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ethanesimp · 3 years

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THE OAK TREE // TWO E.T.

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x GN! Reader

Summary: Everyone at the Oakes Academy is aware of the rivalry that exists between two of the school’s best students, Ethan Torchio and Y/N L/N. What nobody knows is what a brilliant team they are when they’re at risk of their reputations being damaged and a killer’s on the loose.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death and murder, mentions of blood, mentions of death and descriptions of it, mention of suicide (pls read with caution, ily <3).

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

CHAPTER ONE

A/N: Again, I apologize for the delay, life has been a lil bit crazy this past week. I also wanted to apologize for any possible typos because I’m working on a project but decided to take a break to finish this for you guys! I promise I’ll proofread this as soon as I get some time. Also, in the part where they’re texting, I recommend you check the texts on the Google Drive for context. Otherwise you might get a bit lost.

DON’T FORGET TO CHECK OUT TE AVAILABLE MATERIAL IN THE GOOGLE DRIVE WHICH YOU CAN FIND ON THE SERIES MASTERLIST

Taglist (strike means it won’t let me tag you): @oro-e-diamanti @gretavanfleetlove @victoriadeangeliswifey @cheese-toastie-11 @selenophiliaxx @superchrystaldrug @petit-poussin @bidet-and-legolas @fallingforyou123 @ethaneskin @soft-boy-ethan @teenyweenynightghost @reputationdamiano @cantaraiilmionome @tabi-toast @queen-of-brokenhearts @geklutst-ei @juststalking @cruz-ata @ohtorchio @ethan-torchio-angelo @unitermoonshine @everythingisdefinitelynotfine @marriedwithmarktuan @its-afucking-mess @juststalking @goldenpeaxh

LAST CHAPTER’S WINNING DECISION: They believe it is all real and go search for the body the finger might belong to. (The impact of this decision will be reflected next chapter).

Let the games begin.

You had to read the last part once more, so consumed by the shock that barely any words had registered into your brain. Your hands were shaking as you held it closer to yourself. Maybe it was all part of the disbelief because you found yourself scanning the words over and over again until you had the first paragraph memorized.

But then… then Ethan started laughing.

Short, breathy laughs escaped past his lips, immediately followed by sharp inhales, as if he were desperate to get more air to reach his lungs. You brushed it off and went right back to reading the last few phrases that were on the very back, even said them under your breath to try and make them become real because everything seemed like nothing but a dream, no, a nightmare.

Then it slowly dawned on you after you finished reading the letter. All worry subsided and you had no doubt in your mind you would’ve started laughing too if you weren’t seeing red. Consumed by the sudden rage, you turned to Ethan and didn’t hesitate to tackle him into the ground.

In any normal instance, you wouldn’t have been able to do it, but you’d caught him off-guard, which was confirmed by the surprised yelp he let out as his back collided with the muddy floor and dry leaves crunched underneath his weight. You moved to straddle him the second you felt him shift beneath you, as if he wanted to get up.

You looked at him for a split second. His face was illuminated by the soft glow of the red light. His distress was apparent. He was thrashing around to try and get you off him when you started hitting his chest over and over again. Your hits weren’t hard nor were they intended to cause any damage to him. In fact, he could have easily pushed you off him effortlessly if he wanted to, but Ethan didn’t even try. Instead, he let you continue hitting his chest.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? You’re… a… fucking… psycho!” Each word was accompanied by another frustrated hit to his chest as tears slowly fell down your face and sobs rattled your body, “You were the only one who knew that. The only person in this goddamn school I ever—ever was stupid enough to tell it to. And you use it for one of your sick and twisted pranks? Fuck you. Fuck you!”

Your head fell and rested on his chest as you kept on crying. However, your words seemed to pull him back to reality. Only after a few seconds of you speaking, Ethan had already rolled the two of you around until he was on top of you.

You firmly held his stare as you tried to get him off you. For some strange reason, it sent shivers down your spine to see his eyes so full of fear. Ethan was always centered and glued firmly to the Earth. No matter the issue, he was always capable of keeping his cool, but now was far from being the case. His voice trembled as he tried to speak up, “Shut up Y/N! You’ve got no right to blame me for something that is clearly your doing. I have no fucking clue what your stupid letter said but mine said something that has me convinced it was you!”

His accusation was followed by him shoving his crumpled up letter into your face. You had to squint in order to see it better with only the aid of the red light. When you read the words placed at the very bottom, your eyes went wide and immediately looked for his in a desperate attempt to convince him it wasn’t you, but he had his head turned away. You firmly grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie so he’d look into your eyes, “I-I didn’t. Ethan I don’t like you one bit but I’d never. Not this.”

Ethan scoffed and shook his head. He got off you and turned around so his back was facing you, “You know what? I don’t give a shit what you did or didn’t do. I’m going to wash this disgusting stuff off me and report this in the morning.”

“What the hell? Are you crazy? Ethan, we're in the middle of a crime scene. We cannot leave it like this. I mean, look at you! You’re covered in blood because, let me refresh your mind, you fell into a fucking puddle of blood and found a finger!” You flailed your arms around furiously at his stupidity and started followed him the moment he started walking away, “What if this is real?”

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at you, “What is real? A threat that looks like it was written by a thirteen-year-old who just finished reading The Analyst? And the blood… it belongs to an animal for all I care,” He didn’t seem an ounce convinced by the way he took a second to come up with an excuse, and he couldn’t even look you in the eyes, “Besides, what do you want us to say, huh? Oh yeah, sorry. We’re out past curfew because of reasons we can’t tell you and we casually found a disembodied finger lying in a pool of blood. Ah! And I almost forgot the most important detail. We’re being threatened with things that are not only good enough to get us expelled but also get us thrown in jail. But everything is fantastic.”

You rolled your eyes, “Fine, do whatever the hell you please.”

Ethan nodded nonchalantly and walked away from you. A long and deep sigh escaped your lips at his stubbornness. You wanted to scream out in frustration at how stupid he was being, but decided it was pointless to stay behind, just in case someone arrived and found you standing there, with your clothes filled with blood.

——— ☆ • ♧ • • ♧ • ☆ ———

When you arrived back at the dorms, the first thing you did was take a hot shower as you tried to assimilate everything that had happened. Despite the water being so hot it almost burnt your skin, you still spent the whole time shivering and hugging your arms to your body.

You had washed the blood off the hoodie in one of the sinks and still threw it in the washing machine afterwards. You didn’t know what was going on and part of you was convinced you didn’t want to know. Either way, you weren’t going to risk being roped into a crime investigation as a suspect.

Afterwards, you collapsed into bed. Your whole body was aching and, if it weren’t for the fact that your phone had exploded with notifications after you connected it, you would’ve fallen asleep. You lazily felt around the small bedside table for your phone and picked it up. Most notifications were just memes Will kept sending to the group chat you had. However, you’d also received a message from Ethan.

Upon reading the first few words, you already felt the urge to throw the phone out the window. He was being annoying, not like that was a new thing at all. You responded to the text nonetheless and left the phone back on the bedside table. You turned around in your bed to try and find a spot that was comfortable and cuddled deeper into the sheets. Then, just when you were about to close your eyes, the phone vibrated again. You groaned and picked it up once more. After reading those texts, you were unable to sleep all night.

———

You spent the great majority of the night crying and shivering despite being covered by layers and layers of warm blankets. Those few hours before your alarm sounded extended into what seemed like an eternity and you didn’t want to leave the room, afraid you’d find something like what you’d just seen at the oak tree.

You only managed to sleep for about half an hour before your alarm went off at exactly six AM. Any other day, you would’ve snuggled back into bed for a little longer, but on that particular day, you’d jumped out of bed and hadn’t wasted a second before getting ready. You’d run out of the building to meet your friends at the dining hall, where you were currently at.

Damiano, Rory, Vic, and Will were already sitting at your usual table in front of the large window when you arrived. The curly-haired boy was practicing for a presentation while your three friends listened and made a few comments here and there on things they thought he should change.

“Good morning everyone,” You murmured, then took a seat in between Damiano and Will, who turned to look at you and frowned, “Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” You nodded and put on the best smile you could manage. Then you stole one of the berries from his plate even though you weren’t hungry at all.

You turned to look at Rory and Damiano, “Hey Ro, has the new phone you ordered arrived yet?” You questioned. After your conversation with Ethan the previous night, you needed to make sure it wasn’t them who had sent the text. Just the thought alone made you shudder in disgust and fear, but you just took a deep breath in and kept a soft smile on your face as your best friend shook their head.

“Funny that you ask that because yesterday I got an email from the store saying the delivery was going to take longer than expected because of the weather issues, so I gotta survive with this piece of crap for a few more days,” They sighed and placed the cracked phone on the table. You wanted to stop holding back the tears right then and there. Rory’s words were the confirmation that someone else had sent the text and you doubted it was Emilia. As much as you didn’t want to, with each passing second you started to believe the threat was true and that someone had died or was terribly hurt somewhere, and you needed to find them before it was too late to save them.

Then you remembered another one of Ethan’s texts and had to resist the urge to get up and go search for him because you needed to talk to him as soon as possible. Instead, you distracted yourself by listening to Will’s presentation practice.

You were close to nodding off at some point as he kept on speaking, “Back in earlier civilizations, it was believed that any type of illness was caused by demons and—Hey, Y/N!” You hummed softly as Will called your name. He poked you on the rib and you swatted his hand away, “Are you sure you’re alright? You look terrible.”

“Thank you,” You mumbled sarcastically, “I’m doing fine. I just stayed up working on a project and barely got a wink of sleep,” You let your head rest on Damiano’s shoulder and yawned.

“I wish I were that productive,” Victoria said as she played around with her food. Everyone had insisted on her eating at least a few bites even if she was still sick, “I never do shit.”

Thomas piped into the conversation, catching everyone by surprise as he took a seat next to Victoria, “To be fair, Y/N always complains about feeling half-dead from lack of sleep. I’ll never be crazy enough to sacrifice my sleep for a stupid assignment.”

“Yeah, and that’s why you’re one project away from failing Year 12,” Victoria laughed and Thomas rolled his eyes, “The other day I put him in charge of finishing this essay thing for philosophy and by the time I went back to check on him, he was already asleep. I honestly still wonder how we’re at this school. I would’ve thrown us out a long time ago.”

“Look who’s decided to join us today!” Damiano exclaimed with a large smile on his face as Emilia and Ethan took a seat right in front of you. It was an unusual occurrence for him to eat with you because, well, you were there and he couldn’t shut his mouth for half an hour while you ate, which usually ended in an argument that made the whole table annoyed.

You frowned at his appearance. He was struggling to keep his dark eyes open and his hand wouldn’t stop shaking. It was very apparent that he hadn’t slept much either from the bags under his eyes and his slow steps. Ethan was almost like a zombie.

He shook his head the moment his eyes met yours and your shoulders slumped. It hadn’t been Emilia either. You got up from your seat abruptly and walked away from the table without an explanation. You desperately needed a breath of fresh air before you went insane. So with quick steps, you moved down the hall until you reached one of the open windows next to a couch. You let yourself fall onto the couch and tightly shut your eyes as you breathed the fresh air in.

“You seriously need to calm down. Otherwise everyone will start to notice just how suspicious you’re acting,” You sighed at the sound of Ethan’s irritating voice and up straight on the couch. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hands and looked up at him with an annoyed expression.

“You cannot ask me to calm down after what we saw last night. When will it get into your thick skull that whatever this shit is, it’s real. Those threats were real and if we don’t do something we’re both going to end up in jail, or worse, people are going to die. We don’t know who this psycho is nor what they’re capable of doing. We need to do something now before it’s too late,” The words rushed out of your mouth desperately. The urgency in your tone and your voice quivering as you spoke made his face fall. It wasn’t often that he took you seriously, but by the look in his eyes, you could tell he was just as scared as you were and that was enough to make him shut up and listen to all you had to say.

“Shit Y/N, can you lower your voice? We have no clue at all who could ev—” Before he could even finish the whole sentence, the Head Professor cleared her throat. But your heads snapped in her direction and you gulped in fear at the thought of her overhearing the conversation.

Your heart fell to your stomach the moment she spoke, “Just the two I was looking for. I need you in my office right now.”

Your eyes went wide as you turned to look at Ethan, who already had his head turned in your direction. He nudged his head in the professor’s direction and you both followed her as she walked to her office but stayed a few steps behind.

“This is it, we’re going to jail,” You mumbled loud enough so only Ethan could hear. He hushed you and pulled you along when you stopped walking. People were looking at you as you passed by and that only made you feel worse. You loosened the tie around your neck and gulped.

“We are not going to jail unless you don’t pull it together. Now breathe and keep on walking. I’m not your fucking babysitter,” He whisper-yelled and quickened his pace. You sighed and did the same thing. It surely couldn’t be that bad, could it? You were probably just overreacting and the events of the night before had nothing to do with this impromptu meeting.

You kept those thoughts in mind as the professor opened the door to the small office and you took a seat on one of the two squeaky chairs. The room smelled clean in a comforting way and you let your shoulders relax as you played with your fingers nervously and looked around the place.

Her office had always been your favorite out of all the professors’. The place was always warm and during the mornings, you could hear coffee brewing in her old coffee machine in the corner of the room. There were books scattered everywhere and piled in a way that didn’t look messy but inviting. During your first weeks at the academy, when you still hadn’t made any friends, you’d go into her office and read while you sat curled up on the couch and enjoyed the warm and calm atmosphere of the place.

Things used to be so much easier back then and you had no clue how things could’ve changed so fast. Back then your relationship with Ethan was decent and you had no trouble with anyone or anything, now you were being threatened into being framed for murder and being sent to jail.

“You totally forgot about our meeting today, didn’t you?” She asked calmly as she poured coffee into one of her cups, filling the room with the delicious and strong scent. The professor pushed her long dark hair out of her face and straightened out her uniform before sitting down opposite to you, “You looked quite shocked. I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important.”

Ethan sat there, speechless, just like you. But then realization hit you and you realized you were just being paranoid and stupid. She’d told you about this meeting weeks in advance. It was supposed to have something to do with your chance to get the sought-after 100% scholarship to study your career at The Oakes.

“Nothing important whatsoever,” You replied quickly and sat up straight as you placed both hands on your lap. Ethan copied your actions and tied up his long hair with the black elastic that had been on his wrist.

Your eyes followed the professor as she dumped a small spoonful of sugar and mixed it around with the dark liquid. You couldn’t help but notice her hand shaking as she poured the milk and even spilled a bit of it down the side of the cup.

