#I just found two separate scenes from separate fics where he gets stabbed

[ghostbustermelanieking]

7 or 11 jmart for the kiss prompts??

thank you so much for the prompt!! asdfgghjkll i swear i didn't mean to post a post 200 separation fic on the same day as you (i was actually working on this last night).

this is a version of the scenario i wrote in love letters where martin and jon are separated after 200. but there is absolutely no need to read love letters to understand this.

warning for discussion of the panopticon scene in 200, and for a moment of jon wishing for the Eye to return (limited to the first section).

7. “I’ve missed you” kiss & 11. “I almost lost you” kiss

Waking up without Martin almost feels like dying all over again. That horrible moment where Jon opens his eyes in the hospital, on the other side, and doesn't see Martin… he'd take being stabbed a dozen times over this. 

When he wakes up and finds Martin gone, he thinks he's lost him. That Martin's died, that he's trapped on the other side buried in rubble, dead because of Jon, and Jon's survived somehow when he really doesn't deserve to… or that Martin's alive, maybe, just maybe, but he's somewhere else entirely. One of the other worlds Annabelle spoke of, or their original world—which maybe Jon should hope for; Martin would have the others, assuming they survived, and he'd be safe from the fears, safe from whatever horrible things they've unleashed on this world with one quick motion of a knife.

Jon should hope for this, that Martin is safe and that he has the others. But he's selfish, and they promised together, and he misses Martin with everything in him. 

He's at a hospital in London, he figures out eventually. The hospital closest to where the Magnus Institute was, in another world. The nurse reports that they found him on the site where Millbank Prison used to be, and isn't that weird? And that they found him there alone. (Jon's throat closes up at that, his eyes stinging, and he pretends he's tired so the nurse will leave, so he can cry in peace.) Martin wasn't with him. Martin didn't come through.  

But after a few days lying in the hospital with nothing but his thoughts, nothing else to do, Jon starts to question this. They have no idea how this all works, the tapes and the Web and the crack between the worlds… Surely he wasn't the only one to come through. Annabelle Cane thought she'd come through or die, and if Jon came through… and they didn't find her where they found Jon, either. (Of course, maybe Annabelle ran off before Jon was ever found, but somehow Jon suspects she wouldn’t. She strikes him as someone who likes to be at the center of things.) 

If there's a possibility that Annabelle came through, and landed somewhere differently than Jon, then there is a possibility that Martin came through, too. That he is somewhere, here, and maybe he is alive. 

It's a small possibility. But Jon clings to it with everything in him. 

He can't Look for Martin ( or for Annabelle, really). The Eye is gone. If it is here in this world, it has left him. Jon tries to be grateful for this, and a part of him is—he's been reaching for humanity for so long, all while sinking further and further into something he never wanted, he should be beyond grateful that it's gone, that he is alive and can live, without fading, somewhere else. (Although a part of him insists it doesn't matter if Jon hasn't made it.) But after so long with the Eye as a captor, a safety net, a part of him he thought he couldn't cut away… trying to live without it is strange. It hovers like a phantom limb, something severed by the gaping scar in his chest. He keeps reaching for it, for the horrible comfort of Knowing, and he hates it, but he wants it back deeply. Wants it because he knows he could find Martin with it, just maybe. He keeps thinking, Give it back, just for a moment. Thinks, I'll use it to find Martin and then I'll let go, I won't ever again, I hate it but I need it, I NEED to find him…

It doesn't come back. If Jon is ever going to find Martin, he'll need to do it on his own. 

He asks all the nurses and staff, anyone he comes in contact with, if they've ever met a Martin Blackwood. Asks if there's anyone in his files with that name, or a name like it, begs the nurses to please look around for anyone like that. No luck there. Jon asks for a phone book and gets an odd look; he guesses phone books are out of fashion in this 2018, too. He can't do much while he's in the hospital, and he's about to give up hope on making any progress until he's been discharged. 

But then he manages to get a hold of a laptop. After days of asking, a nurse offers to lend him one, if he promises to keep it quiet, and not to exert himself.  

Jon searches the Internet for hours. There are dozens of Martin Blackwoods, actually, more than he ever could've guessed, and none of them seem to be Martin. He has to consider the fact that Martin may not have existed here—just like Jon didn't exist here, or doesn't seem to have, before they woke up. Which will make it nearly impossible to find him using the Internet—using anything, until Martin has been here long enough to establish a paper trail—if Martin was ever even here in the first place… 

Desperation. Panic. Jon's last resort is to write a letter. To write down every single thing he's wanted to say to Martin, the things in his head when he woke up, the things in his head when he realized Martin wasn't here. He writes it all, says the things he knows only Martin would know, so Martin will know it's him if he ever reads it. And then he spreads it across the Internet. Posts it every single place he can think of. Every social media site. A lot of forums that are frequently visited. Comments on blogs he thinks Martin might read. Anywhere he can think of. He even prints off copies and mails them to every address he can think of that Martin might be at: his Prentiss flat, his post-Prentiss flat, his mum's care home, Upton House, the safehouse. He puts his real name on it, at the very top, and Martin's, hoping that if Martin is searching on the Internet, it might come up…

Jon's desperate. He'll try anything,  any desperate, silly scheme like spreading a love note all over the Internet. Anything to get Martin back.

-

By the time Jon leaves the hospital, his letter has gone viral. Plastered all over the place. There's people picking it apart, speculating about whether it's real, calling it an excellent work of fiction, speculating it's all a joke. There's even some commentary from other Jonathan Simses and Martin Blackwoods, swearing it's of no relation to them. 

None of it is what Jon needs. He checks every iteration obsessively: every comment, repost, retweet. None of it is Martin. None of them are Martin. 

He's still looking. Every single day, he looks, in places beside his letter and its hundred iterations. He searches as far as he can, in every record he can think of. He tries to find places in London that he and Martin frequented—the ones he can find. He even goes back to the Institute, or where it should be. It isn't there, of course. Probably never was. Jon can't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed. 

It's all he can do, to look and to keep hoping. It's all he can do. 

It's hard, being alone again, after so long always being at Martin's side… They'd craved space sometimes, and they'd had it, he supposes, but now… Weeks without Martin, one, two, three weeks, and it's excruciating. Jon had said together at the end, he'd promised , and he'd tried so hard to believe it, and now he's here, impossibly, alone. 

He has nightmares almost every night. Nightmares of the Panopticon and the end of the world, the ritual, words forced up through his throat—being at the center of the Eye, at the center of the world with Jonah Magnus at his feet and Martin dying in his arms. Martin forcing the knife into his chest. Jon hasn't dreamed of anything but the statements of others for so long, and he'd thought he missed it, but now… He wakes up almost every night shaking and crying, reaching for Martin. Like clockwork. He thinks he'd do anything for a dream that isn't his, a dream that's not an endless reminder of what he's done. 

He checks the forums. He searches in familiar places. He lies in bed and thinks of Martin, tries to look for Martin, silently begs for help from anyone who might be listening (the Web, the Eye, anyone). Nothing works. Nothing.

The reminders come like clockwork: Jon might be looking for no one, might be shouting out to someone who isn't there. Martin might be dead. It might be too late to get him back. 

-

Three weeks in, Jon finds a comment on the original forum, the original place he posted the letter on that first day. A comment from an m.blackwood . 

Jon reads it with his heart in his throat. Trembling with hope. Unable to hope completely. There's a dozen different things it could be besides him. 

The comment says I thought you were dead. It says, I'm sorry. It says, I love you, says, I'm coming. 

Jon's chin trembles, his eyes stinging. He fumbles at the keyboard with shaking fingers to instant-message m.blackwood, types out his address immediately, without thinking. (He has to type it out three times before he gets it right, his hands are shaking so hard.) And after that, I miss you. Even though he said it in the letter, even though it might not be Martin—it could be someone else fucking with him, a troll or whatever it's called; it could be the Web or the Stranger, luring him into a trap. But Jon doesn't care. He doesn't care. If there's any chance, any chance it's Martin… 

The reply comes a few minutes later: I'm coming. I'm so sorry. I miss you too. I'm coming right now. And Jon wipes his eyes, presses his face into his hands, and allows himself to hope. 

-

An hour and a half later, someone is buzzing for his flat. Jon runs so fast to the door that he almost slips and falls in the hall, hits the button with entirely too much force and breathes, " Martin? " into the intercom. 

Silence for a moment, long enough that Jon starts to wonder if this is just some random person he's practically sobbing down the line at. And then a voice answers, tear-choked: "Jon?" 

Jon nearly collapses with the weight of this voice, Martin's voice. He leans hard against the wall, his eyes burning, and says, "Martin, I-I'm buzzing you in," wiping his eyes frantically. 

He doesn't move from the door, stays leaning against the wall like it is the only thing keeping him up, until he hears a tentative knock on the other end. And then he's yanking it open, as hard as he can, and on the other side is Martin. Not something pretending to be Martin, not another Martin Blackwood, but his Martin. His Martin, standing there with the faded marks of bruising, his left arm in a cast and a new scar across his forehead, tears pooling in his eyes. Martin. Jon can't breathe for a moment, can't move, can't go to Martin because it doesn't feel real, none of it. 

And then Martin's saying, "Jon?" and bursting into harsh, frantic sobs. And Jon's rushing forward. He's rushing forward and letting Martin collapse in his arms, gripping Martin tightly, his fingernails digging into Martin's shoulders, his face pressed into Martin's neck. He's trying to hold on without squeezing or holding too tight, in case Martin's hurt worse than he knows—he's saying Martin's name over and over again, a senseless litany into Martin's skin: Martin, Martin. He's crying, too, hot tears dotting the fabric of Martin's shirt. He's burrowing as close as he can, pulling Martin into him, desperate to feel every part of him—it's him, he's here, it's Martin, they haven't lost each other. 

Martin's holding on just as tightly, trembling in Jon's arms where they've sunk to the ground, right in Jon's doorway. He's crying so hard, it's difficult to understand what he's saying, but eventually Jon begins to make it out. He's saying I'm so sorry. Again and again, muffled into Jon's hair: I'm so sorry.  

"No," Jon says, suddenly desperate. " Martin. No." He pulls back to look Martin in the eye, to try and wipe the tears off of Martin's face (even though he is crying, too). Leans up to press a kiss against Martin's forehead. "Martin, please, please… p-please don't apologize, please…"

"I killed you," Martin chokes out, his eyes shut, his dark lashes wet against his cheeks. "I killed you, Jon, I hurt you, a-and I… I thought you were dead, wh-when I woke up here, w-without you, I thought I'd never see you again, because of me… "

"I thought I'd lost you, " Jon says, quietly, through his own tears. He wipes the tears from Martin's face again and again. "A-and it really would've been my fault, because I lied to you, I-I was the reason you were up there… Martin, please. " 

" Jon. " Martin tugs him a little closer, burrows closer still, his face pressed into the juncture between Jon's shoulder and his neck. 

"It's okay." Jon kisses Martin's forehead again, his temple, his cheek, the top of his head. "Martin. Martin, it's—you're here, it can all be okay now…" 

Martin leans up abruptly to catch Jon's mouth with his. It's salty and lingering and desperate, every single thing Jon has felt in these long horrible days without Martin, every single kiss he wanted to give Martin while he was gone. Jon sinks into it, gripping Martin as tightly as he can, gripping onto his shirt, kissing Martin fiercely, with the panicked relief of being alive, of finding each other again. 

Even when the kiss finishes, they don't let go. They stay there, clinging to each other in the doorway, leaning against Jon's open door. Martin's still crying, still trembling in Jon's arms; he says, I missed you too, I missed you so much; Jon says, Martin, I missed you every single day. Every single moment. 

Martin whispers I love you against Jon's hair. Saying it back is as easy as breathing.

#tma fic #mag 200 #jonmartin #the magnus archives #post 200 #i wrote this #i might write more fics in this specific 200 scenario. like especially if i wanna write something where they talk things out

[mrs-dr-reid]

Found

(A Criminal Minds Fic)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Summary: The team often misplaces Spencer in a crowd, and the Reader usually has to resort to “drastic measures” to find him so they can get back to work.

Genre: Sooooo fluffy, my guy.

Warnings: A few swears. One F-Bomb.

A/N: Okay, so, I love those tumblr posts where a fictional character can’t find their friend/sidekick/partner in a crowd, and they yell something to make the other person respond, then go, “Found him/her”, so that’s why I wrote this. Enjoy!

Word Count: 1,630

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Spencer Reid is notorious for getting lost and/or distracted when the team has to enter a large crowd on a case. And funnily enough, Y/N L/N is most known for always being able to find him again so the team can keep working. Albeit through unorthodox means. Here are the top four best instances of how Y/N found Spencer, and one of how Spencer found Y/N.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One.

The team was canvassing the Santa Monica Pier in regards to a series of drownings in the area. Only problem was it was the busiest day of the week, and it was teeming with people. Hotch, Rossi, and JJ were back at the local police station setting up the investigation board, which left Emily, Derek, Spencer, and Y/N on canvas duty.

They spilt into pairs, and Derek and Emily took the left side of the pier while Spencer and Y/N took the right. After about 20 minutes, Derek called Y/N and said, “You’re on speaker, L/N. We’ve got nothing so far, Little Mama. How’s it going for you and Pretty Boy?”, so she replied, “We managed to get a few things that could be helpful. We’ll have to compare them against the case info, but that shouldn’t be too hard once we get back to the sta...tion,” but trailed off when she noticed Spencer was out of her eyeline.

She said, “Hey, Derek? You or Emily got eyes on Spencer?”, so he responded, “Can’t say we do. Why?”, and Y/N said, “I seem to have misplaced him,” while craning her neck to look around.

Emily said, “Should we try his cell?”, so Y/N said, “No. I’ve got this,” hung up, then cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “GEE, I SURE DO WISH SOMEONE COULD TELL ME HOW MANY KERNELS THERE ARE ON THE AVERAGE EAR OF CORN!!!”

A few seconds went by, then she heard Spencer yell from a churro stand, “STATISTICALLY, THERE ARE OVER 800 KERNELS ARRANGED IN 16 SEPARATE ROWS!”, which made Y/N smile and say, “Found him,” before working her way through the crowd to get to Spencer.

He offered her a churro with a smile, so she accepted it and said, “Thank you. Alright, back to the station with you, Churro Boy,” before grabbing his arm and pulling him along with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two.

JJ, Hotch, Spencer, and Y/N were checking out the dumpsite for the latest victim in a series of strangulations in Shipshewana, Indiana. The body was found in an alley by a flea market, and while Hotch was talking to the local police on the scene and JJ was questioning the garbage truck driver who discovered the body, Y/N looked up from examining the body and realized that Spencer had wandered off when she wasn’t paying attention, making her whisper, “Goddamnit, not again,” and try to locate Spencer in the sea of heads flowing through the flea market.

Hotch walked over to her and said, “We’re heading back to the station. You know where Reid is?”, so she said, “Not yet, but we both will momentarily,” which made him shoot her a confused look. JJ came over to them, noticed Hotch’s confusion, then said, “You’ll see,” just before Y/N yelled, “I WONDER IF SHERLOCK HOLMES WAS BASED ON A REAL PERSON!!!”

Just before Hotch could ask what that meant, Spencer yelled back, “HE IS!!! SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE MODELED HIM AFTER ONE OF HIS MEDICAL SCHOOL PROFESSORS, DR. JOSEPH BELL!”, which made Y/N smile, say, “There he is,” and pat Hotch’s arm before going to get Spencer. JJ said, “Told you,” and went to get in the SUV.

Y/N found Spencer at a second-hand book stall, and he held up a slightly worn copy of Gone With the Wind and said, “Nearly mint condition for six bucks! Can you believe it?”, so she responded, “Crazy. Let’s get moving, Bookworm,” and grabbed his hand to bring him back over to the SUV.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three.

Rossi, Spencer, and Y/N were retracing an unsub’s footsteps through a farmer’s market in Nashville, Tennesse because Emily had made the connection that all four previous victims and the latest victim in a series of abduction-homicides had made purchases there before they vanished.

Rossi took the north end of the market while Spencer and Y/N took the south. After the two of them had interviewed five stall owners, Y/N noticed the absence of a 6’1” shadow looming over her. She took a quick look around her, let out an annoyed sigh when she couldn’t spot Spencer, then said to the owner of the strawberry stall, “Thank you for the information. Now if you’ll excuse me, I seem to have lost track of my colleague,” before venturing into the crowd.

Y/N called Rossi and said, “Did Spencer make his way over to you?”, which prompted his response of, “He did not. Why? Did he wander off on you again?”, so she said, “Yup. I swear, that man has the attention span of a golden retriever. I’ll find him, one sec,” then hung up and put her phone in her pocket. She yelled, “HOW COOL WOULD IT BE TO KNOW THE EXACT NUMBER OF RIVETS THERE ARE IN THE EIFFEL TOWER?!!”, and waited, apologizing to the patrons in her near vicinity for her volume.

Spencer’s voice came from a handful of stalls down with the reply of, “THERE ARE APPROXIMATELY 2,500,000!!!”, which made her mutter, “Bingo,” before heading in the direction of his voice. She found him at a homemade donut stand, and he held up a brown paper bag while saying, “She had my favorite! Chocolate frosted with sprinkles! And she had yours too! Homemade bear claws!”, which made her say, “Excellent. Remind me to put a bell on you when we get back to the precinct,” before taking his arm in hers and dragging him off to find Rossi.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four.

Emily, Spencer, and Y/N were tasked with scoping out the latest crime scene in a series of stabbings in Duluth, Minnesota. This particular crime scene happened to be right near a pop-up carnival, and while Emily was talking to the local police, Y/N was interviewing the witnesses, and Spencer was surveying the scene, Y/N turned her head to see that Spencer was no longer by the crime scene.

She whispered, “Son of a bitch,” just as Emily came over to her, which prompted Emily to say, “Reid go AWOL, again?”, and Y/N to respond, “And the man swears he doesn’t have ADHD,” making Emily laugh slightly before saying, “Do your thing, Girlfriend,” and going back to talk to the lead detective.

Y/N yelled, “IF ONLY SOMEONE KNEW HOW LONG PLAYING CARDS HAVE BEEN AROUND FOR!!!”, and a few seconds later, Spencer yelled back, “PLAYING CARDS WERE FOUND IN CHINA THAT DATED BACK TO AT LEAST THE TANG DYNASTY, WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN FROM AROUND 618 TO 907 A.D.!!!”, which made her mumble, “Yep. Boy Genius located,” before trotting off to look for him.

She found him at the cotton candy vendor with a bag full of the sugary pink stuff, and when she shot him an exasperated look, he said, “What? I was done looking over the crime scene!”, so she grabbed his hand and said, “One of these days, I’m buying you a backpack leash,” before dragging him back to where Emily was, but not before she snatched a handful of cotton candy from the bag he was holding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five.

The whole team was out on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, Louisiana looking to catch an unsub in the act of hunting for their next victim when Y/N got separated from Spencer and Derek. When Spencer noticed, he said, “Hey, Morgan. Did you see where Y/N went?”, which made Derek say, “Nah, man. I thought you two were joined at the hip. Y’all are coming up on three months now,” and wink at Spencer.

He scoffed and said, “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she won’t wander off,” before the two men tried looking around in an attempt to spot her. Derek said, “Huh. Normally she’s the one that has to track you down, Pretty Boy. This must be one hell of a role reversal,” and ruffled Spencer’s hair.

Spencer shrugged him off, then said, “Hang on, I want to try something,” and Derek said, “Alright. Get your girl, Lover Boy,” so Spencer rolled his eyes, then cupped his mouth with his hands and yelled, “SPENCER REID IS THE WORST PROFILER IN THE BAU!!!”, and it took less than three seconds for Y/N to yell back, “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY?!?!”, from a few yards away.

Derek burst out laughing, and Spencer smiled fondly before saying, “Found her,” and going to look for Y/N. He found her near some street musicians playing a variety of jazz songs, and when they started playing “La Vie en Rose” by Louis Armstrong, Spencer said, “It’s our song, Y/N/N,” which made her jump before saying, “Yeah, it is,” with a wistful smile on her face.

Spencer wrapped an arm around her waist, then led her back to where Derek was waiting while saying, “You’re never going to live that down. You know that, right?”, so she smacked his chest and said, “Yeah, I know. And here I was always teasing you for wandering away from the group,” before smiling and kissing his cheek.

Spencer smiled, then pressed a quick kiss to her lips before they rejoined Derek to keep an eye out for the unsub, but both Spencer and Y/N had a bit more pep in their step.

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Tag List: @homoose, @hurricanejjareau , @xgoldentigerlilyx, @therestisconfettis, @less-intelligent-spencerreid, @aryaarathornson, @thomasgibsonfan01

Let me know in the comments if you want to be added

#logan writes #criminal minds #one shot #reader insert #dr spencer reid

[yostresswritinggirl]

Antinomy

Part 1; establishing grounds. VIBE

"Do you know the spiritual meaning of 11? What about in numerology? You'll find it quite intriguing, funny even... until it starts making sense." You've witnessed and harnessed the way and days he had grown to be; this fic enumerates the trials of the 11th before he became a Harbinger under your care. From strangers to mentor to friends to love- Childe made a grave mistake, now you’re once again strangers.

