woman but getting him to his feet is nothing short of a small feat. "Jesus, " she grunts. He stumbles, leaning heavily on her. Everyone had noticed the weight he dropped after Haley filed for divorce. She can barely keep him on his feet now, she'd hate to have had to do it three months ago. "You're heavy!"

Hotch stops, glaring down at her. It’s a mystery to her how he can look exhausted, nauseated, and angry at the same time. He puffs like an angry little fish, strangely cute. “Are you saying I’m fat?” He makes a failed attempt to stand up straighter, making a soft grunting noise as his stomach revolts against the idea.

Emily rolls her eyes, drama queen. “No,” she pushes him onto the bed. “You’re just a giant.” He bounces as he sits, frown set right in place. “Aaron,” she puts her hand on her hips and frowns right back at him. “Just take a nap, nurse your hangover, and remember to be in at ten when your shift starts.” She pats his shoulder and plants a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll bring you a coffee, huh?”

He yawns, grimacing as his head and stomach both protest. Sleepily, he rubs at his eyes, laying back on his bed. “I gotta…” he yawns mid-sentence. “Going to a parent-teacher meeting.”

She tries very hard not to look completely devastated. “Oh,” so no coffee. “Okay, I’ll see you after that then.”

He nods, “and I’ll bring the coffee.”

__________

Last Friday when Aaron had cornered Dave and asked him to cover some basic stuff for him, Dave imagined he’d be doing some rounds, picking up after an intern, or fussing with an attending. He hadn’t expected a very specific, in-depth list of things for him to do:

8 a.m. take Reid to check-in on patients (keep communication at a minimal)

8: 30 a.m. bust Savannah Hayes (the nurse from the Emergency Room) and Derek Morgan in the second-floor on-call room

8:45 a.m. bring Garcia a non-fat almond milk vanilla lattee--

The man has stones… and that wasn’t even half the list. There are annotations, they came color-coded with sticky notes on additional pointers. Thumbing through the several pages worth of notes and instructions, Rossi shakes his head. Of course, he knows his old prodigy is a busy man. As much as he would like to think he’s what keeps this hospital on its feet… Aaron has a lot to do with it, too.

He’s got a knack for running into trouble just as it’s happening and juggling fixing the problem with making sure it never happens again. Which, in this hospital,-- a cesspool of one night stands, rule-bending, and overbearing masculinity-- makes him a very valuable member for the good side. Good meaning one of the few members of staff without his hands in another staff member's pants.

The problem is, Dave’s hardly got the time to comply with the whole list of nonsense demands Aaron wants him running about doing. He loves Aaron dearly, the boy is like his son but he’s a bit anal-retentive and Dave just… well, he doesn’t want to do all of this stuff. The hospital isn’t going to fall apart if he doesn’t meet every single thing on this list.

Well… hypothetically, right?

“Where’s Hotch?”

Rossi steps out of his office and finds Reid standing on the other side, weirdly close. “Woah,” he takes a step back when the genius doesn’t. He shakes his head, folding the list in his hand in half before regarding the doctor in his doorway. “Reid,” he acknowledges, stepping around the genius, and shutting his office door behind him. “I believe we’ve got rounds to attend to, correct?”

Brainbox is what a few members of staff have taken to calling the young genius. Hotch had made a point to talk to the other leading heads in departments to make sure they weren’t calling Reid that and for the most part, that had slowed down the spreading of the nickname. Dave understands why Hotch got ahead of that problem but on the same hand, it’s kind of fitting.

Reid nods, looking around Rossi and into his dark office. “Yeah but Hotch always takes me.” Technically, taking Reid on rounds is supposed to be Dave’s job. Hotch just made time for it. If Hotch times everything just right, he can get Reid on the second floor near the on-call room to bust Derek and Savannah with enough time to get Garcia her coffee and have time to swing by the cardiac wing and say hi to Emily.

Speaking of--

“What are you two doing down here?” Emily and JJ are standing where Dave is supposed to be, a smooth-talking Derek and meek looking Savannah standing between the pairs. Which means that the pair busted the couple before Dave could. It burns Dave. That skinny little runt. That bastard. Hotch has Emily on the same hunt as him because Hotch doesn't think Dave would do the list.

He’s right but… still, it kinda hurts.

Emily isn’t wearing her signature smirk. For once, she’s got a one-up on him and she’s not biting. Something’s got her down. She offers a simple tight-lipped nod. “Hotch has me trailing you,” she informs him and Rossi understands exactly what it is that’s bothering her or better yet who. “He just doesn’t want the hospital burning down.”

So much for Dave’s earlier sentiment of Hotch keeping his hands to himself. Now, what’s he to do? He’s pissed that Aaron has hurt Emily but they’re both like his kids. What he needs to do is strangle for being stupid. Aaron for never outright telling anyone how he feels and Emily for letting men hurt her.

God, they just… The little idiots get under his skin like nobody else.

“He’s a tight-ass,” Rossi mumbles, shaking his head. And a dumbass if he’s right about Emily. He puffs, “this place isn’t going to fall apart just because he misses a few hours.” Dave has been doing this for a long time. He didn’t get Chief of Surgery dicking around… well, he did a little bit but that’s not the point being made.

Emily smiles, even if it looks a little forced. “Tell him that,” she offers with an eye roll. “I’m just not going to waste my energy with that argument.” Arguing with Hotch is a very taxing and pointless excursion. Especially, if the subject at hand goes against his paranoias and anxieties. So, in other words, the idea that the hospital won’t burn down without him.

Rossi can feel the mood shift and Derek must too because he kisses Savannah's cheek and excuses himself. “I’ve got my own rounds to attend to,” he admits. “Pretty boy,” he calls Reid to him. “Care to join me?” Morgan can handle a little responsibility. He won’t let Reid’s work slack on account of him.

Reid looks between Dave and Prentiss, unsure if he’s allowed to agree with Derek. Ultimately, he sees no qualms being raised by either of them so he nods and his head. He tucks his hands in his pocket and stands by Morgan’s side. Waiting for the plastic surgeon to leave.

“I’ll catch you later,” Derek says with a wave of his hand. Fully intending to make good on that promise at lunchtime where he’ll attempt to tear down Emily’s walls to get her to talk about whatever is bothering her right now. With any luck, it’ll be something juicy.

Rossi turns and watches the pair walk away, wondering how many more chores he’s been left to do. “I should probably--” he lets his voice wander off as he pulls the list from his pocket. He motions to with an air of defeat, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Can I trust you two to behave?”

JJ smiles, “I think we both know that the only pair you should be worried about just walked off to do rounds.” Her smile broadens as she considers all the mischief Reid and Morgan can get into. “However, if I were you, I’d go investigate what they’re really off doing because I’ve never known Morgan to do his work on time and not last minute.”

Dave is obviously not buying her diversion but she’s planted the seeds of fear in his mind. Unable to think of anything aside from whatever Morgan and Reid are out ruining, he lets them go. Besides, he’s certain he’ll figure it out sooner rather than later anyhow.

As soon as Dave turns the corner, JJ turns back to Emily.

“So,” the blonde inquires knowing they’re both working on a tight schedule. “You and Hotch?”

Emily nods. She doesn’t regret it. That’s what she’s learned from her morning full of nothing but introspection. She wishes she regretted it because then she’d be able to tell JJ that she's not madly in love with him. “We were drunk,” she tells her because somehow that makes it okay. But then she remembers how he kept asking if she was okay.

It’s the bare minimum but… no one’s ever actually done that before.

“I’m surprised he could,” JJ admits. “He had a lot to drink.” They’d been celebrating… something. Reid and Garcia were celebrating, actually. The rest of them were just drinking away another miserable day at this hospital.

Emily nods her agreement. It’s unusual for Hotch to drink let alone get drunk enough to have sex with her. “He was very sweet,” she admits.

JJ smirks… What else was she expecting? Hotch can be an asshole but the majority of the time he really is a gentleman. Unless you incur his wrath and if you do… well, that’s your business. He’s a bit of a hothead but it does take a lot to get him worked into yelling.

Besides, Hotch is nothing but a sweetheart to Emily. They can act as blind as ⅔ of the three blind mice but that doesn’t change the heart eyes they exchange. It still leaves a lot to be desired on a lot of their exchanges, though. The way he reaches over and, without prompting, opens boxes or bags for her. The way Emily creeps into his personal space and he doesn’t comment or even step back.

“I don’t think it’ll work out, though.” Emily takes a long sip from her coffee, eyes thoughtfully trailing off. Actually, she’s not sure it won’t work but she’s about thirty percent sure he doesn’t love her and she needs someone to tell her that she’s not making it up.

JJ scoffs at that.

Emily stops walking, eyeing her friend up. “What?” Of course, she wants to know exactly what’s warranted that reaction.

JJ rolls her eyes, “Emily, I have watched you two make some of the most disgustingly adorable faces at each other for the better part of the last year. I’ve seen Haley watch your every move.” JJ picks her pace up, leaving Emily in her momentary frozen state. “He’s hopelessly in love with you Emily and if you don’t feel that way back then you’re lying to yourself and to him.” JJ turns around, walking backward so that her words are met with Emily’s full attention. “And you both deserve better than that.”

__________

Penelope Garcia is certain that someone is leaving her out of the loop.

For starters, Derek and Spencer are giggling in one of her observation rooms. Meaning that they’re not being watched… as they should be.

Emily and JJ brought her coffee this morning.

Dave has been MIA, besides coming down here half an hour ago to ask where Morgan and Reid had “fucked off to”. She would have happily informed him of the shenanigans, no doubt, happening in her emergency room, but Morgan had gotten to her first. Who is she to say no to her Chocolate Thunder so of course, she told Dave she hadn’t seen him yet this morning.

“MVA with three vics incoming!”

Garcia sighs, standing up from behind her desk. She looks over the doctors and staff floating through the emergency room. “Charlotte,” she calls the baby nurse over. Baby being the term she’s using because Charlotte is all of about twenty-three. She finds it adorable. “Honey, do you know where Hotch is?”

Another nurse, Savannah Hayes, steps up to the station. “Uhm, he’s on call.” There’s something about her knowing smile that tells Garcia exactly why Savannah knows that: Derek Morgan. “Off to a-a…” she snaps her fingers as she tries to recall what Morgan was telling her earlier that morning. “Parent-teacher meeting,” she recalls. “He’ll be back later though.”

Garcia frowns, making a mental note to ask about the meeting later. She’s about to ask how Morgan is since she hadn’t seen him that morning when the emergency room’s doors open and the EMTs run-in with the first victim.

“Forty-year-old car crash victim, head-on collision.” The EMTs come in running, shouting out information to whoever will listen. “Pressure is 50 over palp, his respirations were shallow in the field.” The stretcher is relinquished to the closest E.R. doctor. “Pupil dilation was equal and reactive at sight. ”

Garcia pulls herself together, clearing her throat as she steps up to the stretcher. “I want--” the order dies on her lips. The man on the stretcher is pale, paler than normal. His black hair plastered to his scalp, not in it’s usual combed but contained mess. His brow isn’t furrowed and he’s not looming and glooming but she’d know him anywhere.

Her brain blanks. Training and training and protocol and protocol but… It’s not very often she gets a friend in here. “Uhm,” she can feel the emotions taking over where she should be calm. Hotch needs her to be calm. “I need you to take him to--” her mind blanks but her pointing finger guides the seasoned EMT well and the two separate with a business-like nod.

“I need someone to--” Garcia turns and Charlotte is right there. “I need you to call the Chief down here and-and Derek and everyone!” She doesn’t look back or check to make sure she’s understood, she follows Hotch into the next room. There are ethics and protocol and so many things running through her head as she grabs her boss’s hand but there’s not a chance in hell anyone’s pulling her away.

Once in the room, she sets about doing her job. Looking up only as the curtain is thrown back and she finds David Rossi looking back at her.

“It’s Hotch.”

Garcia cuts through his shirt, the thin Hanes material giving like butter with her scissors. Tears sting her eyes, “oh, my liege.” She looks up and Derek and Spencer are right behind Dave, everyone filing in. It takes them a moment, just as it did her before they throw themselves into their jobs.

Rossi pulls the cut shirt away, shaking his head. “Chest movements are paradoxical,” he informs them, moving his hands to palpate Hotch’s abdomen. “Abdomen is rigid, too.” He places the stethoscope on Hotch’s diaphragm, sighing. “I need to place a chest tube, get me a cart.” He throws the stethoscope cord back around his neck, stepping to the side.

Out of the corner of her eye, Garcia sees Rossi going for the tools he needs for a chest tube. She doesn’t want to say they don’t have time for that but… “Pulse ox is 82,” Garcia informs them. “It was just 88.” Her hands are trembling as she moves around them, a flurry of movement all of them trying to do their jobs. “Oxygen is dropping.”

Morgan curses, “I need to intubate him.” The utensils are already gathered in his hands-- muscle memory to reach out for the tools that are cold and familiar in his palms. “Do you want to be the one to tell him he’s got heart damage or worse because we let his oxygen drop to below 80?”

Reid, standing by Hotch’s head, interlaces his fingers and shakes his head. His anxiety is sky high, it’s all too much. “Can’t,” he mumbles, shaking his hands out. “If a patient with pneumothorax or other indication for tube thoracostomy requires intubation and mechanical ventilation, the chest tube should be inserted first to avoid creating an iatrogenic tension pneumothorax.” He presses his palms into his temples. All the noise, everyone shouting is overstimulating him.

It’s why he doesn’t work in the emergency room.

“I just need a second, dammit!” Rossi’s hands are shaking, “let me get the chest tube in!” The scalpel in his hand trembles over Hotch’s skin. He’s pale from adrenaline and clammy to the touch. The emergency room feels different without Hotch looming over them. He’s not shouting out orders into the chaos or guiding anyone through procedures with his scarily calm voice.

“Dave? Come on, man!”

Rossi shakes his head, clearing his dismal thoughts. He clenches his jaw and makes the incision into the fourth intercostal space. “Clamp,” the cold metal is pressed into his palm and he places it inside the area. “Dissecting the pleural space,” he mumbles, working the clamp under Hotch’s skin so that the area can accept the tube.

Hotch’s body jerks away from Rossi, a soft grunt coming from his mouth. Reid steps back to his head, clicking his penlight on. “Right pupil is five millimeters and reactive,” Reid hovers by his friend’s head. He guides the light to Hotch’s left eye, yelping when the man jerks his head away from the light. “Hotch?” His eyes blink open, his head turning from the penlight. “He-He’s conscious!”

Rossi stands up from his spot, pulling his bloodied gloves off. He moves to Hotch’s head, “Aaron? Aaron, can you hear me?” He presses his warm hand to Hotch’s cheek, guiding Hotch’s attention to him. “Can you hear me, son?”

Hotch’s eyes are jerking around the room, his mouth open but silent as he writhes in pain. He can’t breathe. His chest is heavy but he’s only thinking about one thing: Jack. The strangled sound that leaves his mouth is inhuman, he doesn’t recognize it. The pain becomes excruciating.

“Sedate--” all too familiar with that word, Hotch turns his head towards Derek. The other man is red in the face, his anxiety bubbling into rage. Profanities litter his speech but Hotch’s mind is too exhausted to nitpick out the words. For now, the only one worth thinking about is sedate.

He pulls away from the bed, a burst of energy leaving him trembling but upright in the stretcher. “N-No!” Jack. Jack was in the back seat. He couldn’t reach Jack. He has to get to-- Something cold runs into his arm and looks down, body suspended by his friends and coworkers, and it’s Reid. In his hands is the syringe Garcia had gotten out. Hotch feels his chest tighten-- he feels betrayed.

“Easy, son.”

Hotch feels himself falling back but he doesn’t hit the hard surface of the gurney beneath him but rather hands. Gently, he’s guided back down. Sweat sleeks his hair to his face and he’s limp in the hands as Derek steps towards his head. They’re talking-- words he understands but…

Derek cranes his neck back, Hotch can see his lips moving, but he’s not taking in any of the words. He knows they’re asking him to do a simple task: blink on command to questions or offer a thumbs up. His inability to do these tasks, to even focus on anything other than the cold air on his exposed flesh is the reason they keep moving around him. Shouting as if he isn’t really there at all.

A thumb presses on his chin, forcing his jaw open. He grimaces as cold metal slides into his throat. Floating between conscious and unconsciousness, he gags and feels himself twist to get away from the tube pressing into the back of his throat.

“Easy--” someone comforts as hands press his shoulders down.

Air fills his lungs, it hurts-- every muscle, bone, tendon, everything hurts. He can breathe though, full lungfuls of air. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the ambu bag, bright blue, and in Reid’s hands. They make eye contact and Hotch watches as Reid syncs their breathing. The young genius’s shoulders rise as Hotch’s lungs fill and fall as he exhales.