She cursed under her breath and apologized as she got up to search for a napkin. With furrowed eyebrows, you shared a look with Ethan, who shrugged.

“I apologize. I’m afraid I’m quite distracted today, but let’s continue. Shall we?” She smiled sweetly and opened up one of the folders on her desk as she sat back down. She grabbed two papers from inside and placed one in front of each of you.

You picked it up and examined its content. It seemed to be some sort of permission slip, “So, as I’m sure you both know, our academy offers a program for all our brightest students that gives them the opportunity to continue their college studies with everything paid. You two are the people with the highest grades amongst the whole generation. The semester is—.”

Her words were interrupted by a few quick knocks on the door before a professor pushed it wide open. He couldn’t stop fidgeting with his hands and playing around with his tie as he spoke, “The council wants to have a meeting, professor.”

“I cannot do it right now, I’m—”

“They want to have it now.”

The professor turned to the two of you nervously and laughed awkwardly. She stood up from the chair after quickly pushing it back, “I’ll see you another day, okay? Meanwhile, please send a scan of that permission slip to your parents and have them sign it, as soon as possible.”

Once both professors were out of sight and had closed the door, leaving the two of you alone, Ethan spoke, “Something’s wrong.”

“No shit. Neither one could stop shaking. I say we go and try to listen to what the council members are saying,” You suggested and stood up, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you to sit back down.

“We need to go back to the oak tree first. Y/N, if this is all real and there’s something going on, we need to find that body before they do,” He said firmly. Both his tone and stare were serious and you could tell that there was no way in hell he’d take no for an answer. Instead of arguing, you agreed and walked out of the office right behind him, but then you paused as his words registered into your brain, “Why do we have to find it before them?”

He didn’t stop walking to respond, so with a groan you started to walk faster until you were right next to him, “You weren’t even attending the school when it happened,” Ethan began to talk under his breath, so quietly you could barely make out the words he was trying to say, “It was years ago so I cannot remember exactly how the story went. You can ask Thomas though, he has better memory than I do,”

“Either way, there was this boy who’d just gotten into college and during the secret society’s initiation, he was told to climb the highest tower at that campus but he slipped and fell like ten stories. Like I said, it was a secret society that neither the public nor the parents knew about. If the story of what had really happened got out it’d ruin the school and some of the most important students would’ve been sent to jail, so they twisted it to look like a suicide and got away with it. The only reason we know about it is because one of Will’s cousins, the duke, was involved in it all and Will told us all about it.”

“I refuse to believe that’s true. C’mon, it’s Will,” You laughed, “The same guy who convinced everyone in class that your family secretly ran part of the Italian mafia.”

Ethan only shrugged and stopped walking to knock on the door of the greenhouse. You’d left yours at your dorm that morning from how distracted you were, so you had to wait for Mr. Murphy to open up and let you through.

When he finally opened the door, his eyebrows shot up in surprise as he looked at the two of you in confusion, “What in God’s name has happened to get you two in the same place without fighting?” He mocked. You rolled your eyes and shook your head as a smile appeared on your face.

“I assure you, we can both be perfectly civil. Besides, it’s for a homework we need to do. And believe me it’s the last thing I want to be doing,” You lied and walked into the greenhouse with Ethan following behind, “Anyways, we’re gonna go to the lake to get some water and—”

“I’m afraid you cannot go out there,” He interrupted. You frowned at his words and tilted your head to the side.

“Why? Did something happen?”

“Nothing you should care about, kids. Just go to class, yeah? There’s someone coming and if you want to stay out of trouble you better leave before they arrive.”

YOU CAN VOTE ON THIS CHAPTER’S POLL RIGHT HERE. THIS POLL CLOSES AT 12:30 PM CDT ON TUESDAY.

#ethan torchio x reader #ethan torchio fanfiction #ethan torchio x you

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

waldosia.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: this is intended to be part of the ajf universe (berry hill section), but also stands alone! berry hill is probably good to read before this one, just for a little context. this takes place a couple of weeks after berry hill, during the last few minutes of lauren, and continues through the end of season six. there will be two more parts of this section!

summary: the team reels from emily’s loss and finds footing as best they can in the new normal, until, of course, the rug is pulled out from under them again.

words: ~3k warnings: canon death, language, more slow burning

berry hill (part 1) | absence (part 3) | mean it (part 4)

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

There’s nothing worse than the silence of the waiting room. JJ paces back and forth, waiting and watching for movement down the hall. Hotch has been restless as well, sitting and standing and wandering in equal measure. Seaver perches on her chair, her bare toes digging into the rough fabric of the seat. She’s quiet, staring into nothing.

Dave sits beside her, his elbows on his knees, his hands laced together. His lips never stop moving, and you’re sure he’s praying. It’s odd to see him there without Emily. Much like Derek and Penelope, they usually stick together in tragedy or stress. It’s more than strange to see him without her - almost like missing a limb you didn’t know he had.

You find your eyes tracking Aaron more often than not. There’s tension in his forehead, and his mouth is tight. Your first instinct is, of course, to soothe his hurt, but there’s so much of your own. He meets your eyes, and you pat the seat next to you.

With a heavy sigh, he sits down beside you.

Your voice is quiet, as to not disturb the stillness of the room. “When’s the last time you ate?”

He shakes his head. You reach out and slip your hand into his elbow. He covers it with his own and you lean against each other. Derek and Penelope are in a similar position across from you. She’s tucked under his arm, her hand rubbing back and forth over his chest, still spattered with Emily’s blood.

You can’t imagine what he’s feeling. If it had been Aaron…

The thought is too unbearable to consider. Aaron’s arm flexes around your hand, and you realized the thought brought your shoulders to your ears.

“Are you alright?” His voice is the barest whisper.

You nod. “Just thinking of Derek.”

He takes a deep breath. You know he understands.

‘“I was just...if it had been -”

“Don’t.” His whisper breaks over the word, and his fingers slip between yours around his arm. Your breath catches in the smallest of sobs, and you turn your head into him.

Hours and hours and hours pass. You think you fall asleep once or twice, but it’s fitful and not at all restful. Hotch is back to pacing - traveling a path from the door to the back room and back to you.

Eventually, he sits again, leaning against you once more. You can feel the exhaustion radiating from him. At a certain point, you take him under your arm. He leans his head into your shoulder and closes his eyes. You’re certain he doesn’t get any sleep, but you appreciate the effort. It’s all for you.

JJ returns, and you all straighten, waiting for her to say something. She can’t speak.

Penelope says something, but you can’t hear her. You can’t hear JJ, though you know her mouth is moving. You sag forward, nearly falling out of your chair. Aaron catches you as he stands, his arms locked around you.

Spencer rushes past JJ, but she stops him. They speak, but you still can’t hear over the rushing in your ears. You find your feet and turn into Aaron, whose hand presses your head to his chest. Your whole body buzzes with something cold and unpleasant, like a shot straight to your nervous system. You’d take a bullet again, rather than feel this.

Slowly, he guides you to the chair on the other side of Penelope. You cling to her, Aaron’s jacket still around you. She’s sobbing, and you can’t feel a thing. When you look up again, JJ has her arms around Spencer, who looks much like you. Broken. Soggy. Weak.

Tired eyes track Aaron as he rounds the corner to the back hallway. JJ finds him a minute later, and you still can’t hear them.

You can’t hear anything.

+++

The funeral is wretched. When the hearse arrives, you help Aaron with his white pallbearer gloves, buttoning them around his wrists and straightening his tie. Your hands linger on his lapel. His shaky breath shudders through him under your hands, and when you look up at him, his eyes are closed.

One of his hands covers yours and you grasp his fingers.

It’s too soon.

We can’t do this again.

It’s too soon.

“There’s never enough time,” he says, almost inaudible.

You squeeze his hand and release him, smoothing out his coat and collar and the hair at his temples before letting him pass. Derek and Spencer take the first pair of handles, Dave and Anderson the second. Will and Hotch share a look before taking the final pair.

You offer your arm to JJ, who takes it, and you follow the men across the cemetery. Penelope and Ashley trail behind you, also arm-in-arm.

Ashley’s been a gift - quiet and warm and observant - through this whole ordeal. You’ve done your best to welcome her into the fold. She doesn’t need to feel like a replacement or a burden. She’s a member of your team. Maybe not a member of your family, but your teammate nevertheless.

The whole affair is far too quiet, far too solemn, to really be a celebration of Emily’s life. Hotch returns to your side once she’s laid over her grave. He gives you a rose and an arm. You take both, the wool of his coat soft against your fingers. Both he and JJ decided to leave the boys at home, but wouldn’t tell you why.

Privately, you figure it’s too much for Jack, and it would be best to keep him and Henry together. Two funerals in as many years is too much for anyone, let alone someone just six. Jess is with the boys at JJ’s house. There’s nothing that woman can’t do, and you love her for it.

Looking around, you realize everyone in attendance is a familiar face. Emily’s mother is the only one you don’t know well, but you’d know a Prentiss anywhere. She dabs at her face with a handkerchief, and a well of spite rises within you. There’s no reason for her to be here.

You’re her family. You will survive her.

+++

Derek is in shambles. You spend as much time with him as you can, but he’s more withdrawn than you’ve ever seen him. JJ and Spencer have clung together, as have you and Aaron. Dave and Derek aren’t as close, and they’re both wildly independent, so they’ve sort of drifted in Emily’s absence.

It’s your mission to keep them in one piece - sharing meals and filling empty evenings with movies and poker and company. You find yourself at Dave’s often, with Jack in your lap and Hotch and Derek on either side of you.

You have rapidly become the team’s backbone - a role you take on with energy and a certain degree of joy. Taking care of them helps you forget your own grief, and never leaves you without company.

+++

Seaver’s graduation is a spot of joy in an otherwise dreary few months. You shout and whistle at all the appropriate times, remembering all too well what it felt like on the other side. There’s a moment where you share a smile with Hotch, and it almost feels normal.

“Remember that?” You ask, tipping your chin toward Seaver. She’s beaming, holding her new credentials in her hand as she greets her family.

He nods. “Do you?”

You snort. “Oh, please. How could I forget?” The day lives rent-free in your mind. Hotch passing you your credentials, badge, and ID tag is a memory that will stay with you forever.

“Glad I made an impression.” His smirk is well-concealed, but you elbow him in the ribs for good measure.

“Shut up.”

He quirks a brow at you, and you grin.

Almost normal. Almost.

+++

Your phone wakes you, and you pick it up right away, recognizing your ringtone for Hotch. “Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

You flip your bedside lamp on and rub your eyes. You’d be lying if you said you were getting any sleep yourself, and you’re almost relieved you have some kind of company. “Hey, Aaron. What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to wake you -”

“You didn’t.”

He pauses. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I could hazard a guess it’s the same reason as you.” You play with the comforter, the fabric a necessary distraction. “Is Jack still with Jessica?”

“Yeah, for the rest of the week. He’s got a school trip thing, and I didn’t want to leave him if a case came up. They’ll be back from the mountains on Sunday afternoon.”

Your lower lip disappears between your teeth. “Do you want any company? Sometimes it’s -”

“Please.” He cuts you off, and you snap your mouth shut, already throwing the covers back.

“I’ll be there soon.”

The drive is quiet, the Virginia highways barren at nearly two in the morning. You pull into the garage in your usual guest spot and climb the stairs.

Though you have a key, you knock twice before using it.

Always good form to warn an armed federal agent when you’re about to enter his home in the goddamn middle of the night.

He invited you.

Yeah, still. Would hate to get shot on a night off.

The kitchen light is on when you enter, and you lock the door behind you before checking it out. You leave your shoes at the door and drop your keys in the dish.

He's standing at the counter, fixing two cups of tea. Wordlessly, he passes one to you.

You follow him to the bedroom, turning lights off as you go. He slips under the covers, and pats the covers.

“Thanks for the tea,” you say, settling in beside him.

It’s become sort of routine. Since Berry Hill, sharing a bed has become far less taboo and far more common. Even when Jack’s home, you’ve set up the couch for yourself before spending the night next to Aaron. That way, you can wake up early and settle in the living room before he wakes up, or make it look like you slept on the couch even if he wakes to find you in his father’s room.

The element of surprise is always a gift - Jack is more than thrilled to find you whenever you spend the night. He doesn’t know to ask questions, and really you aren’t sure what you’d say even if he did.

Aaron would probably have the words. He’s good at that kind of stuff.

You sit together in silence, sipping out of your mugs and enjoying the quiet darkness. When you’re done, you leave it on the coaster on your bedside - well, on the bedside table.

“Can’t sleep?” You ask.

Aaron’s been finished for a while, his empty mug on his table. He’s already settled in, laying on his side toward you with his hand tucked under his cheek. “Not tonight.”

“Is it Emily?”

He nods. “Yeah, something like that.” There’s more, but he’s never been too good at articulating his feelings. You’ve learned it’s best to just keep him company and not push too hard.

You slide down, bringing the covers up to your chin. “Come here.”

He smiles in the dark and wraps you in his arms. It’s already easier to close your eyes, and you know you won’t be half as scared to confront what you find behind them. His breath fans across the top of your head, much more steady than when you arrived. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Sleep tight, Aaron.”

He tucks his face into your hair, and after a few moments, you hear his breath slow and even out. You lean back, finding his face completely relaxed.

That’s better.

With him asleep, you’re able to tune out your thoughts in favor of his heartbeat against your cheek.

+++

Jack is long asleep when it’s your turn to need company. You’re on the couch, wrapped in Aaron’s arms, sobbing into his chest. Earlier, you found a bank of recorded shows in your cable box that you were waiting to watch with Emily. The realization that you’d never be able to watch them with her knocked you out at the knees, and there was nothing you could do but sit on the floor and cry.

When you caught your breath, you called Aaron and took a cab over to the apartment. Your tears didn’t let up for a single moment on the way there, and started anew when you saw him.

You couldn’t speak, but he just led you to the couch and let you curl up against him. With his cheek against your hair, he rubs your back until you can finally breath without hiccuping.

“What was it?”

“The shows.” You sniff, and wipe your nose on your sleeve. “I was saving shows to watch with her. They didn’t stop recording. I didn’t think to -” A fresh wave starts, and you tuck your head back into his shoulder. You do your best not to wail, keeping quiet for Jack’s sake, “I didn’t think to stop recording them. I don’t even really like them, but we always watched together.”

His next words are familiar to you. “It’s all about the routine.”

Those are the same words you used after Haley died. One of his first breakdowns after her death came when he was packing Jack’s bag for the week, getting ready to drop him off at her place. When he realized there was nowhere to go, nowhere to take him, it knocked the life out of him just like your shows did tonight.