Pairing -> Childe x Harbinger!Fem!Reader

Word Count -> 3277

Themes -> Friends to admirers, slow burn, mentor, fluffy, suddenly ANGST

Series -> #Sojourner Specials (600 Followers Event) Part 2

Warning -> Blood and injury, decent? amount

The biblical meaning of number 11 comes from one's understanding that it is associated with things that would be considered imperfect, a disorganization of systems, and the disorder or chaos of things. The 11 carries a vibrational frequency of balance. It represents male and female equality. It contains both sun energy and moon energy simultaneously yet holding them both in perspective separate-ness. Perfect balance.

act i. first sighting

The first you've heard and the first you've seen the likes of him was long before you were anyone important in the organizational structure of the Fatui. You were a simple agent making rounds around Snezhnaya's city borders, nothing more, nothing less.

During these parts by the winter forest of Morepesok where time seems slowed down as the snowflakes flutter without urgency, it reminds you of what home feels like, and you felt more free to delve into a sense of relaxation away from other chatters from your co-workers.

You were ready to lean on a tree and just dissociate from the world of stress you had put yourself into— and then you heard a distant cry, accompanied by the pants and howls of wolves. Your body immediately lunged forward, finding your ankles sinking deep into snow as you trudged through the terrain as fast as you can. A child, a literal child somewhere in the forest getting chased by wolves.

When you've arrived by the scene, you registered a tuff of orange hair almost topple you over as they smack into your body, a startled cry eliciting from them as you throw him behind you in quick succession, your polearm manifesting to throw off the wolves that had locked in on the sight of him, "Go! Get out of here!" You urged at the sound of his silence as you carefully swung the first hit on the lunging wolf, being a tad too late to hit it with the edge's blade only for it to be knocked to the side by the shaft. At the sight of the battle you finally relieved a sigh when you heard him and hope that he knows his way back. But your work was not cut yet, you thought as you realized how the pack of four now encircles you with hungry gazes and drooling jaws.

The moments after that was filled with song and dance as you fought hard to overcome the might of four ferocious beasts, the polearm swiftly twirling in your arms to counter attacks from all sides. You twist your arm behind, lodging the tip of your spear in the throat of the wolf before delivering a kick to the head of another one lunging from the front. You made quick work to disengage your spear from the dead wolf, but the two idle wolves had noticed this as they lunged in coordination.

Now bloodied and bruised, exhausted from fatigue and frostbite, your final wolf to slaughter was inches away from your face. Its jaw had locked around your weapon in muffled growls and you can only keep him there with your arms losing its strength. Your blood sprayed around the battlefield of once white snow as the third wolf's sharp canines had lodged itself around your leg before you killed it through a stab.

You humored yourself with a wry laugh at the thought that it would leave a pretty nasty scar. The amount of blood you lost is already taking its toll at your consciousness and the last thing you saw before you finally succumbed to oncoming death was the wolf's awaiting maw, and a prickle of ice.

You only wish then that the kid you saved, only a few years younger than you, had left the forest in safety.

act ii. second assignment

Zapolyarny Palace was a magnificent architecture that towered all other manmade structures in the nation of the Cryo Archon. Now you, the most recent addition to the Harbingers roams these hallways regularly with agents following your trail. Lady Columbina, the 10th Fatui Harbinger, wields a peculiar job within the ranks of the organization.

It was years after the incident in Morepesok on which you came out with a nasty scar on your leg, but a proud Cryo Vision stuck to the side of your torso. When you donned it after the Tsaritsa had called for your presence (she must have sensed the bestowal of the elements) and reported your rounds during that mission, the Cryo Archon's piercing gaze had softened in intensities that washed over your whole soul with the warmth you would not expect of her element. Ever since then she had regarded you with attention to spare, your potential and line of work exposed, and had you easily rising up the ranks at the guidance of the 9th. Despite the gruesome and painful trials you had to go through before you can proudly walk on your own.

The informant by your side had handed you a thick folder earlier and you had been pacing around the hallways the whole time you had been investigating the contents. Said agent feebly and awkwardly following you as if expecting you'd walk away or disregard him for his absence. It was stupid from a bystander's perspective, but you were too focused on work to worry about it.

Well, focused, because you were interrupted by the sounds of clashing and sparring by the quadrangle within the Palace. You stopped your pacing and look up to see a batch of agents training with a few skirmishers in routine. A majority of them easily getting body slammed to the dirt floor in martial combat, and some are working on weaponry. But at the very middle is where your eyes linger with a flash of familiarity—

A tussle of orange hair unhidden by the Fatui hood clashes with a giant of a man, weapons and Vision drawn at the sparring. The agent moves with quick succession, and you can see Pulcinella getting overpowered pretty quickly. As expected of his form, of course, but he still bit back with his delusion now equipped. Cheater, you scoffed to yourself, as the orange-head agent still managed his footing to strike consecutively at the bigger man.

You watched on for a little while longer as the orchestration of the match continued. Your observant eyes clearly noticing how the Harbinger could barely leave the area he had been standing on as he was barraged by blades from every direction, fully defensive. The match ended indefinitely when the Harbinger had noticed you, and quickly ended the match as an escape to his obvious downfall. "Halt," his voice reverberated from the sheer authority it brought and the agent stopped only a few centimeters from slicing the gloved hand in front of him, "We have a guest."

"Hardly," you scoffed at the end of your temporary entertainment as you sauntered over to the edge of the veranda, waving your hand dismissively at the training agents that had kneeled to greet you. With this they all went back to their training away from your side to give the privacy of a talk, except for one person. You can feel his intense stare even if it was hidden behind the standard protocol Fatui mask. You wondered if he had recognized you, "Pulcinella." You nodded.

"Columbina, it has been a while," he made a move to swipe the sweat at his forehead and you murmured an affirmation at his statement. It HAS been a while since you had lingered in the Palace, much less the country. As the head of the information brokers department of the Fatui, you're frequently found in missions beyond the headquarters where you soldier your subordinates in field missions. At this thought, you felt conscious at the fact that you still had your dancer outfit on.

To avert your embarrassment you shifted your attention to the agent with a tilt of your head. You swore you saw him gulp as subtly as he can. "This is Ajax," at the mention of his name, he had bowed his head, hand across his chest in greeting. "He has the potential."

Your mouth formed into an 'o' at the mention of the special word, eyes slightly widening at the intonation as you continued to look at Ajax. When he raised his head to meet yours once again, you found yourself averting in newfound fluster. "You mean to tell me..."

"Yes," the way you gingerly placed a hand to quietly hide the redness of your cheek had Ajax amused, the edge of his mask hiding the slight quirk of his lips. "The Assembly ceremony would be called upon soon."

act iii. 3 pm assembly

The 3 PM Assembly comes before the Dusk Convention which is not the current point of the information. You've only been in it once and it was in a different circumstance, yet your nerves still stayed the same, if not more perfectly hidden than the first occasion.

Ajax, now dubbed Tartaglia alias Childe, stood kneeling by the steps of Your Majesty's throne at the information of his ascension to the ranks of the Harbingers. He was the final piece to the puzzle, and his addition to the ranks meant multiple things. The start of the war against the divine, the Tsaritsa worded after Childe has received his Delusion from Pedrelino.

He almost seemed starstrucked- dazed after the chance meeting of finally seeing the great Tsaritsa face to face. You gulped as the words of the first continues upon mention of his new arc of training in honing his skills and exposure to the ways of the Harbingers. Next to you, in silent and slight comfort, Innamorata simply touched elbows with yours without sparing a glance as she stared straight on. You smiled at the gesture.

"During the phase of your training, you shall be commandered by the Harbinger that had come before you. And she will be your last test to show that you had earned your ascension," Childe followed the trail of Pedrelino's sight as he spun to watch the end of the line up of the Harbingers.

A figure layered with multiple chiffon and flowy cloths and yet seemingly underdressed in the winter nation steps on the red carpet of the throne room, a spear polearm manifesting as she twirls her hand to catch it mid-integration, the action suddenly producing a blast of icy wind enough to reach him and make him stumble.

Childe felt the tingle of excitement twitch his fingers at the apparent power difference. When they both finally made eye contact, masks off and irises laid bare, a petrifying glint of amusement lies within them both. The female offers a toothy grin as she lodges the spear's point into the ground, the metal clanging through the room in piercing reverbs.

"Meet Columbina, the 11th Harbinger, your last mentor."

act iv. counting crows

It had been a while, a very long while, since you had gone stationary in a nation. Much less Snezhnaya. While it is home the removal of your olden routine to put yourself in the shoes of a mentor had really been maddening you, more so with the inclusion of your line of work still in operation and a certain someone as your trainee until who knows how long.

Your brows furrowed as you watch the annoying caws of the crows overhead, four of the black birds making symphony as if to rejoice over your repeated victory. Underneath your thin shoe laid a gasping Childe who was just as irked at the piercing interaction.

You had just finished a 'spar' or what you could call an opportunity of ascension. When you explained to the newest addition as to how his true ascension works (which involves beating your mentor in a fair fight) he had been nothing but a thorn on your side with his repeated requests to spar. He was really, really adamant for a fight, something you had come to realize a day after he ascended to your care.

"Shoot them down," you ordered as the man finally got his grips enough to stand once again, his outfit filled with marks of dirt and obvious footprints from your numerous kicks to make him stay back. At the order he shoots you an amused grin, as if to say 'really?' but succumbed when you continued eye contact.

"Master Columbina," Childe started as his bow and arrow materialized. You knew full well just how inefficient he is when it comes to bows compared to other weapons, and you tasked him such challenge to use it more under your supervision, topping his oath to master it already. "Do you know what four crows mean? I'm not really adept with crowology but I'm pretty sure they have significance in numbers."

The first shot fires and kills one. The action had startled the other birds and they scrambled to flap away, but Childe was already materializing three new arrows to fire at once, this quirked your eyebrows in amusement. Something he noticed and smirked at, eyes still focused as he fires his shots- one missed. "Four crows may mean many things," you watched as he desperately chased the crow with a barrage of arrows and you had to stop yourself from laughing at his failed attempts, "It could mean birth of a male newborn, highly unlikely. Aaand, wealth and prosperity, and finally..."

His arrow finally pierced the poor vertebrate, an emphasized sigh of relief escaping his lips as he whips his head to look at you for affirmation that you had seen his victory. You gave an amused yet soft smile, his eyes twinkled in double-layered delight, "New beginnings."

act v. his siblings

Childe had a mentor once, who fuelled the flame of his reckless spirit through countless beatings and repeated dangerous encounters. When he was given an opportunity of once again being under an official mentor, with his newfound lust for battle, he was extremely ecstatic over the idea. But unfortunately, as he walks around with you through the familiar streets of Snezhnaya, it was not all fun and games as he'd expected it to be.

"You look so disappointed for someone who just received one million mora under their name." Appropriate to the occasion, you don now a traditional Snezhnayan winter attire yet with details that alerts everyone of the price of the genuine fur that's stitched on the edges of the lining. It was over the top since you had developed an immunity.

"I didn't expect being mentored to be a killing machine requires knowing about taxation and interest rates," was his childish grumble. Which received a frosty laugh from you. You had reiterated again and again just how powerful money is to a nation just as information, which Pedrelino and you operate in order. Thankfully Childe was ever so smart to pick things up easily (if it was viewed as a challenge) despite his early recruitment into the Fatui that surely would have hindered his education.

You opened your mouth to reiterate over the fact that perhaps his main concern would be in the issue of debt collection when a scream had resounded through the crowd, one of which belongs to someone Childe would recognize, you thought as you observed how he had perked up and looked around. When his eyes settled on a direction, you suddenly realized a crowd of five coming your way, you immediately took a step away as three younger figures latched onto him and started chatting him up like there's no tomorrow.

You hummed to yourself as you watched with hands intertwined behind your back. From what you can hear and gather, they were his siblings, all five crowds with one probably missing. One seemingly older to the 11th yet not donning the same striking orange hair spots you and offers a sorry smile at the inconvenience, observant, you thought as you flashed a polite smile too. He's probably Andrei, the one who's the same age as you, if you remembered his oversharing correctly.

"Big brother, please join us! We haven't seen you for so long, we're preparing a huge feast for mother and father's anniversary, it would be really good if you can attend!" Wow, these children are really good at bargaining. You can already see Childe's resolve crumbling the more they fluttered their eyelashes with such doe eyes.

Whether a plea for help or look for approval, his ocean orbs had found his way to you, begging that you be at least a considerate Harbinger to offer him this once in a lifetime break. You were about to open your mouth (to let him be, of course, you're not the heartless Harbinger everyone had generalized the ranks to be) when suddenly all six pair of eyes had fallen on you. It wasn't the same tantalizing or spine-wracking gaze the Tsaritsa holds, but the attention made you gulp either way.

"Hi," your voice reached a sudden meekness neither you nor Childe expected nor heard before.

And suddenly you found yourself around a table with plentiful dishes scattered all over it, your crowd of five (seven if you count you two) had turned to a staggering, solid 10 as the whole family had forced invited you into their abode to share the meal. Thanks to the nature of your work and training, your social skills commandered any suspicions or questions off easily, and you behaved just like a girlfriend meeting her boyfriend's family for the first time.

Childe watched as you clenched your jaw and offered a hooded, tilted glare when you met eyes. He gulped. That look looked very much like Scaramouche.

act vi. sixth nation

Childe barely knew the world beyond the frosted wasteland, past the outskirts of Snezhnaya. Yet from the stories his father had adopted to him ever since he was able to remember, he views the world outside with a sense of familiarity, longing and relieving satisfaction. It was such a pure look you felt like barfing from the intensity of the innocent aura it held in comparison to your line of work.

His eyes would then land on you where you once again don your master dancer outfit, yet unlike your homeland, this setting matched it better. The sun at Fontaine hits the golden sequins at a certain angle to make it glitter, and the thin white veil that hovers over the back of your hair flutters gently in the soft breeze that comes by. You'd look angelic if you wore more white, he bites back the words when you met his eyes.

His first look at your line of work and his first visitation outside of the nation. And into the land of entertainment. This was your main land of operation and the way you dwelled with the citizens brings about a sense of replicated home at the nostalgia. Many recognized you as a simple entertainer and many of the citizens look upon Childe with intrigue and wonder.

"Based on my network, this would be his last stop," you adjusted the bangles that holds on to the thin cloth that runs over your arm, "Again, we are here to observe and get information, not look for a fight."

"Yes, master." He grumbled flatly but his eyes were wide and wandering the marble walls and statues that littered the nation. He's distracted, just like a true child. "What's the name of that rogue vigilante again? The one that keeps busting down the doors of the Fatui headquarters everywhere."

You hum, hand wrapped around his wrist as you guide his distracted self through the crowd.

"Diluc Ragnvindr, and try to remember it this time please."

To be continued.

Accidentally posted so now it's a freakin two parter.

@zelos-simp @legionqueensav @moaa @dandelion-dreams @snackgod @rxsalinee

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #childe x Reader #genshin impact oneshots #exile.flower #sojourner special #followers special #diluc was here #god i hate myself #why did i accidentally post this #female reader

[fazar234]

A New Order

The full fic is finally here! I was planning on getting this out sooner, but my laptop had some problems and needed repairs.

This is actually for a new AU I’m working on, called the Interdimensional Overlord AU! You can learn more about my AU here.

(In this AU, Olivia and Yunnan succeed in saving Marcy, so the Core is never revealed until after Andrias is overthrown. Also, I based this off that one scene in “Olivia and Yunnan” where King Andrias announces their new promotions.)

Honestly, it's a little shorter than I had intended, but I hope you all enjoy nonetheless!

Taglist: @writingamongther0ses, @eclipsewarrior101, @d-blue02, @dawn-is-gay, @hughjidiot, @eeveearoace-creative, @sonofrose, @iamthelordoftime, @shikokiomi, @space-lynn, @rennikothecatdog, @waybrights, @casswithmywholeheart, @starsfic, @luna--dragon

Marcy Wu never thought things would go this far south.

It had been about 3 weeks since the resistance had invaded the castle that belonged to King Andrias, the megalomaniacal tyrant who sought to conquer every world in existence. Anne had been the one to stop him, but then she declared herself Queen and sought to prove that she was a better ruler than Andrias could have ever been by succeeding where he failed. She had then forced Sasha and Marcy into becoming her general and advisor, and they were not exactly happy about it. As for the Plantars, Boonchuys, Grime, Olivia, and Yunnan, they barely escaped with their lives, shook by the fact that their friend/daughter/adopted sister/adopted granddaughter had become the same as the malicious newt himself.

One week later, Anne had uncovered a hidden basement in the castle, which led to a room containing the mechanical hivemind of Amphibia’s greatest minds that Andrias had been serving: the Core. The hivemind had offered to assist Anne in her goal, but she refused, well aware of their true intentions, and completely obliterated them in one blow.

That was how Marcy, wearing a black dress with hints of green laced on it, found herself standing two weeks later on the balcony of Anne’s castle, gazing helplessly at the execrable sight before her: Frobots tirelessly digging up plants, destroying trees, and scaring off animals to build factories that produced more Frobots and polluted the once clean air.

And she blamed herself for it.

If she hadn’t sent herself and her friends to another world, maybe they wouldn’t be separated from their families for five months, maybe King Andrias would have never been able to restart his plans, maybe she wouldn’t have been stabbed and be forced to bear a scar that stretched all the way down from her chest, and maybe, just maybe, her friend wouldn’t have become the power-hungry tyrant that Andrias was.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a Frobot that walked towards her, its red, vibrant, frog-like eyes looking down on the Taiwanese girl.

“QUEEN BOONCHUY REQUESTS A WORD WITH YOU AND GENERAL WAYBRIGHT,” the Frobot announced in a voice that was deeper than Frobo’s.

Marcy sighed. Better than watching this, I suppose…

With that, the girl treaded across the marble floor, the hallway decorated with torches that now wielded chilling, blue flames instead of the warm, orange ones. She spotted Sasha, who was decked in black armor, with stripes of red swirling across it, and wore a solemn look that replaced the prideful, arrogant one on her face, waiting next to the door leading to the throne room.

“You here for Anne, too?” Sasha asked.

Marcy nodded. “What do you think she wants us for?”

“No clue. But knowing her, it’s probably not good.” Sasha sighed. “It’s not like we can do anything about it though, so we might as well get this over with.”

And so, the two girls opened the door to Anne’s throne room, which was painted in a darker shade of blue, contained new windows symbolizing Anne as the new ruler, and had torches with the same fire that littered the dark-blue carpet leading up to the throne, which was seated by none other than the Queen herself, who wore black armor with blue flames painted on it and a dark-blue cape. She gave a smile, one that was meant to show joy at seeing Sasha and Marcy again, but they both knew of the cruelty that it masked.

“Hey, Sash. Hey, Mar-Mar.” Anne greeted, the icy tone in her voice sending shivers down the two girls’ spines. “You two made it right on time.”

“Hey, Ann-, um, your Majesty,” Marcy replied, bowing down to the brunette, while Sasha reluctantly did the same. “You called for us?”

“You bet I did. There’s something I’ve been meaning to share with you both,” Anne answered.

“So, spill the beans then,” Sasha requested, trying not to sound insulting. The last thing the blonde wanted was to offend Anne, and she knew what she was like when she was angry.

To her relief, Anne just nodded. “It’s come to my attention that the number of rebels in Amphibia have been rapidly increasing. The resistance is somehow still alive, despite our absence.” She gave a chuckle. “I guess those Amphibians are still tough on their own.”

Sasha and Marcy both looked at each other, secretly sharing relief that their families and friends were safe. That relief soon turned to fear, however, when Anne continued.

“Because of our army’s countless failures to capture them, I’ve decided not to let a Frobot do a girl’s job. Sasha, you’ll be the one leading the invasion to Wartwood.”

Sasha blinked. “M-me? But your Majesty, surely there’s someone else who can—”

“You’re the one leading, okay?” Anne interrupted with a glare that unsettled the blonde. “You’re stronger and more persistent, and you can make everyone eat at the palm of your hand. Something that mere drones are incapable of.” The brunette turned towards Marcy with a twisted smile. “As for you, my dear Mar-Mar, I’ll need you to look into upgrading our Frobots so that not even the strongest hit will stop them. You girls can do that, right?”

“…yes, your Majesty.” Marcy replied, looking away.

“Great! Then I think we’re done,” Anne exclaimed, before adding, “Oh, and one more thing, Sash. If you run into any villagers who aren’t rebelling, round them up for our factories. And if they refuse…give them a stern talking to, will you?”

Sasha had a look of surprise and relief at the same time. “That doesn’t sound too bad—”

Anne immediately laughed. “JUST KIDDING!” Her humorous look immediately changed into a terrifying one, and for a few seconds, her eyes started glowing. “Turn them in.”

Shook, Sasha and Marcy nodded quickly, before scurrying out of the room, as Anne chuckled, before gazing out the window. “Hide while you can, Sprig. But soon, you and I will be together again, just like we were meant to be.”