There was once a time when Hotch had stood by Reid’s side, his hands covering Reid’s over the ambu bag. He’d always been able to be more patient with Reid than he was with many other students. Reid’s just a kid. So he made a point to remember that in every interaction he had with the genius.

And he’d grown to appreciate Reid’s unique sense of humor. He’s a good guy.

A good kid.

“Hotch?” Reid’s throat tightens as he watches a pained grimace come across his boss’ face. He’s uncomfortable and in pain but Reid can’t do much besides keeping the ambu bag moving at a steady pace. “Garcia?” He feels a flutter of anxiety knotting his heart up. “Can’t you do something? He’s in pain.”

Morgan interrupts whatever Garcia’s going to say with a shout, “just pulled a positive tap!” A second later, the metal starts hitting the table with a clatter. The wheels of the stretcher unlock, the guard rail going up. “He’s got blood in his abdomen, he needs to get into the OR, now!”

Dave takes a stumbling step back, his arms raised above his head. It’s muscle memory to pull them away from the field-- the field, of course, being his friend's bleeding body. His heart sinks to his feet but follows in the direction that Derek is pushing Hotch. His voice barking out orders that echo down the hall.

Dave watches them go.

“Sir,” an attending waves him down. “Hotchner’s wife is gonna need heart surgery.”

Dave’s got another job to attend to.

He has Savannah call Emily to the OR. He meets his team in the room. They’re working with silence. “If you can’t pull yourself together,” his voice is harsh because they’re past life and death. “Get out of my OR.” He looks around the crowd of faces, nurses and doctors he’s known for years. There’s a solemn understanding.

They wait on edge.

“Prentiss won’t know,” Dave tells the team. His eyes move to the woman on the table and without a word, he draws back the blue cloth over her eyes. The room stands in silent shock. All of them recognize her.

Haley Hotchner.

They’ve seen the evolution of the divorce. The way Aaron came into the hospital fresh-faced and new. Haley used to bring him lunch and Dave used to catch them in the on-call room. They’d gotten pregnant, had their ultrasound a floor down from where Haley now lays. Had their boy, Jack, and fallen into a pit.

Haley stopped kissing him between visits to the hospital.

She stopped visiting altogether.

Then Emily had come.

“Prentiss can’t know.”

She won’t know.

Emily Prentiss has mastered the art of chugging hot coffee and running, which is what she’s currently doing. Emergency heart surgery, she’s thrilled. Even more so when she steps into the room and things are already in motion.

“Dave,” she greets the older man as she steps into the operating room. Her hands are raised, waiting for a nurse to place gloves over her hands. “What’re you doing in here?”

It takes every ounce of his self-control to keep his voice steady. He clears his throat, “thought I’d watch the master at work.” Sure, Dave, win her over with flattery. Maybe then she won’t hate you for lying. “That alright with you?”

Emily shrugs, “I don’t mind dazzling you.” Gloves snapped into place, she adds, “but I do prefer Heart Goddess. You know, for future reference.” She turns to Savannah, who she recognizes behind her mask. “What do we have?”

Savannah glances at Dave. For a moment, Dave’s certain the cat’s about to be out of the bag but before he can fill the silence, Savannah clears her throat. “Thirty-five-year-old female with a suspected arterial wall collapse.”

Emily frowns as she walks past the patient, eyes scanning over the ultrasound that’s pulled up. “Suspected?” she repeats. She doesn’t like the sound of suspected but she’s not complaining. It could certainly be worse. She shrugs it away. “I’m gonna time myself,” she announces. “Have you started her on L.R.s?”

“Two liters L.R. and a unit of packed cells.”

Emily nods her head and moves back to the patient. “Alright, sounds good to me.” She extends her right hand, “ten blade.”

They all watch in baited silence as she sets to work.

“It’s a goddamn…” the frustration in her voice is clear. Her brows furrow and she falls silent.

Dave tries to keep himself calm but taking a deep breath doesn’t settle his nerves. He leans over the operating table, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches. “How’s it going,” he asks. He’s a damn good surgeon himself but it’s been a long time since he was running a heart surgery like this one. His specialty runs more towards general.

Emily shakes her head. When the monitors sound in alarm she doesn’t look up to see what it is, the curse she lets out says she already knows exactly what’s wrong. “Her…” Emily pauses as she works. “The inferior vena cava is completely collapsed. I don’t know how she’s--” Both of their heads snap up as the heart monitor sounds out in alarm.

Emily pulls her hands up, shaking her head as she works. “I can’t do anything,” she tells Dave. “Everything’s a mess. She’s bleed dry and I’ve maxed out the dopamine ....” Emily blows out her breath, letting herself think. “Let me try…” she leans back over Haley.

Whatever she’s doing, causes the monitors to get louder. “Dammit!” Emily keeps working, asking for different tools as fast as the nurses can hand them to her.

The monitor flatlines.

Emily pulls her hands out and she looks over at Dave. “There’s nothing I can do,” she admits. “The heart was shredded.”

Dave refuses to believe this. “No,” he tells her. “There has to be something.” His attention snaps up as Derek steps into the room adjacent to the operating room. He’s come for news but Dave can see his eyes travel to the monitor. His shoulders sag and his mouth opens in disbelief.

Dave looks to the ground, “go talk to Derek.”

Emily frowns at him, “what is your problem?”

He doesn’t mean to. It’s nothing against her. None of this is her fault. He stood right here. He saw. She did her best but sometimes there’s nothing you can do. “Go, Emily!”

Sulking away, looking more like a pissed-off teenager than an award-winning surgeon, Emily pulls her gloves off angrily. Making a point to throw them away where Dave can visibly see how hard she throws the limp latex. She shoves her way through the door and shakes her head at Derek. “What the hell is his problem?”

Dave watches through the window.

Derek starts talking, his hands gathering near his chest as he gestures and tries to work around telling Emily the truth.

Emily takes a step back, shaking her head. She argues with him, disbelief. No. Then her head turns to Dave and to the woman laying on the table. To the sandy blonde hair she just barely recognizes until Dave reaches down and moves the blanket draped over Haley’s face.

Dave can hear her muffled shout. Her voice grows frantic and angry as she accepts Derek pulling her to his chest but her fist hitting him. Fighting with everything she’s got for this not to be true.

For Haley to be alive.

Dave begins the slow process of pulling his own garments off. Someone’s going to have to tell Aaron.

He assumes that job is going to be left for him as well.

__________

It takes Dave a minute to find JJ. She’s lost in a sea of children, crouching so that she’s level with them as she speaks. Judging by the bandanna wrapped around her forehead, she’s got them into some game. Which explains how she’s oblivious to the news he’s carrying.

“Hey, kiddos.” He tries and fails to appreciate the youthful hope written across the snotty faces beaming at him. “I’m gonna need to steal Miss JJ for a moment, okay?”

JJ looks up and tells him to wait a moment, before she manages to wiggle out of the grasp of a rather small snot nosed child. Still, she gives the kid a pat on the head before stepping to the side with Dave.

“Aaron was in a car accident--” he tells her everything. That he lied to Emily and that Haley is dead. She takes it in stride. Nodding and inquiring about the surgeries. About Hotch’s outcome.

“But you think he’s going to be okay?” she asks.

Dave hesitates before agreeing. “His intracranial pressure is being closely monitored but… they all worked to the best of their abilities and--”

JJ nods, right. They’ve got great surgeons under this roof. Hotch would be safer no place else.

“I need to ask you a favor, though.” He rubs at the back of his neck, sheepishly recalling his short-circuited shout at Emily.

JJ already knows, “I’ll take care of her.” She steps to the side, attempting to make good on her promise.

“She’s with--”

“Aaron,” JJ finishes. “I know.” Because where else would she go? When Emily seeks comfort, she goes one to two places. To JJ or Hotch and considering Emily hasn’t been on the ward, the children love her so she’d know she must be with him.

It doesn’t take long for her to find Hotch's room. JJ steps in, feeling her light bubble pop under the pressure of the blood not completely wiped from Hotch’s face. The additional loom and gloom do not help. “How’s he doing?” The room is devoid of all things light and cheerful. Sucked through the dark whole of her friends’ current moods.

His vitals are good. A steady resting heart rate of seventy-two. He’s alive and that’s more than they can say for other victims of the crash.

“He won’t wake up.” Emily stands up from his side. Uncurling her long legs from underneath her as she stretches out. Muscles ache and joints pop as she moves for the first time in several hours. She doesn’t look at him for too long, it makes her chest tight and her throat hurt to see him like this.

She prefers the medicine of everything.

She can understand pulmonary edemas, kidney failures, pneumothorax, and flail chest but… The comparison is medicine makes sense. Show her a blocked artery and she’ll work around it. Bypass isn’t an option? No problem. The surgery is over. Vitals are steady. There aren’t chest to crack or hearts to massage. All she can do is sit back and take watch.

Her best friends sitting in a hospital bed hooked up to machines and she can do nothing.

“Of course, he isn’t,” JJ grumbles, walking over to the light switch and turning on the lights. Bathed in the dark room, windows shut to cut out all natural light, and surrounded by artificial sound it’s no wonder he’s not waking up. They haven’t given him a reason to. “Emily, you’ve shut out all the natural light. Half of recovery is atmosphere and, if I were Hotch, I’d feel like everyone had given up on me.”

JJ pulls open the blinds, the bright light making Emily recoil. The room, though, brightens, and JJ can feel the warmth in her chest. It occurs to her that maybe Hotch isn’t the only one who needs some looking after. While they can rest assured that Derek, Penelope, Dave, and Spence will cycle through the room periodically. Each of them checking sutures, drain tubes, and reflex responses.

No one’s checking on eachother.

“Em,” JJ places a hand on her friend’s shoulder. Emily’s shoulders feel rock hard under her palm. “When was the last time you showered or ate?”

Emily’s too tired to even think of numbers. Instead she leans into JJ, allowing her head to rest against the space between the blondes neck and shoulder. She’s fighting tears before JJ even hugs her back. “Are you sure you don’t want to run away with me?” she asks. “We can run away right now and do gay crimes and leave all the men in our lives right here.”

JJ cups the back of Emily’s head, rubbing her back as she considers the offer Emily has been making a lot here lately. After a moment, JJ decides that she loves her best friend with all her heart and that gay crimes sound thrilling but she can’t. Besides the fact that she knows how good Emily is at sex and the gay crimes would be very gay and very nice… Neither really want to leave. “I think we’d better stay here, love.” She kisses Emily’s temple, “besides, I can’t leave in good conscience while Hotch is like this.”

Emily pulls away from JJ, moving her body so that she can lean into the smaller woman. She’s accepted with open arms and they stand leaning and silent as they watch Hotch breath.

It’s artificial and that comes with it’s own sort of sting but it’s still him.

“I killed his wife,” Emily whispers after a long moment between the ventilators hissing.

JJ knows. Dave had come to tell her the minute Haley’s heart stopped the first time on the table.

“She’s not going to be able to save her,” he’d whispered, hushed and frantic. “It’s going to crush her.”

Now, as JJ feels Emily sobbing silently beside her, she wonders how Dave knew. Emily’s never taken losing well. She’s heavily competitive. So, maybe this is the worst kind. Emily didn’t just fail… she let her best friend’s wife die.

“Ex-wife,” JJ corrects. Because that’s what Hotch and Halery were. Separated. Anybody with two eyes could see they still loved each other but the job always came first for Hotch. Haley… she wanted more. “She was his ex-wife.” Besides that, the distinction is important.

Emily knows it doesn’t matter. “I still killed her,” she replies. “He’s never going to forgive me.”

JJ looks at the man on the bed. There’s nothing she wants more than to reassure Emily that’s not true. She’s seen the way Hotch looks at her when no one else is watching. But she can’t really know. “Let’s go clean up,” she deflects. “You’ll feel better.”

God, Emily hopes she’s right.

__________

“We’re having a party.” Penelope Garcia is standing in front of her family, sans Hotch, with her hands on her hips and enough conviction in her tone to convince them that’s a solid plan. “JJ’s right,” she informs them. They had lunch together like they do every day. It may be normal to have one or two of them missing-- general surgery logs Hotch random hours and heart and brain surgery tend to run on the long side-- this is the first time any of their own have been on the table.

The first time Reid wasn’t at the table because his hands were meticulously placing holes in Hotch’s head.

“This place is way too gloomy,” and she’s right of course. Even with the light funneling into the room from the blinds JJ pulled up, Hotch is still surrounded by their dismal moods. “We’re having a party.”

After a long moment, each of them rolling this idea around Dave speaks. He’s not against the idea but he’s not exactly going to give it the go-ahead, not yet. “Aaron would hate the attention,” he deduces because that’s the truth. Hotch wouldn’t even talk to them about the divorce.

The papers for which were delivered in the middle of the workday. JJ had been the one to go get Hotch. He was in the middle of a surgery… one that someone else had to finish.

“He won’t even know,” Garcia informs them. “Reid’s keeping him in the induced coma for another night.”

This is, of course, news to the rest of the room. Reid had gotten out of the surgery and gone to collapse in bed. Exhausted. Emotionally and physically.

Emily speaks up for the first time since the meeting had been called. “He could--” she realizes how helplessly hopeful she is as soon as the words start to come out. “He could still wake up.”

He could. Reid had decreased his dosage a little post-operation before he’d gone home but before Reid could even leave the hospital Hotch’s intracranial pressure had increased.

“He could,” Garcia agrees. “That’s why, if he does. He’s going to be surrounded by us. Having a good time.”

And if there’s one thing that rings true through-out that hospital… If Garcia says it, then it’s Gospel.

“I feel stupid,” Emily grumbles, sitting still but not going through the party process as well as her friend would like. She’s in a dress because Garcia wants this to be a fancy party. Full of drinking and music. Emily knows Hotch would be just as happy if she were barefoot and daisy dukes.

JJ taps her cheek, a small soundless reprimand for moving away from the eye-liner JJ is so meticulously placing on her eyes.

Emily sits for the remainder of the make-up JJ paints onto her face. She can’t actively see it going on but she still knows it’s a lot.

“Oh my God,” Garcia beams when she sees Emily. “You’re gorgeous.” She looks at JJ, “I love it but we’re not trying to shock the man into another coma when he lays his eyes on our total bombshell babe!”

Emily rolls her eyes and shakes herself loose from Garcia’s grip. “I’m not sure I can do this.” She admits, sinking back against her chair. “How am I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t fix Haley and I can’t fix my own heart… so, what am I, JJ? Because a heart goddess certainly isn’t it.”

JJ drops her knee, ignoring the way her own dress rides up her thigh. “Emily, you’re the heart Goddess whether you like it or not.” She cups the side of Emily’s face, wiping her thumb across a tear that dares to fall from her friend’s face. “Dave had you do the surgery on Haley because you’re the best surgeon in the damn county.” She shakes her head, “hell in the nation, probably. If you couldn’t save her then no one could and her best chances were when she was on your table.”

Garcia offers a hand on Emily’s shoulder. She squeezes lightly, “you did you best, Em. You tried to save Haley but now we have to go save Hotch.”

Emily nods, caving to the idea. “Fine,” she mumbles, “but I’m not dancing.”

She lasts four seconds because as soon as she steps through the door, Dave sweeps her up. “Dance with me, bella?”

It’s mostly shifting back and forth but she can feel the tension leaving her body as she accepts Dave’s proximity. After a moment of listening to Reid and Morgan’s bickering, Dave clears his throat. “I wanted to apologize for everything that happened earlier,” he tells her. They step closer to one another so that they can hear each other over the sound of the music and monitors.

“It’s okay,” Emily whispers back, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I know…” she sighs, she’s not sure what she knows.

Dave rubs her back, keeping them moving. “At the very least,” he offers, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

She pulls away from his embrace just enough to stand on the tips of her toes and press a kiss to his cheek. “I forgive you,” she promises.

Air cleared and feeling a little better Dave looks over to Hotch. The kid looks better. It’s hard to tell if that’s a placebo or the truth. “Is it just me,” Dave asks, “or does he seem to be getting more popular?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Maybe I should go into a coma.”

Emily snickers, “Dave, if you went into a coma… how would we ever know?”

Dave stops dancing, mouth open in shock. “I--” he shakes his head. “I can’t…” He shuts his mouth with an audible snap, “I can’t believe you’d say something like that!”

Behind them, Morgan and Reid are still in the heats of an argument about plastic surgery.

“Anybody can--” Morgan flusters, “it’s called aesthetic awareness, pretty Ricky. You don’t have it. It’s a fine-toothed skill and you can’t even color inside the lines.” He looks at Savannah for back-up but his girlfriend doesn’t offer it. “Never mind your mismatched socks. You just don’t have it, kid.”

Before Reid can offer a rebuttal on the matter, Garcia calls his name out.