“Once you find something to fill the space,” you’d told him, “things get a lot easier to manage.”

And it was true. That was the first weekend he called you to come spend the day with Jack, and your time together patched some of the holes.

He squeezes you to him. “Do you want to find something to watch together? We can start a new show or maybe movie nights with Jack? Maybe with Will, JJ, and Henry? What do you think?”

You give him a watery smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

+++

Andy Swan is a trip and a half, and you find yourself liking her a little more than you thought you would. She and Aaron have a great deal of history, and you enjoy the way they give each other a hard time - pushing and pulling for control of a stressful investigation. They’re different, but highly complementary in their leadership.

It almost reminds you of your relationship with Derek - mutual respect in droves, but a supreme lack of patience, and a little more good humor than is actually necessary.

It’s only when the case is over that shit hits the fan.

You’re all in the conference room following the successful completion of the case. Doyle, of course, has been on your minds since Emily’s death, and you spend at least fifteen hours a week maintaining the not-so-sanctioned investigation into his whereabouts.

But this wasn’t about Doyle.

“I’ve been assigned to a joint task force in Pakistan for an indefinite amount of time.”

The news knocks the breath out of you, and your eyes flicker around the table. Everyone is just as shocked as you are, though you’d like to imagine the short-circuit you’re experiencing is all your own.

“What do you mean?” The question leaves your lips before you can stop it, and Hotch’s brown eyes meet yours. There’s an apology in them.

“Tomorrow, I leave for Pakistan. I’m not sure how long I will be gone. Derek will take over as Acting Unit Chief in the meantime.”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “You’re kidding.”

“You carried off the job very well last year, and I have no doubt you will have the same amount of success in my absence.”

Derek looks like he wants to speak again, but refrains.

“I understand this is less than convenient. You’ll all have the declassified brief in your inboxes by the end of the day today with more information about the transition. You’re all dismissed for the day.” With a final nod, he walks out of the conference room, leaving you all slack-jawed and more than a little confused.

JJ’s eyes meet yours, and you shrug. You ask, “Has he said anything about this to you?”

“I’ve heard approximately nothing about it,” she replies, peering down the hall.

Goddamn you, Hotchner.

He’s packing up his briefcase when you pass his office. You don’t stop, sitting down at your desk. You’re surprised frost doesn’t rise from the ground at your feet.

There’s a moment where he stops at your desk on the way out of the bullpen, but you just stare at him. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it. After a moment, he finally says, “Jack is with Jessica tonight.”

You have no idea what your face looks like, but it’s enough to drop his shoulders and send him on his way, defeated.

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @micaiahmoonheart @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass @marvels-agents100 @newtslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @sebbybaby0 @lilsiswinchester @pan-pride-12 @hotchlinebling @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @emmice9 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @writerxinthedark @mrshotchnerrossimulder21 @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss @songbird400 @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @a-dorky-book-keeper @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @forgottenword @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @garcia-reid-lovechild

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

#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 writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 4 years

Text

Ignorance is Blitzed (Part One)

When you come into contact with some substance that makes you sick while on a routine building search, Ron realizes he may not be as emotionally detached as he’d thought initally thought. WARNINGS: you get poisoned and feel pretty shit, there are some potty words, but all in all pretty tame (FOR NOW).

This will probably be at least a two part-er, so let a sister know if you want to be tagged(?)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You’d barely had a chance to get out of the building you’d been searching before you coughed so violently you fell to your knees, a horrible gasping sound tearing its way out of your throat before you even have a chance to scream for a medic.

You were dying. You had to be dying.

You’d found an ivory crushed tablet at the bottom of a footlocker you’d found inside of the bombed out general store the Nazi’s had been using as sleeping barracks, and instantly pinched some of it between your fingers for closer inspection, rubbing the chalky dust between your fingertips to see if it had the same texture as aspirin.

It wasn’t uncommon for one of you to find medications and other rations in footlockers and other personal items during an inventory search, and most of the time you could easily figure out what it was and whether or not it was something Doc or someone else might need.

But this tablet and it’s powder were unfamiliar (aspirin would’ve had a more obvious, sour odor that you would’ve clocked the minute you’d opened the footlocker’s lid), and when you brought it to your nose to sniff it more critically you instantly regretted it—the smell was chemical and harsh and it burned your nasal passage in a way you’d never experienced before. Your eyes had instantly watered and you’d exhaled sharply through your nostrils in a vain attempt to make the hurt go away.

The pain spread up your head and spiderwebbed into your brain. A bursting prickle of pain behind your eyes flared like a burning star, your face had begun feeling hot and your head was ringing.

It’s too hot in here, I have to get out of here so I can breathe.

You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes as you stumbled back out the way you had come, bumping heavily between the rough stone of the wall and your friends as you desperately tried to remember the way out.

You felt sick to your stomach as your skin breaks out into a cool sweat. Panic was setting in, with your ability to breath compromised as well as your hearing beginning to go white.

“Y/n?” you think you hear Martin calling your name through the fog that is taking residence in your ear canals, and something is trying to pull your hands from your eyes. “Hey kiddo, what’s wrong? What’d you find—?”

“DON’T!” You blurt, opening your eyes and wishing you hadn't when the room begins to spin. You see the light of the doorway over Bull’s shoulder-Bull? When did he get here?- and you close your eyes and forget everything else except for forward and outside and I can't breathe….

“Hey!” Someone (Luz?) growls as you shove the shape of him out of the way, and you don’t think you’re making sense but you’re talking all the same.

Stop talking, you need air!

When your knees hit the hard ground you barely have a chance to catch yourself on your hands before you dry heave so hard you can feel the ache of it in your ribs. Your heart is beating too fast and hard in your chest and if you could feel your hands you’d use them to tear some of your layers away because you’re boiling alive and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Fuck, what happened—WHAT HAPPENED?!”

With a great deal of effort you crack your eyes open again and spot Ron Speirs’ signature glare coming your way, shucking off his vest and bag without breaking stride as he neared. You’re aware of Martin and Bull by your sides, but you can’t seem to figure out what they’re saying.

Why is no one helping me? Can’t they see I’m dying?

“Don’t touch the tab- cough cough….the footlocker….!” you try again, tasting blood in your mouth after you released another hacking cough, and you’re dimly aware of Bull pulling your hat off of your head and sigh at the blissful chill of fresh air on your clammy skin.

“We got it, no one’s gonna touch it, y/n—” he murmurs somewhere to your left, and you think you nod in understanding but you can’t be sure/

“What’s happening?” Ron snapped, his rough hands grabbing your face and tilting it up so he could look at it. “Where does it hurt, y/n—?”

“I can’t breathe! It's so hard to breathe— Fuck, i think my brain is melting…”

“Your brain?” his voice is lower in volume now, yet your head still throbs as if he were shouting. Your head is thudding in time with your heartbeat, and you don't realize you’ve been crying until his thumbs brush away from the tears clouding your vision.

A tremble runs through your body and you squeeze your eyes shut as the world tilts from side to side unreliably.

His rough hands are abruptly snatched back, but you can’t open your eyes to keep track of where they have gone.

Suddenly, a set of arms hook under your knees and shoulders and you're lifted from the ground, your head reeling.

“Don’t!” she gasps as the person carrying her begins to quickly walk back the way you’d seen that Speirs had come from. “I’ll get sick on you—!“

“Then get sick on me. It’s not the worst thing to happen to this coat.” Ron says matter-of-factly, making his grip on you painfully tight as he begins barking orders at people around you.

“Ron—” you try again, but your body spasms in his arms as the pain in your head crests to new heights. “Oh, God, I think I’m dying—”

“Shut up.” He hisses, and you think you hear a stain of panic in his command. “Just shut up and try to stay awake”

You sob as you lean your head against his shoulder, your bones too big for your body and your skin aching.

The next time you blink Roe is suddenly there, and your mouth is so dry your tongue creaks as it moves in your mouth.

You’ve been set on a lumpy mattress somewhere and Ron, Nix, Bull, and Roe are standing around you and talking amongst each other too quickly for you to catch.

By some miracle you are able to shove Roe away from your side just in time to avoid your vomit as you lean over the side of the bed and throw up painfully onto the ground where his feet had just been.

Your head is so foggy now, and everything hurts so badly you wish that you would just die and be done with the whole thing.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up about that?” you hear Ron chide, and hands are smoothing your hair off of your face and neck with a gentleness you didn’t expect from someone so rough. “You heard the Doc, didn’t you?”

You shake your head because you honestly had no idea what Eugene may have said (because up until recently you hadn’t even known he’d been there), letting another set of hands push your shoulders back until you were laying on the mattress again.

You felt Roe rubbing at the skin inside of your elbow as he prepared some sort of injection, and you tried your best to hold still so he could find a vein.

“C’mon, y/n,” Nixon’s voice was far away, and in your delirium you could’ve sworn he sounded just like your dad. “I know it’s tough but try to stay still—”

Home, home, should’ve stayed home. Wouldn’t have died like this at home….

“It’s okay, darlin’” Roe mumbled, cursing in French as another spasm of trembling runs through you. “It’s gonna be over soon—”

Before you can even begin to panic about that promise, hands grab your face again and turn your head away from the doctor, and when you open your eyes all you can see is Ron.

“It’s not poison, you’re not dying, Y/n- look at me! Good, now just look at me and the Doc’ll give you something to make you feel better—”

Th poke of the needle makes you cry out like a baby, but rather than getting angry with you Ron just nods and makes a soft tsking sound under his breath.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

You watch those dark eyes of his harden as he shoots a look towards Roe. “How long till that shit kicks in—?”

“Seconds. It may not knock her out, but she should start feeling better right away—”

Speirs didn’t bother waiting for the man to finish before looking back down at you and softening his gaze once more.

He must be scared, he wouldn’t be acting like this in front of other people if he wasn’t scared i might not make it.

Whatever Roe had injected you with was cold in your veins, blissfully cold, and you could feel it turning your spasming limbs to lead with each slowing thud of your heart.

Taking what had to be the first deep breath you’d taken in hours, you watch as Ron nods and makes a point to sync your breathing, his breath cool of your damp face as he exhales with you.

“Good, good. That’s good, sweetheart….”

Your eyes lose their ability to focus, eyelids now too heavy to keep open.

But the idea of letting them close and going to sleep filled you with dread, and even though you couldn’t articulate your concern Ron seemed to read your mind and you felt his lips at the shel of your ear.

“I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise you that you’ll be okay, okay?”

You weren’t sure if he was saying it more to you or to himself or to the other men in the room, but you nodded all the same.

A cool cloth is wiped across your brow and you feel yourself sinking into whatever medicated slumber Roe has concocted for you.

“What the fuck is Pervitin and what the hell was it doing in an SS footlocker?”

Bull’s voice sounds like it’s underwater, and the harder you try to listen and see what the answer is, you quicker you slip into the cool and inviting darkness that curled around the edges of your mind.

I could rest, you think with resigned exhaustion as you let yourself fall from consciousness. It’s been so long since I’ve rested….

The weight of Ron’s hand on your cheek was the last thing holding you to the world, and when that slipped away you followed suit.

And nothing hurt anymore.

******IMPORTANT HISTORICAL CONTEXT:

After discovering boxes of tablets labeled Pervitin on a downed German supply plane (if i remember this correctly), the Allies realized that the Axis countries had developed a performance enhancing drug that would: 1. Keep soldiers awake and active for days at a time without needing sleep/food, 2. Increased aggression and confidence in battle, and 3. Kept soldiers from slipping into ‘shell shock’.

BIG PROBLEM THOUGH, BC PERVITIN IS LITERALLY JUST METH. REALLY REALLY PURE AND CONCENTRATED METH (which is BAD!)!

So, the Allies said to themselves: “Self, self here. Listen- what if we came up with our own Pervitin for our soldiers so they too can be better/faster/stronger?”

So, the Allies came up with Benzedrine- WHICH IS ALSO METH AND STILL VV BAD FOR YOU!

In this story, reader stumbles across some accidentally and unknowingly ends up ingesting it and you get vv sick (which is also a thing that happens to ppl who accidentally inhale amphetamines). Bc I’m a nerd I looked it up that nowadays you’d probably be given some sort of Benzodiazepine/nourishing fluids cocktail to counteract the side effects, so we’re gonna pretend that’s what the cure is in the 40s MKAY? MKAY.

(also tagging @mrsalwayswrite bc rumor has it they also have a soft spot for our dashing murder prince with nice hair and death in his eyes)

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #ron speirs x reader #ronald speirs x reader #it's vv bad but I'll just add it to the pile of already burning garbage pile that is my bibliography #Also sorry for the word play I've been hanging out with my dad too much

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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

Text

The Mystic Garden: Sowing

Chapters: 1/5

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG

Warnings: death

Characters: Loki(Marvel)

Additional Tags: Infinity War Doesn’t Exist, Everybody Lives, Mutants Exist In The MCU, The Reparations Of Loki Of Asgard

Summary: Despite S.H.I.E.L.D. becoming a smaller and more selective organization, Loki still finds himself assigned to them upon Asgard's arrival on Earth. Required to perform a kind of specialized community service, Loki is paired up with another outcast, of a kind he is not familiar with: A mutant named Iris.

Loki of Asgard was a very beautiful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very powerful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very dangerous man.

And that was about all that anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. could agree on about Loki of Asgard.

To some, he was an asshole. To others, perfectly charming. To yet more, he was polite, but distant. Funny. Serious. Sarcastic. Aloof. Morbid. Morose. Intimidating. Shy. Threatening. Angry. Flirty. Each person Iris asked described him in a different way.

To Iris, he was a looming presence, staring her down with searing intensity. Her shiny, brand new partner. Joy.

“So you're the unfortunate one.” He grumbled. “Winner of the worst lottery this organization has ever thrown.”

“I'm Iris Devereaux.” She said, holding out her hand. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

He glanced at her hand with a sneer. “No you aren't.”

“Beg pardon?”

“No one is pleased to meet me.”

“Oh. Well. Here's the thing: you don't decide that for me.”

He raised one perfect eyebrow, tilting his head back.

“I don't tolerate men telling me what I do and don't think or feel. Only I can know that. Now, you gonna shake my hand or not, Mister 'of Asgard'?”

Loki harrumphed. “As you demand, Miss 'of the Riverbank'.”

“What?” Iris took his hand and gave it a firm shake. He allowed it, but drew his hand back the instant she released it.

“Your surname. It means 'riverbank'. Didn't you know? Named after a goddess, and yet you seem to have lived humbly.”