——————————————————————————

As Sasha and Marcy left the throne room, they both tried to comprehend what they had been ordered. Marcy had to upgrade their Frobots, and Sasha had to capture their families and friends. The news was too much for both girls, especially Sasha, to bear, as the blonde fell to the floor and began to sob, while the raven-haired one tried to comfort her.

They were in between a rock and a hard place. Either they sided with their families and hurt and betray Anne in the process, or they carried out their new orders and lose their loved ones.

And neither of them could think of a way out.

——————————————————————————

I really wanted to add more, but my creativity eventually abandoned me. ;_;

Let me know what you all think with a reblog (constructive criticism is welcome!) and I'll see you all soon!

#amphibia #amphibia fanfic #anne boonchuy #sasha waybright #marcy wu #angst #hurt no comfort #evil anne au #interdimensional overlord au #Fazar Fanfics

[winterscaptain]

nightmare, recalled

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: the hearing. next part up is the slave of duty. we are reaching the end of this arc, and we will do some healing, i promise. thank you all for waiting on this part! it’s a little short breather before we get slave of duty tomorrow night. 

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! (the pieces stand alright on their own as well, for the most part!) one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 2k warnings: discussion of violence, language

summary: “when someone you loved was depending on your lie, it was perfectly easy.” - liane moriarty, big little lies

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You arrive at the office in the early morning, not looking half as exhausted as you feel. It was your own fault - you begged and begged to be the first in the back-to-back team testimonies today. If you were first, you reasoned, you never once had to leave Jack once he and Aaron arrived. 

Jess is taking care of the final arrangements today - handling the catering for the wake with her parents, sourcing roses, all of the wretched little tasks you’d much rather take on yourself - for the funeral this weekend. 

But alas, Strauss needs to continue her warpath on Aaron, and you need to defend him. 

You sit outside of the eighth-floor conference room, just down the hall from Erin’s office. You have tissues tucked in your hand, not trusting her to provide them and saving your pride in the process. You keep your eyes down as she steps into the room and closes the door behind her. 

As you expected, about three minutes later, she pops her head out. “We’re ready for you.” 

Inside the room is one of the deputy directors, in addition to a lackey from the inspector general’s office. 

Gang’s all here...

You take your seat opposite Erin, keeping your hands in your lap. 

“Please state your name and rank for the record.”

You do, clear and steady.

“How long have you worked in the BAU?”

“I was assigned to the BAU as a New Agent Trainee in the summer of 2007, and was assigned to the unit as an agent at the end of that year.”

“So, two years?”

“Just about, ma’am.”

The other people in the room start taking notes, but Erin keeps her eyes on you. It’s unsettling. 

“How was it that you were assigned to the BAU as a NAT?” There’s something hidden in her question, so you answer somewhat comprehensively. 

“I requested a unit assignment based on a recommendation from Jennifer Shepard, the late director of NCIS. I was intrigued by the guest lecture given by Agents Hotchner and Gideon and requested the BAU.”

“Who approved your transfer into the unit?”

Your brow crinkles. “I’m not sure of the specifics ma’am, but the SSAIC informed me that she’d spoken to Agent Hotchner prior to my assignment.” 

“Do you feel indebted to Agent Hotchner?”

Ah. There it is. 

“No, ma’am.” 

She narrows her eyes. “How can that be? He was directly responsible for a massive acceleration of your career within the bureau.”

“All due respect, ma’am, I believe my academy coursework and the Director’s Leadership Award on my desk speaks for itself. Agent Hotchner and Agent Hemingway both recognized my potential and made their decisions accordingly.” You try to keep the sass out of your tone, but you have to throw her off this train of thought somehow. 

She hums - once, staccato. “Given that...recognition, do you feel obligated to defend Agent Hotchner?”

“No, ma’am. I do not feel any obligation or debt to Agent Hotchner.” 

She narrows her eyes again, but makes a note in her small notebook before speaking again. “How would you describe Agent Hotchner’s recent behavior in the field?”

Without hesitation, “Motivated.”

She’s not impressed. “Would you say he’s been taking unnecessary risks in the field?”

Lady, if you only knew the half of it. 

“No, ma’am. I believe his choices in the field have been effective.” 

She chuffs a little laugh, unamused. “Very cute, agent, but that’s not what I asked.” 

You blink at her, waiting for another question. 

“Why did Agent Hotchner step down from his position as unit chief?”

Careful. Careful. 

“He promoted Agent Morgan so the team could continue our work unhindered.” 

“What were the hindrances?”

Shit. 

“By transferring his responsibilities, he had the opportunity to explore more investigatory avenues regarding George Foyet that he would have been unable to prioritize while in his post as unit chief.” 

Good save. 

“Can you characterize the transition of power?” She raises an eyebrow. She’s baiting you. 

You don’t take it. “Amicable. Seamless. Peaceful.”

“So you wouldn’t say there was tension between Agents Hotchner and Morgan regarding the division of responsibilities?”

“No, ma’am. I did not experience or witness any dysfunction arising from the transition. Agent Hotchner was exceptionally respectful and deferential to Agent Morgan following the promotion. There was never any confusion about the chain of command.” 

And that was actually true. 

She pushed and pushed and pushed you to say something that would condemn Aaron for his behavior in the previous eight weeks. Though you were plenty frustrated with him, you didn’t budge. 

Soon enough, she asked about what happened on the afternoon of November 23rd, 2009. You started from the beginning - The Fox, the letters, the medication. 

+++

“Who made the decision to breach Foyet’s apartment?”

This was wearing on you, well into the second hour. “Agent Morgan, ma’am.” 

“Didn’t Agent Hotchner have anything to say regarding the tactical plan?” Strauss looks tired too, but she better rally - her efforts are getting weaker as you continue to answer her questions with steady candor and she still has seven more interviews to conduct today, not to mention the paperwork. 

“No, ma’am. Agent Morgan, even in normal circumstances, is the established tactician of the unit. In this instance and others even while he was in the unit chief position, Agent Hotchner deferred to Agent Morgan’s expertise regarding SWAT deployment and tactical decisions.” 

+++

“Do you believe it was Agent Kassmeyer’s fault that Agent Hotchner’s family was compromised?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m sure you’ll hear it more than once today, but torture is seemingly endless. Agent Kassmeyer took everything Foyet threw at him and still refused to compromise the Hotchner family’s location. There was nothing more he could have done to prevent Foyet from making contact with Haley Hotchner.” 

+++

“Did it occur to you to join Agent Hotchner as he separated himself from the team?”

“No, ma’am. And I disagree with your characterization of the situation - Agent Hotchner did not separate himself from the team. He pursued a lead with Agent Kassmeyer, who requested his presence as he was dying in the back of that ambulance.” 

She purses her lips. “What was your next plan of action?” 

You take a moment. 

This is the hard part. 

“Once the scene was in-process, I took a car and followed the ambulance to the hospital. When I arrived, Agent Anderson had already found Agent Hotchner a car, and he was in touch with the team regarding the next plan of action.” You wet your lips. “He then received a call from Foyet.”

+++

Her eyes remain cold and detached as you walk her through the conversations with Foyet, with Haley. With a certain degree of frustration, you push through your tears as you relay her last words, the gunfire. 

“I don’t remember exactly what happened after that.” You stare down at your hands, focused on the way the pad of your thumb feels against the side of your middle finger. “I remember pulling up to the house and getting out of the car...The - the door was open. I found Agent Hotchner while I was clearing the ground floor. Foyet was dead, at that point.” 

“What had happened to Foyet?”

“He’d been...beaten.” Your voice cracked. That was an understatement. “I subdued Agent Hotchner until the rest of the team arrived.” You press the tissue to your eyes for a second. “He was...understandably distraught.” 

Strauss examines you across the table, sees the emptiness in your eyes behind your tears, the grief, the sorrow, the horror of having to relive it. “What happened after that?”

“I realized,” you continue, “that I hadn’t found Jack. I remembered what Agent Hotchner told him, and we both got up and ran to his home office, off the kitchen. I found Jack Hotchner in the storage trunk beside Agent Hotchner’s desk.” You look up at her. “I can’t begin to articulate the relief I felt at seeing him alive.” 

+++

“When Haley’s sister, Jessica Brooks, arrived, I kept her away from the crime scene for the sake of her health and safety. She met up with Agent Jareau, who had Jack at that point. I -” You stutter and swallow before taking a breath. “I returned upstairs.” 

Your voice shakes, and tears make their way down your cheeks again. 

“I returned upstairs, where Agent Morgan was sitting with Haley’s body. There wasn’t - I couldn’t, um - I couldn’t do anything for her. She was gone even before Aaron - Agent Hotchner - arrived.” 

The representative from the IG’s office looks a little misty now, as does the deputy director. You press your hands to your face. 

“It was... She’d been shot at least three times - that much we heard over the phone.” You voice breaks, but you forge ahead. “She had also been stabbed...There was…” You take a quick breath, but it’s not enough. “...so much blood.” 

Strauss’s voice is quiet when she asks. “What was the nature of your relationship with Haley Hotchner?”

You look her square in the eye, not shy about the grief washing over you in waves. “She was one of my best friends. My boss’s wife, the mother of a boy I consider my family.” You turn your gaze to the table, the fake wood grain suddenly very interesting. “I will miss her beyond measure.” 

A breath echoes around the room as the others collect themselves. 

“I have one last question for you.” 

“Yes, ma’am?”

“What do you think would have happened if Agent Hotchner had allowed George Foyet off of that floor?”

You level her with a look that makes her sit back. “He would have killed Jack. He would have killed me.” 

“And?” There’s one more thing you have to say. 

“He would have let Agent Hotchner live, and he would have told him it was his fault.” 

The rest of the room looks shaken, and you know you’re right. Even beyond the profile, Foyet’s obsession with Aaron was clear. 

Why can’t they see it? 

“Thank you, Agent. No further questions.” 

+++

When you get back to the roundtable room, JJ is there with Derek. You offer them an approximation of a smile. 

“What are you still doing here?” Derek asks. “You can go home, if you want.” 

You shake your head. “I’ll be here until Aaron’s interview is finished.” 

+++

You can’t help the way your face lights up when Jack sprints across the bridge in the middle of the afternoon, leaping ahead of Aaron. 

Rounding the table, you kneel and open your arms to him, letting out an oof when he runs into you full-tilt. You can’t help but smile. 

But then again, Jack has always had that effect on you. 

“Good morning, bud.” 

He wraps his arms around your neck, still impossibly tight. “Hi.” 

You stand in the doorway until Aaron gets there. Jack’s familiar travel bag is slung over his shoulder, and he tosses it down in the corner. “Emily’s in right now, and then it’s you.”

Aaron nods, taking a seat. You follow suit, reclining in your chair so Jack can relax against your chest. The rest of the team watches you both, equal parts mournful and hopeful. 

JJ watches the way Aaron presses a kiss to the side of his son’s head right before he sits down, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder for balance.

Penelope watches the way Jack clings to you, playing with the buttons on your shirt, comfortable and safe. 

Derek watches the way Aaron watches you, brown eyes soft and absent of concern. 

Dave watches the way you watch Aaron, can see the way your fingers ache to reach out for him, to take care of him. 

They all watch the three of you - understanding, but not knowing. 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless​ @jdougl-love​ @sageellsworth05​ @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali talks cm #a joyful future #shut up tali #a joyful future fanfic

[beewolfwrites]

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Twenty-Four: And the Rest is Silence

And this is it: the final chapter! It’s been insane, but this is the only fanfiction I've ever finished before, and it wouldn’t have happened without all the support. Thank you so much!! I didn’t think anyone would read this, but seeing everyone’s reactions to each chapter has kept me going :D

I’m sorry for the essay, but I’m aware I didn’t post anything about this in the AIB tag. Yes, there will be a sequel!

I need to read the manga properly before writing it, so I don’t know when the sequel will start. But in the meantime, there’ll be a series of Chishiya one-shots of his perspective, and there’ll even be scenes that weren’t in this fic, plus an original game!

For the full fanfic, you can find it here on AO3. 

I’ll also be creating a master list, and I'll post the literature references after this for those who wanted them <3

Once again, thank you so much!! And I hope you enjoy this last chapter. 

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By the time Kuina found us again, it was already late afternoon, and even though our visas had extended by ten days after the Witch Hunt game, there was something about the setting of the sun that felt foreboding.

We lit up the furniture shop with candles and changed into the clean clothes we’d collected. Seeing Chishiya wearing ordinary clothes felt strange. Aside from when we’d crossed paths in the Tag game, the entire time I’d known him he’d been wearing swim shorts and flip flops.

Now, he emerged from the bathroom wearing grey sweatpants and a variegated blue cardigan that suited him perfectly. When his eyes flickered to mine, I realised I’d been staring, and distracted myself with preparing dinner instead. It wasn’t much, especially since all I had was canned goods and a camping stove, but the vegetable stew kept us warm while we curled up in our makeshift living room. As evening turned to night, however, it became obvious that something was missing.

There are no games.

Kuina chewed on her lip, looking out of the window. ‘What d’you think will happen when our visas run out?’

‘It probably has something to do with the Ten of Hearts,’ I told her. ‘Maybe there’s no need for games anymore, since we’ve got all the numbered cards.’

It didn’t bode well for us. If there were no games by the time our visas ran out, there was no chance of us getting out of the Borderlands. At least not alive.

As the night wore on, Kuina was the first to go upstairs. Covering her yawn with her hand, she waved goodnight and winked at me. I tried not to blush. Not that it made a difference, anyway. Chishiya was busying himself over a scrap of paper, and barely reacted when I smushed up by his side.

I frowned at the paper in his hand. ‘Isn’t that...’

‘Ah.’ He held it out so I could see it. ‘I took it from the tagger’s pocket.’ It was a drawing of a circle with squiggly lines, clearly a rushed sketch of something. In the middle of a line, the pen had stabbed a hole straight through.

‘What is it?’

‘Well, I have an idea,’ he said, but never elaborated.

Fighting the onset of sleep, I leaned my head against his shoulder, paying no mind to the way he tensed beneath me. The fabric of his cardigan was soft as down and made for a perfect pillow. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’

‘And if I don’t want to?’

I pushed my face into the fabric, pretending to settle in for the night. ‘Then I’ll just stay here and annoy you until your visa runs out.’

‘I have a feeling that won’t happen any time soon,’ he said, looking out the window.

And that was when I noticed it too. Midnight had passed by only a few minutes ago, yet there were no lasers. Did that mean the Borderlands were at a standstill? Were we stuck here permanently now? I wasn’t aware of how silent I had become, lost in my own thoughts, until Chishiya spoke up.

‘I believe it’s a map.’

My eyes slid to the drawing again. ‘And that hole in the paper, do you think that’s where the others are? The dealers, I mean.’

He shifted uncomfortably and I sat upright, conscious that I might have been unintentionally hurting or bothering him. Looking at the map properly, the lines could represent different interlocking pathways. If the marked place was a hideout of some kind, it couldn’t be in the open streets; there was too big a risk that a player might stumble upon it by accident.

So where...?

As soon as the idea came to mind, the words slipped out of my mouth. ‘The subway....’

He hummed in agreement. ��I went to the nearest subway station this morning to check it against the real map. It’s a loose fit, but it works.’

I thought back to the second tagger – the crying woman – and how she’d been forced to participate in the game, donning an explosive collar. ‘Maybe if we find the place, we’ll get some answers.’

‘Probably,’ he said. ‘But I’m curious to see if anything changes within the next few days.’

‘Do you think we’ll hear something soon?’ I asked, yawning into my hand.

‘I believe we will.’ He gave me that same half-smile I had grown so used to. ‘But right now, I think you should go to sleep.’

Chishiya didn’t complain when I crawled into his bed. Like the night before, he kept his distance, but I could’ve sworn at times, when my sleeping became lighter throughout the night, I could feel fingers lightly touching my hair, only to pull back the moment I stirred. Over the next few days, it became the norm, and every night I would curl up on my side of the bed, slipping into calm dreams under the blue light of the window.

---------------------------------------------------

Despite the sunshine washing over the grey of the city, the stairs leading into Minami-Aoyama station descended into darkness. We’d checked and double-checked the drawing against the official subway map several times, but the idea of entering an abandoned station to uncover who knows what wasn’t inviting.

‘Are you sure this is it?’ Kuina asked for the third time.

I looked at the route map hanging over the station entrance, my eyes tracing the shape of the lines. ‘Positive.’

Folding her arms, Kuina went first. I waited for Chishiya to take a small torch from his pocket before following behind. The station was truly submerged in blackness, and if not for Chishiya’s torch, we would have easily become lost. He shone the beam at the paper in his hand, then held it up against each train line.

‘This way,’ he said, and walked towards the edge of the platform.

We hopped down onto the gravel below, using the metal tracks to guide us further into the tunnels. It was disconcerting to see the subway so empty, but with Kuina and Chishiya here, I felt safe somehow.

Several minutes in, Chishiya stopped abruptly, and I almost walked into him. If he reacted at all, I couldn’t see to tell. But he seemed more focused on something else, as he pointed the torch at a door that had been busted open.

‘That must be it.’ Kuina’s voice echoed.  

Without hesitation, Chishiya disappeared through the door, leaving Kuina and I in the darkness.

Chishiya?!

I panicked, arms waving as I tried to find something to hold onto. I heard Kuina hiss as we stumbled into each other and bumped elbows. Feeling around for the door frame, we managed to make our way inside, where Chishiya held his torch at us from further away.

‘Hey!’ Kuina snapped. ‘Don’t do that again! You’re the only one with a light here.’

‘Walk faster then,’ he said, waiting impatiently as we jogged over.

He shone the beam in the opposite direction, where it bounced off something. It was still too dark to tell just what, but as we walked forwards, everything became clearer. A structure lay ahead, with tunnels and walkways all leading into a giant room. Overhead, wires were strung across the ceiling, all feeding into the same place. We entered through one of the tunnels, and my heart jumped.

Televisions. They stared, black and empty, in rows and columns up the walls. But what was even more surprising was the setup right in front of us. It was an office, with papers, pen pots and coffee-stained mugs strewn about on desks. It would have looked like any other workplace, if not for the bodies draped in chairs and across the floor.

‘What... is this?’ I crouched to inspect the body of a man in a suit. Judging from its state, he had only died recently, but more importantly, there was a singed hole running through his head. He had been killed by a laser. ‘They’re not the ones in charge of the games.’

Chishiya closely inspected a desk. ‘Evidently not,’ he said, picking up a folded piece of paper and passing it to me. It was filled with numbers, some ticked off. Whoever it had belonged to was keeping track of their visa.

They’re playing games too, I thought. Or at least, they were.

‘So, these guys were the dealers.’ Kuina gingerly held up a sheet of paper with scribbles all over it. Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be odds. ‘They were betting on us,’ she said.  

A shiver ran along my skin. Of course, they had been watching us this whole time, that was expected. But to place bets on our survival was a whole other story. If the dealers were playing too, there must’ve been a separate system for them to extend their days. Perhaps how many people survived each game had some kind of impact on their visas.

A finger lightly brushed the back of my arm and Chishiya appeared beside me. ‘Momoka’s friend,’ I said, ‘she died right after she told everyone she was a dealer. And the taggers died because we won. I have a feeling their visas depended on whether or not we cleared each game... or maybe how many people didn’t make it.’

From his expression, I knew he had been thinking the same thing. ‘It doesn’t explain why they’re all dead now.’

I glanced around at the stiffened bodies slumped around us. ‘Actually, I have a bad feeling about that too.’

At that moment, a tap of footsteps echoed from the entrance. Chishiya instantly turned off his torch and tugged me into one of the tunnels. Kuina joined us and we hid, waiting. The footsteps grew louder, closer, and two torchlights waved through the darkness. I kept my eyes trained on the tunnel opposite as the footsteps paused.

‘Where is this place?’  

‘Who knows?’

With a sigh, I relaxed instantly.

Those two.

It had only been a few days since I had made peace with Arisu and Usagi, but I was glad to see them again. Arisu was cleaned up, his wounds well on the way to healing, while Usagi stared in amazement at the television screens around us.

Chishiya grazed past me as he moved out from under the shadows. ‘You actually found this place,’ he said. ‘As expected from someone I have high hopes for.’  

‘We meet again,’ Kuina said, walking around the desks to lean against the wall.

Arisu and Usagi’s eyes scanned the two of them before stopping at me. They looked visibly confused, probably wondering what I was doing with them after I’d told them I wasn’t involved in Chishiya’s setup. In an attempt at diffusing the awkwardness, I smiled and waved.

‘You guys,’ Usagi whispered. Her voice bordered on distrust, not that anyone could blame her.

I couldn’t tell whether Chishiya was trying to make things better or worse when he held up the full deck of cards and smiled. ‘Thanks to you guys, I have all the playing cards with me,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

Arisu only looked at him cynically. ‘How did you discover this place?’

Chishiya rooted in his pocket and pulled out the drawing. ‘It took me some time to realise this is actually a map. The route map of the subway.’ He sauntered around the desks. ‘As for what happens when we collect the cards... I thought I would know the answer if I came here.’ His eyes jumped to mine. ‘But there’s something else we discovered instead.’