“He’s waking up!” She dances at Hotch’s side, motioning them all over with a hurried flick of his wrist.

The music is turned down as Reid pulls out his penlight.

“Hey, kid,” Dave greets softly. He takes Hotch’s left hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’re all here. Reid, JJ, Garcia.” They watch as his eyes open, it’s just a sliver but the soft brown of his eyes greets them back none-the-less. “Morgan and Emily.”

A shiver goes down Emily’s back as his eyes turn over to her. She steps up, feeling awkward as the other’s part to let her through. Garcia lets go of his other hand, letting Emily takes his hand. “Hey,” she greets softly. She smiles, unable to contain her tears when his finger slowly crawls back around hers.

“You’re gonna be a-okay,” Dave promises. “We’re all here, okay? You can get some sleep.”

His eyes flick over to Dave for a second before returning to her.

Emily looks around the room, uncertain… but her gut is forgotten by her heart as she leans over and places a kiss on his forehead. “Get some sleep, Aaron.”

Dave takes a step back, “good night, kiddo.”

She holds his hand until his eyes slip back shut. Waiting for another moment, just to be sure.

“He’s going to be okay,” Reid reassures her.

Emily steps back from the bed and nods. “I hope you’re right.” But Reid is never wrong and she holds onto that hope with everything she’s got.

@ssaic-jareau @emilyxprentiss @purple-scarf-mistress @blatant-attitude @torimea @jetaime-jespere

#criminal minds #greys anatomy au #hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid #david rossi #derek morgan #penelope garcia

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shelovescontrol91 · 3 years

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Camila Cabello on how her movie Cinderella is a modern day story of female empowerment

Not waiting to be saved by a prince, Kay Cannon’s Cinderella is not your ordinary fairy-tale princess, but a feisty fashion entrepreneur. Cover stars Camila Cabello and Nicholas Galitzine open up about the classic story that’s been updated with new-age ambitions

BY UDITA JHUNJHUNWALA

Over the years, French author Charles Perrault’s 1697 folk tale Cinderella has been adapted countless times. It was a Disney animated musical (Cinderella, 1950), Cinderella was even a fella (Cinderfella, 1960), a high school student (A Cinderella Story, 2004) and a celebration of diversity with a non-white cast (Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Cinderella, 1997). In Ever After (1998), which featured historical characters from the 16th and 19th centuries, Anjelica Huston was the quintessential wicked stepmother, and Kenneth Branagh’s Cinderella (2015) adaptation featured Lily James as an empowered young Ella, the girl covered in cinder who loses her glass slipper at the ball and falls in love with a charming prince till they live happily ever after.

The latest adaptation, based on director Kay Cannon’s screenplay, sidesteps the clichés yet ticks the boxes of wicked stepmother and stepsisters, a charming prince (played by Nicholas Galitzine) and a lot of pop songs. However, in Cannon’s updated Cinderella, the fairy godparent is genderless (played by Billy Porter) and this Cinderella, played by singer-songwriter Camila Cabello in her movie debut, is no whimpering wallflower. She’s got dreams and ambition to become a fashion designer. Her happily ever after is not dependent on a handsome prince.

A new role model

When asked about how their version of the classic is different from previous versions, Cabello says via an email interview, “It’s a totally new telling of the story. I feel like other fairy tales have values that are old-fashioned and don’t reflect the independence and strength of women accurately. This version has definitely been updated for a 2021 audience and world. The spirit of the story is there, with the characters and some themes, but it feels much more current in its values.”

Featuring a CEO Cinderella, a diverse cast of townsfolk, a line-up of princesses from around the world (don’t miss the cameo by Japanese comedian Naomi Watanabe) and a fairy godparent whose costume merges masculine and feminine elements, here’s a classic tale upended to become a modern-day story of female empowerment. “The modern, fresh take on a well-trodden fairy tale allows us to discuss contemporary issues and themes and hopefully make this version more relatable to audiences. The modern songs are an amazing contrast to the period aesthetic that is represented in the costumes and setting. I also think the film brings more humour than we've seen in previous fairy tales, which is largely due to Kay Cannon and the array of comedic actors in our cast,” adds Galitzine.

From the trailer, it appears that this version is far more empowering for Cinderella. “Definitely, and this version of Cinderella is way more relatable to young girls and women who might be able to see something from the character’s experience in their own life,” says Cabello, who describes her Ella as “empowered and ambitious, with dreams of her own. It’s a Cinderella in which she saves herself. She doesn’t aspire to be a wife or a part of the royal family, she’s too busy working on her fashion empire.”

So does that leave Galitzine’s prince simply holding a glittery glass slipper? When asked how Prince Robert is different, if at all, from the legacy character of the charming Prince, Galitzine explains, “It is often said that the prince’s role in these fairy tales is singular: to marry the princess. But while finding love is one aspect of Prince Robert’s story, his quest for freedom is more important. He’s a man who feels trapped by his circumstance, stifled by the responsibilities of the crown and the role he is expected to play. He’s figuring himself out for a lot of the movie, and Cinderella really aids in this. Bringing a level of humanity and vulnerability to him was so important in differentiating him from other princes. I also feel we tried to make him a little edgier than princes before him through the music and costumes.”

Costume drama

The fashion-obsessed will find it hard to separate Cannon’s 2021 Cinderella from the costumes, not just because fashion is Ella’s dream profession, but it’s also her mode of expression. Working with the costume department and taking on the part of an aspiring couturier were among the highlights of Cabello’s experience on this film. “I loved my work costumes! They were so comfortable but still had Ella’s swag to them. Ellen Mirojnick and her team were so passionate and full of joy for what they were doing. They were so in love with Ella and the values she represented. In a time where women’s self-expression is so limited, she uses fashion to express herself. Even when she’s dressing for work she has accessories in her hair and puts unique details in her corsets. I think it shows how much self-expression and authenticity are important to her. Obviously, the story has romantic themes and I think that shows in the costumes. They’re very romantic, magical costumes—but designed with Ella’s character in mind. As she makes her own clothes, there were considerations about how she might have made certain decisions or designed things in a certain way. She even makes her own ball gown.”

Costume designer Mirojnick, who brought alive the world of Bridgerton with her clothes, also had the edgy Porter to work with, and she took inspiration from the monarch butterfly to create the godparent’s (named Fab G), gown with wings and custom Jimmy Choo boots.

Cabello equally loved working with Porter and all that his character represents. “His version of the Fairy Godmother is genderless. After all, magic doesn’t have a gender. Fab G guides Cinderella and helps her dreams come true…but she gets there by staying true to herself along the way,” she explains.

Of all his co-actors, from Cabello to Minnie Driver and Pierce Brosnan, British actor Galitzine was most in awe of Brosnan. “Working with Pierce Brosnan and Minnie Driver was just a dream. A bit of a pinch-yourself moment. They are icons but are so down-to-earth and giving. I was just trying to soak up as much knowledge from them as possible. Minnie is so funny, and Pierce is my James Bond. I should have asked him for some tips if I ever throw my hat in the ring for a future Bond,” says the 26-year-old, perhaps not entirely in jest. On his co-star Cabello, he adds, “I feel so lucky that Camila and I clicked straight away. Even from the chemistry test. We have a similar sense of humour and a willingness to learn, which bonded us throughout the process. To me, Camila is an old soul and carries herself with such wisdom. I love working with actors like that.”

Modern day fairy tale

The lead actors, our digital cover stars for the month, agree that it’s time to update fairy tales and align them to a 21st century audience, where girls and boys of today feel seen in popular culture. Cabello says it is about time that “little girls can see themselves being represented in Aladdin or The Little Mermaid.” Galitzine adds, “The idea of the damsel in distress is fast becoming obsolete. I think young women want to see themselves, and indeed their hopes and dreams, represented in characters. This film does an incredible job in bringing diversity in its cast and crew, which I think is integral in the process of updating these fairy tales for a modern-day audience.”

So do either of them believe in ‘happily ever after’? Galitzine says he believes that relationships take work: “Nothing is ever perfect. You have to make compromises and sacrifices, and it won’t always be as glamorous as the fairy tales may suggest. But I do believe there is a person out there who will love you for all your imperfections and messiness. And those kinds of people will be with you for a very long time.”

Cabello, on the other hand, agrees with the film’s updated take that an individual’s happiness is not dependent on another. “I guess the idea of ‘happily ever after’ is part of the old ideals of fairy tales, where the princess is destined to be with a prince, and that’s where her happiness will come from. But I like to think we’re redefining that idea with this film, and that you can be happy in yourself and with your own ambition. That being said, I am a huge Disney fan, so I will always be happy that I got the chance to be in this movie.”

Cinderella will stream on Amazon Prime Video from September 3, 2021

#camila cabello #cinderella #nicholas galitzine

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kingreywrites · 3 years

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trans new dream !!!! love it. if you have more hcs that you didn’t share in the first ask, consider this your excuse to share them. i would love it.

Thank you!! I love this hc a lot too 🥺💖 Have a few others!! It's kinda disorganised though asfhskdkf sorry

- Eugene used to bind with whatever would do the work cheaply, so mostly bandages, but once he's welcomed into the castle with Rapunzel, he's given access to way more options. He's kinda worried about straight out asking though, and Rapunzel tries to help him, but it's finally Cassandra who comes through and shows him more comfortable ways to bind (because Cass is non-binary 😌)

- once he knows what he wants exactly, Rapunzel takes into sewing him binders and decorating them

- I mentioned it in my last post, but Rapunzel would have more difficulties adapting to having lost her hair, since Gothel did her best to make it the only thing that mattered in her femininity. However, having the same hair color as Arianna, and being told by everyone how much she looks like her mom, and having Arianna herself be really supportive of it and of her choices in general do help her gain confidence in her appearance

- the first time Frederic calls Eugene "son", Eugene cries a little bit. They don't talk about it. Fred is supportive of them both btw, in the "he's a little confused but he's got the spirit" vibe

- Rapunzel has a hard time not seeking affirmation, since she had been made so dependent on it for eighteen years. The fact that she's given it freely all the time, by Eugene, her family, and everyone around her, helps her a lot, and I can see her straying from the dresses and the pink/purple colours once she feels more comfortable in the fact that they're not necessary for her to be a woman

- Eugene finds a new joy in taking care of his appearance, and though he had hidden it for years behind the excuse that he had just a big ego, he's glad that none of this is seen as too feminine for him. He's really anxious about the way other people perceives him, and he's also really sensitive about certain things (as in, jokes about his name are REALLY badly taken) but honestly, if anyone criticise him or Rapunzel, someone in the castle is gonna punch them before they have the time to react

- in the same vein, the episode where Edmund calls Eugene by his birth name is cut short by the fact that Rapunzel tackles Edmund one-minute in.

- despite their experiences being so different on the surface, Eugene and Rapunzel definitely have a lot in common. They spend long nights talking about the stuff they lived through, and how they both feel like they have to prove themselves for their identity to be valid (and they both think to themselves quietly that they're gonna do everything so the other doesn't feel like that again)

- okay so I know that in the show everyone's a giant but that means that, compared to them, Eugene is mostly... short. Except that he's actually taller than Rapunzel, and both of them find this really great (Rapunzel is always happy to get on her tiptoe to kiss him)

- since it's my headcanons and my made-up world, there are things like HRT and top surgery etc. (Historical accuracy is only here when I want her okay) So, between other things, Eugene does have a goatee, and is REALLY proud of it (and still annoys Cassandra by taking care of it with her weapons).

- Rapunzel discovers that she actually really likes having some make-up on. It's artistic, she likes how it makes her look, she's really happy to be introduced to it

- Rapunzel also really enjoys learning more about weapons, and she's amazing with a crossbow because I said so. She has a less strict idea of what "typically masculine" stuff is (Gothel mostly demonized masculinity, and made her feel bad for being associated to it, but being separated from society still means that Rapunzel doesn't have the same stereotypes Eugene does), so when she hears about fighting being mostly a masculine activity, she feels a little bad - but Eugene and Cassandra are both here to tell her that's bullshit anyway.

- Eugene and Rapunzel unofficially take under their wings every lgbt kid in Corona and beyond. They really want to help people like they wish they had been helped when they struggled the most, and they're also not afraid to punch assholes if necessary

#trying to explain my hcs is hard sometimes because my brain is simply made of vibes #sorry i didn't answer yesterday!!#tangled #Rapunzel #Eugene Fitzherbert #mine

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project-ohagi · 4 years

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Dabi x Reader

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Greyromantic: Can experience romantic attraction, but weakly or infrequently; feeling alienated from romance; only feeling attraction in specific circumstances.

Asexual: Having little/no sexual attraction or interest in sexual activities.

Questioning: Process of exploration regarding gender, sexual orientation, sexual identity.

----

The phenomenon of love is a complex, chemical concoction that has long been weaved into the fabric of our society. It is presented as a requirement, with those who find the concept either too challenging to thoroughly comprehend, or lacking in appeal, branded as anomalies. In its pursuit of normality, it quickly alienated those whose hearts just couldn't conform. In a different society, one not quite so dominated by this 'normality' of romantic and sexual interests...you might be forgiven for your limited knowledge. But this one...it seems to blanch at the very idea that happiness can be attained in the absence of romantic attraction.

As such, those identifying along the Aromantic or Asexual spectrums are often overlooked - even shunned. But, the greatest truth of it all is a lot simpler than you may expect: an emotion as profound as joy cannot be induced solely by succumbing to carnal desires, or tasting the lips of another. No...it is through self-acceptance, and the acceptance from those for whom your heart beats - parents, siblings, friends...and perhaps in this manner, the meaning is amplified.

But...what happens when you are forced into complacency, into setting aside your own interests, to 'further evolution', or to 'finally be normal'?

You were still trying to figure this out.

Who were you...really? Why couldn't you summon an emotion as free and universal as love?...Romantic love? Why did it seem so incomprehensible, so...intangible? These were the thoughts you battled with, every waking moment. They burrowed deep into your mind, so that you could never pull them out. They were elusive, yet...constant, nagging.

Why am I so different? Everyone else has crushes...even Toga likes that one UA boy! Ah, yeah...she asked me if I have someone I love. I just said "No". Saying: "I don't even know what 'love' is" seems a bit...she'd definitely call me weird. Then the others would probably laugh at me...

You felt...incomplete, like a jigsaw puzzle with only half the pieces. You felt the isolation, suffocating you. It hadn't been a conscious decision. You didn't awaken one morning and think 'You know what? This whole 'love' thing? It just isn't for me! ' You craved a connection, a bond of some kind - holding hands...a hug at most. Anything more was frightening to imagine. What if someone...pressured you? Or stole a kiss, as an offhanded action? You couldn't bear it...not even the mere thought. It was likely the main contributor to your chronic anxiety and paranoia. Your treatment at the hands of society, the ridicule and the fear of phrases such as "It's just a phase!" or, "You need to find the right person!"...they fuelled the flickering spark of villainy in your eyes.

After all, outcasts and monsters are interchangeable to most common folk.

But you didn't want those labels. You were a lost lamb, wandering aimlessly - what you really needed was guidance...someone who would listen and advise, someone who would accept you and every burden you carried, without question or quandary. But you said nothing...so you got nothing in return. Dabi was the closest to a...a source of strength? Motivation?...Potential love interest? But...how would you ever truly know? How could you discern the romantic from the platonic? It seemed impossible - simply a waste of time. Still, you never fully resigned to this fate of...loneliness.

You wanted to cherish, and to be cherished.

You wanted to love, and to be loved.

Perhaps it was the unyielding voice of fear, of desperation and pain, but...you just didn't know! You didn't know...and, it was difficult. You studied Dabi's face, and while nothing immediately heated your cheeks, he wasn't...unattractive. Aha! Maybe that was love? Alas, you discovered it to be more aesthetic attraction. It was a little disappointing, but perseverance should've been the key, right...?

Why? Why do I feel so little? Dabi is there for me, right? So surely if anyone, I should love him!...Do I love him? How can I tell? Is there some sort of test? How would a test even be administered? What kind of questions would I have to answer? I don't think I could answer them, even with study. If I'm struggling so much now...

And anyway...Dabi was a dominant male, whose sexuality was unclear. Even if you managed to settle on a definition of 'love', and figure out what role it played in your life...there was no guarantee that Dabi would want you. The jury was still out, on your gender - 'questioning' was your placeholder for the moment. But, you usually dressed masculine...would he be okay with someone so indecisive? Someone who might be neither male nor female? And, what if...what if he wasn't the one?

Say I can find love, and I start to understand it...who's to say that the person I love will be Dabi? It could be anyone! Maybe they were right, and I just haven't met the right person...but, I kind of want it to be Dabi? Is that...bad? Oh god, it sounds so selfish! He'll just be tied down, and if we find out that I don't actually love him...what would he do? At the very least, he'd be angry...