“I'm named after a flower.” Iris corrected.

“The flower was named after the goddess.” He re-corrected. “The personification of the rainbow, a messenger of the gods. She who waters the clouds with her ocean-filled pitcher, flying on glowing, golden wings to carry the pleas of mankind to the gods they prayed to. As she connected the sea and the sky, her rainbows connected mankind to the gods. Just as our Bifrost connected Asgard to Midgard with the beauty and magnificence of the rainbow.”

“Oh, please.” Another agent groaned from their nearby work station. Loki glared.

“Well, that's...informative.” Iris said. Was this what Loki was like? Standoffish, unless given something to talk about? He was certainly well-spoken. “I'm pretty sure my parents just had the flower in mind though.”

“A delicate goddess, an ephemeral rainbow, or a nodding blossom on the riverbank: it all paints a pretty picture, does it not?” He asked.

Iris narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

“I wonder.” Loki said.

“Will you two just go get some coffee or something?” the other agent snapped. “I've got to finish this by ten hundred.”

“Fine, jeez, keep your vest on.” Iris said. Loki glared once again. “C'mon, there's a thousand break rooms on this old boat. We can take one over for ourselves.”

*****

“Who was that cur?” Loki demanded as Iris programmed the coffee machine for two cups. “Who does he think he is talking to? I am still a prince of Asgard, and a god! No pencil-pushing desk monkey speaks to me that way!”

“Hey, cool your chops.” Iris said, getting the mugs. “The pencil-pushing desk monkeys keep this whole show running. Who do you think runs this boat? Where does our intel come from? Who finds out if it's any good or not? Who does the budgets, communication, tech, cleanup, triage, programming, and supplies? The heroes get the fame, sure, but we're ultimately expendable. These guys own this shindig. Do you like caramel?”

“I...might?” He said, and Iris added a squirt of syrup to each steaming mug, then handed him his. “And you might be expendable, but I most certainly am not.”

“Cheers, bro. I'll drink to that.” Iris raised her mug in his direction and took a long gulp of fresh, caramel coffee. Oh boy, this was gonna be fun.

Loki seemed perplexed, either by the flavor of the coffee, or her casual acceptance of his declaration.

“Not that it will come to that.” He backtracked. “As my partner, you will have the advantage of my protection.”

“Joy. So, your highness, what's landed you here? You aren't exactly known as a friend to mankind. Why join S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

He harrumphed as Iris took another long pull from her mug. “You say 'join' as if I was given a choice. This is penance, nothing more. It was decided when Asgard had to relocate here, that I would work for a 'humanitarian' organization. Save lives equal to those whose deaths I was responsible for. Work towards paying off the cost it took to rebuild. And so I perform the Reparations of Loki of Asgard, defending this realm from itself. Once I have accomplished this, I will leave.”

“Mhm. And how far have you gotten?”

“It's only been a few months.” He huffed. “So not nearly as far as I'd like. How did they lure you in?”

Iris shrugged. “Job's a job. This one is steady, has good benefits, and it certainly keeps me engaged. It's no daily grind, that's for sure.”

“But with your power, could you not be a leader of some sort, rather than in a subservient 'expendable' position?”

“Ah. You've read my file.”

“Of course I did. As I assume you've read mine. Prying things. Why do they need so many personal details? But yes. It mentioned that you have an unusual power, beyond others of your type? Why are you not in charge?”

“Hoo boy.” Iris took a seat across from him. “You don't know much about human social structure, do you?”

Loki frowned. “It was never supposed to matter.”

“Well, it matters now. And it's mattered to me my whole life, because I can't just run off home to fairy tale land, so it looks like we both have no choice but to deal with it. You know what a mutant is?”

“I know what the word means, but I don't know how it applies to you.” Loki said, perplexed. “You look like any other human to me, so I assume it is something internal?”

Now it was Iris' turn to harrumph. “Well, you look like any other Asgardian to me, so I guess we've both got something going on under our skin, don't we? Tell you what: you explain to me what a 'frost giant' is, and I'll explain what a 'mutant' is in this context.”

“And if I refuse?” Loki sneered.

“Then I do too.” Iris said simply.

Loki stared at her across the table, the intensity of his gaze as hot as the coffee, and Iris tried her best to pretend to be unaffected by it. It wasn't that he wasn't intimidating, but an unfortunate lifetime of bigotry and constant background danger had given her a skin as thick as wood. Well, her mutation had done that as well.

“I can do this all day.” He warned.

“Alright.” Iris shrugged.

A few very awkward minutes passed, a silence spent sipping coffee, until her supervisor, Chris Timmitz, interrupted.

“Iris! Loki. There you are! I've been looking for you two. Lucky to find you in the same place, you've got a job coming up.”

“Oh yeah? Lay it on me boss.” Iris said. Loki grimaced.

“We think we've got another possible HYDRA shelter, kinda out in the open this time. We need more intel. That's where you come in.”

“It's located next to a forest, isn't it?”

“A meadow, actually.” He said a bit sheepishly. “We need you to, uh, plant some bugs on the property.”

“Ha ha.” Iris said flat-voiced.

“Aw c'mon, I didn't come up with the terminology.”

“Was that some kind of insult?” Loki asked darkly. “Do you degrade your employees?”

“Well, it wasn't meant to be.” Chris explained. “It's not my fault the language is what it is. And what about you? Iris may act tough, but she's really sweet and sensitive, so you'd better act right-”

“Or what?” Loki challenged.

“Chris. Cut it out. We don't have to be chummy, we just have to get the job done.” Iris said. “So give us the details.”

“Right, right. We're starting Tuesday. It seems to be when the fewest people are there...”

****

Iris crawled through the tall grass of the meadow, the plants moving naturally around her, so as to not alert her enemies that she was there. The shelter was an old schoolhouse apparently, that HYDRA agents had taken over, ostensibly to restore the historical building and turn it into a museum...all the while sheltering their agents from the law, and pushing revisionist history in an effort to spread their doctrine through yet another small town. They had done this so many times before, changing the narrative, changing the perceptions of the people.

HYDRA had many heads. It was the symbolism of the thing. Some of those heads infiltrated governments, and worked to influence world policy. Other heads overran small towns, influencing the vote, which served to make the jobs of the others easier.

Some people in S.H.I.E.L.D. likened them to a virus to be quarantined, cut out, and destroyed. Iris saw them as a sickness to be cured. Anyone could change their minds, given reason. The trick was to find the reason. That wasn't her job, and she didn't think she'd be good at it, but she knew that there were anti-radicalization support groups popping up here and there now, and no wonder, with the state of the current administration. Iris knew HYDRA must have gotten their voice very well entrenched into the government.

But Iris was more directly concerned with these little heads, with blocking their progress, slowing them down, and just generally inconveniencing them.

She'd gotten the usual stares and glares, upon entering the little town, but it was hard to tell if it was HYDRAs influence, or just typical American small town prejudice when faced with a dark-skinned stranger. Either way, she wouldn't want to live here.

She settled down in the grass, stretched out on her belly, and the sod began to part beneath her. Loki, who had simply made himself invisible with his alien magics, and crept along beside her, was clearly capable of sneaking with the best of them. He barely displaced a blade of grass. He crouched down beside her.

“We are stopping here?” He whispered. “How shall you place your devices? Will you throw them?”

“No, My aim isn't that good.” Iris said, ignoring his smug “Mine is.”, and beginning to sink into the newly exposed soil.

“Uh...Miss Devereaux...are you aware that the earth appears to be swallowing you?”

“Don't worry about it, it's fine.” She wriggled her feet out of her flimsy sandals and into the dirt. She was positioned to just be able to see the old schoolhouse over the edge of the trough that had been excavated beneath her. That was all she needed.

“Certainly. Nothing out of the ordinary here.”

“You're one to talk. Hand me the bugs.”

There were only three of them: tiny things, no larger than the creatures they were named after. Iris took them, then tore a packet of seeds open with her teeth, pouring the contents into her hands.

“This is going to take me a pretty long time. Couple of days, probably. What I'm going to need the most from you is tending. Every hour, give me something to drink. Every four hours, give me something to eat. Make sure no one sweeps through here with a lawn mower or a fire. I'm not going to be able to move, and will likely be in something of a trance. Sorry I won't be better company.”

“That's a lot of orders coming from one little human.” Loki grumbled.

“My life is in your hands.”

“That's...a bit better.”

She pressed her hand against the earth in front of her, and concentrated.

For some minutes it didn't appear to Loki that anything was happening at all. Then the first of the thin, white roots began squirming out from between her fingers, roping around her hand.

Loki stretched out in the tall grass next to her as the roots slowly formed a ragged, grasping ball of pale worms against her chestnut skin. He remained silent for hours alongside her, dutifully holding a small bottle of water to her lips every hour or so. As she had said earlier, Iris lay very still, and very trance-like, drinking without acknowledging that she even knew he was there.

“Hmmm.” He whispered. “I hate being ignored, you know. I wonder if you can even hear me? Could you explain what it is that you are doing, or are you so far away that you cannot even answer? What would happen if I touched you right now, Goddess-Flower of the Riverbank? Would I break your concentration? Would you even notice?”

He opened one of the little ration packs, half of which were specifically labeled with Iris' name. Within were little brown cubes that smelled deeply unappetizing to Loki, formed from a slurry of many mysterious ingredients.

“A special recipe, just for you? S.H.I.E.L.D. must value you more highly than you have previously stated. Here you go, Bright Blossom.” He held the little cube to Iris' lips, which parted automatically to accept the cube. “And so I have become no more than a nutrient dispensary. How far I have fallen.”

He fed her the cubes, one by one. Every brush of her petal-velvet lips against his fingers tempted him to push them into her mouth, a temptation that brought a chuckle to his own lips. There were only so many games he would be allowed to play, before S.H.I.E.L.D. kicked him out entirely. He wasn't attached to S.H.I.E.L.D., or anyone within the organization, but working for them kept him active, kept him relevant, kept him engaged, and most importantly, kept him out of prison. Community service was infuriating, but he had experienced the soul-crushing torment of solitary confinement, and this was much preferable.

A cold, uncomfortable cell? Or laying in the grass on a warm, sunny day, hand-feeding a pretty girl?

He was very tempted to lay his hand on the small of her back, where her uniform had ridden up just enough to show a strip of glistening skin, but it wouldn't have the proper punch with Iris in this deep trance. Without reaction, there was no fun.

The roots winding their way up her arms were somewhat unsettling. Was this what her file had meant when it noted that she was a 'mutant'? That she could cause plants to sprout? Could other humans do that?

Hours later, when the sun had set, and the roots had wriggled into the soil all around her, and crawled their way up to her shoulders, Iris stirred.

“Mph. Man, I'm sore.” She complained.

“Ah, welcome back. There is a powerful desire I need you to fulfill.”

“Not on company time. There's trees over there, go behind them and, uh, work it out? Also, for next time, I really don't need to know.”

“You flatter yourself, or you underestimate me. What I want, is for you to explain what you are doing. Are you making those plants grow?”

“Oh. Yeah, basically. You read my file; you know I'm a mutant.”

“Yes, but I do not know the significance of the term.” Loki admitted. “Is it this? This magic you wield?”

“It's not magic, it's just...it's genetic. I was born this way. At first it was just little things. Gardens grew better wherever I went, I didn't get hungry as much when there was sunlight, I didn't need to drink as much as long as there was water on the ground. I grew up in a way rural community tucked away in the Everglades. We were real poor, so being outside and having wet and muddy feet was just normal for all the kids.

As I got older, the signs got more obvious. I can do things that plants can do. I can direct their growth, and I sorta...change with the seasons, depending on where I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eh, stick around long enough and you'll see. Anyway, people aren't too fond of mutants, and it got...tough. To live at home, I mean. So I went out into the wild, and I did pretty well there, but S.H.I.E.L.D. found me and offered me something else. Not every mutant is like me. There's a lot of different ways to be a mutant, it's unpredictable. Some folks can fly, others can turn their bodies into metal, and some can heal wounds to their body in seconds. I manipulate plants, and am, in some ways, like them.”

“I see. And you are causing these plants to grow for what purpose?”

“Spying purposes. It's gonna take a few days, but these vines will tunnel through the ground, all the way up to the school house. When they break ground, I'll send one of them up that tree there, another one around the frame of that window there, and the third down the chimney. You saw those little devices? They're holding those in packets of leaves, and will position them so that they remain hidden, but they consist of audio, video, and heat signature recorders. Once I've gotten them in place, we'll leave. That's all this mission is; bugs on plants.”

“Then why am I here?” He wondered. “You seem to have this well in hand.”

“Someone's gotta feed me. And make sure I don't get found out. There's rumors you can make magic illusions. That's probably why. You can hide us both from any eyes or cameras.”

“And I have.” Loki said proudly. “And fed and...watered you, Little Blossom. What else do you need from me?”

“To do it all again tomorrow.” Iris said. Then she dropped her head into the nest of roots, and settled down to sleep.

*****

Iris was awake and in her trance just as the first light of dawn kissed the horizon. Loki had been awake even before that, every swish of grass or crackle of leaves grabbing his attention.

“Rest.” He commanded her. “I have not the need of it that you do. Never forget: I am no weak mortal. You require a large amount of sleep, but I am all the greater.”

Iris had snorted at the bravado, but accepted the cubes he fed her, and fell into her trance, the roots curling further and further around her body.

Loki idly wondered how far the roots would go. Would they cocoon Iris entirely, prompting her to 'hatch' into a new form? Would they drag her down into the earth, entombing her away from Loki forever? Or would they just die back?

He watched people come and go to the old schoolhouse, working on its restoration. They looked for all the world like normal workers; he didn't even believe any of them to be armed. Not all HYDRA agents were combatants, after all. Just as many of them were spies, thieves, politicians, PR specialists and spin doctors.

Ever since what the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents called 'The Big Reveal', both organizations had been frantically rebuilding. S.H.I.E.L.D. more slowly, taking only the best, only the most trustworthy. Loki supposed he should be proud, even though he knew he was only there as a glorified prisoner.

HYDRA's recruits seemed to be skyrocketing, as they took to the internet in search of easily radicalized young men-mostly men, and boys-to bolster their numbers. They found plenty of them, and quickly, but they were sloppy and unpredictable. All too often, one let their ego overcome their loyalty to the cause, an event that almost always led to public confrontation and violence. But the news media-already infiltrated, most likely-was always quick to exonerate or sympathize with a young white man.