‘They’re not the gamemasters,’ Arisu said, eyes fixed on the bodies around us.

I stepped over a hand strewn across the floor. ‘カードを集めたので、殺された.’ Because we collected the cards, they were all killed. I struggled for a moment, trying to think of the right words. ‘There must be someone above them.’

Chishiya translated, and Usagi turned to me with worry. ‘But who?’

‘Who knows?’ Chishiya shrugged. ‘They might be aliens... or even God.’

The idea didn’t sound as strange as it should have done. We were in a world where lasers appeared from the sky, and death games were the norm. Even when I first arrived here, I’d wondered whether this was a form of judgement. Nothing was out of the question anymore.

Suddenly, the screens burst into life and white light flooded the room. I jumped, flocking to Chishiya and Kuina’s side.

Have we been caught?

Music reverberated all around us, and the screens displayed all four card suits, along with a message I couldn’t read. It didn’t matter though, as the voice that rang through the speakers was one I remembered well. My stomach dropped.

‘Congratulations to all players!’

The screens blurred until Mira’s wild eyes and subdued smile came into focus. It was now obvious why the Ten of Hearts had taken place at the Beach at the very moment things had fallen apart.

She must’ve been feeding information back, I thought. But back to where?

‘How interesting,’ Chishiya said. Seeking stability, I slipped a hand into his pocket. There was a slight hesitation before his fingers laced around mine.

Mira’s voice shook with a quiet excitement. ‘With the exception of the face cards, you’ve all cleared the numbered games and emerged as victors. It’s a sweet victory, gained by sacrificing so many lives.’ Her expression turned wistful as she stood. ‘I wonder, how many of your comrades have died. Try remembering those who were shot dead with guns.’

A single screen switched to show footage from a miscellaneous game. A group were stood, clutching their guns as they inspected the scatter of bodies across the ground.

They’ve been recording us.

‘And that girl you burned alive.’

A second display opened up, revealing several players watching on as a girl, engulfed in flames, struggled and clawed at her skin and clothes. I held my breath, Niragi’s animalistic cries ringing through my memory.

‘Those struck by lasers, and those that drowned.’

My eyes widened, and I gripped Chishiya’s hand as the inside of the furniture store appeared on-screen. The fractured image of myself flinched, quivering with shock, as the first man and Green Shirt leapt from their seats, only to crumple to the ground, lasers piercing them where they stood.

Chishiya’s fingers squeezed mine, and I gasped, blinking away the image. He must’ve seen it too.

‘Those who’s heads were blown off,’ Mira continued, dreamily. ‘Those comrades of yours, the despair you’ve felt so far, and those dying moments you’ll never forget.’

The screen changed once more, and from the corner of my eye, Arisu winced. Following his gaze, I recognized his partner from the Tag game, his neck exploding around a collar.

I’m so sorry....

Meanwhile, Mira’s expression shifted into pure, childlike delight. ‘Everyone... I’m so touched!’ She held her hand over her heart. ‘All of you players, we’d like to give you a present.’

We?

Chishiya tensed slightly. He had noticed it too. If Mira wasn’t the only gamemaster, just who were the others?

Although Mira couldn’t hear us, Kuina mumbled, ‘Are you returning us to the real world?’

It seemed too good to be true, and sure enough, it was. Mira clapped her hands together excitedly. ‘There will be new games! Let’s play more games together and fight for the face cards this time!’

Aside from Chishiya, everyone sank with disappointment and fear. Just how much more would we have to deal with before we could go home? If we were competing for the face cards, did that mean there were only twelve more games in total, or would there be repeat cards like there were for the numbered ones?

Kuina groaned. ‘New games? You’re kidding.’

‘I don’t dislike the idea,’ Chishiya murmured.

I looked at him, curious. ‘What do you mean?’

His expression was guarded, but before he could reply, Mira’s voice cut in again. ‘The next stage will commence tomorrow at noon. Everyone, let’s have fun together!’

All at once, the screens shut down, leaving us all in the darkness once more. Everything was quiet as we came to terms with what had just happened. It was Arisu who first suggested that we get out of here. Him and Usagi disappeared back through the tunnel, and with one glance at Chishiya and I, Kuina followed.

My fingers were still interlaced with his, hidden within the warmth of his pocket. He was watching me, waiting.

‘These games,’ I said. ‘They’re going to be harder than the others.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Probably.’

‘About what you said before...’ I began. ‘Do you remember that time on the rooftop of the Beach, when I asked you if you were okay, and you told me it shouldn’t matter to me.’

I could see him thinking back. ‘I remember.’

‘What I said then still stands. You might not care about your own life, and I can’t stop you from taking part in these new games.’ I bit my lip, unable to face him as my eyes began tearing up. ‘Perhaps this is selfish of me, but you need to survive. And if you can’t do it for yourself, then....’

He sighed. ‘You cry too much.’ When I looked up, his lips were curled into that same, familiar smile, only this time, there was nothing cruel or condescending there. ‘We should find the others.’

Wiping my eyes with the edge of my sleeve, I finally let go of his hand, following him back out and through the tunnels. As we climbed the steps of the station, emerging into daylight, a series of loud bangs resounded throughout the city. The others were peering up at the skyscrapers towering over us, and the fireworks that burst like flowers against the sunlight.

‘Let’s make a new deal,’ Chishiya said, idly watching the display. ‘I’ll survive, if you return the favour.’

I looked to him, admiring the way his hair shifted in the breeze, and how the reflection of the fireworks danced in his dark eyes.

Let’s go home together.

‘It’s a deal.’

#alice in borderland #aib #imawa no kuni no arisu #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x oc #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland

[imhereforthetvshows]

Could you maybe write a one shot with all the girls reacting to Toni saying something very familiar to the one time when she said ‘I don’t matter’ when Shelby and the pill scene and how they don’t want to lose her and they are worried about Toni’s selfless behavior! You’re an amazing writer thank you

Actually that sounds awesome! You can read it either here or on AO3 - I named the fic ‘the FUCKING EXIT!’. I really hope you like it:

It had been a mistake to let them see each other, ‘Agent’ Young realized way too late. They were already through two of three security barriers of the bunker and he was going after them blind because somehow those little shits had disabled the cameras.

-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-

“Where is the FUCKING EXIT?!” Fatin yelled furiously as all remaining 7 girls were running down yet another tunnel, only doors with keypads in the stone walls lining it.

They weren’t as fast as they could’ve been, Dot knew. Martha was still weak from the concussion she had, and Shelby could only use one foot, needing a person on either side to get anywhere. Dot herself was at the back of the group, trying to keep all of them in her sight, absolutely ready to stab anyone that came up behind them with the broom stick she had make-shifted into a spear.

She could see Toni running at the front of the group, faster than the others, scouting around every corner.

When they had made their run for it, after a day of planning, Toni had at first helped Shelby together with Rachel, one of Shelbys arms slung around her shoulder. She had let go of Shelby about 5 minutes ago, after they had passed the first security barrier, when a tall guy in a nurse uniform with a syringe had appeared in front of them. Dot had been too far away to do anything. Toni tho! Toni had just full-body slammed herself into the guy – toppling both of them over, scrambling for the syringe and injecting it into his neck. He had passed out then and there. “Leah – help Shelby” Toni had ordered. Leah had handed her the iron pipe she had as a weapon, and ever since then Toni had been the tip of their spear.

Dot came to an abrupt halt as Toni held up her hand right before a corner. Toni put her finger to her lips, intense eyes indicating for them to be silent and Dot could hear the footsteps approaching from around the corner now. When the person rounded to corner, Toni whacked them with the iron pipe in the back of the skull. Toni grimaced at the sickening crack it made but she had no time to dwell on it, moving around the corner first and then motioning them to follow when it was clear.

They were reaching yet another end of a tunnel. The voices of the girls getting panicked at the dead end. Dot looked around and then up and there it was! – A hatch at the ceiling of the tunnel! But there was no ladder and the hatch was shut with a handle.

If they were able to step onto eachothers shoulders someone could open the hatch and they could pull themselves out.

She voiced the plan and since they didn’t have any other options, the others agreed to try.

“Leah, you’re tall, you try to open the hatch. Toni and I will hold you” Rachel ordered. She was the only one who had done anything like that before. Leah nodded her face showing determination. Toni and Rachel were kneeling and Leah knelt onto one of each of their shoulders. They pushed themselves onto their feet, faces red with effort, Leah trying to keep balance. Leah then tried to push herself up from her knees to make herself tall, reaching up high and after a few tries finally catching hold of the handle. She let out a scream of effort trying to push the handle to open and their tower swayed dangerously. Dot and Fatin immediately jumped in to steady them. Leah finally pried it open and pushed it up with all her force. The hatch landed with a clonk on the outside – the sky and clouds now above them.

Leah then immediately pulled herself up. Dot was incredibly glad the months on the island had hardened all their muscles and she cheered when Leah looked down at them, big grin on her face, getting ready to pull up the next person that would be lifted up.

“Next Shelby and Martha” Toni ordered. Both of them argued for the others to go first but it made sense since they were the weakest right now and would need the most help getting up there. The discussion was ended finally when Toni yelled “JUST FUCKING DO IT!” face not leaving room for discussion.

They repeated the procedure the way they did it with Leah but this time it was easier because Leahs strong arms could meet Shelbys and help her pull herself up. Then followed Martha, Dot and Fatin.

It was just Toni and Rachel down there now. This was when they heard someone break through the first security barrier, that Dot had manipulated not to open anymore. She had broken all the key card readers they had passed.

“Fuck!” Toni cursed “Come on, Rach!” motioning to her back.

Rachel looked at her. The two intense women were suddenly aware that there was a real probability that whoever was going to go up last would not make it out at all.

“No fuckin way, dude” Rachel said “I’m way stronger than you”

“Yea well, I still have both of my hands so you fucking go first or I swear I’ll kill you myself right here and now!”

The empty threats did not rattle Rachel one bit as she shook her head.  

“I play basketball and I’m light as a feather – I’ll be up there in no time.” Toni said now with more force as the other girls started yelling for them from above. An electronic tool was being used in the distance to open the last barrier that separated them from the armed guards that were following them.

When Rachel still didn’t move Toni added quietly “Your parents can’t lose both their daughters – not to this shit hole” and then Rachel moved. She jumped onto Tonis back, and climbed onto her shoulders. The two athletes making a much stabler two-person tower than all the towers before. Rachel held out her hand and was pulled up by the combined strength of the other girls.

Then the yelling from above grew double the volume. The mix of so many voices made it hard for Toni to understand anything. Toni caught Dot yelling she should reach up and jump. Then she caught a glimpse of scared – oh so scared – green eyes.

Tonis muscles were already shaking from the effort of the past minutes but she shook herself out and then jumped but not even Leahs long arms reached her. She tried again but she just couldn’t grasp anyones hands.

Toni was looking in the direction they had come from now. It sounded like the guards would break through pretty soon.

“I need you to go!” she shouted up.

“Have you fucking lost your mind?!” Shelby had shouted right back.

“Fuck” Toni quietly cursed. “Dot you need to get Shelby outta here, ok?” she was expecting the eyes of an ally when she found Dots but all she saw was resistance “No way, Minnesota!”

“You fucking stubborn bitches, you need to get outta here. When they break through you need to be gone! PLEASE” Toni yelled, now tears stinging in her eyes.

“If you think we’ll leave you..” Shelby started but Toni interrupted her.

“SHELBY PLEASE! I love you!” when Tonis eyes met Shelbys  time was in slow motion for a second, Shelbys eyes wide from shock, and then Toni was looking at the others “I love all of you. If you get out, I’ll have done one fucking good thing in my life! PLEASE JUST GO!” she screamed.

“Whatever fucked up Romeo shit you have going on down there, I Will FUCKING JUMP BACK IN THERE IF YOU DON’T GET UP HERE SHALIFOE!” Fatin yelled at her.

Next to Fatin a pale Martha found her shaking voice “Y-Yeah, I w-will too!”

“You go down, we all go down, Baby” Shelby said then, a little quieter.

With a loud noise the second barrier was broken through and Toni could hear footsteps approaching now.

“ OKOK FINE!” Toni yelled and jogged away a little only to run full speed and jumping up with all her force, her hands stretched out - almost like shooting a hoop and a strong hand clasped hers and then she was being pulled up by her arms,  her shoulders and her back by five more sets of hands.

#shoni fanfiction #toni x shelby fanfiction #the wilds fanfiction #the wilds #toni shalifoe #shelby goodkind #dot campbell #rachel reid #leah rilke #fatin jadmani #martha blackburn

[plaidbooks]

Red

A/N: Hey, remember that made-up fic title game where I made this up and then an anon asked for it and I said I was already kinda working on it? No? Me either. But here’s a fic about Rafael being kidnapped. I’ve always wanted to write a darker fic where reader gets to go ham, so I did! I also love the idea of shooting someone while they’re posturing, and hate that it doesn’t happen in shows/movies. Lemme know if you want a part 2 or not!

Edit: I forgot to mention that this is dedicated to @prurientpuddlejumper, who wanted so bad for me to stab Rafi

Tags: kidnapping, murder/death, guns, whump (but not really until the end?), allusions to torture by knife/stabbings

Words: 3890

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @ben-c-group-therapy @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @barbasimp @dianilaws @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles

“Rafi, what the hell is this?” you asked, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed. You were inside his office at One Hogan Place—what was a happy surprise was slowly turning into something more—glaring at the desk. Everything was in its place, undisturbed, except for an open letter laying innocently on the wood. You couldn’t see the handwritten words, but you could make out the crest that acted as a signature—the emblem of the BX9 gang. You had seen it multiple times in your career as detective in Manhattan’s homicide department, usually spray painted at a crime scene, or tattooed on a member. Or carved into someone skin with a dull knife in more extreme cases.

Rafael came up behind you, glancing over your shoulder at his desk. He sighed. “Just a thinly veiled threat, hermosa. Nothing to worry about—”

“Nothing to worry about?” you spat. “BX9 is threatening you and there’s nothing to worry about?”

He grimaced at your tone. “Cariño, they’ve been threatening me since I became an ADA—it’s background noise at this point.” He kissed your cheek, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I promise you; it’s fine.”

You melted against his solid chest, but you didn’t uncross your arms. “It doesn’t feel fine, Raf…what if something happens? What are they even threatening you about?”

His lips moved to your neck, kissing the soft skin just below your ear. “Remember that conviction I got last week on Alfonse Romero? Well, he was a high-ranking member of the BX9…. They want him released,” he explained.

“That’s…a serious threat, Raf,” you murmured back. You moved your head to the side, giving him more access to your neck as your body started to relax under his touch. “Do I need to have unis watching you?”

Rafael bit down on your neck and you let out a whimper. “No, and I don’t want to talk about this right now. Right now, I just want you,” he whispered, kissing and sucking at you. He was impossible to resist, and you let him push you towards his desk, his hands groping at you.

 ******************

Ever since you learned your husband was coming under threats, you started wearing your vest everywhere under your shirt, just in case. BX9 were ruthless, and it wouldn’t surprise you if they went after you to hurt Rafael, whether you were a detective or not—they didn’t have qualms about killing cops. You wanted Rafael to wear a vest under his suits as well, but he refused, thinking it ridiculous. Even so, you snagged one that was his size from the department, and headed home, intending to force it on him. You’d rather him safe, if uncomfortable, than dead; fuck his pride. It was the weekend, so he was off, relaxing on the couch last you saw him that morning.

The elevator doors dinged open and you walk towards your shared loft but stop short. Even from here, you could see that the door is slightly open, the wood in the frame splintered. Your heart in your throat, you hurry to the door, unholstering your gun as you go. You push the door open, aiming you gun inside.

“Rafael?” you called out, taking a few steps in. The coatrack by the door has been knocked over, and there’s flecks of red on the carpet. Blood. Rage and fear coursed through you, and it’s with shaky hands that you step over it, moving through the quiet loft, searching every room. But there’s no sign of anyone there. Holstering your gun, you looked for something, anything, that could be a clue as to where they took him. There was no doubt in your mind as to who took him, and you closed your eyes, sending a silent prayer that he was still alive, fear and nausea overtaking you for just a moment before you shoved it down.

There was a piece of paper on the coffee table in the living room, and you could see the familiar crest of BX9. You glanced over it, your eyes scanning it quickly as you read it once, twice, your breath coming in sharper as you absorbed the words.

“Release our Captain Romero to us by 9am tomorrow morning, and we’ll trade back the lawyer. Fail to give us Romero, and you’ll find the lawyer’s corpse. -BX9”

You clenched your hands into fists. The good news was that Rafael was alive. The bad news was there was absolutely no way you could get Romero released, especially by 9am…it was already 1pm—you had less than 24 hours. There was an address at the end of the note; the meeting place for the exchange. You snapped a picture of it on your phone, then left the loft. You had some favors to call in, but one thought kept coming back to you; if there was so much as a scratch on Rafael Barba, you were going to kill everyone involved.

 *********************

“BX9 owns this warehouse,” one of your informants, Johnny, relayed to you. “I’ve seen a couple guys going in and out recently.”

You nodded. “But you didn’t see the ADA?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “But I did find a back door that seemed unguarded.”

That caught your attention. “Show me.”

It was 10pm, and your resolve had only hardened with the passing time. You had less than 12 hours to find your husband. After going to the meeting place and finding it deserted, you had sent out every druggie and rat that owed you a favor to track down BX9 hubs. You had then busied yourself with gearing up—making sure your vest was on tight, your ammo in your handgun full, an extra clip on your hip. You also grabbed your trusty pocketknife, and finished your ensemble with a fully-loaded, pump-action shotgun strapped to your back. You didn’t plan on taking hostages—BX9 would extend the same curtesy to you. It was all about who could pull the trigger faster. And you didn’t plan on losing.

Olivia Benson, head of Manhattan’s SVU, who Rafael worked with constantly and considered a friend, had tried to contact you after finding your home broken into, but you had ignored her calls. No distractions. You were going to find Rafael, and there was going to be hell to pay. There was a good chance you were going to lose your shield for this, but you didn’t care. You just didn’t want to drag anyone else into this. If you lost your job protecting your husband, then so be it. You didn’t need the self-righteous Lieutenant, nor her loyal lapdogs, holding you back.

 *****************

The warehouse seemed dark, abandoned…except for the one or two men in black, trying to look nondescript. They were doing inconspicuous laps around the place, or would lean against the front of the building, smoking. It made sense why the back door was unguarded, though—the warehouse was on the harbor, the back of the building against the water. You’d have to swim to get there. Not a problem.

“Thank you, Johnny,” you murmured. “Keep your eyes open for other hotspots, in case he’s not here.” He nodded, and you waved your hand, dismissing him. You were on a separate pier, gazing across the black waters to the warehouse that most likely held Rafael. As Johnny left, you looked around, trying to see if there was an easier solution than swimming; it was already 40 degrees outside, and the cool breeze would chill you to the bone if you were wet. Plus, you had your gun and a shotgun slung across your back that wouldn’t work if waterlogged.

Luckily, you found a small, rubber raft attached to a boat, oars laying on the deck next to it. You grabbed an oar, gently tossing it down to the raft below, then climbed down the ladder. One foot in the raft and taking out your pocketknife, you quickly cut through the ropes that tied the raft to the boat, then fully sat down inside. Silently, you paddled against the light current, heading towards the back of the warehouse. The two men never thought to check the water, their vigil consisting of only the front doors. It was an almost 30-minute fight across such a small expanse of water, your arms burning as you made it to the other side, but you felt none of it, your anger fueling you.

You carefully climbed up the ladder onto the pier, heading to the back door on silent feet. The door was locked, and you squatted by the locking mechanism. You popped open your pocketknife, shoving it into the keyhole. You fiddled with it, jerking it this way and that, trying to brute force your way in—you didn’t have anything else to pick the lock…besides the shotgun on your back. But that wasn’t really silent.

With a satisfying click, the keyhole turned. You tried the doorknob, and it turned, opening the door as the blade of your knife snapped inside the keyhole. Glancing at your broken pocketknife, you closed it, tucking it back into your pocket before entering the warehouse. A broken knife is still a sharp object, and the blade was still good for cutting ropes or tape.

It was silent inside as you crept along, gun held at the ready. You weren’t nervous, you weren’t sad. All you felt was a cold, simmering rage that was barely being contained within you…and the smallest kernel of fear that Rafael may be severely injured or worse. If he was truly dead, then—no, you wouldn’t finish that thought. He couldn’t be dead. You weren’t quite sure what you’d do if he was, and that scared you more than anything. But you took that fear and shoved it deep within yourself, letting anger and instinct take over. There’d be plenty of time for fear and stress later.

Gun drawn, you made your way down a hallway of open doors, the rooms small and empty, when you heard a muffled groan from behind a closed door. You holstered your gun, taking out the shotgun—if this room was like the others you had passed, it was small enough for the shotgun.

Holding the shotgun at the ready, you made your way to the door, then knocked harshly, taking a step back and aiming. As the door opened, you looked a member of the BX9 in the face before you pulled the trigger, blasting him backwards.