Dabi...the more you recalled his honey-laced voice, all the flirting you failed to notice until it was pointed out (clearly, he was doing that in jest), and those blue eyes (steely from years on the run, that probably depleted the pools of guilt and regret often accompanying mass killings, thievery and other criminal acts), the more confusion festered. You just didn't understand! Was it love? Or was it conversion? Were you trying to become 'normal'? Well, as normal as a villain could be...? Or did Dabi really mean something...something greater than you believed? Something...beyond what you currently knew?

This journey of self-discovery had approached a torturous junction.

Why were relationships so sought after, so expected? Even you desired one. How else could you ever hope to form a deep bond, or receive that fabled 'feeling of ecstasy' from holding hands or hugging? If there was no romance, mainstream media would lead you to the conclusion that there isn't a 'proper' or 'deep enough' connection - there can't be. You wanted to experience these things with Dabi. No-one else. You couldn't explain why. He was...an unusual character, mysterious and with perhaps a similar level of complexity as the daunting questions you were asking yourself. But mentioning your plight to him simply wasn't an option. Villains were responsible for themselves; the League was nothing more than a safety net.

Besides, Dabi was heartless.

...Or so he liked to be portrayed.

Urghhh...why is this so complicated? How am I supposed to know if I love him? The signs are...increased heart rate and blood to the face, right...? That seems unhealthy...is that actually supposed to be a good thing??

"Hey, you stopped spacing out yet, (V/n)?"

Shit! No, no, no! I haven't finished spacing out!

Sheepishly, you turned in the direction of the voice. Why did Dabi always seem to materialise out of thin air, whenever you thought about him? Did you magic him here, by accident? Subconsciously? However you managed that...you hated it. Your existential crisis really didn't need a spectator. Break out the popcorn, why don't you?

Can't I have a break down in peace? Wait...am I even in my room?...Did I seriously question my entire existence right here in the bar? It's a good thing there's no-one else here...I don't need more people telling me that I'm crazy...

You sighed. "...Yeah."

His brows furrowed - this was unfamiliar territory. Helping people had never been his speciality, especially given his own trauma . But for you...it was certainly worth a shot. "What's up? You on your man-period or something?"

Off to a spectacularly dreadful start. "I - I don't know if I'm a man, though...how could I-"

"Relax, it was a joke. Your pronouns are they/them, right? I'm not gonna call you a man just for the sake of argument. Nah...Hey, scoot over." A for effort.

"You could sit literally anywhere else."

He smirked. "You gonna stop me, sweet-cheeks?"

Sweet...?

"Thought not. Anyway, what's going on? You've been all doom-and-gloom for the past...two hours." He motioned over to the clock.

Had you honestly spent so long in contemplation? Gods, you could've unlocked the secrets of the universe, but no. "I've...kinda been asking myself that."

"Oh?" It was obviously a prompt, but talk of your romantic inclination (or lack thereof) would likely be regarded in the realm of 'stupid' and 'childish', so...could really you trust him?

I've always been too nervous to take risks...Guess now's as good a time as any to change that.

You swallowed down the uncertainties, the anxiety and everything in-between. They didn't help - they only hindered. And...you did need to release this burden, that weighed you down so heavily.

"Um...it's - it's...confusing. Really...confusing. I guess, I simple terms: I don't know what 'love' is. I know it probably sounds really dumb to you, and I feel stupid for even saying it, but...I've never...never had a crush, never been in love. I don't...I don't feel anything romantic towards, well...anyone!"

"Not even a bit?" He asked, blank-faced.

"I - I don't know. I really want to, though. I'm just...I'm scared. There's always this underlying fear of...what if - what if someone forces me? Y'know? What if...I date someone, and they can't accept that I'm different...that I might never feel anything for them? I don't want to be lonely forever, Dabi! I want someone, I really do! I say I've never been in love, but...the truth is, I just don't know! I know that I don't need to kiss someone. That's what I...what I don't want, but...I - I still want to hold hands with someone! I'd still like a hug, every once in a while...I don't know what I'm doing, or really...who I am."

For a few moments, he was silent beside you, just drinking in the flood of information. He refrained from reaching out, or gazing too intently. It took time to settle on an appropriate response. "You're looking at it as an issue, though - something you've gotta resolve, before you can move on. I'm not the best with advice, trust me...but I can tell you that it's a journey. It'll continue and evolve, as long as it needs to. You'll...probably know when you're ready, or...something. All that sappy crap. You don't have to force yourself to understand it all now."

I'll know...?

"When I'm...ready?" You repeated, eyes tracing the lines on your palm.

"Yeah...probably."

Just before you lost all coherency, a single thought fluttered to the forefront of your mind: My heart...just...skipped a beat?!

[Word Count: 1775]

#bnha dabi #my hero academia x reader #mha dabi #dabi is a todoroki #dabi x reader #pride #greyromantic #asexual #questioning #honestly same #bnha x reader

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tinlizziedlinwa · 3 years

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Developing Sexuality, Discovering Kinks, a Spinal Injury, and Barely Beginning to Explore the Edges of the LGBTQ+ Community

Howdy, y’all. I’m just gonna put this out there - If it’s not for you, just keep on a’scrollin’!

Now, I’ve not really explicitly spoken about my sexuality and how it’s evolved over my almost five decades of life. So, I’m about to start, and believe me, your patience and kindness will be appreciated. If you choose to be a close-minded, conservative, cis-asshole then I strongly suggest you leave right the fuck now. Thank you :-)

If you want to get to know me a little bit more and talk of incontinence and sexuality doesn’t scare you, please continue!

Decade 01: Around four years old, I have my first memories of things related to my as yet totally undeveloped sexuality. No history of physical abuse - Don’t worry about that. It was finding my mother’s menstrual pads. I saw pictures of them in underwear, so I took one and put it into mine. It felt so right and so amazing! I don’t really know how to describe it, but it felt like I needed the whole package of them in my underwear all at once! I got in trouble for using up a package that my mom needed and I didn’t understand why she needed them yet. But I made my first “diaper” out of pads and tighty-whities when I was only four years old. Since I’m gonna be using a lot of numbers, I’m gonna cheat and sacrifice the “proper way” of spelling them out if they’re ten or less.

At 5, I knew I wasn’t built right. I had this thing I peed through that girls didn’t have. Boys had them. But I wasn’t supposed to be a boy! I didn’t like it and hated the feeling of it touching my legs (still do...). I started asking questions about things. Now, my parents are the stereotypical Boomers, “trapped” in a loveless marriage by dependent children and their own sense of “honor.” Dad was a Medical Corpsman who became a Physician’s Assistant (PA) after retiring, while Mom used to be a Wave (nurse) in the Navy, but became a stay-at-home Mom when she started having children. I’ve 2 brothers and 1 sister, the last of them born 10 years before me. So, when I questioned things, Dad’s response was usually to hand me a medical book and tell me to look it up. Mom’s response was usually, “go ask your father.” So, there I was, a 5-year old with a head full of partially-understood terminology (at best!) and a bunch of clinical photography in anatomy and physiology books. At least I learned the purely physical differences between boys and girls and why I was one and not the other. This made me mad. So. Very. Mad. I cried a lot for a while, finding out that I would never become what I feel I was supposed to be. But I kept reading....

When I was 6 years old, I wrote a letter to my parents explaining how I felt about my body and how it made me feel inside and how I wished I could change and be the girl I’m supposed to be and would they be ok with helping me do this some day?

It was not received well. Not well at all. I’ve spent the last 40 years trying to get over their reaction to it and I still hate them for their reactions with a passion. I feel like I was truly shattered, and the glue I’ve had to use over the years to put myself back together has never been the right type and pieces of me keep falling apart.

Entering Decade 02 (10 to 20 years old): Puberty, damn it! None of my “researches” had even hinted at ways to stop it, and my body started changing in ways that made me very uncomfortable, but there was also this attraction I kept feeling towards some people, and I started getting erections. Now, I knew what was happening and yes, it did feel good to play with myself, but it also felt wrong in that I should have someone entering me, not me entering them, so when I masturbated that’s what I dreamed of - being entered and feeling them expand inside me, them giving themselves up in me, losing control and exploding into me and feeling their satisfaction as my own at having been so desirable. Cockwarming them gently back to hardness and having my own way with their body as their hands stroked my breasts and hips.... Eventually I would orgasm in real life, while dreaming my dream.

I have never had a blow-job. Several girlfriends have attempted, but honestly that’s like the fastest way to shut me down. It instantly kills my dream between one heart-beat and the next, causing me to feel absolutely horrible about myself and this carcass I’m trapped in. I should be going down on you, tasting, caressing, nuzzling and lapping up your wetness as I get more and more achy and wet for you.... Sticking my dick in your mouth is absolutely the worst thing that can happen during any attempt at sexy-times for me. I’d rather have diarrhea on a crowded school-bus.

The problem was, I had been emotionally terrorized by my parents (and now I know how they controlled my access to information...) and the area I grew up in was populated by fairly conservative folks, so I had no exposure to other ways of living and had no idea I could express my sexuality in any way other than by being masculine with it. Ergo, I was very much in the closet, hiding my thoughts and feelings as best I knew how, and retreated from situations that might expose my inner workings. Hence, I’m an introvert who overshares o.0 Start unstacking the bricks from my walls and Watch Out! You might get more than you bargained for :-\

Decade 03 (20 to 30 years old): I was just positive I didn’t want kids. Also had no clue what to do with myself, so I landed in Alaska for about a decade. Isolated, small town, conservative folks (a church on every corner, attended at least twice a week). Repressive. No sex for 8 of those 10 years. Met my (now ex-) wife up there. Internet actually got off the ground and we bought a computer, modem, and had an AOL account! This was around 2002′ish or so. Yeah, I watched the twin towers fall on a tv in a bar in Alaska. But while in Fairbanks, I discovered the old Usenet Newsgroups... and that led me straight back into my diaper-fetish which I’d almost forgotten about... omg, seeing those first photos... I can’t describe the feelings that burned in me.

Decade 04 (30 to 40 years old): Left Alaska and moved to western Washington State. Worked as a Medical Assistant for about 5 years, then re-invented myself as a welder when I got a Federal job. Learning a whole new trade wasn’t easy. Shittons of practice later I was good at it and loving my career, until a toolbag fell on my head in 2008. It could have killed me had I been in any other position. As it was, it hit the top of my head while my spine was almost perfectly straight up’n’down, causing a couple of discs in my neck to blow out. One completely ruptured and the other bulged so badly it could never heal and restricted my movement (couldn’t look up or pull my chin in). To this day I still have a smallish “shadow” on my cervical spinal nerve where the disc exploded and a “dent” where the next one down bulged out. The doctors think that’s why I’m incontinent and really struggle to get hard-ons anymore.

Here’s the rub: I’ve hated this body of mine forever. I’m not supposed to get hard-ons in the first place! I’m supposed to have breasts, hips, hair, a flat front and a curvy bottom, and you should be making passes at me, not vice versa!

So, rather than pursue medical (surgical) options to deal with the urinary and occasional fecal incontinence, I choose to wear diapers and give myself regular enemas. This way I can kinda (mostly) control the #2 and keep it from happening in public, while I can let my bladder just run on it’s built-in autopilot (which is really random, btw). Wearing diapers also helps me with tucking! I can pull the dick out, pop the balls up inside where they belong, tuck the dick as far back as I can and put my diaper on tight. Bingo! A flat front! And a bit of a poofy bottom! YES!!

Decade 05 (40 to 47′ish years old): I’m beginning to feel slightly more confident in my sexuality, though I’m still not comfortable actually trying to seek out anyone special... but yeah - I’m an introvert by nature. Probably need to get adopted by someone because I’m not sure I’ll ever really be brave enough to really reach out first.... But now I’m able to afford nice diapers, I’m buying women’s jeans/pants/sweaters/onesies, and I’m feeling so much better about myself when I’m able to dress up. Keeping my chest and legs shaved helps, too. When I look down and see long, course, curly body-hair... ugh. Hair in the armpits and groin is what’s normal. Chest hair? Get it off! Looking at myself in the mirror, I still hate many aspects of my physical self, but when I’m freshly shaved, diapered and wearing women’s jeans and a lovely pink sweatshirt or just lounging around in a cute diaper and huge sweater, I’m much more able to ignore the things I don’t like.

Lately, as I’ve begun exploring my sexuality a little more, I’ve discovered the joys of dildos. Lemmie tell you what, guys. A traditional male orgasm doesn’t hold a candle to what I’ve felt while playing with a good dildo. After a good, thorough clean-out in the shower (I have a shower-attachment with multiple nozzles and use the long black rubber one), I’ve used a dildo that’s got a bit of a bend near the tip - it’s shaped like a real penis, normal size (not humongous), with a bit of a crook near the glans. By holding the balls & suction cup in hand, it can be inserted and moved in-n-out at that perfect angle to stimulate *all* the right spots inside... I can honestly say I’ve peed, cum, and blew that dildo across the room as my knees hit the floor and I forgot my name during the best, most intense, can’t-walk-for-a-minute whole-body orgasms I’ve ever experienced in my life. The area between the anus and scrotum feels so very hot and heavy, like it’s going to burst, it’s not truly painful but almost close? - It’s an amazingly satisfying feeling. I’d love to hear from you girls out there... Are my orgasms anything similar to yours?

Some day, my dream is to meet someone who can understand me, who can feel where I’m coming from, who can love me even when I’m having difficulty loving myself. Someone who is kind to my broken soul, and who’s idea of a hot date may involve a stop at the adult toy store!

Edited on 01OCT2021: I’m not looking for a Mommy or a Domme. I’m an adult with adult responsibilities and concerns. I’m looking for a partner who’s also fairly self-sufficient. I own my own home, work full time, and being an introvert I need lots of alone time. Someone who’s open and accepting of the fact that I’m diapered 24/7/365 and am perfectly capable of changing myself. And she’ll understand that I don’t just wanna get her out of her jeans for sexy-times, but I also wanna try them on.

Edited again on 02OCT2021: As I’ve just begun actually exploring my sexuality, I’m starting to think I seem to fit into the “enby” grouping (even as I don’t like being stuffed into a box, I find myself doing just that, to myself! Damn categories...). I don’t know all the lingo yet and it feels like the terminology is a living thing that is always changing. Even though I’ve always found women to be super attractive, and I also really enjoy wearing women’s clothes and have dreamed of being a woman for decades, every once in a blue moon a guy really turns me on. I’ve got fantasies about going down on her while he enters me, his hands on my hips pulling me in as he gently thrusts, speeding up slowly as I’m getting wetter, he’s sliding in and out of me faster and faster and I’m lapping up her juices, buried in her scent, the orgasm in all of us building until we simultaneously explode. Then, once we all have our breath back, each of us gently diapers one another. The idea of feeling my diaper sticking to my bum as his seed dribbles out of me is really turning me on again right now! Hearing our crinkles as we move, cuddling in a contented pile, patting bottoms all around.

Am I a “bottom?” Is there such a thing as an independent “bottom”? More research is needed!

#tinlizziedl #Info about me #30Sep2021 #personal #Sexuality

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a-method-in-it · 3 years

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Trans(masculine) former Potterhead here! I still own the books, were a gift, a hardcover set from my mom from years ago. I even made a parody of Im a Lumberjack and I'm OK from Monty Python as I'm a Hufflepuff and I'm OK and helped found a Dumbledore's Army club at my High School I loved HP so much, I was obsessed, but now I have so many mixed emotions about the franchise I don't really know what to do.

I cannot speak for trans women, but as a queer trans person, if I see someone reading the books or watching the movies or wearing merch its like. Ok. I know I might get along with this person, they like the same stuff I (used to) like....BUT do they know how the werewolf thing is about AIDS, implying gay people are out of control monsters, and how the only villain with werewolfism specifically targets minors, implying pedophilia is a trait inherent in gay people? Do they know that when a trans woman reads the books they worry they wont be "woman enough" to keep the stairs in the girls dorm from turning into a slide, because they know that the author specifically thinks they don't deserve to sleep in the girl's dorm because of their gentials? Do they understand that JK Rowling's opinions are there, insidiously rooting into young minds? Are they reading this critically? Or do they support what JK is saying? Do they know all of these things and not care about it, dismiss it out of hand?

Does this person want me dead?

It boils down to a Feeling of Unease. Is this person safe for me to be around? There is a Very Real Danger that the person in the Ravenclaw Shirt and Golden Snitch Earrings is going to call the police on a trans woman going to the bathroom, or beat her, or even kill her, because the author of their favorite series has convinced them trans women are men in dresses and that men in women's bathrooms are dangerous. That person could also be a nice genuine nerd, queer themselves, even potentially a friend, but now I am Suspicious of that person. I am suspicious of anyone who openly enjoys it (unless they are children, kids don't know better, or if they have a tattoo, idk how old that tat is). They want to read it at home and want a discussion on new themes and how to make it better/less gross? Fine by me.