HYDRA disgusted Loki, even back when he had 'convinced' a small cell to work with him. No one group knew what the others were doing. There was a severe lack of communication between cells. Yes, Loki supposed it kept them safe from discovery, but he found it inefficient. A waste of potential by people more invested in the pageantry of a secret society, than by the end goal they hoped to achieve.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was little better, in his opinion, but at least its people were more serious about their work. Communication was more open, their goals more achievable. It felt like they made a difference, whether they really did or not. And they didn't waste potential. HYDRA would simply kill someone like Iris, S.H.I.E.L.D. found her valuable enough to spend resources on her. Under Loki's regime, had he succeeded, Iris, and all people like her, would have been of personal interest to him. All of these so-called 'mutants' would have been given places of high honor. Loki did not waste potential.

But that wasn't worth spending more time dwelling on. It was never meant to happen in the first place. When and where he would rule was yet to be discovered, but it would not happen until he was finished with his penance.

He provided Iris with her water, barely able to see her under all the roots. It was no wonder that she could not go into the field without a partner; she could not be ready for combat, couldn't even eat on her own! If they had to run, was he just supposed to tear her from the root wrapping and toss her over his shoulder? Would disconnecting her like that cause her harm?

He would have to ask next time she woke.

A young man approached, wielding an unfamiliar device. Loki was immediately on high alert. Was that some kind of weapon? He wandered all the way up to the verge of the grasses, gazing placidly out over the meadow. This was a HYDRA agent? He was barely out of adolescence! But from what Loki remembered of his brothers youthful declarations of hatred towards the Jotunn, radicalization did indeed start young.

“Naw, I think it must have been a glitch.” He said into his lapel. “There's nothing out here, not even trails in the grass.” He paused, listening. “Naw. Maybe it was a coyote? There's plenty of wild animals that wander around out here. My bro swears he saw a puma last year. Anyway, I'm gonna trim the grass, since I'm here anyway. If you're really worried, come out and check your cameras. I ain't gonna do it for you.”

With that, the young man yanked a long string, attached to a pod on the device, causing the thing to roar to life. Its loud snarl effectively covered Loki's startled gasp, his invisible eyes wide at the noise and the fact that everything within a six inch radius of the device's head was shredded and flung in all directions.

He had to maintain the illusion. But Iris was right in the horrible things' path. It would rip right into her face.

Unacceptable.

Loki rolled over on top of her, covering her body, roots and all, with his own. He ducked his head just as the device passed by. The force was like a high speed whip, tearing at his hair. It would have lacerated his scalp, possibly to the bone, had he been human. It would have certainly injured Iris, whom he kept safely tucked under his body, protected by his armor and tough, godly flesh.

The young man made a few more passes, working his way down the edge of the meadow, leaving Loki with a stinging scalp from his impromptu haircut, eventually leaving after finishing a rough, sub-par job.

Loki kept still, concentrating on maintaining the illusion, now including fresh cut grass. He feared it had wavered under the assault he had suffered, but the young man hadn't seemed to notice. Hours passed with no movement from Loki, just watching as various people came and went, doing their jobs. Eventually they all trickled away.

The sun had grown low in the sky before Loki felt Iris stir.

“Um. Loki? What are you doing? Did something happen?” Iris asked, her voice muffled by his body.

“Pardon me.” He rolled back into the grass as Iris shook her face free of the grasping roots. “Some boy came through here with a horrible device that tore up the grasses. It was necessary to cover you.”

Iris sniffed the air. “Someone cut the grass. Geez, did he hit you? Your hair!”

“Is it bad?” He asked, then covered his vanity. “It doesn't matter. I made good on my word. Here, eat.” He held food to her mouth. It would be almost too bad when this was over. Feeding her was so easy, so satisfying, and his hair would grow back anyway. If only all missions could be this easy.

Iris ate, watching the sunset, Loki laying on his side in the grass next to her, just watching her. Roots and shredded grass decorated her body, cube after cube passing her lips.

“Miss Devereaux, how will you remove yourself from those roots? If I must tear them, will it hurt you?”

Iris shook her head. “No, the roots aren't attached to me. If we pull this off without a hitch, I'll direct them into the soil. But if we have to get out in a hurry, you can tear them; it won't hurt me.”

“That's good to know.” Loki rolled onto his back, hands behind his head. “There is much still to learn about this realm. What is this that you are eating?”

“You sure you wanna know?” She asked.

“I am suddenly less curious, now that you have said that.” He admitted. “They do smell incredibly unappealing.”

“It's fertilizer, essentially. Fish emulsion and seaweed, blood and bone meal, fermented vegetables, all mashed together. Sounds super gross, I know,” She said at his disgusted expression. “But it's really good for me. My body absorbs it so efficiently that there isn't even any waste. Like roots inside me that absorb everything.”

“Are there? Roots inside you, I mean.”

“Sometimes.” Iris said quietly. “Maybe.”

“It bothers you? I see. It removes you from humanity. Sets you apart. And yet, you think that makes you inferior, rather than the other way around?”

“I'm not better than anybody else.” Iris said.

“You think not? Is there anyone else in this world who can do what you can do? How many people have your S.H.I.E.L.D. actively recruited? They came to find you specifically, why would they do that? Because you were completely average? You are a valued agent of a semi-clandestine organization bent on world improvement. You have been partnered to a god. You are above-average, Iris. Why is that difficult to accept?”

“Are you 'above average' in Asgard, Loki? Have you always been celebrated for it?”

“Mostly.”

“I haven't. I've been despised. I've been misunderstood. I've been coddled and hidden away by my parents in an attempt to protect me. I've been discriminated against by strangers, and teachers, and employers, and neighbors whose kids I grew up with. By those same kids.

I walked out into the wild one day, and didn't come back. I never planned on coming back, never planned on seeing another person ever again. But S.H.I.E.L.D. weren't the first to find me. There were two others. There was a man, a strange old man who could fly. He floated down from the sky, and told me that as a mutant, I was naturally superior to all other humans. He wanted me to come with him, said he was building some grand future for mutantkind, as if we were a different species.”

“Who was this man?” Loki asked, intrigued.

“No idea. I told him to leave. It wasn't long after I had left home, and I really didn't want to go back to any kind of civilization. I was kinda fantasizing about becoming some kind of cryptid, you know? The Everglades Swamp Witch, or something like that.

Then the botanists came. A whole group of them, trying to catalog Ghost Orchids. They're endangered, and people keep stealing them, and wrecking up their habitat. But I knew where they were. All two thousand of them. And I convinced them that I was in contact with all the remaining plants, so if any went missing after their expedition, I'd know, and come hunting for them.”

She grinned. “Like I said, Swamp Witch vibes. They even believed me!”

“So you cannot actually do that?” Loki asked. The stars had come out, forming unfamiliar shapes in the night sky. His eyes could pick out fainter lights than a humans could, and he admired the active beauty of this part of the universe while eating from one of the non-specialty ration packs.

“Well, I can, but not automatically. And not that far away. I have to be closer to a plant to really sense it, and I have to be trying really hard. Like, if I wanted to figure out where the nearest maple tree was, I would have to concentrate on that, and block out all the grass. But a maple has a different...I guess you could call it a signature? A different signature than grass does. A Ghost Orchid grows on trees, and is basically just a ball of roots when it's not blooming. Kinda like this-” Iris nodded at the roots tangled around her. “But way smaller. It looks like nothing, almost. They're very hard to spot. But they have that different signature than the tree they grow on, and I can follow that to where they are.”

“So you found all their plants, as if by magic.”

“Yeah, and they paid me pretty well for it, and I sent the money home to my parents, and then the botanists went home and blabbed. Next thing I know. S.H.I.E.L.D. is on my tail.”

“Because you were friendly to botanists?”

“Well...I might have also...sabotaged a development project.” Iris said sheepishly. “But it was right on the edge of the National Park, and I didn't let anybody get hurt! And I'm pretty sure it was dubiously legal anyway.”

The edges of Loki's mouth curled, even as his eyebrows lifted.

“What's this? You're 'shy and sensitive' I was told. Was I sold a bill of goods? Are you, in fact, a naughty little mutant?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Ugh, don't joke. Naughty little mutants end up dead.”

The amusement drained from his face.

“You would be celebrated in Asgard.” He said.

“We aren't in Asgard.” She answered. “The only thing that matters is where we are now. Those guys in there? They'd kill us both just for being born. They'd make it so that no one like us could ever be born again. When S.H.I.E.L.D showed up, in their black uniforms and started introducing themselves as 'agents', I thought that's what they had come for. The government was there to kill me.

At that point, I'd been off the grid for over a year, and I didn't know anything about the S.H.I.E.L.D./HYDRA internet explosion. But when they started talking about rebuilding as a humanitarian organization, dedicated to the protection of people-marginalized people-from, like, terrorist groups and hostile aliens, I realized they weren't there to kill me or arrest me, they were just there for me.

So I didn't make them disappear, and went with them instead. I still send money home to my parents. They don't know where I am, or what I do. They don't know the true extent of my capabilities. I'm not sure I do either. The thing about being a mutant is that a lot of these powers don't get replicated exactly, so we each have to figure ourselves out. There's no training regimen or curriculum for this.”

“So all of this is self taught?” Loki asked, impressed. “I'm not even entirely self taught.”

“You were taught? This all didn't just come from being a god or whatever?”

“No, of course not. The power is there naturally, but it needs directing. Like you, I suppose. You're born with it, but need teaching to use it. I had the best teachers the universe could offer, and was exalted and encouraged. You had only yourself, and adversity. I've seen but little of you, but this seems a great feat so far.”

“A compliment?”

“An acknowledgment. It's good to know S.H.I.E.L.D. has become more discerning in its recruitment. I hear it was more than a little disastrous for them last time.”

“Like I said, I didn't find out about that until after. Though, I guess it's not all that surprising that it happened. There's a lot that can go wrong inside an organization that big, and with that much reach. There's just too much going on; there can never be enough oversight.”

“I know.” Loki said. “I used that against them when I attempted to bring down the planet. Somehow, they still didn't notice the traitors among them.”

“You worked with HYDRA?” Iris asked defensively.

“No.” Loki said. “I used them. I didn't...make many distinctions then, in my interactions with mortals.”

“Kinda seems like you still don't.” Iris pointed out. Loki took a breath and hesitated.

“Moreso than I did then.” He said slowly. “Then, you were just tools. A means to an end. Disposable. Interchangeable. There are so many of you, so it wasn't like any of your could actually be important.”

“Right up until barely six of us beat the tar out of you and blew up your entire army?”

Loki scowled. “That is a misstatement. The plan was always to lose.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“No, I'm serious. Earth was the weakest link in the Nine Realms, and it needed to be awakened. And you were. Spectacularly. Look what it's lead to. S.H.I.E.L.D. was purged, HYDRA exposed, and your world made ready for the arrival of Asgard. You've been opened to higher interactions, as a progressing member of the Realms.”

“Uh huh. That was totally the end goal, right? Inter-species altruism? That was what filled your heart while you blew people up?”

“Norns, no!” Loki snorted. “I hated every last one of you. I took a special delight in destroying that which was weaker than myself, never think I didn't. It's just...It wasn't entirely up to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...I mean that losing was an act of defiance that sparked off the strengthening defense of Midgard, which I continue to participate in. Doing small jobs for S.H.I.E.L.D., rubbing out the likes of HYDRA and A.I.M., all of this contributes to this strengthening.”

Iris regarded him suspiciously through her framework of roots.

“You sound like you're running some sinister, behind-the-scenes shadow plan.” She accused. “You wanna explain?”

Loki smiled, a wan, false thing.

“Do you want some water?” He offered instead.

Iris rolled her eyes. “You're not gonna distract me.”

“And I am not going to elaborate further. Your curiosity will have to remain unsatisfied, or supplemented by your own imagination.”

“Hmph. Why'd you even bring it up then?”

“I? I think you'll find our conversation naturally meandered in this direction. That does not mean it must come to the conclusion you desire.”

“So this is what Abby meant when she said you were a pain in the ass to talk to.” Iris grumbled.

“I was not put here to satisfy Abby.” Loki said airily. “Who is Abby?”

“She asked you on a date.” Iris said. “You don't even remember her? Harsh.”

Loki shrugged. “She sounds frightfully dull. I may have to play nice for now, but I needn't entertain every persons sordid fantasies. Do you leap through every hoop set before you? Or do you also tell unimportant people that you aren't interested in entertaining them?”

“All right, that's fair.” Iris craned her head back to look up at the stars. “Which one is Asgard? Can you see it from here?”

“You can't.” Loki said. “The star is too far away, too small. And it doesn't matter now anyway. Home is gone, and we must rebuild from scratch. But that one, right there-do you see? Another realm orbits that one, the Frozen Realm of Jotunheim. They were our enemies once, and yours, but no more. Partly because they are under 'house arrest' as it were, trapped on their own planet. My father drove them off your planet over a thousand years ago. Your world actually warmed up without their influence, at least for a little while.”

“There were aliens here a thousand years ago?” Iris asked, incredulous.

“There have been 'aliens' here for ages.” Loki said. “Visitations and experiments, and failed colonies, and raids. Your ancestors were still getting the hang of fire, and there were 'aliens' visiting your lush and beautiful world. Making plans. Then your lot discovered agriculture and metal, and ruined a lot of those plans.”

“Seems like we're good at that.”

“Yes, yes, I was defeated by mortals. I am aware. I was the first to know.” Loki grumbled.

“Wait, does that mean the aliens really did build the pyramids?” Iris wondered.

Loki snickered. “The hubris of humanity is not universally shared. You are known for several things, and your inexplicable drive for monument building is one of them. Visitors did not build your great buildings; you did. They did come to see them though, like tourists. Some of them even took artifacts back home with them. Hopefully they weren't too historically important.”

“That's so rude.” Iris said.

“And you would never have known to take offense if I hadn't told you.”

God of Mischief indeed.

“What other realms are there? Just the nine?”

“Eight now, I suppose. But no. There are many peoples out there. The Nine Realms were just those places that were somehow related to Asgard. Allies, protectorates and...penal colonies, you might call them. But all interconnected, and all at least a little dependent on the others, at least some of the time. That has come to an end. There is a very powerful spot now empty. I fear there will be a great deal of turmoil before things even themselves back out. It would be interesting to see how that all plays out, but alas, I am trapped here for now.”

“Where would you go?” Iris asked.

“Alfheim first, I think.” Loki said. “They like me there. They are much less dour than the Dverguar, less serious than the Vanir, not so boastful and bombastic as Asgardins, not vicious as Jotunn, and nowhere near as hectic and anxious as Midgardians...humans, I mean. They like jokes and pranks, and value magic...perhaps I should have been Alfar? If only I could have chosen.”