“What the fuck?” a voice yelled from inside the room. You kicked the door open, and it bounced off the dead man’s leg. You wedged your foot against the bottom of it, propping it open, and shoved the barrel of the shotgun towards the other man standing there. He jumped back in shock and fear, putting his hands up, a bloody knife falling from his hand and clattering to the floor. Between you was a man strapped to a chair, his back to you. But one look told you it wasn’t Rafael—he had blonde hair and his shoulders weren’t as broad. The man in the chair let out another groan, but you didn’t look away from the other BX9 member.

“Where’s Rafael Barba being held?” you asked, voice dangerous.

“Yo, he’s the one we tradin’ for Romero, right?” The man asked, voice shaky.

You gripped the shotgun tighter. “You have until the count of three to give me a location. One—”

“I don’t know! I wasn’t part o’ that hit! I was here, with—”

“Two—”

“I…I can find out! Lemme just text Jose—”

“Three.” You pulled the trigger, the shotgun blast deafening in the small room and silencing the man, splattering his blood on the wall behind him. You moved into the room, squatting down and reaching into the second dead man’s pocket, pulling out his cell. It was an old flip phone—a burner cell—so you didn’t need him to unlock it for you. You thumbed through the contacts until you found Jose, shooting him a text, asking for Rafael’s location. As you went to leave the room, you glanced at the poor man slumped in the chair, whimpering and groaning in pain. Using the burner cell, you called 911, requesting an ambulance, before leaving the warehouse. If Rafael was in the same shape as that man…you were already clenching your fists in rage.

 ****************

Jose didn’t text you back until almost 6am. Needless to say, you were furious, waiting for information, checking other BX9 hotspots, but finding no hint of Rafael there. At least he gave you an address instead of wondering why you were asking questions. So, with less than 3 hours remaining, you made your way to the destination, shotgun on your back and handgun on your hip. You felt no exhaustion from the sleepless night, having kept busy searching the city for your husband, your anger fueling you like gas to a flame.

You were across the street from where Jose had told you; it was an empty lot, a chain-link fence surrounding it, a rusted-out shipping container in the far end. Either Jose had completely fucked you, or they were in that shipping container. The only problem with the second option was that if you shot your gun—either one—inside there, you’d probably burst everyone’s eardrums, including your own…and Rafael’s, if he was indeed in there. But how to lure them out?

You made your way through the gate, your eyes never leaving the shipping crate. The opening was facing you; even though you could only see darkness inside with the barely rising sun casting shadows, you were sure they could see you just fine.

“I got your Captain out here,” you lied, your voice echoing along the buildings. “Show me the counselor.”

You heard scuffling inside, and a low voice saying, “go check,” before a man stepped out into the light.

“Where’s Romero?” he asked gruffly, coming to stand in front of you.

“Safe. Where’s Rafael?” you shot back, flexing your hands. The man had a gun in his waistband, but you knew you could draw faster.

“Safe,” he parroted back. “Show me Romero, and I’ll show you the lawyer.”

You stared at each other for a long time, sizing each other up. His hand twitched and you drew your gun, shooting him once in the chest. He had only made it halfway to his waistband before he was falling to the ground. You heard a scrambling inside the crate, and you aimed at the opening, waiting.

“Show me the ADA,” you called. “Or you all die.” You didn’t know how many there were, but you were following your own rationale—they wouldn’t fire a gun inside the container. Though there was still the option of stabbing Rafael…and you were praying they wouldn’t give up a chance at getting Romero back that easily by killing him.

A burly looking man came lumbering into the open, but you paid him no attention, your eyes instead locked on the man he was half-dragging with him. Rafael looked barely conscious, blood leaking from his temple and nose, his polo shirt torn and splattered with red. It looked like he had multiple stab wounds and cuts, and his legs were shaky beneath him. You clenched your teeth, your heart in your throat, but you didn’t lower your arm, gun still aimed at the man. You were seeing red as your eyes went to the gun pressed against the side of Rafael’s lolling head, then back to the man holding him up.

“Drop your gun, or he dies,” the man commanded.

A rush of adrenaline pumped through you, but you willed yourself to stay calm, unblinking as you stared the man down, unmoving. “I’m only going to say this once; let my husband go, or I’ll make you let him go,” you muttered, voice barely audible.

The man laughed. “Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do—” He was cut off as you pulled the trigger, hitting him between the eyes. As he fell backwards, Rafael stumbled forward, his legs buckling beneath him. You rushed forward, dropping your gun and catching him as he fell to his knees.

“Babe, look at me, are you okay? We gotta get you to a hospital,” you murmured, all the anger and rage that had filled you for the past day instantly leaving you. All you felt now was concern for your husband, and a profound relief that he was alive…plus an all-encompassing exhaustion that quickly filled in where the anger had left. You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you through fluttering eyelids.

“…[y/n]? Wh-what happened?... I’m so tired…” Rafael mumbled, unable to keep his eyes open.

“Stay with me, baby,” you replied, suddenly afraid that he may not survive. You pulled out your phone with one hand, calling 911 for an ambulance, while lifting his shirt with your other hand, checking his injuries. He had various cuts and stabs on his torso, but they all seemed old, the blood dried. You grit your teeth as fleeting anger washed through you once more, wishing you left the bastards alive so that you could shoot them again.

Helping Rafael to his feet, you half-walked, half-dragged him out of the lot, laying him on the cool concrete. You murmured encouragement to him while waiting for the ambulance, trying to keep him conscious, your heart straining. The police showed up first—someone must’ve called in the gunshots. You flashed your badge, telling them that the two dead were with BX9 and were killed in self-defense. Not a full lie, but you also weren’t telling them the full truth, either. They didn’t ask too many questions, and you surrendered the shotgun instantly, your handgun laying in the lot still.

The ambulance finally came just as Rafael lost consciousness. You waved the paramedics over, watching with bated breath as they loaded him onto a gurney.

“I’m riding with him,” you said, climbing into the ambulance with your husband, clutching his hand.

 ***************

Rafael slowly awoke a few hours after being admitted to the hospital, his hand still clutched in yours. You had yet to contact SVU—or IAB, for that matter—wanting to let Rafael and yourself relax before being subjected to all the visitors, all the questions. The various cuts and stab wounds were shallow, and only a few needed stitches. Thankfully, he didn’t have anything too serious done to him physically—probably because they were afraid that they wouldn’t get Romero back if they fucked Rafael up too much.

“Hey, honey. How’re you feeling?” you asked, voice soft.

He blinked groggily, eyes slightly unfocused. “Like I was hit repeatedly by a car,” he groaned, trying to sit up.

“Relax, dear. Don’t strain yourself,” you said, but he didn’t stop. So, rolling your eyes at his stubbornness, you helped him sit up.

Once up, you poured him some water, then helped him lift the cup to his mouth. “What happened? I…I remember getting attacked from behind at home. They knocked me out…and then I woke up in a metal room…” he trailed off, and you could see the pain in his eyes.

“I found you in a storage container in an empty lot—they wanted to trade you for Romero,” you explained, eyes hard. You both fell to silence for a moment before you said quietly, “if you want to talk about it, I’m all ears. You know I won’t judge you.”

Rafael was silent for a long time, eyes downcast. He wasn’t one to talk freely about his emotions or thoughts—something that you learned to live with—but he was getting better about it with you. “When he stabbed me the first time, all I could think about was you…about how I was never going to see you again. I was sure I was going to die in that box….” Tears clouded his vision, and your heart shattered. “They didn’t tell me why I was there, why they took me. I…I didn’t know what was happening—”

“It’s okay, baby; you’re safe now,” you muttered, squeezing his hand. “I got you.”

Rafael sniffled. “I…should’ve listened to you about the threats. You were right—I should’ve had protection—”

“It’s in the past, Rafi. We can’t change it now.” It broke your heart to see Rafael like this, so shaken up. “Besides, I don’t think the BX9 are going to come anywhere near you anytime soon.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you. “Why not? You didn’t give them Romero, did you?”

“Of course not. But….” You weren’t positive how to tell him, but you also couldn’t lie to him. “I was so…enraged when I found you were taken…. In the process of tracking you down, I may have…taken out some members….”

Rafael blinked at you. “You…you killed people?”

“Technically, yes, I did. But—”

“Are you crazy? How have you not been arrested yet? What’s going to happen—”

“Calm down, Raf. They were all done in self-defense. I won’t be arrested…though, I may lose my shield for it,” you explained.

Rafael fell back into silence as he thought about this. You were a little embarrassed about it, guilty because you knew how he felt about murder. But you wouldn’t feel bad about protecting your husband, and that’s what you had been doing. You weren’t sure how IAB would come at you, though, but you also weren’t too worried about it; you were a decorated detective with a clean record. Plus, there were no witnesses to what happened…except that one man in the warehouse. There would definitely be questions about why you left him strapped to a chair, bleeding out. And you didn’t think it would go to trial, but you were already wondering if “not guilty by mental defect” applied, since you were out of your mind with worry and rage at Rafael being abducted.

You shook yourself, pushing all that from your mind. “I do still want to have some protection put on you…just for a little, okay?”

Rafael nodded vaguely, gaze not quite meeting your eyes. “How long am I stuck here for?”

“I’m…not sure, but it shouldn’t be too much longer. They were waiting for you to wake up, but your injuries aren’t severe…. Speaking of, did you want me to find a—a therapist—”

“Absolutely not. I’m fine,” Rafael cut you off. You figured as much; he’d never admit something wrong with his mind, even when he had tough cases wearing him down for weeks, months. He just powers through it; that was his way. But you were afraid that this time may be different…for both of you.

You squeezed his hand once more, and his eyes softened as he looked at you. “Okay, love. Let me go find your nurse, see if I can take you home. I’m making you your favorite dinner tonight, and then we are sleeping in.”

Rafael gave you a soft smile, bringing your hand up, his lips brushing your knuckles lightly. “Thank you, mi amor. Te amo.”

“Te amo, Guapo,” you replied, standing and making your way out the door, reluctant to leave him alone, to take your eyes off him, even for a second. But Rafael was safe…for now…as safe as he could be.

#rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing

[checkurwindow]

since you walked out

Book: Open Heart

Warnings: Mentions of Christianity around the start if that requires a warning and one or two swears but other than that nothing much. Also a good amount of flashbacks. And while you’re at it, here’s my masterlist for more angst-filled works!

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Bryce x F!MC

Word Count: 3200+ A little higher than my usual word count but not the highest (Check out the fic with a word count of over 5200!)

Author’s Note: Finally back from my little break with a new Bryce fic. I got a burst of inspiration listening to songs and decided to write this. Also, flashbacks are in italic. Enjoy!

For as long as she could remember, her family would always drag her to church. They were always very religious. She would always be forced into a dress when they went out, constantly reminded to “act like a lady” whenever there were boys around, she’d be pushed to be the poster child of the perfect Christian.

When she was fourteen, she went into church on a Monday, for a funeral instead. She instantly noticed the change in tone the moment she set foot on the marble steps out front, and ever since then, she looked at churches a little differently. She realised that they held an entirely different meaning than she once thought. She learned that they could be just as devastating and sad as they were celebratory.

Like now, where people gathered at the steps, mingling and conversing in expensive clothes that they weren’t going to wear again. There was a truck out on the lawn a bit further from where she was, the workers hastily moving tables and decorations to a tent that was set up at the back. To her side, there were a handful of people complimenting a little girl in a white dress. 

A stretch limousine pulled up at the side of the road and a few women climbed out of the car, all wearing matching pale coloured dresses. 

She tugged at her own dress and hoped that the simple colour of her own dress would allow her to blend into the crowd and go about unnoticed. Aurora had told her it was fine; besides, it wasn’t as if a fancy new dress was something that would fit in her budget. 

And it wasn’t like anyone here would care about her, much less her appearance and what she’s wearing. If someone was to take notice of her, it definitely wouldn’t be because of her dress. They weren’t there for her. In fact, she was yet to spot a single familiar face, which should have been a good thing for her, but she couldn’t help but wonder how many of the guests present both parties actually knew and had met prior to that day.

“Would you ever get married?”

He let out an annoyed sigh, “marriage isn’t as meaningful as one might think, why should I have to document my love to you if we both already know the truth?”

“Okay,” she said, a little disappointed, “but I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a fancy tux,” she smiled, but it didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest.

“Is that really why you want a wedding? Because I would gladly put on something as simple as a tux if it meant that you’d be down t-”

“No, that’s not the only reason. I’d like a wedding, I think that it’d be nice. It wouldn't even have to be a big one,” she could imagine them on a beach, maybe a small service in their apartment, she wouldn’t even have minded just going to the courthouse and having a nice dinner afterward. 

“It’s not like we’d have enough people for a big wedding anyway, we’re always so busy.”

She sat down next to him and stroked his thick brown hair with her fingers, “we could just invite our friends from edenbrook, and my parents, you know how much they love you. We don’t need a bunch of people around to have a wedding.”

“Good, because I don’t want a giant guest list where there are different number tables and- and a full service and a grand ceremony. I just...I just want you.”

She wondered how much of this was total bullshit.

From where she was standing, she didn’t think anyone would approach her. The lake behind them was breathtaking, but the crowd was rather anxious and impatient, they were waiting to sit down and for the ceremony to start.

Some people passed by her, and she picked up on certain things they said, like how “beautiful the church is” or “she picked out the perfect dress, her father was crying because it was so pretty” and her favorite one, “just wait till you see this guy, they are just perfect for each other.”

Perfect.

“I told you, I can’t dance.”

“And I was a fool not to believe you, you’ve stepped on my foot so many times I think it’s bruised,” he teased then laughed when she hit his shoulder.

“I hate you,” she looked up at the dark sky above them and shuddered at the thunder that rumbled, “why are we even doing this?”

“Because dancing in the rain is on my bucket list,” he twirled her around then hurriedly pulled her back in when she started to fumble and stumble.

“Okay, but why right now with me? You seriously expect me to believe that all throughout your life you haven’t had a chance to dance in the rain?” she grimaced as she felt a few drops of water drip into her eye.

“Maybe I was just waiting for the perfect person to share this experience with,” he wrapped his hand around her waist and she chuckled.

“Perfect? Please, I am far from perfect,” they met each other’s gaze and she got butterflies just from seeing that look in his eyes. 

“That may be true, but this is perfect,” the rain started to get heavier, their clothes and hair completely soaked long ago, “you and me, here right now, together. It’s perfect.”

Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t hear the sound of metal and wheels quickly approaching her, only being knocked out of her trance when he called out to her. She turned her head a little too fast, scared that she would be caught, afraid that there would be a giant scene, and that she would lose her chance.

At what exactly, she hadn’t really figured out yet.

“It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Elijah was always so welcoming, she never once felt out of place with him by her side. Even now, despite the circumstances, he still held a small smile on his face as he approached her, dressed nicely in a suit, even his wheelchair had little decorations.

“Hey, Elijah,” She gripped her own arm, unsure if it would be inappropriate to interact with him even more than she already had, “I like the decorations on your wheelchair.”

“Thanks,” he said, “Phoebe and I made them together,” he moved a little in his seat to show off a few hidden decorations. He looked just the same as she had really seen him up close almost a year ago.

“It looks nice! How...how have you been?” She didn’t really know what she was doing. Maybe she was hoping the small talk would be a distraction for the time being, she wasn’t ready to talk about the obvious out in the open just yet. 

“I’m doing okay. Phoebe and I moved in together a couple weeks back, it’s going well...” he trailed off with a fond smile on his face. 

“I’m happy for you, Elijah. You really deserve it.”

He smiled, “thanks. What have you been up to?” 

She winced and tried not to fidget. “Nothing much, really. I visited my parents a few days ago. Everything’s like usual, it’s good.”

He nodded, and just like a wave, tension flooded the air around them. 

She refused to look down and meet his eyes, to either see full curiosity, disappointment, or any other mood that would just make her feel sick to her stomach, will have her asking the same question over and over to herself. However, the silence couldn’t stay too long. 

“What- why are you here?” He asked in a sympathetic tone. 

An older woman was yelling at a worker, wanting more champagne for the bride's suite. She was aggressive, and yet the guests around her weren’t baffled at her behavior in the slightest.

She hated entitlement, hated more when the rich forgot that other people aren’t as fortunate enough as them. 

She also hated that he was still staring at her while she was wondering if her own mother would be so stressed to the point of lashing out at others around her.

“How long have they been engaged?” She found herself asking the question as a desperate last attempt to quiet her thoughts of if they were stuck in one place and never seemed to want more.

“6 months,” he responded, knowing what those two little words would do to her, “she’s sweet, she has a good heart, she doesn’t push him.”

Ouch.

“And she makes him happy.”

Another stab of pain.

“Do you ever think that we were...unhappy?” His facial expression went soft when she finally looked him in the eye. He tried to think of all the ways he could word his next sentence carefully, but it was no use; he knew she could see the real answer on his face.

“I think you two...worked well together. I think you enjoyed the company of one another, and maybe you were even in love once-”

Once.

“-but that’s in the past.”

Past.

“Right now, over a hundred people are here to celebrate what’s best for them.”

Them. 

It was something unspoken, but she picked up on his hints and nudges, she knew what he was trying to get at. She knew that he was wordlessly telling her that her presence was unwelcome and that it would be for the best if she left.

Why was she here? Why did she think that today would be the day to confess her feelings that never drifted away? Why was she so selfish, and think that her happiness was more important than his?

She heard swift footsteps approach her and Elijah. She slowly turned around, hoping it wouldn’t be the one person who could cause her to break down and fall apart with just a single glance.

“What are you doing here? You weren’t invited, you aren’t supposed to be here!” Keiki lashed out. She was loud, almost yelling at her, and it was causing a scene, something she really didn’t want. Keiki looked like she was about to jump her when Elijah moved in between them, separating them with his wheelchair. 

“Relax, Keiki,” He looked back at her with a pointed look, “she was just leaving.”

There was a pause, and she almost believed that yes, she was leaving. That was her cue, no one wanted her here, she wasn’t supposed to be here. Who was she to ruin a wedding? How could she do something so terrible to him

“Move in with me,” he ran his hand over her back, listening closely to her slow breaths.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’d be nice, getting to come back home after a long day of surgery and join you in bed, falling asleep together,” he thought she was already half asleep and couldn’t even register much less comprehend a single word of what he was saying.

He was proven wrong when she raised her head and looked back at him in the dark room, the only source of light from the window that was cracked open just enough to let the cool night air flow in.

“You’re right. I’m doing internal medicine so I don’t get to see you at the hospital as much as I’d like. This would definitely make up for the lost time,” she smirked as he nudged her gently with his leg. 

“Definitely,” he laughed softly.

She kissed his chest and smiled up at him, “if I move in, there’s no turning back. I can’t afford to keep switching back and forth.”

He smiled, “I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather want you to be.”

She gave them a curt nod with a tight-lipped smile, her lips quivering in the slightest as she walked backward a few steps before fully turning her back on them, on him.

She walked past the crowd, past the church, past the parking lot, all the way down to the end of the lake. She was away from everything else, but not from her own lingering thoughts.

There was no way she was leaving, she couldn’t allow herself to, no matter how much she wanted to run away and forgot about everything. Even from where she stood, she could hear the beats of the wedding music. 

Can’t Help Falling In Love, Elvis Presley.

Tears welled up at the sides of her eyes as she remembered the last time she had heard that song. That was the song he had played from his car as they danced in the rain. It was one of his favourites, she always thought that that song would play as she walked down the aisle towards him. She supposed it was true for him, but only him.

Her feet had already started to move before her mind could even have the chance to make a decision.

There was an elderly couple just walking into the room, and luckily the doorman held the large wooden door open for her. She thanked him and took the grand venue in. On each bench, there was a bouquet of flowers, a white row leading up to the altar. It was packed, and she could only imagine how many people she was about to shock. 

She sat in an empty aisle seat in the back, and finally realized that she was just reaching the top of the stairs, kissing her father’s cheek before he gave her over to him. 

“Should I cut my hair?” He asked, looking at his hair in the mirror with a slight frown.

“No, I like it the way it is. It’s nice,” she said from the bed, her eyes still on the book in her hands. 

“Eh, it’s too long; and it uses way too much gel to make it neat in the mornings. And it gets really messy again when I take my scrub cap off after surgery.” 

She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, nestling her face against his sides, “well, personally, I really like it, but it is your hair. You know I’ll still love you no matter how your hair is, even if you’re bald.

“If I’m bald this early in life, please leave me. My head does NOT look good bare, trust me.”

“Nope. I’ll still be with you, even if you’re bald and I still have a head full of thick hair. You’re mine forever,” a grin formed on his face and he turned around, planting his lips on hers.

“I better be.”

The once cherished moments only seemed to hurt her more than she already was. Sometimes memories are the worst form of torture, especially when the person who shared those memories is gone.

He looked just like she had imagined. In fact, he hadn’t changed that much. He was dressed in a sharp and expensive-looking tux, his hair gelled and combed perfectly, the only flaw was that his smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes.

He had done everything he told her he would never do, yet it was for another woman.