But if someone is publicaly supportting her, staying extremely active in the fandom defending the books or movies or JK herself, having and wearing merch which could direct new people (probably kids! Who will get Obsessed! And don't know better!) into buying things from her and giving her money? After all that she's done? After she literally helped create legislation against being trans?? Not cool.

The series is just simply tainted for a lot of trans folk like me. I still hold it dear foe what it did for me as a child, and I know if I read the series again I would still love it, but I would also HATE myself for enjoying it, knowing that the person who wrote this, the bit of her soul which she has given me, wants me dead. Wants my friends dead.

So I'm not really saying if you support HP publicaly people will see you as a TERF but I am also absolutely saying that people will see you as a TERF if you publicaly support the HP franchise. Death of the author is well and good when the author is dead and/or their estate doesn't get any money for new books or merch purchased, but she is alive and actively trying to kill trans folks, so literally anything that could be seen as support of her, or get others to support her even accidentally, can make trans folk uncomfortable and feel unsafe.

Hope this helped? I know I'm not the original asker, this is just my two cents.

Hi there! Thank you for posting this lengthy and very thoughtful response (and I hope you don’t mind my answering publicly -- if so, let me know and I’ll delete). There is one (admittedly very long) thing I’d like to say in response, but if you’re not looking for that, just know that I really value hearing your perspective and you can feel free to skip all of this and carry on your way.

---

You say that you would probably enjoy the books if you reread them, but would hate yourself for doing so -- and I just want to say that what you like does not make you a bad person or act as any valid basis for deserving hate, from yourself or anyone else.

Like, for instance, I’m a person who cannot stand horror movies and I am genuinely confused that anyone would enjoy watching terrible things happen to people for 90+ minutes. But I would never say that people who like horror movies are bad people just because they do enjoy that. The same goes for violent video games -- I don’t like them, but I don’t think the people who do are bad.

Because what media you personally enjoy has really no bearing on whether you are a good person. Being a good person is about how you treat others, whether you are kind, whether you are patient, whether you are understanding, whether you help people when you can and show up for the people in your life when they need you. It has nothing to do with whether you like a particular book or movie or videogame.

So if you do want to reread those books because you think they would bring you joy, I hope that you do.

Long before she became a TERF -- (and for the record, I don’t think that she was actively and consciously transphobic at the time when she was writing the books, for the simple reason that most of the people who are TERFs today weren’t at that point) -- I had already gotten used to tuning out Rowling and her fondness for Word of God pronouncements.

Like, Dumbledore being gay actually fit into the canon very well, but others? They just felt tired and not thought-out and her whole short history of American magic was incredibly lazy. The werewolfism=AIDS thing was offensive in very real ways--and also it should be noted just does not make sense as a metaphor. Not just because AIDS will kill you and being a werewolf will not and there’s no way to bridge that fundamental disconnect -- but also because the way people talk about being a werewolf in the damn books doesn’t resemble at all the way people talk about AIDS patients in real life. Which makes me think she didn’t actually mean for it to be a metaphor when she wrote it and then years later threw it out there because it sounded good to her in the moment because she hadn’t thought it through.

By the time we got to wizards shitting on the floor because she very clearly forgot that she had already had chamber pots referenced in the text, I was long-since tapped out.

Which is all just to say that it is beyond fair for you to use being a fan of Harry Potter as a data point in gauging your safety as a trans person -- but if we’re talking just about you enjoying the books?

Well, in that case, fuck Rowling and her weird post-canon comments that half the time don’t even make sense. If she wanted trans girls to not be allowed up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory, she should have put it in the damn text. As far as I’m concerned, trans girls and trans boys are allowed up whichever staircase matches their sense of themselves (and, I like to think, nonbinary kids get the run of the whole tower).

In fact, as far as I’m concerned, she lost the right to have me care what she says about the Harry Potter universe when all of her comments started being unbearably lazy, asinine, and/or nonsensical. If she’d been half this uninspired and careless when writing the actual books, I would have stopped reading them.

This has been a very long reply on that single point, but I want to end by saying that the point is, even if I accepted the premise that liking the Harry Potter books is in and of itself wrong -- and I hope I’ve made something of a case that it’s not -- it still shouldn’t be something you hate yourself over. Short of actually murdering people, I’m not sure there’s anything that’s grounds to outright hate yourself, honestly, but liking a book is definitely not on the list.

Either way, you seem like a lovely person, one who is very thoughtful and has been very patient and generous with your time in writing all of that out. I hope that you find ways to also be a little more patient and generous with yourself -- about Harry Potter or any other topic -- because you deserve that and you do not deserve to be hated by anyone, least of all yourself. And I also hope you have a good rest of your night.

#method speaks #jk rowling discourse #but this my friends #i think #is the end of it for me for a while #she sucks #on multiple levels #the transphobia being the worst #and then just going right on down the list #it confuses me #that the woman who wrote Prisoner of Azkaban #became this #but life is strange #and here we are #theflowerpunknerd

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griffinsandpeacocks · 4 years

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When You Dress To Impress (Dress, Taylor Swift)

Hades had been looking for the proper outfit for ages. He and Adam had become a thing a while ago. After the man had helped him settle into the hidden magical pocket of Auradon. It’s much less lively than what he’s used to but he’d deal with it so long as he could keep Mal and the other kids safe away from those cretins that dared call themselves parents. well except Jafar who had agreed to cut all ties so long as he had a solid way to keep Jay both out of the crime world as well as cared for. Hades had helped the man find a job in his firm as an administrator. So long as Jafar managed the flow of work and didn’t do anything that would harm the firm on purpose, Jafar could live in Auradon and not have to worry so much for Jay nor their safety.

(I am using these two images as references and found them by looking through google for black and blue dresses. Basically imagine a slightly fancier version of the above dress with the drape that is shown in the below image, the drape extends to match the length of the dress, just a heads up.)

Now he’s staring at the dress he’d hidden away in a random room of the mansion he’d gotten thanks to Adam’s meddling. It was a gorgeous house and thankfully had plenty of room. After all, he’d taken custody, even if temporary of Uma, Carlos, Evie, Harry, Gil, and several others. He was happy enough Mal and them had friends or at least others who had similar backgrounds so that they could help each other. The dress was black and faded down to blue in an ombre effect around his knees, it went over one shoulder that then had a drape that ran down the back of that side, the back a cross of strips of black that buckled. The buckles were grey steel clasps done to look like his skull in his mark. The shoulder that drapes down had a similar fastening done up like his full mark flames and skull and was what buckled that shoulder together. Of course there’s blue gems glittering around the skulls to give the impression of fire and they glitter through the full length of it giving a fiery effect.

He’s grinning as he turns and sees Harry peeking in the door. He cock a hip and tilts his head as the young boys eyes go wide at getting caught and he goes bright pink and coughs. He looks away and then up at Hades and steps in glancing behind him nervously. This is actually rather unusual for Harry and Hades frowns in worry.

“Is everything alright, Harry?” He asks and Harry nods rubbing the back of his neck with the magically restored hand Fairy Godmother had helped make. After Hades explained the reason he was asking for such a thing, given James Hook had almost ripped the dame thing apart with a meat hook, Harry had had to have it amputated and Hades wanted to give the kid as close to a working one as he could get, naturally Fairy Godmother had been appalled and agreed to help having enchanted some gems Hades had summoned and made them into a synthetic hand as close as they’d get to the real thing without using any darker magic. She even came by and would check on all the kids as Hades had told her he’d taken custody of quite the herd after taking full custody of his own daughter he’d just been unable to leave the other kids she’d known in that kind of life. Harry was still getting used to it though the number of jokes on how much it’d fetch in a black market deal had thankfully gone down.

“I... Um... I’ve seen you go out a few times dressed up and well... Could... Could you show me how to do it?” Harry asks staring down at the floor blushing and Hades paused blinking at the young man and he smiles. He’d rarely seen any other men in the magical society express interest in cross dressing, mostly they were all prim and proper and few cared to deviate out of normal expectation. He walks up to the young man and pats his shoulders.

“I can, come on, we’ll go to my dress up room, this is just storage for that so Adam won’t catch a glimpse until out date.” Hades waves and Harry bounces on his feet grinning and looking up at Hades excited he follows the man and Hades is chuckling.

“To be honest you’ve got a lot of the make up down already given the way you do the eyeliner for your pirate set up that you Uma and Gil share. So I’ll run through basics and if you want a few more pointers we can go from there.” Hades says as he opens the door to a room with some hair accessories so he can pull back his hair having let it grow out again as he spent less time in the non magical human areas and he no longer needed to be fully ‘professional’.

“Alright... Hmm... There’s a gypsy styled dress I have... I wonder if Evie can help either change out the blue for a dark red or if she knows how to just use her magic to change the color...? Oh well at the least let’s see if we can get it to fit on you...” Hades says smirking as he gets to play dress up. Harry get’s a brief run through of some etiquette of tucking and what not and Hades is absolutely ecstatic at the thought of a shopping trip he could go out on and drag Harry along with him, maybe even Evie too come to think of it. She enjoyed shopping, especially when it was to dress someone up.

“So just go try this on and come back out?” Harry asks and Hades nods gesturing him to the small room that was more a walk in closet and Harry goes coming back out a while later asking for some help with the corset lacing. Hades helps lace them back up and steps back grinning as he bounced on his heels. It looks a bit much for Harry but with some adjustments from Evie it would look astounding on the young man.

“Yep, change the color scheme up and make some adjustments and this’ll look astonishing!” Hades says vibrating and Harry does a bit of a turn looking a bit uncertain of himself.

“You think?” He asks and Hades nods.

“I mean we can change it to red, which would suit you much better as your skins a bit darker than mine... And we can have a few things changed up and even altered like a gap along that side to show some leg and give you a bit more movement... Make this part a bit less and possibly grey or keep it black... Less a wrap and more a sash... Hmm...” Hades leans back cataloging what he should ask Evie for then decides to call Mal.

“Hey honey, Evie with you?” He asks and Harry goes bright red looking at him with dread and he winks.

“Yeah...” Mal says and Hades beams.

“Could you spare her a moment, I want to make some alterations to my gypsy dress... I’m thinking of swapping the blue for red and cutting up that sash and the skirt a bit give some leg room.” He says and Mal snorts and asks Evie if she can go help her Dad with his dress and Evie squeals with joy and runs out of the room.

“She is inbound...” Mal says sounding unimpressed and Hades grins.

“Thank you honey!” He says and the call ends. He looks at Harry and smiles.

“Evie does a lot of my alterations, this isn’t going to startle her too much. She’s seen me in a majority of my dresses.” He says happily and Harry relaxes somewhat. Evie pops in roughly three minutes and paused blinking at Harry a moment and narrowing her eyes as if it was an affront to all things fashion.

“I’m fixing this. Now.” She says snapping her fingers and grabbing Harry and dragging him back into the dressing room. Hades waits doing the make up to soften out his features and placing the smoky eye shadow on and adding hints of glitter that flickers blue and white over it before allying a soft lipstick and smirking as he pulls up his hair into a top knot letting the tail hang down and highlight the change from off white pale blue to a fiery blue towards the end. He turns and watches Evie pull Harry out, the sash has been trimmed up the colors somehow changed, Hades swears the girl uses magic, so that the sash is now a deep brown, as well as only being a single short layer rather than the ruffled shift it had been before. The base skirt has become a deep crimson red, and the blouse like part has been changed to black, while the strings of twine at the elbow and wrist are now white. There’s a cut showing some leg as well in the skirt with some ruffle lining it in black, while the corset has been changed to be red and tie with silvery white laces.

(The above is the original example before it’s altered by Evie to reflect more for Harry rather than Hades. Take away some of the wrap into a single layer of dark brown more like a wrap and a slightly shorter skirt piece with a cut lined in ruffle for some leg. Making it look less like a gypsy costume and more pirate-y. I found this on Pintrest, though you can also see it in Google images.)

“That actually looks grand... Much better than what I though it would and of course it must be to your own alterations, Evie, but this is beautiful... Well done.” He praises and both kids blush happily Evie smirking in self assured victory and Harry looking as happy as a clam. Hades checks the time and winced he stands and quickly rushes to the room grabbing the dress he comes back and dresses up checking it all fits proper and showing Harry a more full run down and then asks Evie if she could help Harry with make up ideas and tutorials as his date with Adam was in a couple minutes and he needed to get ready and out the door.

“Unless you’re feeling done for the day, Harry, you can always run away if you feel overwhelmed.” Hades assures pulling on some knee high stockings that have garters to clip to and then sliding on the simple black heels that clip at the ankle. Harry shakes his head smiling and Hades smiles back wishes the two the best and walks down as he’d placing in a sapphire stud into each ear as Adam opens the door to the foyer about to call out frowning as he looks for Hades.

“Oh... You look stunning...” Adam says blushing as he takes in the effort Hades has put into passing as a lovely gothic lady rather than his typical professional gothic masculine self. Hades comes up to the man and pecks him on the lips.

“So you like it? I worried I’d done a bit much.” Hades admits not having wanted to over accentuate and look gaudy. Adam gives him a deeper kiss and pulls back smiling.

“Never, come on or we’ll be late. He chuckles and Hades hooks his arm around Adams and they go out to the party. Hades loves the fact so few recognize him at first glance. Most don’t recognize him at all and he has fun dancing with Adam everyone not aware of who exactly he was and his standing with Adam as he has the man all to himself. He’s practically glowing in the golden happy light Adam has brought into his life. He’s certainly left a mark at least and a golden tattoo has formed around his heart in the shape of a rose. He’d gotten the dress solely for the idea of Adam taking it off, and he can’t wait for them to get home already though they’ve barely arrived. Royal parties were always so boring.

Then again no mater how much wine he drinks the only thing getting him drunk are the kisses they snag in secret from everyone else. The party goes by Hades slowly loosing himself to the need to fly out of the crowd and back home. The chatter and social games are wearing on him. He’d much rather have Adam taking this dress off rather than how well he pulled it off. Eventually they do trip back. Hades feels the world stop as Adam keeps their eyes locked that bright shine in his eyes and Hades smirks and teases.

“Hades.” Adam growls and the god skips off grinning behind him and gesturing him to follow. Adam takes a deep breath as his hands shake but he checks his excitement and restrains his pinning just a bit longer.

“I bought this so you could take it off, hurry up already.” Hades says over his shoulder as he heads up the stairs. Slipping down the hall as Adam quickly follows behind.

Meanwhile Harry slipped into the room Carlos currently has at the house.

“Hey, pretty boy, I was hopping you’d be interested in a date.” Harry says and Carlos is frozen blinking at Harry in silent shock. He looks good and thesmaller boy swallows mouth feeling dry as his cheeks flare into a blush. Harry actually looks really good...

“Ah, yeah... Um... You look... Good.” He says still mildly shocked and Harry saunters up and Harry watches those eyes trace the sway of his hips and smirks as he leans in and traps the other against his bed.

“Well then, I’ll see you then. Unless you’d like to help me get this off?” Harry asks and Carlos doesn’t take a moment to think about it.

“Please?” And Harry chuckles and gives him a kiss. Carlos was the one that kept him steady even when he was nose diving and Uma wasn’t there to tell him to keep his lid. He’d adored how much the scardy cat cared. Now he’s finally getting him exactly how he wants and his hands shake from not touching him. The fact Carlos wasn’t flinching back was a sweet relief. Carlos can’t believe it but let’s the kisses he’s getting distract him and he quickly get’s drunk of the feeling.

#GET UP & WRITE!#GET UP & WRITE! July #descendants fanfiction #decendants hades #Live action Beast #Hades is a brat #adam x hades #hades x beast #Harlos #Harry Hook #carlos de vil #uma #Mal #Evie #Harry x Carlos #jay #Harry in a dress #Hades in a dress

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scurvgirl · 3 years

Text

Love Plans

@lillotte17 Happy Valentine’s Day! Please accept this hastily written Modern AU Tonlen x Oisin fic!

_____________

Tonlen has always been a fan of any excuse to engage in over-the-top behavior. He is particularly fond of over-the-top romantic gestures, and that fondness has only grown since attaching himself to his current partner. It’s their first love-day as a couple and he isn’t going to squander it. The plans were made over a month in advance and now he gets to bask in the joy of enacting them.

He wakes far earlier than he normally likes to shower and dress with care. He opts for something slightly more masculine than usual in cut, but the suit itself is still wine in color and pairs nicely with the ruffled white shirt. His hair, currently shorter than normal at only coming past his shoulders, is put into a braided circle round his head. Still, he opts for white embroidered pumps that will put him at just a hair shorter than Oisin. He keeps his makeup simple only for the fact that he doesn’t care for smudged makeup during sex and he definitely plans on making love to Oisin later.