“Yeah, I think we all feel that way sometimes. But I guess even gods don't get that choice. Hey, how do gods work, anyway? I mean, I stopped believing in any all-powerful force a long time ago. About when the only answer anyone could really give me as to why God would make someone like me was that I was put here to test faith. My own, or other people's maybe. It made me sick. What kind of 'father' puts a burden like that on a little kid?”

Loki scoffed. “The first mistake that humans make is in thinking that anything can be all-powerful, all-knowing, or infallible. It is a ridiculous fantasy notion, immature and irresponsible. That kind of thinking can only lead to two things: complete disillusionment, or harm to the self or others. I am a god, because I have a singular connection to a certain aspect of the universe, as does my brother, but neither of us are any of those things. How boring, to be all-knowing! How banal, to be all-powerful. And I have known people who seemed to think they were infallible, and the amount of misery and suffering they caused is unspeakable.

No, gods were never supposed to be all that. Greater than others, yes, but omnipotent...no, that's only for people who are overcompensating I think.”

“What's that about a special connection to the universe?” Iris asked.

“The universe is ridiculously unstable. Did you know that? I believe it was a human that posited that reality destroys and remakes itself fairly often in the scheme of things, but by the nature of it, it's impossible to ever know if that's true. Because if reality is destroyed, so are you, and so, you would never know. And if reality rebuilds itself, then that is the only reality that exists, so you would never know.”

“Oh hell, I don't like that.”

“Well just don't think about it. In any case, this instability seems to be occasionally expressed through individuals of particularly resilient and long-lived species, by connecting them to certain random forces. For my brother, it is the natural occurrence of thunder and lightning, those two things being directly connected. For me, it is an expression of sophisticated behaviors. Those forces are ours to deploy and manipulate to our will, and we affect them in the world around us, even as they effect us.”

“So you're just born with it too, huh?”

“So it seems.”

Iris settled back down into her swaddling roots to sleep, leaving Loki to stare up at the stars. The grass-cutting human had mentioned cameras. Loki had shielded them from that kind of surveillance on the way in, just in case. They must be hidden somewhere out in the trees. Could Iris detect such things? Would it be worthwhile to disable any, if suspicion was already on them? Or would that merely draw even more suspicion?

Perhaps while Iris remained incapacitated, actions that might bring more enemies out should be avoided. She did not have his durable skin, after all, nor his speed or strength. But with her unusual and largely unexplained powers, he hesitated in thinking of her as weak. More like...a specialist.

He felt her stir, just as the sun was lifted into the sky, and he fed her her morning cubes. She settled into her work trance almost immediately. Perhaps she was put off by the previous nights conversation, and didn't want more of the same. Perhaps she simply wanted to finish this mission quickly. Surely she too found it boring to lay in the same spot for days.

He watched the people come and go about their work restoring the schoolhouse. How many of them were just regular workers, and how many were enemy agents? Impossible to tell by looking, especially if even the youth were involved.

The sun had not risen particularly high when he noticed a difference. The roots that wrapped Iris' body were thinning; as he watched, more and more broke away from the tangle to bury themselves in the dirt at her sides. It was like watching worms escaping danger.

Finally, Iris pulled her hands from the soil, and pushed free of the roots.

“Alright.” She said. “Bugs are in. Now it's time for us to bug out.”

In retrospect, Loki could admit that he had been too eager to leave. He simply didn't do well with long periods of inactivity. So when he walked into the trees surrounding the meadow, and found himself face to face with a shotgun-wielding hunter, he wasn't too embarrassed. No, what really made him kick himself was when the one behind them held Iris at gunpoint. How could he have let one of these yokels get behind him?

“Who the hell are you freaks?” The one in front demanded. Loki recognized him as the youth with the loud grass cutting device who had ruined his hair.

“Gaw, this one stinks!” The other one exclaimed. “Well what do ya expect? She looks like mud, of course she smells like it.”

“We were just out looking for a...private place, if you catch my drift.” Loki said smoothly, getting ready. “Nothing to get worried about. It's just such a nice day, and we couldn't help ourselves.”

“Gross.” The one behind Iris said.

“We don't want you degenerate types around here.” The one in front of Loki said. “Now hands up, freak. You're way too close.”

“To what, pray tell?” Loki said. Almost ready.

“Don't talk about it, dumbass!” The other one hissed.

“Look, let's just kill them, to be sure.” The one in front of Loki said. “World ain't gonna miss a few freaks. And then nobody knows, and we don't get in trouble.”

Loki lifted his hand in a gesture he knew humans considered to be rude. Both men fired their guns.

Neither of them saw the illusions of Loki and Iris fade away, sprawled as they were one the forest floor, bleeding from the bullet wounds they'd inflicted upon one another.

Several yards away, Loki took his hands from over Iris' ears, and approached the HYDRA recruits. One of them was still alive. Loki carefully wrapped his hand in a cloth he manifested from seemingly nowhere, and casually suffocated him.

He then led the horrified Iris back to their rented car, and got back onto the highway as quickly as he could.

The silence stretched on for several hours, Loki watching the road, Iris gazing out the window at the scenery.

“Why didn't we sneak off as soon as you put up those illusions?” She finally asked. “We were invisible. We could have just left.”

“They had seen us.” Loki said. “They could not be allowed to go and inform their superiors. If there was suspicion that we had been snooping around the school, the entire point of the mission would be moot. Besides, they were extremely rude.”

“Don't joke.” Iris said sharply. “You killed that man in cold blood.”

“I killed him on cold practicality.” Loki corrected. “He could not be allowed to live, and let others know that he and the other one hadn't actually accidentally shot one another. Once anyone had seen us, that had to be the end for them. It is understandable that you might not like that, which is why I would not ask you to participate. But if I am sent on a mission as a protector, then that is what I will do. These were men who wanted to kill you just for being born, remember?”

“They were radicalized. They could have been deradicalized.”

“And how do you propose we were to do that?”

Iris huffed. “Damnit.”

“Sometimes we aren't afforded the choices we would prefer. But don't fret. I will take full responsibility in the report. I know the Director isn't keen on too many work-related killings.” It was part of why Loki took such delight in reporting work-related killings. Just to remind them of who he was, and what he was capable of.

Once they had reached their destination and returned the rental car, Iris called their contact agent for extraction. She wasn't exactly distant, but with other things to focus on, and other people demanding their times, the closeness of the last two days was fading fast.

Oh well, Loki thought. It had been nice while it lasted. But nothing was forever, and all affection was fleeting; he knew that well enough.

But it was a little odd to see her so preoccupied with her phone.

“Have you a Tweety account, or some such?” He asked, trying to strike up a conversation once again.

“Since that doesn't exist: no.” She answered, distracted. “No, there's just...I'm seeing someone, and he wants to meet up as soon as I get back.”

Loki frowned. For some reason, he didn't like that sound of that. “You need rest, don't you?” He suggested.

“Yeah, and it's a little last minute, I admit. But he's an agent too, and our schedules don't match up very often, so we've got to meet when we can, or not at all.”

“That sounds like a difficult arrangement.”

Iris shrugged. “I'll take what I can get. At least he doesn't seem to mind the whole mutant thing. That's kinda important when you're in my shoes.”

“You do not sound entirely enamored of this man.” Loki probed.

“Well...I'd like to get to know him better, but he's very private. Mostly, I just don't want to be alone. It's hard for people like me, you know? I can't just throw a relationship away because it's not some perfect storybook romance. Gotta be more realistic than that. But I sure hope I get a few days rest before I get sent out again.”

It sounded...practical. She had to take her opportunities where she found them. It wasn't as if Loki had never been there. It was perhaps a little sad, since it sounded like she really did want that storybook romance.

Perhaps it was none of his business. It was absolutely none of his business. He followed her anyway, curious about what kind of man made this little flower bloom.

The man in question was not impressive, in Loki's opinion. Not much more than average. Maybe that didn't matter to Iris.

“Bet you're glad to be done with all that, huh?” He asked. “Dealing with that creep couldn't be easy.”

“It wasn't really all that bad, honestly. He-”

“I don't really want to hear about him. C'mon, we have the whole evening! Let's not waste it!”

Loki decided then and there that he did not like this man. Not in small part because he wanted to know what Iris had to say about him.

She took him to what must have been her apartment, and there Loki left. There were a few things he didn't want to know after all.

#themysticgarden #loki (marvel)#loki x ofc

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zirkkun · 3 years

Note

Yo you have every right to be upset about things! You're still a person with your own feelings and deserve to be treated kindly. No one should come at you for making things you enjoy or for misunderstandings. I hope things get better for you even if I wasn't here for when all the drama happened (or maybe I was and just wasn't aware of it? I tend to avoid drama as much as possible tbh)

I didn't really post about it much. I think I answered about 4 asks about it (three of them in the same post because i was sure it was the same anon due to the similar string of seemingly continued messages) and the rest I just deleted as soon as they came in, but I got... A lot. A lot of mean things said too. Kinda hurts when you wanted to make something because you knew this work was highly criticized and wanted to let people give it a second chance only to be shot down by the people you were hoping to defend lol

In short, and a lot of it I missed because I was blocked by a lot of people so my friend sent me screencaps; someone took I believe only the old ask box post I had for ULR, which at the time was called "Underlust Rewrite," and was disgusted at the fact that everything was revamped and "made for kids" (because it's not 18+ explicit content, but as I've said before, it's just cause I'm too scared to be horny on main, and I've literally made a whole different biological system for ULR so I can write the necessary story ""sex scenes"" without it being human-like sex or otherwise uncomfortable or too explicit for me to draw, but I still consider it a mature story overall), so they blocked me instantly here and on twitter and then made a callout post on twitter itself. People were telling me originally to stop calling the AU Underlust, and I didn't really get it at first, because like, what's the difference between my spinoff and, say, Underlust Gold, Swapfell Indigo, TS!Underswap, you know, names that have add-ons from the original title to differentiate it but still connect it to the source. So that's what I said, as well as if I removed the Underlust name, it would be considered stealing to me, because I'd be disconnecting it from the source. But apparently, instead, what had been the concern was that it was just being called "Underlust" and the "Rewrite" aspect was implying I was replacing the original story, which like, had never been my intention and I've made a bunch of things with both the ULR and UL cast together and love the idea of Lust and Ace meeting up and just being a disaster duo of not working together at all. I just adore Underlust like it's in my pinned FAQ, Lust's been in my banner for months now, and he's practically my staple pfp character on every account but here atm.

It took like 3 days for it to actually click what was going on, because once I finally got the chance to have a conversation with someone where they weren't telling me I was the scum of the Earth -- which, honestly, bless the three people I talked to, they were so sweet (which actually included someone from the Japanese side of the fandom whose art I loved too... yeah it got pretty far. Once I sent them a message though it was cleared up quickly and they did post a clarification post about ULR and me, so that was nice to see.) -- I finally got the chance to realize that this was a misunderstanding from the beginning, from both sides, where people coming at me were saying I was doing all of the stuff above and probably more but those stuck the most, while I was confused as to where this information and accusations were coming from and what they were referring to in the first place. They probably never explained it in the anon asks because, well, they probably assumed I knew what I was doing, but when they came at me about something I didn't do with vague context of something I did do, I was very confused, and got really defensive really quickly, and really honestly snapped pretty hard. After my first initial explanation post and people were still trying to tell me to stop ULR/don't call it Underlust/whatever else there was, I just got tired and told people to block me if they didn't like it. But that didn't really stop anyone and honestly made it worse because that's when I started getting really nasty messages. I like... Specifically remember one where someone called me a lowlife and a thief, and that one stuck the most, but I tended to not read through them before deleting them for my own sanity. I actually did this to one of the people who'd later talked to me calmly about it at first too, because I had just woken up, and really didn't want to read an essay lecture on everything everyone's been telling me at the crack of 7am when I was borderline ready to delete my account and start over lol

Some people I do remember were accusing me of trying to censor nsfw content or erase it as well because ULR isn't 18+, and I'm out here on my horny ass like "wh. What are they talking about, where did you get that idea, have you SEEN my ao3 recommended list," /j but in all seriousness I really didn't understand that accusation at all because I've never been against nsfw content in the slightest and lowkey? This is very dumb -- but like, you know how they say when you get hate mail, you know you've made it? Well, for me, my thought has always been, "When there's 18+ fancontent of my OC's, I'll have finally made it." This is... Not a joke, some of my friends think its very weird LMAO oh well. I've been on the internet for far too long at this point -- like, definitely since I was far too young, probably, and being with a family of the next youngest being 12 years older than me, I really dove into stuff pretty quickly I definitely shouldn't have, but hey that's life -- I'm really unfazed by mostly anything now. Hell, me making ULR was honestly half motivated by me wanting to make others more comfortable with this kind of media, discussing sexuality and otherwise sexual-considered topics, without really being embarrassed or bothered by it. Because, people talk about death and killing and whatever other gorey stuff just fine, but the moment sex comes up, people just gasp in awe, y'know? I kind of grew up that way myself but like... ironically, in being more comfortable with my asexuality, I realized that it's honestly not that big of a deal. Sure, we don't need to hear the details of everything. We don't need to hear the details of a murder either. But I will never understand how murder is always the lowest on the "morally wrong list of things to not to" to so many people and that it's fine to mention, but even consider bringing up anything else and it's like, a sin and you're a bad person. Even racism is like, higher up on there for a lot of people, which it's like... this is an issue that needs to be discussed, or it can never be solved. You can't just kick that away and hope it goes away on its own, that's never how it works.

Ah, well, now I've gone off tangent lol. Sorry to make you read a blob of text lmao but having things in a cohesive format of what I've been thinking does feel a bit better. Thank you for the support regardless, and I do want to keep making what I really enjoy, because frankly, I really want to make things that make people take a step back and think for a moment, y'know? Things that invoke like a realization in yourself about something you didn't even know. That's how fiction's always been for me, so I want to give back by making it that way too. ... maybe my horny content is exempt from this however. That's just. Self indulgence LMAO.

Probably helps that I'm actually talking this all out for once, too, since before any of this I tried to keep as much of the situation contained to myself as possible in hopes I could clean it up before it got too bad. That was, in hindsight, probably a terrible idea lol. But I didn't want to be a source of stress for anyone following me or become the new creator-to-defend that like, 50% of people hate and 50% of people love and that you're either on one side or the other and there's no where in between. (I feel like Arin Hanson comes to mind for me every time I think of someone like this.) I know I can't please everyone and I knew internet hate would come eventually, but like, didn't expect it to be over a name or tag choice. I thought that would be a simple enough DM or clearable thing but apparently not, especially since I saw someone a few weeks ago delete their blog over a similar thing (though, the opposite, in a way: posting nsfw in a sfw tag by mistake). It wasn't in the UT fandom so y'all probably weren't following them (tbf I wasn't either, I just witnessed it happen from start to finish), but it was still disheartening.