Swallowing back the growing lump in her throat, she tapped her foot nervously as the minister started to speak.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate-”

“Stop being such a poor sport!”

“You cheated! You know what, it doesn’t matter, because I know the real truth.”

“The truth? Fine, I’ll tell you the damn truth! Bryce Lahela sucks at Mario Kart!”

“You take that back!”

“Throughout their time together, they have realised that their dreams and aspirations are more meaningful through a beautiful combination of mutual love and support.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Are you kidding? You got the first solo surgery of your class! You’ve come so far, Bryce. You study, you practice, heck, you’re at the hospital even more than I am! You deserve this, Bryce, you deserve everything good that you have in your life.”

“Does that include you? Because I still don’t think I deserve that one yet,” he smirked and kissed her forehead. 

“As we create this marriage, we create a new bond and a new sense of family.”

“I hope our kids have your eyes.”

“If we’re thinking about children, I have no problem shoving them right back up there if they don’t look exactly like you.” 

“Bryce, honey, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m just saying. Your eyes, your nose, your smile, I want them to have everything I love about you. Which is every single thing feature and personality trait of yours. Maybe except your sense of style, I think they’d be better off with mine.”

“Hey!”

“Now, before they begin their vows, if anyone can show just cause as to why this couple lawfully cannot be wed together in this holy matrimony,”

“You’re being ridiculous!” 

“No, I’m the only one being reasonable! You can’t seriously think that I’m just going to let this go!”

“Where are we going? We’re stuck in the same spot and have been for a long time, I can’t do it anymore!”

“Then don’t,” she croaked out, the quietest any one of them had been that entire conversation.

“Speak now, or forever hold your pe-”

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she wiped away the tears at the side of her eyes as he held her closer to his chest, “and I’m terrified.” 

She pushed her doubts away and stood up, interrupting the silence in the church. 

Almost immediately, every single eye was on her, except one pair, the only pair of eyes she wanted to look at her. Gasps rippled all throughout the crowd, one woman even let out a horrified yell, and a man a few rows in front of her scoffed. The commotion was big enough to draw the bride and groom’s attention away from each other.

A surge of warmth flowed through her body as his brown eyes connected to hers. 

Bryce’s emotions went in flashes. He was a bit confused at first, as to why their loved ones were making so much noise just as they were about to be married. Then it was anger after realising that it was a result of someone objecting to their wedding. Lastly, it was sadness after he saw who exactly had stopped them.

Maybe it was because he hasn’t seen her since she walked out. Maybe it was because she was ruining his special day. Maybe it was because he knew she had lost her chance years ago, and that even he knew it was too late to turn back time.

Maybe it was because he knew exactly how this situation would turn out. Maybe it was because he was about to have to break her heart one last time.

She took a shuddering breath, then uttered those three little words that could shatter the hearts of everyone in the room. But she ignored the appalled expressions of the crowd, she ignored the angry expression of Keiki, ignored the devastated look on the woman who stood on the very spot she had hoped for so long to stand in.

Instead, she focused on the man at the very end of the altar, desperation and longing in her eyes. Instead, she focused on him, on the smallest quirk at the side of his lips, the smallest chance that he could still provide her with the hope and love that he had once promised so long ago.

#there were some lines in there that BROKE ME #pixelberry choices #open heart #choices #choices open heart #open heart book 2 #Bryce Lahela #doctor bryce lahela #choices bryce lahela #open heart bryce #choices bryce #open heart book 1 #Bryce x mc #Bryce Lahela x mc #playchoices #pixelberry #open heart fanfic #open heart fanfiction #open heart angst #open heart one shot #elijah greene #choices elijah greene #open heart elijah #keiki lahela #open heart keiki #choices keiki #choices fic writers creations #fic of the week #angst #checkurwindow writes

[imagines-mha]

Ma’am, I have been scouring the internet, but I cannot find any BNHA x readers where the READER is the Yandere >:( I was a disappointed bean, but I have decided to turn to you for help. Reader is jealous of ochako’s relationship with Izuku, Yandere murder hijinks ensue? I suck a describing this sorta thing but this would make me a happy bean. Lotsa love for you dear!! 💕💖💞💕💘💗 -Peachy

Omg my LOVE 🥺 ur so right NOONE writes a yandere! reader these days!! I hope this was okay 💖💖

〰️💚 Unhealthy Obsessions 💚〰️

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x yandere! reader

Fic type: Yandere

Warnings: gore, murder, yandere, kidnapping, obsessions, rip uraraka but y/n’s different

Plot: You know what Izuku needs. It’s definitely not Uraraka

Word count: 2079

You knew Izuku Midoriya well.

You knew he wanted to be the next number 1 hero. You knew his childhood nickname from Bakugo Katsuki was Deku. You knew he was born quirkless. You knew his birthday was July 15th. You knew he stood at 5’5. You knew his mother's name was Inko and he wasn’t in contact with his father. You knew he had a hamster back home. You knew his favourite restaurant. You knew he did his laundry on Thursdays and he separated his whites. You knew he got up an hour earlier than everyone else to train in secret. You knew last week he cut his arm from a loose nail in the wall. You knew he mumbled to himself at nights when no one was awake, and you knew he stirred his coffee exactly six times before drinking it.

You knew Izuku Midoriya more than anyone else in the entire world. Unfortunately, Izuku Midoriya barely even knew you existed.

Pity.

You were just another girl in 1-A to him. Your relevance stopped at trading notes whenever he needed something difficult explained. Each time you saw him struggle with a concept, a burning fire erupted in your soul and you scrambled to help him with whatever it was.

His constant gratitude sent shocks of electricity up your veins, too. It tensed your muscles to know that he thought of you as a decent person.

His ignorance on all other fronts did very little to hinder your dedication. You decided that the less he knew about you, the more freedom you had to know more about him without getting caught.

Plus- it wasn’t as though your fluttering eyelashes and sneaky glances would get through his oblivious mind, because he was always preoccupied with his girlfriend, Ochako Uraraka. You always saw her, draped off his arm like a cheap piece of jewellery; squealing his name whenever he stepped foot into the same room as her

You often wondered if her squealing would sound any different if she were being held in a choke-hold…

That's why tonight would be so painstakingly glorious, for you anyway. Because tonight would finally be the night you would reap your victory over the boy that you deserved; that you worked so hard on. You knew the subject of Izuku back and forth, inside out and upside down. You bet Uraraka didn’t even know his ring fingers were only 2 milimetres longer than his pointers

Everyone was dispersed around the bar. You checked your phone to find it was 24 minutes past 10. Since it was a blissful summer’s night, the clouds outside were still lingering over the royal blue sky and the soft chill was only beginning to shake the leaves on the trees.

Izuku sat with some of your class, luckily those of which you managed to get somewhat close to over the year. Tsuyu Asui welcomed you over with a wave, handing you a fresh drink and kindly including you in the conversation. Your eyes were transfixed on your darling the entire time. Soon he’ll be yours.

But not now.

“Hey y/n!” The rosy voice of Ochako rang like a school bell first thing in the morning. You swallowed what was almost bile to the back of your throat and shot her a smile through pursed lips,

“Hi Uraraka!”

It was as friendly as you could muster, and she seemed to buy it- judging by how quickly the conversation flowed. You used your oh-so-bright, convincing personality to coax everyone into drinking a lot more than they probably should have. Anything to numb his memory, you thought, you couldn’t have your darling in distress for too long

It took a while for them all to drink enough to get up off their seats, and finally you were free to act

You began with the easiest step: the sleeping pills. You used this tactic a lot more than you would ever admit. But it was easy, quick, and the possibilities of you ever getting caught were reduced to almost nothing! What other methods promised such outcomes?

You finished popping them in as many of the cups as you could, managing to avoid any prying questions by Bakugo in the process. You never took him to be such a curious boy, but one time he had caught you rummaging through Izuku’s locker in the early hours before school, and you had carelessly blurted out something about leaving a memory pen there from the day before. You remembered the way he narrowed his eyes at you and stormed off again, muttering on about how careless other students were in comparison to him

You were grateful he ditched the subject after that night, but you never missed the questioning glances he would send your way when you were always first to offer Izuku help with cleaning out his things.

11 minutes past midnight.

You could feel a tornado of nerves spinning around in the pit of your stomach. It rose and fell with every person that slumped into their chairs and let your pills sing them to sleep. If they weren’t outcold, they were aimlessly stumbling around like zombies in the smoked-up strobe lights. Your plan, so far, was working in your favour. All that was left was the core of it.

Spotting your target alone for once curved a smile upward onto your red lips. She was searching for her phone, the one that you had swiped the moment she got up to dance. You had no remorse- she deserved it. Plus, it wasn’t like she’d be using it past today anyway

“Hey ochako!” your modulated voice complemented your bright smile perfectly. Her gaze found yours, and you could notice her distress through her exhausted state. Her eyes opened and shut slowly, and her speech was beginning to slur. Any moment now and she would join an unconscious Tsuyu at the other end of the table

“y/n...m-my..is e-everyone alright..?” she asked in a drowsy tone, sitting down at the end of the booth and gazing up to you hopelessly. You towered above her, full of energy while hers was actively depleting. The feeling itself sent a sugar rush straight to your chest, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing out loud.

“Lie down Ochako…” you feigned worry, removing her hand from balancing her head and aiding her with resting on the table, “i’ll get you some water…”

She feebly nodded and her eyes slowly shut. The only challenge for you now was to hide her unconscious body from the eyes of your peers before they noticed something was wrong. However, judging by the way they were all exactly like her at the moment, that didn’t look at all likely

You blocked her from view until you were certain she was completely knocked out, and then slung her limp arm over your shoulder. She would be knocked out for at least two hours, and your task would take 45 minutes at the most. You basked in your blissful cruelty, ad kicked open one of the back doors of the bar

The cool chill of the June night gave you the intake of oxygen you needed after spending the night in the suffocatingly hot bar. The outdoor’s silence numbed your ears and the fresh smell of rain blessed your nostrils with something other than alcohol.

If you hadn’t have been about to commit murder, this would have passed for a rather peaceful night

You tugged Uraraka away from the back doors and began to tread up the small lane of an alleyway, caved in by bricks and graffiti. It looked like a crime scene just waiting to happen. You used your phone’s flashlight to find a little incision in the alley, and threw her body into it as though you were discarding something disgusting from the bottom of your shoe.

You had to admit. She looked peaceful lying slumped against the wall, with her arms crossed over her stomach to allow her body to squeeze in between the tiny crawl space. If she weren’t the most disgusting, threatening thing you had ever seen, maybe her demise would have been kinder

How tragic

You drew your pointed blade and selfishly let out a laugh; maniacal at worst. Her eyes didn’t budge when you roughly plunged it into her chest, but you could feel the fighting heaves in her chest nonetheless. It gave you a drive to continue slashing, although some of you wished she were awake, to resist you. That way you would feel more accomplished after you slaughtered her

But you can’t have everything, right?

You laughed another remorseless laugh and continued stabbing. Stabbing for every kiss they shared, and for every time they said “i love you”. Stabbing for every stupid gift she gave him, and stabbing for every single time she moaned his name. Stabbing until there was no room left to stab.

When you were certain she was dead, you drew your lighter. You knew only to burn the parts of her skin that you had touched, but you let yourself have a little fun on her face too. That look you always hated was now blistering red. That body you’ve always envied was now burnt to the bone. You could smell sizzling flesh burn it’s way up into your sinuses.

She looked prettier when she was mutilated, you concluded

You chucked the lighter in a nearby dumpster, then slipped your compact knife safely into its sheath and under the bottom of your bra. You returned to the bar, taking a few minutes to dismantle any active security cameras, and headed to the bathroom to change outfits

A few sleeping pills later and you were just as out cold as everyone else. You were as little of a suspect as Izuku himself right now, and that thought alone made you sleep like a baby

------------

“Izuku, darling?”

Your voice was like honey. Ever since Uraraka’s ‘tragic murder’ you had stepped in to assist Izuku with his recovery, because you knew more than anyone how much he needed all the love he could get right now

And for him, you had love to spare

“Yeah?” he asked feebly from the bed, where he was all wrapped up tightly in soft, fuzzy blankets and fresh bandages. They clung tightly to his broken wrist: the result of tumbling down the flight of slippery stairs

You almost felt sorry for him when it happened. You were expecting a broken arm at best, and were a little disappointed with the fact it was only his hand, but he whimpered so poorly that night that it put pangs of sadness in your heart. For once, you were grateful he always made a quick recovery

You would just have to make sure you used a stronger substance next time

“Dinner’s ready!” you cooed, appearing in his room with two full plates in your hand. He was bound here for as long as it took for his legs to start working again. Poor little accident prone izuku couldn’t even remember breaking them in the first place because of how strong his concussion was afterwards.

You still had the splatters of blood on your baseball bat in the basement ...

The sweetest sensation in the world was watching his eyes slowly droop while he was eating. You had put four sleeping pills in his food, and they were taking their toll rather quickly- much to your delight. As you said, they did the job better than anything else

“y- y/n… i feel tired…” he mumbled, and you took the fork from his hand to continue feeding him the rest until he was completely passed out.

How adorable was he… looking all too innocent in your filthy mind…

You indulged yourself with taking a few pictures of him for your album. How could you resist, when he looked so helplessly precious? And he was yours; all yours to keep for as long as forever

It took effort hoisting him over your shoulder and climbing up the creaky stairs to the attic.

He barely stirred as you closed the lid of the cardboard box over him and slammed the door shut again, rushing to change and head downstairs. The doorbell rang the moment your foot breached the final step

“Miss l/n? Detective Tsukauchi here, wondering if you could answer a few questions related to the disappearance of Izuku Midoriya?”

#izuku x reader #midoriya izuku #my hero academia #bnha #mha #mha x reader #mha headcanon #my hero academia imagines #izuku midoriya x reader #yandere mha

[67-chevy-baby]

Cradle Our Desire

Pairing - Jensen x Reader

Tags - Angst, Language, Implied Smut, Mentions of blood, Vampires, Use of knives, Death, Confessions of love, kissing, and I think that’s it. Let me know if I missed something, and I will tag it. :) 

Word Count -  1,889

Beta - @winecatsandpizza​

Fic Aesthetic - Yours truly

The Song I Chose - Drowning by Radio Company

Written for - @saxxxology​’s Vol 1 Writing Challenge

A/N - There may be a part 2 to this. :) I haven’t decided. Also, I haven’t written in a while due to mental health issues, so please go easy on me... I’m sorry if this sucks. 

“That’s a wrap on Y/N!”

You’d been waiting all day for those five words, no matter how bittersweet they’d be to hear. Immediately, you closed your eyes and released a shaky breath. The emotions of the scene you just acted out still played over and over in your mind as you headed towards your trailer. 

It’s not your trailer anymore … not after today. That single thought lingered in your head for a few moments as you willed yourself to keep your tears at bay. As soon as you climbed the stairs and shut the door, your body gave way and you slid down the wall. The tears you tried so hard to hide finally flowed freely down your cheeks. One of your hands covered your mouth just as you let out a choked sob. 

You knew this day would come. Even the greatest of TV shows couldn’t last forever, and fifteen years was a long time. You’d been a series regular ever since season ten, and it was an honor to work alongside two of the greatest actors of your generation. Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles were phenomenal actors on screen and the most humble of men off-screen. You’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t miss them. 

Your character in the show, Taygen, was a rogue hunter who was working on killing a nest of vampires when she met the brothers. The three of you took care of the vamps and the rest was history. Together you worked like a fine-tuned machine and as much as you hated the thought, it was time to say goodbye to her.

Of course, you knew she wouldn’t go down without a fight. No, Tay wasn’t the kind to stand on the sidelines. She would fight until her last breath to protect the ones she loved, and that’s exactly what she did. The tears kept flowing as your mind drifted to how your final scene played out. 

The pounding of your footfalls echoed through the abandoned warehouse, your hand-crafted knife in your left hand ready to strike. Skidding to a halt, you pressed yourself against the wall to listen for any signs of movement. Sam and Dean had decided that the three of you should split up to cover more ground. You knew they could handle themselves, but something about this hunt just felt … off. 

A loud crash came from the floor above you, and Dean’s yells reverberated off the walls. Panic pricked your skin as you ran as fast as you could up the stairs. Nothing mattered anymore. Not your surroundings, not the vampires, not even God himself could stop you from getting to where Dean was. 

The bottom of your combat boot collided with the rotting wood of the door sending it flying into the room. Dean laid motionless on the floor, one of the vamps hovering over him ready to rip his throat out. 

“Hey! Asshole! Get your filthy hands off him!” The monster turned and narrowed its eyes, its hungry glare turning lethal in an instant before lunging at you. The blade of your knife slashed at the vampire’s chest while your free hand blocked its punches. Just as you were about to finish it off, Dean groaned in pain making you lose focus. “Unngh … Taygen?” The monster knocked your blade from your hand and tossed you into the wall across the room. 

You hit the ground with a sickening thud. Weakly, you pushed yourself up in time to see the vampire turn it’s attention back to the elder Winchester. You knew your ankle was probably broken, but all you could think about was saving Dean. He’d trained you, stayed up with you on nights that you couldn’t sleep, and he’d saved you numerous times when you’d been too reckless. Not to mention that you’d been in love with him since the night you met him and his brother. 

Ignoring the shooting pain in your ankle, you threw your body in front of Dean to shield him from the fatal strike of the Vampire’s razor-sharp teeth. You let out a blood-curdling scream as its fangs pierced the skin of your neck. Even though the monster wasn’t on you for more than a few seconds, the damage was already done. Sam heard your scream and came to yours and Dean’s aid, beheading the vampire with one swipe of his blade. 

Everything felt sluggish around you. The shouts of both the brothers seemed far away as they surrounded you. Dean cursed loudly as Sam ran to get the Impala. “Dammit, Tay! How many times am I gonna have to tell you not to be so reckless!” Your shaky hand came up to rest on his cheek as he held you, your eyes sparkling with tears. “D-Dean … I ... “ He shook his head and swallowed thickly. “Shh, don’t talk sweetheart. Sammy’s goin’ to get the car, and then we’ll take care of you. Cas will heal your ankle, and we’ll get that gash in your neck fixed up in no time.” 

A lone tear slid down your cheek as you tried to desperately memorize every feature of Dean’s face. His piercing green eyes, those smooth lips, and the collection of freckles scattered all over his flawless skin. “Dean, listen to m-me … I‘m not missin’ my ch-chance to tell you this.” You winced as another stabbing pain shot through your body. “I…” The taste of blood filled your mouth as your vision clouded. You knew you weren’t going to make it out of this alive. “... Love y-you …”

It had taken you months to prepare for that scene. Being killed off wasn’t the problem, no it was the fact that your character had to finally tell Jensen’s character how she felt. Normally, something like this wouldn’t even phase you. Having a character fall in love with another came as part of the job description, and the actors and actresses who portrayed said characters knew how to separate that from real life. The reason all of this was so hard for you was because your character wasn’t the only one in love. 

Once you finally found the strength to get off the floor of your trailer you walked to where your bedroom was and grabbed a pen out of the cup on your nightstand. Whenever your emotions got the better of you, writing in your journal would always help calm you down. Earlier, you’d started an entry about today’s scene, and you wanted to finish it. You opened the top drawer of your dresser and felt your heart drop to your stomach. It was gone. Your journal was gone. Quickly, you racked your brain and remembered you’d brought it with you to set. You’d been writing in it while sitting in the Bunker’s library as you watched Jared and Jensen do a few takes before your final scene. How could you have been so stupid? There was no telling who’d get their hands on it and see all the things you’ve kept secret for so long. 

You tore across the trailer lot as fast as you could towards the set and came to a stop at the Bunker’s entrance. Calmly and quietly you descended the staircase and navigated to the library. All the color drained from your face when your eyes landed on Jensen. He was sitting there intently reading what had to be your latest journal entry. He looked up at you, his face unreadable as his gaze bore into your own. 

“Jay… I… I can explain! I…” He stood and walked towards you, the emotion in his eyes just as intense as they were when Taygen had taken her last breath in Dean’s arms. “Is it true? This...this passage you wrote about me?” You couldn’t look at him anymore, the chipped polish on your nails became your focus as you tried to make your brain form words. “Wh-What are you talking about?” His brow furrowed as he pointed to the page he’d been holding. You stood there frozen as he began to read the very entry you’d hoped he’d never see. 

“Today’s the day … the day I complete my run on the greatest TV show. Not only do I have to say goodbye to Supernatural, but I have to live with not seeing the love of my life every day. Jensen doesn’t know it, but he’s the reason I can still hold my head above water in this line of work. Without him, I’d surely be drowning by now. He can never know how I feel. I can never tell him. I can’t risk my feelings not being reciprocated…”

By the time he was done reading your vision was blurred by your tears. How could you have been so careless? Jensen approached your shaking form and used his index and middle fingers to raise your chin so you were looking into his eyes. “Tell me Y/N, I have to know if this is truly how you feel.” There was no going back. There was no way to get out of this, and you felt yourself slip into fight or flight mode. “Why?! Why does it matter, Jensen? S’not like you’ll ever feel the same way about me! I’m just… just an average girl from the midwest who’s own family disowned her after she refused to follow in their footsteps and do what made me happy. You’ve got everything going for you! You’re fucking perfect in every way, and could have any woman on this planet! You’ve already read my feelings so why torture me and make me say what you already know?!”