Part one of the plan should have already arrived at Oisin’s apartment. A bouquet of chocolate covered fruits alongside delectable pastries for their breakfast.

Part two of the plan is in Tonlen’s living room - another bouquet, but this time of hand-embroidered silk flowers. He loves flowers, but they die and for the first time, Tonlen feels the pull of something that lasts longer than the life of a living rose. Tonlen is no painter or drawer, he leaves that to Oisin, but he is quite the seamstress. There are precisely eleven flowers, one for each of the ten months they have been together and one more for the future he hopes they have together.

Tonlen puts the flowers together and puts them into a special case. They’ll get the flowers tonight at dinner, which brings them to part four of the plan. Tonlen managed to secure a reservation at Sphere, the latest fancy restaurant to take the city by storm. Tonlen can hardly wait, but alas, he has a full day at the studio that requires his attention. Fashion week isn’t far and he has final touches to do for several designers for specially commissioned shoes.

Halfway through the day, Tonlen sends out part three of the plan - new hair clips, ribbons, shoes, and gloves with a note that says “For our lovely evening, my love.” He doesn’t like to think about how he spent on this day, and instead on how much he wants Oisin to feel loved. Part three is only the first of sartorial surprises after all. He wiggles in his seat, excited to wear the exceptionally naughty lingerie he bought himself.

Finally, the day comes to an end and his work is at a satisfactory point to be left alone. Unfortunately, with his time at his studio and Oisin’s time at theirs, there is no time for him to collect them. To maintain the surprise, Tonlen had a car pick Oisin up from their studio and bring them to Sphere.

Tonlen manages to make it to the dock first. He had to make this reservation two months in advance and it’s no surprise why. Sphere sits magically suspended over a large artificially created pond and one must travel via small boat to access it. The restaurant is not large due to the constraints of magic and the size of the pond as well, thus only allowing a dozen people to be seated at a time. With its restriction on the number of guests at a time, guests must reserve sections of time. Tonlen reserved a two hour slot close to prime-time, though not quite that desired 6pm-8pm slot. It’s no matter, he’s just happy to have secured the spot at all.

When Oisin arrives, they take Tonlen’s breath away. It’s always been a skill they possess, with merely a smile and a turn towards him, his throat closes, his chest aches in the best of ways. Tonight, they are stunning - their golden hair long and loose save for a few braids pulled back and secured by the ribbons and clips he sent them. Their hands are covered by the lace gloves he sent, and ah, those are the shoes he made for them as well. They are a delight to his eyes, with their high-waisted pleated pants, low v-neck blouse, and fitted trench-coat.

“Darling,” Tonlen greets and they come to him, beaming.

“Vhenan,” they reply before leaning down to kiss him. With that, the night was off. The ferry to the restaurant is spent with them pressed against each other, smiling and resisting from too much PDA lest the other guests be put off. They are still in public after all.

Dinner is delightful, the restaurant is everything it promised to be and more. Though Tonlen feels he could be in almost any hole in the wall and happy as long as he has Oisin as a dining companion.

They are touching in some way throughout dinner - holding hands, a foot rubbing the other’s leg, taking a hand to the mouth to brush a kiss over knuckles. He adores them and wants with all of his body for them to understand to the degree he loves them, and how...miraculous it is that he feels this way.

Dinner ends and they are ferried back across the pond. Tonlen takes Oisin’s hand in his own and is rewarded with an adoring smile. He leans into them, his lips brushing gently against their ear.

“The night has only begun, my darling.” They shiver and lean into him. Their sexual relationship is still young and he is still showing them things, things he delights in teaching.

He takes them to his car and gives them the bouquet of hand-made flowers. He goes over how each has a month stitched into a petal along with a word describing it. The first month they meant carries “discovery”, followed by “delight”, then “joy” and so forth. The eleventh carries the words “future” and “together”.

“Tonlen, I…” their voice cracks and they sniffle. It is Tonlen’s only warning before the tears begin to flow. He had expected this somewhat, learning that they are given to strong emotion and crying when overwhelmed even when happy. He pulls them in for an embrace, kissing their cheek and ear in reassurance.

“You are so dear, Oisin, so lovely.” It is a bit sick, he thinks, that he almost gains joy from having them cry in abject happiness.

Eventually, their tears subside enough for them to pull away and kiss him tenderly. While he would love to continue a dalliance here, in the parking lot of a beautifully lit dock - he has an even more delightful set up back home. So he guides Oisin into the passenger seat and takes them to his building. They are familiar with his building and they move to press the number to his apartment, but he stops them, opting for the “5” instead of the “4”.

“Ton?” They ask and he smiles.

“I have one more surprise, darling...well, two if you count what I am wearing underneath this suit, and I quite hope you do count it.” He kisses them deeply before they can respond.

The elevator rises and rises until it lands at floor 5. Tonlen takes Oisin’s hand and leads them down a hall and to a room that he opens with a key from the former occupant. The door opens and reveals a beautiful apartment with a banner hanging from the ceiling.

Will you move in with me?

Oisin freezes and turns to Tonlen, “You...what?”

“My friend used to rent this apartment with her girlfriend. She decided to move into a townhome a little further out, she technically still holds the lease until the end of the month and gave me a key to well… It is a much nicer apartment than my current one and it is bigger and I thought...Oisin, I love you dearly and I find myself loathing the time we are apart. So I ask...will you move in with me?”

As he speaks, their eyes widen and fill with tears once more. Before he can even properly finish the question, they’re nodding, rendered speechless.

“Yes? Oh, darling.” They fall into each other, as surely and as deeply as their love.

#tonlen #oisin #tonlen x oisin #oisin x tonlen #modern au #fic #my writing #happy valentine's day!

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blitz-and-hearth · 4 years

Text

Some empty cups family trans headcanons because I’m feeling dysphoric after being called she all Thanksgiving and need that good shit right now (tw for talking about periods, dysphoria, and transphobia) And when I say empty cups, I mean all the empty cups so long post beware

Blitzen figured it out at a very young age, his father Bili had some nonbinary leanings (but didn’t know it was a thing when he was young) so he encouraged little Blitz to experiment with gender expression to his heart’s content

He was probably about 7 or 8 when he decided to start going by male pronouns

Blitzen is his birth name, dwarven names are usually pretty gender-neutral. He didn’t feel like he needed to change it

Thanks to both male and female dwarves growing beards he’s pretty comfortable in his own skin even after puberty. He does end up getting top surgery the very minute he can though. Has no plans for bottom surgery

BUTTON UP SHIRTS AND LAYERS ALL THE TIME

It's just a transmasc thing

And you know he’s always wearing suits and ties not just because they’re fashionable but make him very euphoric

Dwarven culture isn’t much better than humans when it comes to accepting trans folk, however, they do consider cosmetic surgery a craft, so their own rules mean they have to respect any and all transitioning surgeries

Mostly Blitzen just doesn’t talk about it much unless someone else brings it up. His father never made a big deal out of it so neither does he

Mostly situational dysphoria, when he’s around his mother or other people who knew him before he transition, other dwarves who can better tell the different subtleties of cis dwarf gender, and of course on the dreaded shark week

Humans and Midgard are both awesome because they see the beard and can’t tell the difference between “male” vs “female” facial hair like other dwarves do. Very easy to pass there

Hearthstone obviously was not in a safe place to explore his gender growing up

On top of all the other shit he had going on during his childhood he was constantly feeling wrong and uncomfortable in his own body

Lots of dissociation and frustration

Alderman wouldn’t let him cut his hair, forced him to wear dresses, and constantly said shit like “bE mOrE lAdYlIkE”

Hearthstone finally figures it out after accidentally stumbling across some websites while trying to research magic. It's just a post on a blog about some spell for good luck to help with transitioning but it’s how he learns being trans is like a real thing

It was both great to know there were other people like him but also like the worst possible news because he knows he could never ever come out and transition while living under his parent’s roof

He was only about 13 and lots of tears were had that night

The very next day he has his first period and just can not anymore

Full snap, cuts his hair short for the very first time, binds his chest grabs what little he owns and gets the hell out of there that day

Meets Blitzen like right after so needless to say he didn’t get much time to explore. He wasn’t about to come out to someone he just met, that shits scary what would he do if Blitzen didn’t accept him? He wouldn’t be strong enough to try world jumping for weeks and wouldn’t survive in Nidavellir without the sunbed

Blitzen had his suspicions but obviously understood why he’d be nervous about coming out, so he just kept his mouth shut about it until Hearthstone felt like talking about it

I’ve made a post about this before, but it happens on accident while Hearth is changing because a) he wasn’t allowed to lock doors growing up b) wouldn’t notice if you knocked to see if he’s in there anyway

What’s not reflected in the comic is Blitzen silently screaming because Hearth has been using ace bandages to bind does he know how dangerous that is???? But he didn’t say anything about it right then because this was a sensitive situation and he wanted to make sure Hearthstone knew he was in the same boat and nothing would change before starting to scold him

Hearthstone cried a lot

It's a big moment that builds their friendship and later romantic relationship and after that Hearthstone starts being a lot more honest about his past with Blitzen

Hearthstone isn’t his birth name, his dead name is probably something to do with flowers, super feminine and he hated it. He doesn’t have a real reason for choosing Hearthstone since it was a bit spur of the moment when Blitzen asked his name. Blitz later asked if he’s sure that's what he wants to go with and Hearthstone decides to stick with it

Part of the deal with Mimir was his parents forgetting that he was born female. It really was no question at all which choice he’d take

(Inge remembers but respects his pronouns because she’s a fucking decent person)

It’s the only reason Alderman didn’t constantly misgender and deadname him. Being in his old home and seeing his father still reminds him of how it used to be though

Hearth has more bad dysphoria days than good. Blitzen is always right there to tell him he looks handsome and very masculine today. Blitz doesn’t have as many bad dysphoria days but you bet your ass when he does Hearthstone will absolutely provide a constant flow of compliments until he starts to feel better

Hearthstone used runes to transition because if you’re trans you’ve totally daydreamed about how awesome and less scary it would be if magic was real. He offered Blitzen to do the same but Blitz had already had top surgery and doesn't really want bottom surgery so he turns it down

Magnus was also encouraged to try exploring his gender from a young age by his mother

I mean.... Just take a moment look at Magnus’ mom for a sec

Yeah that woman ain’t straight Magnus had a good childhood while she was around

I still think it took him a while though

Just because he didn’t really think about it much until puberty happened

He was just starting to think about his gender when his mother died

Later looking back it makes him really sad that he never got to tell her

Then he was homeless and a bit busy

He learned Blitzen and Hearth are both trans pretty quick though

I think this is even mentioned in canon that there's not a lot of privacy living on the street

Probably got an idea when he ran out of pads

Magnus: Fuck I’m out of pads and still got like three days left :/ Blitzen: *handing him some spare pads* Here I got you covered kid Magnus: ?????? Why? do you have these????

He’s a little slow on the uptake bless him

Eventually, he sees Blitz and Hearth’s chest scars and is like OH

He starts asking them both a lot of questions, still thinking its just innocent curiosity but Blitz and Hearth are sharing knowing looks the whole time

Sure enough like only a few days later he’s like “I think I wanna go by Magnus now”

His mother had mentioned to him that’s the name she’d have gone with if he’d been born male and he liked it enough to keep her wish

I wanna say his dead name starts with a B? I dunno why

Birthdays don’t mean much to Magnus while homeless but Blitzen and Hearthstone get him a binder for his 15th birthday, refuse to explain where they got it

(Blitz made it but Hearth was the one to steal the materials he needed)

Magnus obviously never had the option for medical transitioning while alive and homeless, but if given the choice he’d probably get on T but not have any surgeries

Jack is a sword who canonically picked his own name and it’s talked about there being female swords despite having no genital or way to tell, all living weapons choose their own gender he’s trans

Samirah can’t remember not knowing she was a girl

Like Alex she probably just knew from very early

Her grandparents are mentioned being a bit more forward-thinking so while they’re probably not happy per se they allow her to experiment anyway, thinking it a phase

It’s not a phase

Her grandparents mess up her pronouns often and don’t get it all, but its happened less and less the longer she’s been going by female pronouns

They eventually arrange her a properly planned marriage once they realize she’s not changing her mind about being a girl, much to her pleasure

Wearing her hijab and following other classic Muslim gender rules, like having a betrothed and not being alone with a boy, make her very euphoric and happy

She knew right away Magnus was trans too since she like... literally handled his soul when taking him to Valhalla

Seems like something a Valkyrie would be able to tell

Sam is very excited because this is the first time she’s met another trans person but doesn’t know how to bring it up

I’m picturing it happening after they meet Thor when she and Magnus are talking by the campfire

She just awkwardly blurts out “So uh gender huh?”

Magnus has no idea what she’s trying to say at first but once he does he’s very excited to talk trans with her

ftm and mtf solidarity bitch!!!!

Then Alex gets thrown into the mix

She doesn’t know about any of this

Eventually, Sam finds the time to talk to her about her gender, and naturally Alex is ecstatic. It's part of why he takes such joy in being Sam’s chaperone

This happens pretty soon after Alex arrives in Vallhalla

But Alex doesn’t find out the rest are trans too till much later

It just sort of slips out from Blitz, a mention of feeling a bit dysphoric that day and Alex is like “!?!!!!”

After hearing a bit more about Alex’s past Blitzen goes to Hearth and suggests he talk to her

They have a very good venting session about growing up trans with shitty shitty parents

Alex learns about Magnus last

It’s when he comes to Magnus’ room after celebrating and Magnus got covered in chocolate

Magnus has his shirt off and Alex sees his binder and is just like “!!!!!!”

Magnus is a bit flustered but doesn’t really mind being seen shirtless since its Alex and he already knows he’s trans too so he’s not about to get attacked or called a slur

Just like... Alex realizing his whole new little family is trans

Just the whole empty cups fam being trans and all having very different ways of experiencing and expressing it but supporting each other through it all. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk

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lia-jones · 4 years

Text

Growing Pains - Chapter Eight - Dry Cleaning and Peanut Butter Cookies

I arrived home from the airport by midnight, a dull ache invading my bones. I did not know how Victor endured this pretty much every week, I felt like dropping dead on my bed and come to life in the next century.

I was unlocking my door when I heard footsteps on the stairs. My neighbor Levi was going home too.

“Andrea… You arrived just now?” He asked, watching me with his piercing green eyes.

Levi was, for the lack of a better expression, hot as sin. He was a Krav Maga instructor and a personal trainer, so he was naturally well built. To top it all, he had these green eyes and strawberry blonde hair that framed a masculine square jaw and perky lips.

After I mentioned I practiced Krav Maga back at home, Levi invited me to attend his lessons, and we became good friends after that. He was the only person in Loveland to know about my past abuse, and had taken somewhat of a protective stance towards me.

“Yes… Long business trip. What’s your excuse?” I said, playfully.

“Football and beer. And burgers. Did you come alone from the airport?” He changed the subject, expressing his concern.

“No, my boss drove me. Can I talk to you tomorrow? I’m in dire need of a shower and a coma.” I said, opening my door and putting my bags in. Levi interrupted.

“Actually, I was about to ask you if you can walk Boris in the morning. I have an early class.” Levi asked, making a face.

“Ok, no worries, I’ll walk him. I have your key, don’t worry.” I said, coming into my house and closing the door.

After unpacking, I went to my shower. I let the warm water slide down my body and rinse all the tension away. I thought about these last few days. It was incredible to see that relaxed side of Victor. He seemed to open up a bit, and I couldn’t help but wonder what made him let his guard down for me. But more importantly, I felt like I was slowly letting my guard down too. I was somewhat infatuated, the way I seemed to begin to stir with his gaze or when I heard his purring voice grazed the ridiculous. I shook the thoughts away and just resumed taking my shower.

I went for my purse to get my phone and set the alarm. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find the damn thing.

My heart raced as I remembered the last time I opened my purse. It was at the airport, as I was looking for my passport. I had taken it from my wallet on a previous occasion and was too lazy to put it back in its place, so I kept it loose in my purse. This time, it was mixed with all the other stuff inside, so I had to take every single item out and put in on the seat next to me before I could find it. Did I forget to put my phone in my purse while I was putting all the other stuff back in? Was it still in Sunset Valley, hundreds of miles away, sitting on the seat? I got dressed and sped to a phone booth to call my own number. The phone was off. Probably still on flight mode, or maybe somebody already had taken it, and removed the sim card.

I also had to call my mother, she should be worried, I didn’t call her while traveling. I looked at the clock, it was midnight in Loveland, which meant it was 7 am in Portugal, way too early to call anyone. I decided to call it a night and go to bed. I would be able to think more clearly in the morning.

It was already 10 am when I woke up, and although my body begged for a few more hours of sleep, the thought of my lost phone made me bolt to the shower. I had a quick breakfast, put on my jeans, my black tank top and a grey cotton drape jacket, with my black sneakers.