Anyway, thank you, and sorry to make ya read all of that (if you actually did vahdbs don't blame you if you don't it's a lot of thought dump lmao)💕💕

#zircon answers #anonymous #all this happened like the DAY i got accepted onto the bhc team to and i was like #alright guys am i being kicked out day one lol #like i was expecting the worst from this whole thing #but im still kind of happy with how i worked it out #i really wish more people were like #willing to talk things out rather than just spit in a general direction and hope youll listen #because like even the people i talked to calmly some of them were pretty rude at first! but!#theyre not bad people #they were just scared for their favorite thing #i cant blame them for that and honestly i do consider the hatred justified under the circumstances that they knew #but they were all really nice after we talked things out #and were like 'i hope your series does well' and that really meant a lot honestly #death mention tw//

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catty-words · 4 years

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uhhhh you made some gifs about ben tryng to kiss devi twice despite her not wanting that and you got real poetic in the tags. have you considered that maybe that's messed up? he tried to kiss her. twice. without her consent. a second time he did it after she'd said no. Devi looked really uncomfortable. And he never apologized, just blamed alcohol. how can you romantiise that??? shipping her with ben is fine but uhhhhhhhh that's fucked up

good lord, okay. if that scene bothers you, then it bothers you and i’m likely not going to change your mind about it any more than you’re going to convince me not to enjoy it. but the tone of this ask feels as though your trying to deem it problematic™ in order to feel like you’ve done your work reading the text critically and, like, look. i’m not going to say that your reading is incorrect. devi was uncomfortable. she removed herself from the situation, such was the gravity of her discomfort. but i also don’t think yours is the most genuine reading of the scene, if you wanna be honest. and hey, you came into my askbox, so you’re inviting my honest opinion.

consent is important. let’s start there. if ben were a more perfect person, he’d have asked if he could kiss devi before doing it. but the thing is, one of the main takeaways from the scene is that, far from perfect, ben is an awkward teen boy very much in his own head about his newly intense crush and his all-consuming loneliness. so he doesn’t ask the first time he leans in—he instead relies on the context clues of the birthday present and devi generally being cute and a little giggly to decide she might be into kissing. totally understandable. endearing, even, that ben and devi have this what-the-hell-i’ll-go-for-it kind of approach to crushing in common.

so, the second kiss. not as clean-cut i’ll grant you. devi’s body language and her words communicate that she’s Not Into It. but one of the things i personally find interesting about the scene is the way they’re on two very different pages the whole time. ben wants to unload about how much his parents suck, and devi didn’t exactly show up to the party to shoulder the burden of ben’s loneliness. she’s dealing with plenty of her own that she’s trying to ignore with a Traditional Popular Kid Experience, while ben’s trying to ignore his by hanging with his crush.

that said, ben wanting to kiss devi so badly that he misreads her “it’s cool” as an invitation rather than the placating gesture it is strikes me as well-motivated based on what we know about ben and as a very human thing to do. unflattering? totally. hard to look at directly for all the secondhand embarrassment? depends on your tolerance level. but messed up? i don’t feel the need to take it to that place.

more importantly, though, devi doesn’t feel the need. she tells him in no uncertain terms that him trying to kiss her is why she’s walking away, but she stops and listens to his apology that he pretty much immediately gives her. she trusts him enough to place herself in the extremely vulnerable position of moving in with him.

and sure, i’ll grant you that in both his apologies—because he does apologize and he does it twice, once immediately and then again when he sees her at school—he uses alcohol as a justification. but he’s clearly embarrassed and uncertain where they stand now. we’ve been shown the way that his dynamic with devi is a grounding force in his life; it makes sense that he’s a bit panic-stricken. when i’m flustered by my own shortcomings, i don’t give the best apologies, either. so the fact that his first and also most pressing instinct is to smooth things over, to me, speaks to his character in a good way.

tl;dr: i don’t feel the need to problematize ben’s behavior because devi was in control of the situation the whole time! but if the awkward mess that is those two interacting while wanting wildly different things isn’t entertaining to you, i do not begrudge you this!

anyway, thanks for thinking my tags are poetic that was nice

#anon #replies #never have i ever #devi x ben #feel very proud to have typed out anything resembling reasonable discussion because my primary reaction to seeing this ask was #sfkbgjsngsbjlkjdfb #nhie meta

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the-shadow-of-atlantis · 3 years

Text

My Friend Got Turned Into A Werewolf

Part 5 What To Expect Once You’ve Been Bitten

Tagging: @melyaliz @dilpickledd @coffee-randomness @speedypan

A/N Red belongs to @melyaliz

Red stood awkwardly in the entryway not sure if maybe he should help Aquata or not. Though he felt like maybe he should give her some alone time. It might be hard to read her thoughts but he tended to know when she just wanted her own space, besides it was his own fault she had to leave home for the time being.

Making his way towards the stairs he looked at the doors on either side directly in front he saw one small door, to his right there were two more alongside the wall and the other side there was a single door. He figured that one was his.

He wasn't really sure what to expect when he opened the door, the giant gift basket and a rather large book was not one of them. He approached it and saw that it seemed like a regular gift basket. He wondered if Aquata got one too. He picked up the book noticing the drawing of a wolf on it. What to Expect Once Bitten, was written across in gold lettering, he settled down on the bed and opened the book.

A couple hours later he found himself knocking on Aquatas door. She opened in with a small look of confusion.

“Did you know that even if you're a fully grown adult if you get bitten you basically get a growth spurt?” He asked with the book still in his hands, Aquata blinked looking at him not sure what to say at first.

“Yeah, it's why the clothes they give to newcomers are enchanted to grow with them. Buying new clothes every day can get expensive and not all wolf families are rich.” Aquata elaborated.

“So like… do you grow everywhere?” Red asked then added. “Cause honestly I’ve always felt like my butt could have more potential.”

Red could tell Aquata was trying so hard not to crack and smiled when she finally burst into a fit of giggles.

“Honestly I’m not sure, maybe. Tyler had basically finished his transformation when I met him but at the same time your body changes to fit your age." Aquata explained as she moved back to one of her suitcases and continued unloading it.

Red flipped a page debating if he should pry now. "Why did you and Tyler break up?... It's just I remember you two were really happy and then next thing I knew my mom was making you her breakup pot pie."

Aquata stayed silent as she carefully tucked her clothes into place, she didn't look at him as she spoke.

"Have you gotten to the part where it talks about mates?" She asked simply, Red looked confused and glanced down at his book looking for the context page.

"The whole mate thing, it's real. It doesn't normally happen as quickly as they show in movies and stuff but it definitely happens. Once you turn sixteen that's when you're able to tell who your mate is. In Tyler's case we met when we were fifteen but we fell hard and fast to the point where a lot of people thought maybe I was bound to be his mate to the point where I was starting to learn more about the lifestyle. Cason was a friend Tyler had known since they were little. They both turned 16 around the same time and the bond was almost instant; it took everyone by surprise. Usually mate bonds take awhile to form, but with the both of them being wolves it set in quickly. Tyler hates the fact that we got my hopes up and that the bond happened so quickly but these things happen for a reason. Cason is great and he's definitely what Tyler needs to help out with the pack. I'm happy for them, he got a good one." Aquata looked up at him and gave him a sad smile.

"And you?"

"Like I said I'm happy for him. And well we both know my last two relationships didn't end well." Aquata chuckled a little dryly and Red noticed her thoughts seemed to linger on Mark.

“You know.” Aquata said, the thought quickly disappeared. “You never really told me what you were doing in the middle of Gotham.”

So close to my place too. Her mind seemed to whisper.

Red closed the book in his hand and stared down at the floor not really sure how to start.

“I wasn't lying when I said I was in the neighborhood. My team got sent out on a mission nearby, and when it was done I just… realized I hadn’t been back to Gotham in such a long time. I told my team to go back home and I found a place to stay. Then I noticed I wasn't that far from where you lived and I wanted to say hi. Wasn't till I got so close though that I realized how silly it all was and I was on my way back and well you know what happened.”

“Why didn’t you just text?” Aquata asked.

“I wanted to see you in person… I mean. When was the last time we hung out? Or talked? Or anything?” Aquata seemed to frown at his words. She was about to say something when Red suddenly felt his body tense and his head turned towards the direction of the front door.

“Relax.” He heard a voice say from a distance. “It's just me dropping off the car.”

Aquata seemed to understand what was happening because she simply got up and headed out of her room. Red quickly followed her as he tried to shake off the tense feeling he still had. He stood behind her as she opened the door, Tyler stood there his hands full of grocery and take out bags.

“Hey, can I come in?” He asked carefully.

Aquata stepped aside letting Tyler come in.

She definitely hasn’t been getting any sleep, Tyler’s mind rang out so clearly it startled Red. He forgot just how quiet Aquatas' mind really is.

Still the comment threw Red off, he carefully glanced at Aquata and tried to spot any signs of exhaustion on her. Her eyes seemed a little baggy, he really should try paying attention more.

“What’s with the stuff?” Aquata asked as Tyler placed the items in the kitchen.

“I think right now it be best if you guys stay here for a couple days. Reds trial will be happening soon and we're trying to keep a low profile before the verdict goes through.” Tyler explained as he started to take things out of the bags.

Plus there's been a breach and I don't want you out there. He added in his thoughts. Red couldn’t help but notice how much Tyler still seemed to worry about her.

"There's something else isn't there." Aquata stated her eyes glancing between Red and Tyler.

Tyler sighed and shook his head. "Nothing ever gets past you."

"Don't feel bad." Aquata shrugged and nodded towards Red. "He might be a great mind reader but he's got a terrible poker face."

"Hey!" Red protested and Aquata simply smiled.

"So what is it?" Aquata asked, turning serious.

"There was a breach this morning shortly before you arrived. Could be a coincidence."

"Or could be that someone figured out you'd be bringing Red here. Possibly the one who turned him."

"We tried following the scent but whoever this is they're smart. The only thing now is…"

"Did they come to see if Red survived or to finish the job."

"Either way I'd feel safer if you two stay here for the time being. I'll call you when it's time for the trial. I'm still leaving the car but only for emergencies. There's going to some guards around the perimeter so if you sense them don't get tense." Tyler directed the last comment to Red who nodded.

"Well." Aquata sighed looking up at Red. "You did say you wanted to hang out again."

#werewolf au #oc x oc

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bitter-sweet-farmgirl · 3 years

Text

Modern Writing Prompts

This is just a compiled list of prompts I’ve collected from Pinterest and other random places, but really only work in modern contexts. I have other prompt lists that get more specific or more vague as well. If you want to use one in a request to me, just use the following ‘Character Name and Prompt No. 35 from the Modern Prompt list’ for example + some details if you’d like.

There’s quite a bit on this list, so be wary.... I mean, it’s only like 130 prompts... Also, I did not organize it.

Key:

‘*’ Denotes something that could be used as dialogue.

[*] Denotes a swear word that I removed.

"If I was your boyfriend, I'd pepper you with kisses and spoil you so bad."

"My family thinks we're dating."

"It wasn't meant to go this far, I swear."

"You were ready to leave me for her."

"There is no us. There never was."

"Don't leave me. Don't you dare leave me."

"You know for a [*] fact that wasn't supposed to happen."

"Sort yourself out first."

"Leave. Before we wake up regretting what we've done."

"All he ever did was use you? Why can't you see that?"

"You think this will make me stay?"

"You thought this was real?"

"My mum asked about you again."

"He already knows."

"Can you please come and get me?"

"I'm at the hospital."

"I don't know where I am, help me."

OTP on a hammock together. Person B is asleep on Person A's chest while Person A keeps one foot on the floor so they can rock the hammock in hopes of Person B remaining asleep.

"It's three in the morning."

"You're my regret."

Take me laser-tagging and then push me into a corner and kiss me. Then shoot me and walk away.

"Smiles are contagious." "Don't worry, I'm vaccinated."

"Did it hurt?" *Rolls eyes "Let me guess, when I fell from Heaven?" "No." "What?" "When you fell for me." *Grins*

"So... What's our plan for tonight?" "We do not have a plan--" "Well, let's make one." "--I have my own plans that don't include you." "I thought we were a team!" "We are. Which is why I need a break." "You need a break from me?" "Yes... So I'll still like you in the morning." "Wow. I'm that bad, huh?"

Which person of your OTP furiously does push-ups while the other sits on their back and reads a magazine.

He found her sobbing in the stairwell at work.

As teenagers, a boy and a girl agree to marry if neither have by their 35th birthday. Follow the boy as he attempts to sabotage every relationship the girl has till then.

"I don't care where I'm sleeping as long as it's with you."

As she walked towards the exit of her favourite coffee shop, she glanced down at her cup. "You're beautiful." Was written in place of her name. She glanced back and their eyes met.

She opened her apartment door to hundreds of roses. She knew they were from him;

he'd found her.

"I've had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with."

"No, you can't get up! You're my prisoner for today."

"Shh... It was just a bad dream. Just a dream, okay? None of it was real."

"You. Cuddle. Me. Now."

"Baby, you'll never know me."

"I don't give a damn." "You give so many damns they're visible from SPACE."

She gripped the rim of the porcelain sink and tried to steady her hands. "One last time." She whispered to herself. One. Last. Time.

"Keep looking at me like that," he warned, leaning casually on into the counter and sipping his coffee. "And see what happens."

She looked up at him, tears filling her already swollen eyes. "But why? Why would you love me?" He tightened his grip, pulling her more snugly into his embrace. "Because you bug me, weirdo. Duh."

"Just relax, I'll wash your hair for you."

"I'm not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention."

"Are you wearing my shirt?"

"You are ridiculously comfortable..."

"You know how to unlock handcuffs with a paperclip? Teach me!" "Absolutely not."

"I've never been so scared in my life." "It was a bubble..."

He was leaning against the wall trying to support his own bodyweight, and his gasps of pain were like music to her ears.

Your date drops you off. A few minutes later they return to your door sopping wet from the storm because their car broke down.

The phone rings. The voice on the other end says, "We need you again." Then hangs up.