Your chest heaved as he looked down at you. His eyes never wavering from your own. The silence around the two of you only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. “You’re not very observant are you, Y/N?” His smirk only angered you more. “What the fuck are you talking about? So, you find out how I feel and the humiliation isn’t enough for you? You gotta insult me too?! Just forget it! I’m leaving with the little dignity I have left!” You ripped your journal from his hand and started towards the staircase, but before you could get to the landing Jensen had you pressed against the wall. 

“Dammit Y/N, just who exactly do you take me for? You think I would hurt someone I love on purpose like that?! Jesus, you’re just as stubborn as Taygen…” You struggled in his hold but stopped the instant his words hit you. He … loved you? Your eyes snapped up to meet his intense gaze, the silent question being answered. “Yes Y/N, I love you. I’ve loved you for a while, but I always thought you didn’t feel the same.” His fingers grazed your cheek and you leaned into it. The anger you felt left your body instantly as he slowly leaned in. “I’m sorry it took so long, but from this moment on, I’m going to show you just how much you mean to me.” 

His kiss sent sparks through your body, igniting a fire you’d never known about until now. His lips never left your skin as he carried you down the Bunker’s hallway, the promises he’d made to you moments before burned in the wake of each kiss he gave.

#saxxxology vol 1 writing challenge #jensen ackles x reader #Jensen Ackles #Jared Padalecki #castiel #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #supernatural #'pala writes

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey Steph! I absolutely love your page! Do you have any PTSD related fluff? like Johns having nightmares so Sherlock goes to comfort him and they both know but don’t mention it?

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: I was wondering if you knew of a johnlock fanfic which has john having PTSD or other war-related problems, and sherlock either helps him get through it or john comes to sherlock in the middle of the night like a child asking if he can sleep with (not that kind) sherlock so the nightmares will stop. If you do, great. If not, that’s fine too :)

Hi Nonnies!!

I don’t know if you’re the same Nonny or not, but since they’re both the same-ish, I’m putting them on the same ask, LOL!

So I HAVE done a list in the past for PTSD, and because I have a few new fics, I’m gonna make a part 2 list! Hopefully you’ll find something you’re looking for on one of the two lists I have!

NIGHTMARES, PTSD, PANIC ATTACKS, & MENTAL or EMOTIONAL TURMOIL (Pt. 2)

See also: Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attack, & Mental / Emotional Turmoil

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

Welcome Home, John by slashscribe (G, 5,504 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Awkwardness, Stabbed Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Panic Attack (Sherlock), Self Esteem Issues, Love Confessions, First Kiss) – When John moves back to 221B, he thinks he’s the broken one, but after a while, it becomes clear that he might not be correct.

What Did I Do Wrong? by Starlight05 (T, 7,880 w., 5 Ch. || Hurt Comfort, Angst, John Whump, Hospitalization, Worried Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil, Nightmares, Sherlock Being Dumb) - After John almost dies on a case, Sherlock disappears. So John is left to figure out what he can do to get his best friend back. Meanwhile Sherlock, guilt-ridden and willingly alone, is doing everything he can to stay away.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by “accident”, it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John’s preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other’s arms, but as ever with these two, it’s not your typical relationship. It’s fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

To Mend Icarus by AlessNox (T, 29,186 w., 14 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship, Drama, BAMF!John, Emotional Turmoil, Introspection, Harry is in this Fic, Angry John, Happy Ending, Queerplatonic Relationship) – After a case lands John Watson in court, he tells Sherlock that he is leaving. Not understanding why, Sherlock decides that the only way to learn the truth is to investigate his flatmate, Dr. John Watson. A revision of the story Mending Icarus.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because…new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride… prepare for blast off. Part 1 of the SpaceBois go to Space series

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock, BAMF John) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate’s nose buried in your hair. Whilst you’re in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn’t have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he’s consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

The Cost of a Wish by slashscribe (E, 102,493 w., 12 Ch. || xxxHolic Fusion || Spirits / Ghosts and Magic, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Soul Mates / Fated Lovers, Adventure, Immortal Sherlock, Powerful John, POV John, Frottage, Wish Granting, Angst with Happy Ending, Nightmares) – John has been plagued by a secret his entire life that has made him feel hopeless until he meets a mysterious, seemingly omniscient man named Sherlock Holmes who owns a wish-granting shop. Their meeting sets off a series of inevitable events that will change the course of both of their lives forever.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #ptsd #panic attacks #my fic recs #emotional turmoil #e-rated fics #Anonymous #long post

[bleepblopbloop56]

The Murder in the Dressing Room

Chapter 6: Blood and Tears

Warnings:abusive deceit, murder mention, throwing up, some stalker-like things

Specail thanks to @pathos-logical this fic is litterally our baby im not even kidding, weve both poured alot into this.

Also on ao3

"Logan? Logan, slow down- what are you saying?" Emile had just put Patton to bed after a long day of playing in the park, eating more ice cream than Logan probably would've allowed, and binging cartoons. As long as you kept Patton nearly constantly busy, he wouldn't cry for his dada too often, and overall it seemed like he was having fun. He knew Logan took being separated from Patton about as well as Patton did, so he hadn’t been surprised from the call that came almost as soon as Patton had gone to sleep. He’d expected for Logan to immediately ask about how Patton was doing when he picked up, but instead he'd been greeted with nearly incoherent panic from his brother.

"Logan- Logan, you're scaring me," he cut in, knowing it would get Logan to stop speaking. "Deep breaths, and when you can talk, start again,” he said firmly, not giving him a chance to try to continue. He heard an audible gulp of air over the line. Emile could instinctively tell Logan was still panicking, but there was barely a pause as Logan started to talk again.

"Virgil," Logan choked out "He- he's been murdered, I… I need you to keep Patton for a while longer." He forcefully kept his breathing as steadily as he could, hands shaking. He was standing in the hallway to his apartment, trying to rationalize what he’d seen there.

At first he’d almost thought it was some sick prank, simply because Virgil didn't look like the others did. The first two victims had been stabbed repeatedly in the chest, the crime scenes left a blood-splattered, sickening sight. But Virgil would seem to be merely asleep if it weren’t for the blood trickling from his throat onto Logan's pillow. It wasn't until he had checked for Virgil’s pulse for the fourth time and found nothing there he’d believed he was gone. Touching a body before pictures were taken and a medical examiner was in sight was a big no-no, but he didn't care about any of that. 

"Murdered?" Picani gasped, stepping into his own room away from Patton resting on the couch. "Logan, are you okay?”

Logan rarely took deaths this hard- he had become desensitized after seeing so much of it in his profession. And yet these three murders had stripped away his usual professional sense of detachment from him. Like they hit too close to home to keep a straight face.

Logan sunk to the ground, voice shuddering. "Emile, what would've happened if you didn't take Patton away? What if he was in the house, or if I picked him up from daycare before I came home?" He was rambling now, clutching the phone with both hands to keep it steady. A police officer walked by, and Logan kept his eyes on the ground.

"That didn't happen, Logan. He's safe, he's here with me," Emile said softly. He had known Virgil well, but now wasn't the time to break down in front of his little brother.

"Will you check?" Logan whispered. It was irrational, he knew that Emile would never lie to him and that his kid was safe and sound, but…

Emile paused for a second before softening. "Of course I will, Logan," he whispered, strolling into the living room and looking at the sleeping child snuggling a Tweety Bird plushie nearly as big as he was on Logan’s spare crib. "He's safe, Logan. Everything's going to be fine." 

Logan wanted to say "no it's not," he wanted to say "I haven't heard from Roman in two days and I don't know if he's safe," he wanted to say his life was rapidly dissolving into a bloodbath of innocent lives who had nothing to do with any of the pain and suffering this murderer was causing. But he just stayed silent, sniffling and trying to keep his breathing even.

"I know," he said finally, nodding despite knowing Emile couldn't see him. Remy stuck his head out into the hallway, motioning for him to come in the room before popping back through the doorway. "Emile, I need to go… Tell Patton I love him when he gets up, okay?" 

It wasn't that Roman didn't want to return any of Logan's calls, it was that he couldn't. Successively losing his friend and then his brother, so quickly and in such a gruesome way to boot, had left him practically incapable of leaving bed. He had rented a room in some shitty hotel to avoid having to move in with anyone again, although with his luck whoever the murderer was would just burn down the entire fucking hotel after locking all the doors.

Roman couldn't stop feeling like it was all his fault, and he guessed it was in a way. Someone was after him. He only wished that they'd just kill him and be done with it, not grossly terrorize his friends and family. 

He wished Logan was here. He knew he'd come if he was asked, but he didn't want to make him a target… Roman wished things were back like they used to be. The days when he was the only person who could get Logan to dance around the bedroom in boxers and a t-shirt, music from his phone blaring some slow song Logan didn't recognize. The days he'd sleep over at Logan's and laugh off the glares from his roommate about their lack of shirts. He missed the times like snowball fights outside the apartment and how the snow would get stuck in Logan’s hair and complement the flush on his face.

Roman missed the days before the young man with a scar on his face had tempted him away with the promise of money and love and the perfect life, before Ethan had convinced Roman to leave Logan for him. He'd phrased it like forbidden love, Romeo and Juliet, when really all it was was the biggest mistake of his life. 

He'd tried, he really had, to make it work with Dee. He'd accepted his early proposal. He'd done everything he once did with Logan with Dee and ignored the ache in his heart. Ignored the blackmailing and threats Dee would spit any time he so much as thought about Logan. Ignored how Dee had told Roman to quit his job, to stop talking his to friends, to focus on him and him alone… 

His phone buzzed again. It was probably another message from Logan asking where he was.

He pulled himself up by the headboard and grabbed the half-empty water bottle on the nightstand, chugging it all and tossing it on the floor. He glanced over at his phone just in time to see 3 new messages flashing before fading into darkness. 

Logan: Where are you? How are you feeling after all of this? I know this must be hard on you. 

Logan: Roman? I would appreciate a response soon. Now is not the time to be "playing hard to get," as Remy says.

Logan: Roman, although a text might not be the best way to figuratively "break the news," it seems my roomate Virgil has become the next victim… Please call me when you are able.

Roman felt his bottom lip begin to tremble. Even locking himself away from everyone wouldn't keep them safe. He felt like his entire chest was caving in on himself, that awful feeling of being so anxious and scared he needed to puke rising in his stomach and chest. 

He dropped his phone and ran to the bathroom, nearly bruising his knees as he collapsed in front of the toilet. But the nausea would only come back stronger when Roman saw the next messages he'd just received.

Dee😘😘: *sent a photo* 

Dee😘😘: uh oh! :(

When Roman clicked the notifications with trembling fingers, a photo of Roman and Logan kissing against Logan's car would light up his screen, the bad angle and quality unable to hide how Logan's hands were under Roman's shirt and how Roman was pulling Logan's face into his… 

And Roman's stomach would sink, all the pieces slotting together into one, horrible, picture.

The murder in the dressing room taglist:

@cataclysm-al @theteenagetrickster @intrurality-fusion @katie-the-noble-fangirl @whizzie72 @grayson-22 @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @winterwonderland7669 @missieluvsmurder @sign-from-god-complex @dragonindigo245 @angryfanboyscreaming @ninja-wizard101 @sombraookami @crystalistrappedintheinternet @imtooaromanticforthis @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @dragon-hair @satanblessi @spookilyfingergunsoutofexistence @skruffy901 @selectivereality @nonbeenary-enbee @imbasicallyshakespear @cats-vetal-miking-vomit @incoherentfangirl @oofmood @nonbianary-pineapple @royalnerd829 @unicornlogansanders

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #the murder in the dressing room #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #emile picani #muder #deceit sanders #ts deceit #villain deceit #abusive deceit #logince

[dashesofink]

Of Flowers and Pain

Drabble: “One last request for Raymond and I’ll leave you alone for a bit! Can you do a fic and incorporate the Hanahaki disease? Kinda like an !au or smth like that. Your choice to make it happy or sad. Thanks on advance!”

Pairings: Raymond de Merville x Reader

Word Count: 2259

Warnings: mentions of blood

Main Taglist: @legolaslovely @c4ts4ndstuff @t00-many-th0ughts @fizzyxcustard

A/N: I think I might turn this into a two-parter request!! What do y’all think?? 

The pain that constantly bubbled in your throat and stomach was bad enough, but seeing the cause of your pain was almost too much to bare. People knew of the disease you had, as almost everyone in your village had experienced the damned thing by now. If not, they were destined to succumb to it eventually. It was difficult, coming up with ways to excuse yourself when he was constantly in your pub, hoping that you would make it out in time to vomit out the earthy build in your throat without him knowing. Each day the petals were a new color. Each day the thorns from their stems ravaged your throat. Each day the blood came out thicker. You knew if you didn’t tell him of your feelings you wouldn’t survive much longer. But the thought of him not loving you back was almost as painful as your disease, if not more. If he rejected you, rejected your feelings, surely you would die a slow and painful death. That was how the disease worked.

“You must tell him, y/n.” A gentle hand smoothed circles into your back. A hot, stabbing pain lining the muscles of your throat, tears trailing heavily down your cheeks as you watched the blood soaked flowers landed on the muddy ground with a splash. “My darling, please!” The hydrous blood splashed against your old boots when the last flower fell past your lips, your now red lips forming into a deep grimace.

“I cannot.” Your voice was hoarse, a loud cough bubbling in your throat and tearing at the fresh wounds as you doubled over again. No flowers came this time. “I fear he does not feel the same.” Your friend understood the dread that lingered in the pit of your stomach. You had expressed your fears of rejection to her many times, yet she still believed that there was a chance of the soldier returning your feelings for him. “I would rather continue with this pain then to die such as I migh.” She flinched when you shot her a stern glare, your hair falling into your face as you wiped the blood away from your lips. The red stained the sleeve of your tunic, yet you didn’t seem to care anymore.

“Y/n, please you must—“

“I don’t need to do anything like that.” You were stern in your ways. Death wasn’t something you feared. It was inevitable. But the choice you had to make was either death by flowers or death by rejection and then flowers. Neither sounded appealing, but you felt he wouldn’t feel the same. After all, you were just a lowly barmaid. Why would he love you? “What I need to do is get back to work.”

With one last pointed look you spun on your heel, the mud under your feet kicking up into the hem of your skirts before you stomped back to work. The air was thick and humid, and the mud under your feet continued to slosh and stick to your clothing as you hurried through the village and back to the pub. The closer you got the louder the pub grew, it’s current customers either already drunk or well on their way to being drunk. You hated working in the pub. But you didn’t have a choice. You weren’t born into royalty, nor did you family possess any large sums of money. It was either work as a barmaid or not work at all and not support your family. The later was something you tried to avoid at all costs.

“Aye, back from your little stroll, y/n?” The owner of the pub, Mathis, gave you a grim smile. He knew how the disease was affecting you, and he was gracious enough to let you leave whenever you felt the flowers burn your throat. You gave a small nod before snatching the old rag from his hands, and before you pushed your way behind the wooden counter he gave your shoulder a heavy pat. “He’s still here; back corner, to the left.” He warned low and close to your ear, his dark eyes trailing to said corner before he scurried off to deal with some rowdy customers.

Of course he’s still here. Luck would have it that the cause of your pain was still in the pub, a large tankard of ale in his strong hands as the men around him chattered about. You knew better than to look over to him. You already had to leave once today, who knew if you would have to leave twice in an hour to relieve your gut and throat of the burning flowers and blood. But you did. You kept your hands occupied by cleaning a few empty tankards as your eyes drifted to the corner in the left. Dark hair sat messy atop his head and fell against his forehead, his azure eyes scanning the crowd in the pub. Dirt was dusted across his skin, making the lines and scars that littered his hands and face seem darker than they should’ve been. Even tired and covered in dirt and grime he was handsome.

You watched as his fingers twitch and tighten around the wooden tankard. His thin lips were turned into a small scowl when one of his men bumped his shoulder, the ale in his cup sloshing around and over the rim of the cup. While usually he would’ve gotten up to punish the man who disturbed him, he remained seated, only bringing the now half-empty tankard to his lips to guzzle his beverage. He set the tankard on to the table with a slam, swiping his hand over his lips before he turned to the man next to him. It was then that you tore your gaze from him. You couldn’t bare to watch him any longer.

“Still pining after Raymond, I see!” Your blood turned to ice when a shrill voice suddenly sounded throughout the pub. The chatter amongst the drunkards and other customers dwindled and eyes turned when a familiar face sauntered into view. “I’m surprised, y/n,” Thick curls bounced around her round cheeks, her bright red lips turned into an evil smirk while she swayed her hips. Your eyes blew wide the closer she got to the bar, and if it wasn’t for the counter in front of you the tankard in your fingers would’ve fallen smack into the floor. The sound of your name seemed to echoed off of the wooden walls in the pub, and suddenly dozens of eyes were looking to you, watching as your face grew pale. “Thought you would’ve made it known by now.”

“Esmée, please.” Your lips began to tremble when she came to a stop in front of you, only the wooden counter separating you from her. She leaned in close, smacking her lips after chuckling at the terrified look in your eyes. She no longer had the disease. A painful surgery was the only thing— aside from your love admitting to loving you back— that could remove it, but that surgery was costly, and only her family seemed to have the money for it. You hated the way she flaunted it, showed off that she no longer had to suffer through flowers and blood. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Oh I know, sweetheart.” Esmée’s manicured fingers reaches forward to brush some hair behind your ear. She pulled away almost immediately after dragging her nails across your skin in a taunting manner. Your heart was racing when she turned away from you, your hands trembling with horror when you saw where she had locked her gaze; Raymond. Her hips swayed tauntingly as she neared him, pushing past the drunks the crowded the pub. Your eyes blew wide and suddenly you were moving forward, hands desperately reaching to grab her. However you suddenly found yourself being held back, the strong grip of a soldier holding you in place.

“No, let me go!” Your terror filled eyes locked with the battle-worn soldiers. He kept his grip firm. You continued to struggle even when you turned away from him, your eyes suddenly meeting a pair of piercing blue ones. You froze again. Raymond had been watching the entire scene, eyes filled with curiosity as he kept a tight grip on his tankard. You paled again, keeping your eyes locked with his for a moment longer before he looked to Esmée. You felt your knees knock together when she sat upon his lap, her arm thrown over his neck as she traced circles on to his chest. You suddenly felt sick. A familiar liquid bubbled in your gut, your eyes blowing wide again when a burning sensation grew in your throat. No. Not again!

Your not sure what came over you, but your foot slammed down on to the soldiers foot hard and fast. A single yell of pain echoed throughout the watching pub, eyes turning to you once again to see you drive your elbow into the nose of the soldier. The pain in your throat was growing. You snapped your lips shut to try and hold off the vomit for as long as possible, your hand slapping over your mouth like a barricade. Tears filled your eyes when you looked back to Raymond and Esmée, her lips just brushing over his ear as she paused to watch you. His eyes flashed with something unrecognizable for a moment, his lips pursed together as he watched you struggle. It wasn’t until your locked eyes with Esmée did you turn, seeing the horrid look of evil in her brown eyes.

Your footsteps reverberated through the pub as you slammed the door open, blood beginning to spill past your pale lips and coating your fingers and palm as you gagged. You ignored the calls for you. The biting pain in your throat was almost too much, the hand over your mouth just barely holding back the flowers as you rushed away from the pub and through the village. Another gag fell past your lips and tears flowed down your cheeks due to the pain that coursed through your throat and gut, your body jolting forward before your feet slipped on the slick mud. Ugly, red-stained flowers spilled out of your mouth. Your body was covered in mud the minute you fell to the ground, your hands clenching into fists as your worst nightmare came true. The village people watched as your succumbed to the disease. Your throat burned as the flowers continued to blossom in your body, coating themselves with sharp thorns and your blood before mixing with the mud on the ground.

It felt like an eternity before your throat was empty again. A large pile of flowers and vicious blood was in front of you, your eyes wide with fear and agony. It was getting worse. Laughter soon pushed through the buzzing in your ears. You recognized the laugh. Your hands shook as you tried to push yourself up, your legs shaking as your body tried to heal itself from the pain and the newer wounds in your throat. You kept your eyes low as you stood to your full height, looking at the disgusting brown and red stains that soaked through your tunic and skirts. The mud that coated your face, arms and hands made you feel even more gross now that blood was added into the mixture. The bloodied flowers were ugly and gross, melting into the mud. Must I always live like this?

“Aw, poor thing.” Esmée’s voice made you snap your bloodshot eyes in her direction. Her whole body was shaking with laughter, and the pain in your body only grew when you saw that most of the people from the pub were as well. “It was only a matter of time before you made a fool of yourself.” You looked down again. Your body ached all over. From the pain in your throat to the throbbing of your head, even down to the fear and pain that clenched your heart in its tight fists. You tried to tune out the laughter, you tried to ignore the staring eyes as you stood in public, skirts covered in blood and mud and your emotions piled on to the floor. But you could still hear her taunts. “... isn’t that right Raymond?”