I took Boris to the park, where he played in several puddles, getting himself full of mud in the process. I then stopped by the phone booth to call my mother. Boris was beyond agitated, probably wanting to go play again. I held him by his leash, trying to make him still the best I could while I listened to my mom.

“I have been calling since yesterday, where is your phone? What number is this? Did you get in trouble?” My mom almost yelled at me, obviously alarmed.

“No, mom, I lost my phone. I’m taking care of it today, don’t worry. I’m using a phone booth in the meantime.”

“Did you return yesterday? How was the business trip? Did your boss behave?”

“Yes, good and yes.” I said, trying not to get into a lot of detail. I already knew that every word out of my mouth would be scrutinized by Dr. Mariana.

“Hmmm, avoidance. Meaningful.”

Boris was getting more restless by the minute, pulling and tugging on the leash, as I held him tightly in place. But Boris was a silly Saint Bernard, which meant he had the strength to drag me out of the booth if he so desired.

“I have to go, Mom. I’ll call you later.”

At that moment, Boris pulled the leash a last time, finally breaking the metal ring that tied it to the collar. Feeling free, he ran through the sidewalk, happy as a flea in a doghouse, completely ignoring me when I called him. I let go of the phone and ran after him, but I still heard my mom chuckling on the phone, amused by my hardship.

After a minute or two, I found him on the sidewalk, tail wagging, standing on top of some poor passerby laid on the ground, licking his face eagerly. I bolted in their direction, already mentally making up a felt apology, when I heard this distinctive baritone voice.

“Ok, dog, you had your fun. Now get off.”

Seeing Victor like that made me slow down my pace, amused to watch such a scene. Boris sensed me, though, and immediately left Victor’s unwilling lap, running to me instead.

Victor got up and started wiping his clothes with his hands, which made me notice the muddy paw prints on his white shirt and grey pants.

“Is the dog yours?” He asked, minding the stains on his clothes.

“It’s my neighbor’s. And he has been a bad dog, haven’t you Boris? Bad dog.” Boris laid down and hid his head under his paws, ashamed of being reprimanded. I turned to Victor. “Come on, I can help you with those stains.”

Victor seemed uneasy.

“Not necessary. Here, I came to give you this.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out my phone, which made me jump with joy.

“Thank you! I thought I left it in the airport or something. Where did you find it?”

“In my car. It’s a wonder you didn’t lose it sooner, judging by your lack of ability to organize your purse.”

I shrugged and started walking towards the house, Victor by my right side, and Boris on my left, following us. I decided not to dwell on this particular subject, predicting Victor was about to lecture me for being so messy.

“So you made a new friend today.” I said smiling.

Victor scoffed.

“He’s a silly dog, aren’t you, Boris?” I stopped by a red door, the entrance to my building. “Come on in.”

“I just came here to return the phone. Have a good weekend.” Victor said, turning away to leave.

“At least let me get you some coffee for the trouble I caused you. I insist.”

He nodded and came in, climbing the stairs with me. The building where I lived was old, it still had its original wooden floors and very narrow stairs, but I thought it had character. And although I lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment, the apartment was sunny and had large windows, and a small balcony with stairs leading to the terrace, where I used to go at night to watch the stars. We got in, and it took like ten seconds for Victor to view my entire living room and eating kitchen, so small it was.

“Nothing like what you’re used to, I suppose.” I said while I put some coffee to brew, suspecting he was wondering how could anyone live in such a small place.

“Do you get this light all year?” He asked.

“Yes, it is very sunny all year. Except when, well, it’s cloudy.” I said, rolling my eyes at myself, so stupid. “Let me get you that coffee. Have a seat. I think I may have some cookies.” I turned my coffee pot on and quickly filled it with ground coffee.

“Just coffee is fine. Where should I sit?”

“Go crazy. I’ll follow.” I said, while rummaging my cabinet for mugs and placing two on the counter. “Are you sure about the cookies? They’re homemade. Peanut butter.” I said, fetching the cookies to serve on a plate.

Victor sad on a stool on my kitchen island, eyeing suspiciously the plate of cookies I placed on the wooden countertop. He took one, smelling it.

“You bake?”

“Occasionally. Go ahead, take a bite and then wash it down… With this.” I said, handing him a mug of freshly brewed coffee.

He looked at the cookie in his hand, and finally decided to bite on it. After some chewing and a raised eyebrow at me, he took a sip of the coffee. He nodded in approval.

“Hmmm, good. You bake, who knew.”

“I do not understand your surprise.” I said, pretending to be offended.

He suppressed a smile, looking around the place again.

“I like your place. It’s rare to see something affordable and in such a great condition in this neighborhood.”

“Yes, I was very lucky to find this place.” I said, taking a look at his muddied shirt. “The mud in your clothes is dry, you should be able to brush it off without leaving much of a stain.”

I went to my bathroom and returned with a small brush, handing it to him.

“Now you brush it off. It won’t be perfect, but it will look better.”

Victor took the brush from my hand and started removing the dried-up mud. In the meantime, Boris pulled my sleeve and dragged me towards the balcony, asking me to open the door so he could go lie in the sun. I left momentarily, arriving to find Victor still brushing himself, knitting his eyebrows.

“Is it coming off?”

“Somewhat. It’s still visible, though. It doesn’t matter, I can change when I get home.”

I looked at his clothes, the stains lighter but still clearly there.

“Do you mind if I try?”

He gave me a dirty look.

“Do you find me incapable of performing the simple act of brushing?”

“It takes some skill, you know.” I said, teasing him a bit. His expression didn’t change.

“I highly doubt it, but here. Enjoy.” He said, handing me the brush.

I started brushing the stains off his shirt, and although the stains were indeed hard to brush clean, I managed to get a better result. One would need to be very close to notice them.

As I went on with my task, I started noticing how his body felt warm under his shirt and how good he smelled, his cologne intoxicating me into a daze. Involuntarily, I moved closer to him and reached his shoulder to support myself as I looked for a better angle of the fabric on his chest. When I really noticed, my body was mere inches away from his, his face really close to mine. I noticed his Adam’s apple going up and down and his jugular pulsing fast. And his eyes set on me, his dark grey orbs watching me carefully.

The smart thing would be to step away, of course, but I didn’t. I took in his gentle expression, his scent, his warmth, and I basked in it all for as long as I could. For some reason I felt he was doing the same, and even though my mind screamed for me to run, all my other senses were stubbornly keeping me in place.

I suddenly forgot that I was brushing, as my other hand moved from his shoulder to his chest. I could feel his defined yet soft and warm pectoral, and the fast drumming of his heart under my fingertips. He moved his hand to my waist and pulled me slightly towards him, as to encourage me, and my heart beat even faster, making me light-headed.

And then his phone rang. We both jumped at the sound, my mind taking the chance to sound the alarm, urging for me to step away. He grabbed his phone and answered, his voice faltering slightly.

“Yes, Goldman.” He paused and looked at me. I was already distant from him, trying to steady my heartbeat and not look all flustered. “Okay, you can proceed. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

He spoke to me, already in his usual poised attitude, his expression unreadable.

“I need to go, we are experiencing issues with the servers at the office. Thank you for the coffee and the cleaning service. Get some rest.”

He turned to the door.

“Wait.” I stopped him and went to the kitchen to prepare a bag with some of my cookies. “For the road. I hope you solve those issues in time, so you can rest too. Have a good weekend.”

He reached for the bag, his hand lingering in mine.

“You too. Thanks.”

The door closed behind him and I was left alone, his scent still in my apartment. The rush of adrenaline I felt before gave way to a swelling on my chest.

I smiled like a fool, all by myself, while my instincts warned me about the dangers of falling in love.

#Growing Pains - Series #growingpains #mlqc victor #mlqc fanfic #victor x oc #mlqc li zeyan #mister love queens choice #love and producer

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agent-cupcake · 4 years

Text

Beastie and the Bard

Fire Emblem Three Houses - Dimitri x Reader (Chapter 3)

A symphony has four parts so does this, but it’s split because I’m lazy and didn’t anticipate the minuet to give me so much grief. Sorry for the wait, life is a lot all the time all at once, you know?

Symphony Vittoria Opus 3, No. 1 I. Allegro A whooping shout echoed across the canyon, catching like fire upon a pile of dry leaves as the joyous sound spread across the triumphant troops. The bandit chef had fallen to Professor Byleth’s blade. The Blue Lions had won the battle of Zanado.

You felt dizzy, mentally dampened, and a bit confused at first.

“We won?” you asked nobody in particular, voice raised above the din of a few dozen voices talking at once. The man closest to you was smiling, nodding, speaking. You were slow in catching up, but you managed to make out his answer after a moment of focusing. Won, you had won. And then your ears were filled with the deafening sound of relentless noise and rushing blood, a roar of excitement that grew from within your own self.

You had won!

It didn’t happen in a steady turn, but in a sudden, jolting twist as all your focus and combat oriented energy changed to a joy for victory. It made you giddy, practically drunk on jubilance as the tension left your frame. Your head spun with a tipsy sensation of dizziness, a disconnect between mind and body. Some of it must have been the fatigue casting a haze over your mind as you emerged from the focused state of fighting. Past the overwhelming joy, you were aware that exhaustion had crawled deep into your muscles in a way it hadn’t during the practice battle, or even through your vigorous training exercises. It left your limbs in a loose and rubbery state, but not yet burdened with the aching pain you’d undoubtably face later. It made every sensation you experienced spark with particular interest to your racing thoughts, voices made that much louder and the blow of a cool breeze through your sweaty hair that much cooler.

It was similar to the high you felt after managing a difficult piece of music or finally pulling off a tricky sword technique, a swell of pleasant and overwhelming joy. A feeling too big to be contained within your limited body. A wild giddiness.

Oddly, the sun had barely descended past its watchful position straight above. It seemed impossible that hours hadn’t passed since you set out upon the canyon considering all that had happened. Then again, your mind recalled the entire battle as nothing more than a blur, a flurry of sword strikes and shouted commands slipping by in a matter of minutes.

There had been the cold and prickling anticipation as Professor Byleth performed his final inspection and gave orders, a shuddering dread as you lined up against the bandits with weapons that had never tasted blood, the fluttering anticipation when the charge was called, and then a surge of energy, strength filling your body as all you had learned in training took over and you fought your first battle with everything you could.

And now, victory.

You didn’t think about what to do next, sheathing your sword and beginning to move contrary to the tide of men. Towards the front line, searching the dissipating crowd for familiar faces. Or, really, just the one familiar face. Your expression split into a bright smile when you saw him, heedless of the exhaustion. Dimitri’s blond hair was messier than you’d ever seen it, even while training. It caught every drop of sunlight, shining gold even when sticking to his head with sweat, several bits swept away at chaotic angles. There was blood on his armor, his cheeks were spotted with a red flush from exertion, and his expression was a bit worn. But, most importantly, he was unharmed.

Right then, in your half mad mindstate, you felt a blind rush of affection. Excitement. Victory. Skipping on feet that felt lighter than air, you rushed past the few scattering ranks of your small force. Dimitri saw you, opening his mouth to say something, but you cut him off by throwing your arms around his shoulders, tilting onto the tips of your toes. Luckily, he was used to moving with a spearman’s firm stance, which was the only thing that stopped both of you from toppling to the ground. The recklessness of the action hardly registered. Impulsive and excited and bubbly with the vigor of life itself, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. It happened so quickly that the sensations barely registered; a whiff of the musky masculine scent of his sweat, the smooth warmth of his cheek against your lips, your hand brushing the back of his hair when your arms met around his neck; and then you were dancing away, smiling with a mouth on the cusp of releasing a bout of delighted laughter.

“We did it!” you said, uncaring of the childish sound of your victorious words. The fact that you had fought and won was more than the victory of battle, serving as solid proof that you were meant to be among the knights and students, that you were right in choosing your own fate. It meant that your father had been wrong. It meant you were supposed to be here. At Dimitri’s side, maybe. “I can hardly believe it. I was so nervous at first, but we did it! I did it!”

“That you did,” Dimitri said in a slightly stiff voice, a measured contradiction to your manic excitement. He had pressed his hand to his cheek, right over where you had kissed him. Was that displeasure you read in his widened eyes, or disgust? Maybe surprise, being attacked was an awfully good reason to lose composure. And more, was his face that red before, or had the color darkened his fair complection further? His hand dropped, being used in a casual gesture towards you. “And with energy to spare, I see,” Dimitri teased. Although he still seemed a little flustered, his blue eyes twinkled with laughter.

You giggled in response, a giddy and nervous sound. The situation was beginning to sink in. Firstly, it probably broke a dozen different rules of etiquette to have thrown yourself at him, and that was before you factored in the unspoken rules of friendship and boundaries his status afforded him. Not to mention the battlefield you stood upon, or the uncomfortable weight of the gazes of the remaining soldiers who lingered, or the fact that Professor Byleth stood nearby speaking to a knight, or that not even a dozen feet away laid the unceremoniously fallen corpses of the bandit chief and his main guard in puddles of drying blood-

No. You forced yourself not to look at them, unwilling to consider the dead in conjunction with the way you felt now. Instead you focused on Dimitri and the thread of enthusiasm that had brought you to him, refusing to allow embarrassment or doubt to make you fold now that you had already committed.

“I’m just so happy that we won!” you said as way of justification. “I never thought that I’d be able to do something like this… And I wouldn’t have been able to do it without your help so I wanted to thank you because if it hadn’t been for all that training I think I totally would have choked, but because of you I didn’t, so...” You let the thought drop there, your disorganized words rushed together just as badly as your thoughts. And then, what else was there to say? The jittery excitement was still thudding in your heart and making your hands shake. You wanted to apologize, but you also didn’t feel sorry, so you chose instead to settle for the middle ground. “Anyway, I… I should probably go back and help.” You gestured vaguely behind yourself, smiling like a fool for all that you should have at least tried to feel shame. “Um, see you, Dimitri! And you, Professor!” you called with a jaunty wave before turning on your heel. If eyes followed you, or if either responded, you didn’t know, and you were far too shy to check as you hurried up the steps to the top of the canyon where the horses and knights were all congregated.

Embarrassment was easy in coming, but found little traction in the thrill that filled you as well. Victory was exciting in a way no song had ever properly described. Maybe more than any song could. And then there was the way your body buzzed, the warmth tickling your lips, and the way your heart pounded when you thought of how bold you’d been.

Victory truly was sweet.

Symphony Vittoria Opus 3, No. 2 II. Adagio

Victory, as it turned out, could hurt.

When Lord Lonato fell, it was with an awful, hollow stillness that came in the stead of fanfare or glory. This did not feel like victory, or at least any sort of victory you could be pleased with. Ashe waved away any of your attempts to console or help him, returning to the town alone to find his brother and sister. Even though you desperately yearned to, you didn’t dare follow him alone, knowing that you would be rejected as the enemy.

In the eyes of the townspeople, you were the enemy.

So you watched Ashe go, heart heavy and aching. It wasn’t Ashe’s rejection that stung, not exactly. What hurt the most was the knowledge that you, right then, were useless to him. Nothing you did or said would be able to help him, your words would fall on ears made deaf as they strained to hear the voices of the dead. Nothing you could do would ease his pain or set his world back to rights.

Just like your mother. You could picture her clearly right then, standing in a beautiful black dress above your father’s grave. Weeping because of her true, singular love for the man and the gaping emptiness in her heart that would never be filled without him. Like Ashe, your mother hadn’t wanted your help. To her, you had been nothing more than a reminder of what she could have had, what she was going to have before he died. That day, you lost your mother, too.

Would Ashe be the same as she had been? Would you be a symbol forever reminding him of the death of the man who raised and cared for him? Would he stay in a state of frigid misery, bound by the lingering hold of the dead and unable to move forward? You had only known him for a few months, yet the idea made your eyes hot and teary, a terrible feeling clenching in your chest.

No. You would figure out a way to prevent that from happening, you would not fail again.

Or so you swore to yourself, right then.

Turning away from the empty forrest road and that tremulous silent promise, you set out to find Dimitri. You didn’t know why. Certainly not to ambush him with a hug and kiss on the cheek as you had at the end of the last battle, or anything resembling any sort of excitement. For comfort, maybe. Maybe to ask for advice about Ashe. Then again, you weren’t sure you really wanted to supply a reason for desiring his company. More and more you’d begun seeking it out unprompted. You were friends, and that was definitely sacred and worth pursing. He shouldn’t have been special beyond that, but he was. And you didn’t like to think of exactly why that was, so you didn’t.

The knights were all packing up to make the return trip to the monastery, not losing a second of daylight in their meticulous routine. It struck you as horrifically callous. The church with all their men and might will come to kill your fathers and brothers and then leave within the hour, leaving naught a trace behind. But that was foolish, a childish fancy given teeth as you tried to reconcile what had happened with what you wished would have happened. It was kinder and more pragmatic to leave as quickly as possible and allow the people to grieve in private.

That was the reality.

You were better off with the indignant stance that Lord Lanato was the one at fault for the deaths. His own foolishness was at the cost of the men you had killed. But in the same breath of that scorn could you smell the blood, feel it flaking off of your hands like flakes of rust.

No.

You didn’t want to think about that, you couldn’t let yourself. A knight didn’t weep for those they killed if it was necessary. Those words were a lesson from your sword teacher in Fhirdiad, a knight who had retired after partaking in one too many of the ugly skirmishes that had popped up in the wake of King Lambert’s death. His eyes were haunted when he told you that it was important to know when to care, and when not to.

Another thought that was best left alone.

So you focused on your search efforts. Unfortunately, while dodging through the collected chaos you realized that Magdred Way’s tree lined paths weren’t great for visibility, even without that supernatural fog. Not only was your heart heavy with thoughts you cared little to entertain and you couldn’t find Dimitri, but everybody looked so sad as well. Your friends who should have been proud of themselves for achieving victory without any casualties were wearing grave masks and curled postures with slumped shoulders, the knights grim faced and terse. Professor Byleth was the only one seemingly unaffected by it all, pointing you in the right direction to find Dimitri without expression or comment, trailed by an especially and uncharacteristically severe-looking Catherine.

Probably, you should have been concerned by that sight alone. But you weren’t, not really, because once you knew where to look Dimitri was easy to spot. He was tucked in the shadow at the edge of the trees, sitting on the convenient seat of a rock with his head bowed and hands folded in something like reverence. The cheerless image brought you up short, the words you had intended to use to call to him dying on your lips.

Pain clung to him, weighed him down with something more than than the cheap sorrow you’d been fighting off. You could easily recognize the way it crowned his head in invisible lead and sank deep and heavy into his bones. It was, after all, a familiar sight.

Holding completely motionless a yard or so away from him, you briefly considered turning around and leaving Dimitri be. People who looked like that had never fared well with your intervention. But you couldn’t. He just looked too sad and lonely. So you approached him with soft steps, feeling the hesitancy of regret before you even spoke.

“Dimitri?” you asked softly, uncertain. “Are you all right?”

He tensed up at hearing your voice, his posture straightening out with a snap as if to cover for the momentary weakness. Red rimmed his eyes, although you thought it was more of an effect of fatigue than tears. It complimented the bluish shadows beneath.

“Yes, of course. I was just resting a moment,” he told you, his expression and voice carefully controlled. “Did you need something?”

Any person in the world would be able to tell that he was feigning indifference. Pain was stretched thin in the forcibly casual tone of his voice like pottery held too tightly, seconds away from cracking. It hurt, strangely, that he would put on an act around you, but you didn’t dare think too hard about that sharp stab of pain or why you’d feel it. More than anything, you were worried, your heart set aching anew as you realized that his sorrow far overcame your own.

“No, I don’t. You looked...” Despairing. Agonizing. Like the weight of the world was crushing you and I don’t understand why. “Upset,” you said lamely. An underlying awkwardness edged your voice, created by your influx of emotions you suddenly had no idea what to do with. “I can… I can go if you want to be alone.”

“It’s not that-” Dimitri began with more false pretense, only to cut off whatever else he was going to add and let out a heavy breath, rubbing a hand over his face and allowing his posture to relax. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. I wanted a moment to collect my thoughts.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you asked.

“No,” he said firmly. Then, a moment later in a softer tone, “I don’t know.”

“This battle was… It was hard,” you said, an understatement if there ever was one, but Dimitri seemed to understand all the same.

“It was, and I know that what we did was necessary, but... I can’t help but wish that we could have handled that differently, that there was a different way to settle things without such violent measures.” His voice lowered even further, head bowing. “But if it wasn’t necessary, then what we did...”

Dimitri allowed the silence to speak for him.

“I think I understand,” you said, although you weren’t quite sure if you did. A part of your mind rebelled at the idea that violence wasn’t a way resolve conflict, although another wondered what such peace would look like. “But… We just have to keep going, don’t we? Maybe there’s another way, but this… We can’t let it define us, we just have to keep going forward and try to do better in the future, right?”

“Don’t you find it wrong?” Dimitri asked, his question given passion and intensity as he suddenly stood. The louder voice as well as the dramatic physical shift pulled you up entirely short, sending you a step back. “Does it not bother you to indiscriminately take the lives of those opposing us without even questioning if we could achieve the same goals without death?” All of the dispassionate pain you had seen before was gone, lit to a blaze in the soft blue of his eyes.

“I… I hadn’t thought very much about it,” you answered. The words came honestly in the face of being so startled, along with the pang of guilt that hit you from the accusatory nature of the question. “If it’s asked of me and my loyalty… No-” You hesitated, trying to think of a better way to phrase your thoughts, a prettier way. “If something I’m doing is protecting the lives of those I care for, I… I believe that it’s right,” you told him carefully. But, beneath the searching weight of his gaze, you wondered if that was only something to say. Like a poem or song. In truth, you hadn’t given the nature of battle or what you did to your enemies any sort of deeper thought. You didn’t want to. A hero couldn’t be a killer, even if they killed. And wasn’t it the same for you? For him? You had to believe that.

“What if the enemy believes the same?” Dimitri pushed urgently. “If all they’re doing is defending the people they care for in a conflict they have no say in?”

That gave you further pause, your eyebrows furrowing and chapped bottom lip retreating between your teeth as you tried to find an answer. You saw his argument, felt it just as clearly in the conflicted pain in his eyes. Doubt was poisoning him. Comprehension was sharp in that moment, an understanding of something you had been missing in the months you had known him. Dimitri’s capacity to care, something you admired so much, was a double edged sword. Great strength and great vulnerability. Of course it was. You’d seen it before, the agony of caring just a bit too much.

“I’d be glad,” you finally responded, slightly indignant in your desire to stand against his questioning. “If I died because of something I believed in, I would not regret it. I hope that anyone I fight feels the same.”

“And the ones they leave behind?” Dimitri asked, his voice softer, the rigidity of anger gone from this question. You met his eyes. Pure, perfectly pigmented powder blue. The color of reliability and honor, but also the color of melancholy and cold. Now they were needful. Looking for an answer you didn’t have, that probably didn’t exist. “What of them?”

You had heard that question before.

Any and all desire to argue against him bled out of you, leaving the overwhelming swell of post-battle exhaustion and anguish to hit you in full force, so stark it was nearly physical. “I don’t know,” you answered, your voice even softer than his own.

Dimitri’s eyes closed as he turned away, dissatisfied with your answer. “There really is no answer, is there?”

“Maybe there is,” you said, a weak attempt at hopeful optimism against his stormy despair. Dimitri didn’t disagree, but he didn’t have to do anything other than allow the words to deflate and disintegrate in the relative silence of your little bubble on the edge of the trees. And with them, an argument you couldn’t help but feel you had lost terribly.

“We should return to the others. Professor Byleth will want to speak to us all when we return, disturbing news had been discovered.” Dimitri said, his eyes opening and posture straightening out. The voice he used now was firm, but empty. Closed off once more. He did not wait for an answer before brushing past you, or look to ensure you were following.

“Right,” you agreed reluctantly, uselessly, following him on wooden legs.

#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fe dimitri #FE3H #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader #dimitri x reader #dimitri #my writing #like i said i never anticipated to this monastery pre timeskip stuff but if i'm writing it i have to bc these ideas #still exist #anyway i have class in like two minutes i shouldn't be posting #but yeet #beastie and the bard

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synchlora · 4 years

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newsagogo & hot chimp & party poison im too lazy to find the symbols for them

oh boy this is gonna be really fuckin long cause i spent way too long imagining the scenario where Party meets the DJs.

some background on this scene to give Party more context: Party was a juvie hall for some time in the city and had a tracker placed in the back of their neck by BLi. they got this removed but they were attacked during this process and the person removing it was killed, so they have an open gash there. they had to immediately run and got lost in the underground, eventually making it to the desert where they wandered along the road in really rough shape.

and mild trigger warning bc i do mention a dead body here and looting. nothing in detail but it is mentioned!!

anyway, without further ado here's some shit i wrote way too fast bc this hc scene is very vivid in my mind:

“Told ya we shouldn’t’ve gone out this far,” Hot Chimp rolled her eyes at Newsie’s snarky comment, rasped out through the thin, hot desert air.

"Well maybe if you’d’ve known our directions worth half a shit we wouldn’t’ve gotten lost out in Zone 3 for two hours,” Chimp raised an eyebrow at the ‘joy sitting next to her and the two of them couldn’t help but crack a smile. They both loved an adventure, albeit one on a day as hot as this may not be ideal. They were just headed out for a quick supply run out to Zone 2, but had gotten hopelessly lost at Cherri’s vague instruction of “somewhere out by a rock that looks kinda like a skyscraper” as if half the cliffs out here didn’t look exactly the same.

It’d been several very long hours of driving the van out in sweltering heat, and the two of them were somewhat on edge from the temperature. Trying to drown out the overwhelming heat, Hot Chimp turned the dial on the radio up and let some music blast loudly before Newsie could protest. But rather than the usual disgruntled mumbles of her partner, Newsie suddenly gripped her shoulder and shook her to get her attention. Chimp dialed the radio down and gave a puzzled look before looking to where News was pointing.

Out on the side of the road, there was a body.

Obviously, it’s not uncommon to come across dusted ‘joys out in the zones, but this one looked like they were just a kid, couldn’t be older than 17. They didn’t even look quite like they were dressed right for the desert, wearing torn up scraps that were duller than anything you’d see out in the desert. This was a city kid, some random rebel so desperate for escape that they wound up getting ghosted as soon as they tasted some real freedom.

Chimp grimaced at the sight, pulling the van over to the side of the road a few yards off from where the ghosted kid lay. She gave News an unsteady look and she returned a little nod before they both got out of the car. Tragic as deaths out in the zones may be, if you’re dusted it means you don’t need your gear anymore. And there’s no point in wasting any good materials for some foolish idea that the dead may care.

The two ‘joys headed over to the body, holding their hands up to the blistering sun. They’d have to be fast, couldn’t waste any water on sweating it out while getting some supplies that may not even be worth it. News reached down to the corpse first, placing a hand on their neck to ensure that they were in fact dead and there was no hope of taking them back to be another of the many strays that Cherri takes in. Chimp looked over to her partner who simply shook her head, signalling her to start rummaging through the dusted kid’s pockets.

Not a whole lot to speak of: a couple carbons, a jacket that may be worth patching up, a good pair of shoes (which seemed like they may even fit), and- best of all- a knife that wasn’t even rusted. Just as Newsie began to lift the body so that Chimp could slip off the decently salvageable jacket, a sudden gasp of breath and an ungodly scream escaped the lips of the previously-believed-to-be-dead rebel.

Newsie and Chimp both leapt back, dropping the supposedly ghosted rebel hard on the ground, their head making solid contact with cracked up asphalt. Chimp’s gun was drawn in a heartbeat and Newsie held hers pointed low at the figure that was groaning in pain before them. The wide-eyed ‘joys stared frantically at the kid that they swear was fucking dead just a minute ago.

The dazed city kid began to stumble to their feet and Chimp practically jumped back.

“Don’t move a fucking muscle, batt rat!” Chimp held her ray gun steadily, not batting an eye at the stranger that had just come to life in front of her. The young rebel looked up to the two ‘joys, only seeming to fully process that they had weapons drawn and pointed at them in this moment. They opened their mouth to speak but quickly shut back up. Whether it was out of fear or dehydration (if this kid could even dehydrate much less die), the two DJs didn’t know.

Chimp stood still, nodding over to News who remembered suddenly that she had a radio. She took out the radio, calling to Cherri to let him know what the fuck had just happened. Not too many details, just that they’d found a near-dead city kid that’d scared the everloving shit out of them. She took a while to explain the events of the past few minutes and a garbled voice came back over the static, talking for far too long. Chimp could tell by the exasperated look on Newsie’s face exactly what Cherri had said. He’d never been one to turn down anyone who’d needed help, dead or not.

Newsie rolled her eyes and looked back between the previously-ghosted kid on the ground and to her partner who, while appearing steady, was truthfully scared as all shit. She’d never let it show though. News looked up to Chimp, looking tired but also pleading, knowing that Chimp wouldn’t exactly be happy about bringing home a half-dead city rat. But Chimp knew just as well that she couldn’t leave the kid out here, and that Newsie wouldn’t let her.

~~~~~

By this time, Party’s whole body was burning. They had no fucking clue where they were. One moment they were stumbling through the underground, the next they were bleeding out along a road, and the next they were being held at gunpoint by the two brightest people they’d ever seen in their life. Their head was still spinning from a mix of dehydration, blood loss, and the nasty crash their head had when they went falling into the asphalt road. Speaking of asphalt, Witch, they’re really burning up. Every bit of skin that so much as touched the road burned hotter than a stove.

They watched their captors (is that what you’d call them?) as they appeared to discuss what to do with them over some device that spat static and garbled words. After the shorter of the two seemed to finish the conversation they’d had over the little black box, the taller one all too suddenly approached them, ray gun still drawn.

“Get up,” she practically spat out the words, “we’re headed back to the station,” she hesitated with a sigh, shifting a glance back at her partner, “and apparently we’re taking you with us.”

Party sat there stunned, hardly able to even imagine moving their aching limbs and unsure if they could even walk anymore.

“Well? Are you gonna get up or are you gonna let yourself burn up out here,” this time the shorter ‘joy spoke up from the seat of a van that was parked a few yards away from where they sat.

“We don’t need to take ya back,” the person near them didn’t offer so much as a hand to help them to their feet, but they took that warning as final. They stumbled to their feet, breathing in sharply between clenched teeth as they painstakingly stood up and staggered over to the open van doors. All the while feeling the presence of the taller ‘joy directly behind them, watching every move.

They practically collapsed into the back seat of the van, slipping in and out of consciousness as the car went roughly over the uneven terrain. Every jagged movement of the van sent Party into another spiral of sharp pain, sending shockwaves from the open wound in the back of their neck. They tried their best to steady themselves in the back seat of the van but they could hardly stay awake long enough to even register half of their surroundings. They heard a foggy conversation in one brief window of wakefulness.

“I don’t know, we shouldn’t be so rough on ‘em. Like that’s just a kid, Chimp, we don’t know shit about them,” the voice sounded like the one that spoke to the little black box earlier.

“You saw what the fuck happened, News! I jus-,” the other voice, seemingly named Chimp, paused to tap anxiously at the steering wheel, “I don’t know what the fuck just happened back there but that ‘kid’ wasn’t alive when we first found ‘em,” that one sounded more like the ‘joy that had yelled at them earlier.

“Still,” the smaller joy (was her name News?) breathed a long sigh, “Just let Cherri deal with ‘em I guess.”

The other voice seemed to soften and took on an apologetic tone, “I’m sorry for bein’ so spooked earlier. ‘S just that scared the livin’ shit outta me,” she paused before her voice picked up somewhat as she elbowed the other ‘joy, “didn’t wanna lose ya to some zombie kid.”

A couple of giggles escaped the shorter ‘joy’s lips at the remarks made by Chimp about the ‘undead’ rebel in the backseat.

“Witch, how do we even begin to explain this one t’ Cherri?” News chimed in through more laughter. Chimp’s gentle chuckle broke through the conversation as well.

“Dunno, ‘m sure his religious ass will probably eat up whatever story we give ‘im though,” she paused and went into a dramatic more masculine voice, “Oh you’re sure they were dusted? Well that can only mean one thing, ‘s gotta be some sorta divine intervention!” the shorter ‘joy bust out into a full laughter that filled the van with a smile you could feel more than see. Party’s head panged with immense pain as the laughter rang out in their ears. They slowly slipped back away into unconsciousness as the van harshly jolted them around in the back of the car.

and that's all!! not to leave it on a cliff hanger but bro ive got even more ideas abt Party meeting Kobra and everyone else and that's a whole other long ass story that i wanna write too sgvfhbfhbgj. hope this is comprehensible, i have no clue how to write dialogue

#i love. two women #they r very sweet girlfriends nd love each other a lot #didnt get to expand on that much here tho :(#also hot chimp isnt normally this much of an asshole. she is just spooked and also worried for newsies safety sgbfjvgnvhn #she only mocks cherri in a loving way as well they're like siblings #poor party is just. out of it and in pain here sgbchnvjb #someone help them out poor guy #but yeah this concept has plaugued me ever since u mentioned it elijah so i just wanted to write it out shdbvdhdb ty for letting me do that #killjoys tag #ttlotfk #asks #long post #death mention #death tw

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