You couldn’t bear it anymore. Sobs racked your already trembling figure. With what little strength you had left in you you spun on your heels, kicking up the ugly reminder of flowers and blood that he would never be his. A cry of agony bubbled in your torn up throat. Your eyes were blurry as you cast one last glance in Esmée’s direction, but to your surprise you met blue eyes instead brown. Though his face was stoic and unwavering, Raymond’s wide eyes swam with emotion, his lips parted in disbelief. You almost paused when he went to say something, hoping to hear what he had to say, but he snapped his mouth shut.

You blamed it on the sharp pain in your body and your blurry eyes, but even as you turned away you thought you saw him move to you, but surely it was only your imagination. He didn’t love you like you did him. You two weren’t meant to be together, you knew that. But still, even as you ran away from the crowd, away from him, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there was a chance of you finally having a cure from your disease.

#pilgrimage #raymond de merville #raymond de merville x reader #raymond de merville fic #raymond de merville imagine #raymond de mervile scenario #hanahaki #pilgrimage 2017 #pilgrimage fic #pilgrimage imagine #not my gif #requested #richard armitage #dashesofink

[fazar234]

A New Order (WIP)

Whew, it’s been a while since my first fic, hasn’t it? I wanted to get this out sooner, but life got in the way.

This is actually for a new AU I’m working on, called the Interdimentional Overlord AU! You can learn more about my AU here.

(In this AU, Olivia and Yunnan succeed in saving Marcy, so the Core is never revealed until after Andrias is overthrown. Also I based this off that one scene in “Olivia and Yunnan” where King Andrias announces their new promotions.)

This is just a WIP of what I have in store, so I hope you all enjoy!

Taglist: @writingamongther0ses, @eclipsewarrior101, @iamnota-sexualperson, @d-blue02, @dawn-is-gay, @hughjidiot, @eeveearoace-creative, @sonofrose, @iamthelordoftime, @shikokiomi, @space-lynn, @rennikothecatdog

Marcy Wu never thought things would go this far south.

It had been about 3 weeks since the resistance had invaded the castle that belonged to King Andrias, the megalomaniacal tyrant who sought to conquer every world in existence. Anne had been the one to stop him, but then she declared herself Queen and sought to prove that she was a better ruler than Andrias could have ever been by succeeding where he failed. She had then forced Sasha and Marcy into becoming her general and advisor, and they were not exactly happy about it. As for the Plantars and Boonchuys, they had barely escaped with their lives, shook by the fact that their daughter/adopted granddaughter/sister had become the same as the malicious newt himself.

One week later, Anne had uncovered a hidden basement in the castle, which led to a room containing the mechanical hivemind of Amphibia’s greatest minds that Andrias had been serving: the Core. The hivemind had offered to assist Anne in her goal, but she refused, well aware of their true intentions, and completely obliterated them in one blow.

That was how Marcy, wearing a black dress with hints of green laced on it, found herself standing two weeks later on the balcony of Anne’s castle, gazing helplessly at the execrable sight before her: Frobots tirelessly digging up plants, destroying trees, and scaring off animals to build factories that produced more Frobots and polluted the once clean air.

And she blamed herself for it.

If she hadn’t sent herself and her friends to another world, maybe they wouldn’t be separated from their families for five months, maybe King Andrias would have never been able to restart his plans, maybe she wouldn’t have been stabbed and be forced to bear a scar that stretched all the way down from her chest, and maybe, just maybe, her friend wouldn’t have become the power-hungry tyrant that Andrias was.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a Frobot that walked towards her, its red, vibrant, frog-like eyes looking down on the Taiwanese girl.

“QUEEN BOONCHUY REQUESTS A WORD WITH YOU AND GENERAL WAYBRIGHT,” the Frobot announced in a voice that was deeper than Frobo’s.

Marcy sighed. Better than watching this, I suppose…

With that, the girl treaded across the marble floor, the hallway decorated with torches that now wielded chilling, blue flames instead of the warm, orange ones. She spotted Sasha, who was decked in black armor, with stripes of red swirling across it, and wore a solemn look that replaced the prideful, arrogant one on her face, waiting next to the door leading to the throne room.

“You here for Anne, too?” Sasha asked.

Marcy nodded. “What do you think she wants us for?”

“No clue. But knowing her, it’s probably not good.” Sasha sighed. “It’s not like we can do anything about it though, so we might as well get this over with.”

And so, the two girls opened the door to Anne’s throne room, which was painted in a darker shade of blue, contained new windows symbolizing Anne as the new ruler, and had torches with the same fire that littered the dark-blue carpet leading up to the throne, which was seated by none other than the Queen herself, who wore black armor with blue flames painted on it and a dark-blue cape. She gave a smile, one that was meant to show joy at seeing Sasha and Marcy again, but they both knew of the cruelty that it hid.

“Hey, Sash. Hey, Mar-Mar. You two made it on time.”

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And this is how much I've written so far. Let me know what you all think (constructive criticism is welcome!) and I'll see you all soon!

#amphibia #amphibia fanfic #anne boonchuy #sasha waybright #marcy wu #angst #current wip #evil anne au #interdimensional overlord au #Fazar WIPs

[jancys-blue-bayou]

Being okay (Jancy fic)

Okay, my first s3 fic is a missing scenes one filling in blanks in 3x06 from the end of the hospital fight scene to when we next see Jancy and the kids at Hopper’s cabin the next day.

Read on Ao3 or FFNet or below.

”Nancy! Are you okay?! Are you okay?!”

She fervently nods her head in answer. Her gaze is locked with Jonathan’s and his eyes are wide with worry and fear. His large hands are holding her shoulders, steadying her. Anchoring her to this world, reminding her she’s still in it. Her hands reaches to touch his arms, to make absolutely sure that Jonathan is indeed still here too, right with her. He pulls her in closer, as close as he can and wraps her up in his big embrace. She flings her arms around his neck and lets the feeling of safety wash over her for a second. She’s in Jonathan’s arms so she is safe, Jonathan’s arms is the safest place to be. He whispers that he loves her. She knows, and she loves him too and reminds him of the fact.

But they can’t stay here. As much as she’d like to stay in his arms forever they have to get up, quick now to go see where that…thing went, whatever they’re going to call the thing that was created when the disgustingly… gooey insides of Bruce and Tom morphed together into one giant terrifying monster blob.

They get up together, him helping her up to her slightly shaky legs. She gives another ”I’m okay” nod and they dash out of the hospital. Down the drain. It’s going down the drain. To where?

”Where’s it going?” Max is the one to pose the question.

”I don’t know,” El quietly answers. None of them has the answer of course.

She puts a supportive hand on Jonathan’s back. He hisses in pain and winces. She immediately removes her hand, his reaction hitting her with a pang in the heart. She feels careless, for a minute she’s been so focused on… still being alive and Jonathan still being alive and that monster still being alive that she temporarily forgot what a savage beating he took. In front of her. Seeing Jonathan be hurt like that felt worse than being hurt herself. And god, what more did he have to endure when they were separated? How bad is it?

”Are you okay?” She whispers instead.

”I’m okay,” he’s quick to answer and reaches out for her hand instead. ”You?”

”Okay,” she simply answers. She’ll have to pry out a more accurate answer of him later because she knows that was a big fat lie. Just like he probably knows she’s not totally honest either when she says she’s okay.

”Okay what the hell was that?!” Lucas finally is the one to say it.

”Yeah, what the fuck happened in there?!” Her brother swears as he and the rest of the gang turn to look at her and Jonathan for an explanation.

”Where’s Mrs. Driscoll?” Will asks.

”She was gone, she wasn’t there. But Tom was. And Bruce,” she starts to explain.

”Who’s Bruce?” Max asks.

”He… was, a reporter at the paper. And an asshole.”

”Was? What happened?”

”Tom came in when we were in Mrs. Driscoll’s room. He wasn’t himself, even more than before, when we saw him last… now he was… he was something else. He came at us so Jonathan knocked him over the head with a vase and we ran. But in the hallway we saw Bruce and he was just like Tom… it’s spreading. There were people, doctors… lying bloodied everywhere.”

”It’s turning more…” El says. They nod.

”We ran. We locked ourselves in a room and tried calling for help but couldn’t get through. Then Bruce came… he got in… he said he was there for me…”

”I tried to stop him, but he was so strong…” Jonathan mumbles.

”Too strong. Inhumanely strong,” she asserts. ”He’s a big guy and all but he could lift you off the floor Jonathan, he could throw you across the room it was insane… and when he pushed me it felt like a freight train hit me.”

”Are you guys okay?” Will asks, worried.

”Yeah… I stabbed him with a pair of scissors, in the back, he was going to… Jonathan… I just had to stop him. It slowed him down but it didn’t stop him. Then he came after me so I ran.”

”I tried to get up but before I could Tom was there and…” Jonathan just gestures to his facial wounds instead of finishing the sentence. It makes her heart ache.

”Bruce found me… I got a fire extinguisher and hid behind some curtains. I caught him by surprise and just bashed him over the head with it… again… and again… until he was…”

”I got hold of the scissors and stabbed Tom in the neck…”

”You killed them?” Mike and Will responds at once.

”It was them or us…” she mumbles.

”They weren’t really human… anymore… but…” Jonathan adds. That is true. But still she doesn’t know how to feel it’s a lot… she… they, just killed their bosses. Horrible and… inhuman as they were still…

”They went still for a second then… the lights went out…”

”We noticed,” Will says.

”Then the body started… shaking,” Jonathan continues.

”Face turning… red… bloody… like the insides came out…” she adds.

”Then they just… melted…”

”Melted?” Lucas questions.

”Yeah,” she confirms. ”Their whole body just… melted into… goo… that formed into a blob that just… started moving, crawling down the floor.”

”They met in the middle and merged into one and turned into… that… what you saw.”

Everyone stands quiet, processing. Unsure of what to say about what just happened.

”El, thank you. Thank you so much I thought I was…” She says. Jonathan’s grip of her hand tightens. She squeezes his hand back.

”You’re welcome,” El quietly says.

”What do we do now?” Lucas asks.

”We go home,” she decides. ”Everyone in the car.”

”Are you okay to drive?” Jonathan whispers as they walk towards her mother’s station wagon, the kids behind them.

”Yeah,” she quietly confirms.

In the car soon as she’s turned out of the parking lot Jonathan puts his hand on her arm. She adjusts, slinking her small hand into his large hand and they stay like that the rest of the journey. In the back the kids are talking.

”We have to find out where it went,” Mike says.

”How many flayed are there?” Max asks.

”Could be dozens,” Lucas estimates.

”Or more,” Will adds.

”We have to stop it,” Lucas says.

”To do that we need to know where it is,” Mike mutters.

”I can look… in the void,” El says.

”For the Mind Flayer?” Will asks.

”No, for them… Tom, Bruce… Heather…”

”When? Tonight?”

”Tired…”

”Okay,” she cuts in. ”We need to know where it’s hiding. We have to kill it. El can look in the void. And I have some leads we can try. But we’re not doing it tonight. El’s tired. We’re tired. We do it tomorrow.”

All the kids nod.

”Sleepover in the basement?” Mike suggests.

They all nod again, she sees in the rearview mirror.

”Nancy is that you?” Her mom’s voice calls from the living room as soon as they’ve stepped through the door into the hall. She looks at Jonathan, bloodied and bruised and drenched in sweat and he looks back at her and she knows she looks about the same.

”Yeah… thanks for letting me use the car all day um, I just picked up Mike and his friends…” she turns to Mike and the others and mouths ”Cover for me!” And they all nod. ”Uh, but I have a headache I think I’m just gonna go to bed. Night!”

She drags Jonathan up the stairs with her while Mike and the others go into the living room and ask their mom if it’s okay that they have a sleepover. She and Jonathan goes straight for the shower.

”Wait,” Jonathan stops her when she goes to take her dress off. ”Careful, there’s glass…” he explains and gently starts picking shards of broken glass from her hair.

Her mind casts her back to the moment just before the window shattered above her as El threw the monster through it, to when the monster was over her and she was sure she was going to die.

”It’s okay, I got you, I got you,” Jonathan calms her as she reflexively clasps onto him as her pulse races. he holds her steady with one arm while he continues to pick out glass shards with one hand. ”I got you. It’s okay,” he tells her when he’s finished and holding her shoulders with both hands.

She nods and starts to undress. He does the same, pulling his t-shirt over his head. She looks up and sees the reflection of his back in the mirror. The sight makes her gasp.

”Jonathan, your back…”

”Your back,” he repeats, turning her around to inspect hers which she knows undoubtedly is heavily bruised from being thrown into a wall. Twice. But it’s nothing compared to Jonathan  whose entire back is covered in severe bruising in different shades from blue to purple to straight up black. One big mark in particular stands out, it must’ve been where the chair hit him.

”No your… you…” she starts but can’t get any more words out. Seeing his bruises, thinking about Jonathan being choked, being thrown across the room, being hit with a chair, and whatever else happened to him when they were separated… it hurts her much more than her own bruises and brings tears to her eyes.

”Hey, hey it’s okay… I’m okay, really…” he softly says and pulls her into a hug.

”No you’re not…” she insists, mumbling against his chest.

”Okay fine but… hey it’s over now… it’s over and we’re both still standing… in that way it’s okay. Come on.”

He leads her into the shower and pulls the curtain. Holds her hands as he turns the faucet and water sprays down on them. He lets her wash first and gently helps her clean her back, feather light touch so careful not to hurt her in the slightest. She closes her eyes and turns her face close to the spray to wash all the gunk off her face. The image in her mind of that thing on top of her, baring its teeth and slobbering over her, is one she’d love to erase from her memory but it’s there every time she closes her eyes. In a flash her mind jumps back two years ago and another image of another monster who wouldn’t leave her alone. Then she had a panic attack in the shower, almost hyperventilating as she felt like she was back there, in the Upside Down all alone with the monster.

She’s not alone now though. She turns into Jonathan and he wraps her in a hug. She rests her forehead on his shoulder. He whispers words of comfort and sweetnothings in her ear. She’s able to gather herself. She moves him under the spray and helps him clean up, careful of his wounds and back.

Just like she has taken to leaving a few items of clothing of her own at his house for all the times she stays the night there, some of his has ended up in her closet for the same reason. She goes digging there when they’re out of the shower. Hands him a pair of boxers and snags one of his t-shirts for herself. It’s her favorite kind of nightie now. Something else catches her eye. His yellow pajama pants. They ended up here because the first time she invited him over to stay the night sweet Jonathan brought them with him because he ”didn’t want to be presumptuous”. She had told him then that he looks very cute in them but that she also very much likes him in less, and since then he’s always just sleeping in his underwear around her like he’d normally do. Another tiny little privacy barrier of Jonathan Byers that she was pleased to get through. But the yellow pajama pants themselves holds a special place in her heart, forever associated with that night, their first night together. Well, their first together like that. She puts them on now for added comfort.

Jonathan’s sitting down on the edge of her bed when she turns around. She looks him over, again wincing at his injuries.

”Hey,” she softly says as she steps over to him.

”Hey,” he answers, looking up at her as she cups his cheeks and inspects his facial wounds.

”How are you, really? Don’t say okay. Let me take care of you.”

”Okay. I… could use an aspirin.”

His gallows humor makes her grin.

”Okay. Hold on I got some in my purse.”

She retrieves it and watches him swallow the pill.

”Are you dizzy?”

”No.”

”Really?”

”Yeah.”

”What… happened when we were apart? Please tell me.”

Jonathan hesitates for a moment, then shares.

”Okay… I tried to get up but Tom slammed me down again… and into a cabinet… and a cart… and I went out for a second when he slammed my head against the floor but…”

”Jonathan…”

”I’m fine really…”

”No you’re not… jesus… seriously Jonathan how are you feeling?”

”My head is pounding and my back is killing me. But it’s okay. You’re okay right?” ”Compared to you I’m great.”

”Bruce didn’t get to you again right?”

”No, I ran and ran and found the fire extinguisher to defend myself with. Went into a room and hid behind the curtains. He went after me but looked in the wrong place first. Then I just bashed him over the head.”

”Good… I was so worried about you… can we just lay down?”

”Okay. Let me just clean your cuts first.”

He winces a little as he adjusts in bed, finally finding a way to lay on his side facing her. She lies on her side, face right next to his. She’d press her forehead against his if it wasn’t for the nasty cut on his.

”Are you comfy? With your back…”

”Yeah, it’s good. You?”

”Yeah.”

His left hand is laid between them, palm up. She lays her own on top of it, lining up their scars and interlacing their fingers.

”As if we needed any more,” she jokes. He chuckles and squeezes her hand. Shared trauma. She could do without the trauma for both him and herself. But at least they have each other. She has no idea what she’d done if she’d gone through all she has on her own, without Jonathan. Or well, she knows she wouldn’t be here now. That’s for sure.

”I really thought it was over, that I was done for…”

”I thought I’d lose you,” he admits and she can see tears threatening to spill over for him. ”I couldn’t get the door down, if El hadn’t.. I don’t know…” he croaks out before the tears do come.

”It’s okay, it’s okay. You didn’t. I’m right here. We’re both still here,” she soothes him and presses a soft kiss to his lips.

”I love you,” he whispers.

”I love you too.”

They share a comfortable silence as his tears subsides. She blinks her own away. He then quietly pipes up.

”I feel different.”

”Because of what you had to do? To Tom?”

”Yeah…”

”I feel the same… but we had to do it. I feel weird but we had to. It was them or us.”

”I know. Still…”

”I know.”

In the morning Jonathan dresses in a pair of jeans and a short sleeved shirt he left in her room at an earlier occasion and climbs out her bedroom window and comes around to the front while she goes down and tells her mother that Jonathan is ”coming over early for breakfast” which her mother doesn’t mind of course since she adores Jonathan. Soon after they have sat down at the table Mike and the rest come up from the basement. They all try to act normal. Mike pointedly looks at her before ”begging” for a ride and she is quick to volunteer herself and Jonathan ”if we can take the station wagon again mom”. Their mom readily agrees, undoubtedly happy that she and Mike aren’t at each others throats.

”Where do you want to do this El?” She turns around and asks once they’re all in the car.

”Cabin,” the girl answers. ”But, we need stuff first.”

”What stuff?”

”Pictures. It helps me connect.”

”Right. So we need pictures of Tom and Bruce…”

”And Heather,” Mike butts in.

”And Billy,” Max adds.

”Right,” she nods and thinks for a second. ”Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

She gets out of the car and hurries back inside the house.

”Forgot my purse!” She tells her mother and dashes up the stairs to her room.

Rummaging around she finds the high school yearbook. Flips through the pages quickly until she gets to the seniors. There he is, Billy Hargrove. He really manages to look just as much as a douche as he is. She gets out a pair of scissors and cuts out his photo. Back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her dad fittingly is finished with the paper by now. Tom as the editor doesn’t have his photo in it but a story she knows Bruce wrote a few days ago is on page 5. She cuts out his byline photo and hurries back out to the car.

”Okay, that’s halfway there already,” she says and shows them what she got. Jonathan smiles at her. ”We’ll have to go back to Heather’s house for the rest,” she continues and hands over the cutouts to El.

She puts the car in drive and rolls out of the driveway. It feels good to be on their feet again, to have a plan of action, something to do. She’s past Dearborn when Mike pipes up from the back.

”Wait, couldn’t you have gotten Heather’s yearbook photo too?”

”Shit,” she didn’t even think of that. ”Well we would’ve had to go their house anyway for Tom’s picture so there,” she looks into the rearview mirror sticks her tongue out at Mike.

They don’t bother knocking this time around at the Holloways house. Jonathan opens the door and they all step in somewhat apprehensive at first. They can’t be totally sure the house is still empty. She and Jonathan walk in the front as they go from room to room making sure.

”There we go,” her brother suddenly calls out when they get to the living room. He strides over to the mantle piece and picks up a picture frame, turns it in his hand and smashes the glass against the mantle piece.

”Mike!” She admonishes.

”What?” He counters and holds up the family photo he’s fished out of the broken frame.

”Alright well, lets get out of here then,” Jonathan says and they start to leave.

While the kids walk in front of them back down the driveway Jonathan takes her hand in his again.

”I want to call all the people I talked to about the story again. Maybe we can get something there, if El’s thing doesn’t work.”

”Sounds good,” he nods.

”I really hope this works. We need to know where it went… and what it wants. And how to stop it.”

”It’ll work. And when we know where it is… we’ll stop it. Somehow.”

”Yeah but how?”

”I don’t know, but I’m sure my girlfriend will think of something. She’s the smartest human being on the planet and the bravest and is good with a gun and I’m never doubting her again,” he smiles at her.

”Thanks,” she grins and looks down. ”I really needed that Jonathan Byers pep talk.”

”Anytime.”

#jancy fic #jancy fanfic #jancy fanfiction #stranger things fic #st fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #jancy #nancy x jonathan #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #mike wheeler #will byers #eleven #jane hopper #max mayfield #lucas sinclair