A boy and a girl were part of the same team for their high school sports camp. The girl had a crush on him for a very long time, but was not sure how to say it to him. In spite of that she mustered some courage and casually said, "hey... You know what?" "What?" "You have the prettiest smile I have ever seen." The boy's eyes glittered and he replied, "you know what?" "What?" "That smile exists only because of you!"

"Did you get my note?" "Of course I got it. You taped it to my forehead while I was sleeping."

"It's not my birthday." "It's definitely your birthday." "Give me a calendar. It's not and I will prove it to--Oh. Never mind. Happy birthday to me."

As she stepped on the train, I fought ever urge to climb on after her.

"C'mere, you can sit on my lap until I'm done working."

"Just pretend to be my date."

"Handsome, broken, and a mistake from the beginning. Are you sure you're comfortable with this?"

"Are you decent?" "Not morally, but I'm wearing pants if that's what you're asking."

He was bad. He smoked, he broke the law, he drove too fast for his own good. He

didn't care because nobody taught him how to. But when it came to her, he wanted to be the best man. He couldn't bare the thought of her being hurt by him... Or anyone else. He would kill to protect her, the girl who cared about someone as worthless as him in all her perfection.

"I want to take a shower, so you should probably join me. It'll save water."

"It's midnight! Where the hell were you?"

"What the hell is your problem?"

"I might have slept with your [clothing article] when you were gone."

"No one has to know about us, I know this could ruin you."

"Are you really gonna leave without asking me the question you've been dying to ask me?"

"You said I'd get to have you all weekend. Why can't you just tell them you can't go?" "Because it's my job and it's important." "And I'm not?"

"You can call me whenever you want... Even if you don't have a reason to."

"I'm bad at texting first, so I always end up hoping you will."

"This movie is really scary, but you're into it so I'm trying not to cover my face the whole time, but--WHAT IS THAT?!"

"Wait, don't pull away... Not yet."

"You look really cute in that sweater."

"No, like... It's just, I can't believe you're actually wearing my clothes."

"You know I hear you talking, but I still don't have my coffee."

"Did you think I really cared about you?"

"It's too late to go back."

"I'm sorry this had to go down like this."

"That's right, I lied."

"Just so you know... I don't regret anything."

"You will no longer love me if you see who I truly am."

"But I did all this for you...?"

Person A wins a big stuffed animal for Person B at an amusement park and offers to carry it for them. Person B says they'll carry it themself, and carries it around smuggly.

While on a date, Person A very shyly touches Person B's hand and Person B reassuringly (and tightly) holds Person A's hand.

"Please get home safely."

"I've got you, baby."

"Man, I can't pay attention to anything else but you."

"Baby, I'm right here. Shh.. I'm here."

Person A: *does something stupid* Person B: "....Why are you like this?" Person A: "Aww, come on! You know you love me!" Person B: "...Where did you get that idea?" *Joking* *Silence* Person A: *Sniffles* Person B "WAIT I'M SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN IT, I LOVE YOU!"

She was the broken and battered girl who longed to be loved. He was the misunderstood boy who only wanted to love. She had never paid him any attention until today, when she bumped into him at her locker, causing everyone to stop and stare.

"I'm coming to get you, stay there."

"Are you safe?" "I don't know."

"Can I at least buy you a coffee? For old times sake?"

"Don't talk to me. It's 6 AM and I haven't had coffee yet, so anything I do or say cannot be held against me."

"Dude, that jacket is mine, give it back!"

"YOU USED MY TOWEL?!"

"They're going to love you, don't worry!"

"Stop hogging all the blankets!"

"Wait, when did I take off my clothes?"

"I'm fully convinced you never graduated kindergarten."

"You have no idea how to make toast?!"

"I haven't showered in four days."

"You're more zombie than human."

"I can't believe I got the first date, let alone a year."

"Wanna, like--I mean if you're not busy... We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don't have a lot of time."

"So I was driving past a pet store and I couldn't help but wonder how cute an animal would be in our home."

"It's midnight! Where the hell were you?"

"I wish I had a camera."

He/She crashed through the doors of the police station and slammed his/her hands against the steal counter. "Give me back my wife/husband!"

The rain came down in heavy sheets. He pulled his soaked [type of hat] down to protect his eyes and moved forward. Where was she? Would he find her in time? A darp shape against the bridge railing caught his eye when the lightning flashed. He rushed forward and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. He couldn't tell for the rain if she was crying or not, droplets streamed down her face. Her mouth opened to let out a cry, but when she saw it was him, she pleaded with her eyes. He only nodded and put his arm around her. He'd protect her.

"It's me! It's me! Calm down, baby, please."

"Is the movie too scary? I can stop it if you want and we could watch something else."

"Watch, this is the best part!"

I chose that part in the play only so that I could kiss her. I hadn't thought about the acting pact, the prancing onstage before a packed audience, or about the make up. All I wanted was to finally touch her face, kiss those lips, have my moment, even if that was all I ever had.

It's not like she meant to trip and spill coffee all over him. It was just the way of her people.

I woke up, to find a boy's arms wrapped tightly around my waist. "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to sleep on the couch!" I was in disbelief. I pried his hands off me and it was only then that he stirred. "Huh? Oh. I um.... You had a nightmare." He face was suddenly serious. "Who's [guy name]?"

Person A and Person B share an apartment but have separate rooms. Person B has a nightmare one night and is really rattled by it. They get out of bed and walk down the hallway to knock on Person A's door. The door is already open and Person B walks into the room silently. They go up to Person A's bed to find that they're already awake. Person B tells Person A that they had a nightmare. Person A scoots over in the bed and lets Person B curl up with them and they fall asleep together.

Person A and Person B are in the kitchen. Person A is short while Person B is slightly taller. Person A: *Struggles to retrieve items from top shelf* Person B: "Do you need me to get it for you?" Person A: *Gasps* "How dare you insult the vertically challenged!" Person B: *Laughs* "Okay then..." Person A: (Moments later) *Defeated sigh* "Help meeeee...."

Person A: *Completely serious* "I have to get something off my chest." Person B: *Fingers crossed* "I hope it's your shirt, please..."

Person A is noticeably disheveled as they enter the room. "Sorry I'm late, I was doing stuff." Person B, also disheveled and grinning smugly follows behind. "I'm stuff."

Person A has an online business meeting with someone important who lives across the world so they have to stay up late for the meeting. Person B doesn't want to leave Person A alone so they grab a pillow and lay in Person A's lap as they attend their meeting. Bonus points if Person B accidentally smacks Person A in the face in their sleep and everyone laughs and calls them cute.

Imagine you've been stood up by your boyfriend on date night and the waitress keeps asking if you're ready to order, but you keep asking for more time, hoping he's just late. People are starting to look at you with those apologetic looks like they know and you start to feel worse and worse about the whole situation, but just as you get up to leave, this boy you've never seen before sits down explaining loudly, "sorry I'm so late, Babe. Traffic is crazy right now." And he quietly adds, "I'm [NAME]. Just go with it, yeah? Whoever didn't bother to show up is a jerk." And you do go with it because he's being sweet and trying to save you, (plus he's super cute), and as you're leaving the restaurant after the best non-planned date ever, he asks you out for real this time.

"That has got to be the lamest pick up line in existence." "Don't worry that's just Plan A." "So what's Plan B?" "To take you hostage."

"I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don't trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen."

Person B dancing around their home, headphones in, eyes closed, singing as loudly as they please to their favourite song while Person A stands in the doorway watching their oblivious partner with a loving smile on their face.

Person A walked into the house, threw their bag on a chair and laid down on the carpet with an air of defeat. Person B walked in a few hours later, saw Person A on the ground and set to work. They picked up a few blankets and a couple of pillows. Then Person B walked over to Person A, laid everything out, and proceeded to lay down with Person A. Person A slowly curled up to Person B and fell into a restful sleep. Five hours later, they're still there, just soaking in each other's presence.

Person A was sitting up in bed, headphones on and staring intensely at their Ipad

screen, which flickered brightly in the dim room. Person B rolled over and slowly sat up, glancing at the clock and seeing it was well past 2 AM. Person B leaned up against Person A, eyes still closed and asked why Person A was still up. Person A popped out an earbud and quickly [states reason] and then turned their attention back to the screen. Person B yawned loudly, grabbed the device and tossed it off the bed. Right before Person A could protest, Person B curled an arm around them and forced Person A to lay down. Person A fell asleep within minutes, tucked securely within Person B's arms.

Imagine your OTP getting ready for bed, and Person A is sitting on the bed. Person B tries to sneak up on them with a hug or a kiss, but Person A has quick reflexes and thinks they're being attacked. So they accidentally hit Person B in the face and they fall back onto the bed. Person A quickly realizes who it was then and keeps saying sorry really fast and hugs them and kisses where it hurts.

Person A has finals coming up and Person B has already finished theirs. Person A is stressed over the finals and breaks down one night lamenting their ability to do anything right. Person B calmly picks them up, brings them to bed and cuddles with them, cooing to them and telling them all the wonderful things Person B loves about Person A.

Imagine Person A walking into the kitchen, only to find Person B in tears. Person A immediately rushes over to Person B's side, fretting over them, consoling, and asking what happened. Surprised, Person B explains they were simply cutting onions.

Person A is baking cookies and has to split their attention between watching the timer and fighting off Person B, who keeps trying to steal cookie dough from the bowl.

Imagine your OTP making out on a couch, but then one of them accidentally rolls off and the other is either frantically asking if they're okay, or laughing their head off.

Imagine your OTP ice skating and one of them falls. The other tries to help them up but they lose their balance and fall on top of the other.

You were studying for your exams in a few weeks, your boyfriend was sitting opposite you, simply staring. You couldn't concentrate and were getting frustrated. "Stop it!" You yelled, slamming your pencil on your book. "Stop what?" He asks, smiling innocently up at you. "Stop staring, stop making me want you, stop making me feel--argh just st--" He shut you up, placing his soft lips on yours, letting all the stress wear out. "Stop stressing babe, it won't do you any good." He mumbled, placing his forehead onto yours. "Come here." He insisted, patting his lap. You happily accepted, moving over to him and plunking yourself down. He wrapped his arms around you and you rested your head on his chest, hearing his heart beat. "That's enough studying for today, babe. You'll ace that test, okay?" He kissed your forehead, rubbing your arms. You nodded and rested in his arms, feeling safe and sound.

What if he held you tightly in his arms as you lay on his chest, drifting into sleep by the sound of his steady heartbeat. Feeling the slight vibration of his lungs as he hummed softly. His hands brushing lightly in your hair as his lips pressed against the top of your head, but stayed there for awhile. Then he let out a faint sigh, taking his lips away, seeming to be deep in thought.

You shift around in bed, trying to find a comfortable position. No success. You hear your boyfriend stretching. "Can't sleep, babe?" He asks, letting out a sleepy sigh.

"Come here," he whispers. You move over to him and he snakes an arm around your waist and wraps his leg around yours as you rest your head on his bare chest.

As you lay in bed alone, struggling with reaching sleep, you toss and turn before huffing out in annoyance at still being awake. A small fraction of light creeps into your room until the door closes and the edge of your bed dips down underneath his weight. He carefully climbs under the covers, reaching an arm out for you, pulling you closer to his body with your back to his front. "You can sleep now, baby. I'm home. I love you." He gently whispers in your ear, lightly kissing your cheek then laying his head on the pillow next to you to fall into a dream-filled sleep of your boy being home.

#angst #writing prompts #modern writing prompts #prompts #modern #prompt list #fluff #drama #sadness

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rushingheadlong · 4 years

Text

Losing My Way - A Queen Gen Fic

Summary: Brian is burning himself out trying to stay on top of all of his responsibilities. He knows it’s only a matter of time until something gives, and he knows that something will probably be his thesis - but that doesn’t make his failure any easier to stomach.

Wordcount: ~5,500

Tags/Warnings: H/C, angst, anxiety attacks, guilt, discussions of parental pressure and feeling like a failure

Notes: Companion fic to And I Get Afraid. You don’t necessarily need to read that one first, but it may help to have the additional context. Given the events in Brian's life in 1974, this ended up being a fair bit more angsty than "And I Get Afraid" so please heed the tags on this! (Crossposted to AO3 here.)

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s thinking of giving up on his thesis.”

Giving up.

There’s something ugly about those two words, some finality that Brian instinctively tries to shy away from, as if by dancing around the subject he can somehow make it less real. Setting it aside, he says instead, or, Taking a bit of a break, as if he would ever return to his thesis if he chose Queen now.

Brian still loves the stars and his research as much as he did when he first began his studies, but the truth of the matter is that he’s tired. Between the thesis and the band and working an actual job to pay the bills, Brian feels like he’s been running on fumes for months now. There are days when he doesn’t quite feel like a person, let alone anything approaching a functioning one, just a collection of static thoughts trapped in a body that’s running on autopilot, a machine that doesn’t know that it’s time to shut down.

There was stress, in the beginning, when Brian first realized that he was burning out, but it faded as the exhaustion set in and now the only thing Brian has left is his shame and guilt. It was born in his advisor’s office, when he had bluntly told Brian to focus on his thesis or stop wasting both of their time, and it grew every time Brian couldn’t stop one of his responsibilities from slipping through the cracks despite his efforts to stay afloat. Now it sits heavy on Brian’s chest, weighing him down until he feels stuck in place, and turning his thoughts back to that familiar darkness that’s haunted him his entire life.

He’s put so much time into his thesis already that it feels impossible to be standing here, on the verge of admitting that he’s failed, he’s not good enough, he can’t do it - but it feels even more impossible to give up Queen. The band doesn’t come with a guarantee of financial security, or long-term stability, or any of the things that his father tells him that he should aspire to have… but the band comes with the only things that are still keeping Brian going these days.

His friends. Their music. The moments of fleeting joy when he can create things and be a part of something more than himself, better than himself, instead of the waste of time and space that he feels like most days. Instead of the disappointing son that he’s grown into despite his father’s sacrifices and wishes for him.

“One show, that’s all I’m asking for, a single show in the next week or two just to keep our name out there, and then I’m fine waiting until summer!” Roger is saying to Freddie, after John leaves for class and as Brian slowly packs away his Red Lady with fumbling hands that don’t seem to want to cooperate with him. “You don’t even have to handle the booking, I’ll do it myself!”

Confidence in Queen comes easy to Roger, and to Freddie as well, but it does not come easy to Brian. Brian has to work to stay optimistic, has to fight for every scrap of faith that things will work out for them - because he only has faith in them. Not in himself, not anymore.

Maybe that’s the real reason he’s choosing Queen. Not because it’s the right choice to make, but because despite the struggles it’s still far easier to sink what little energy he has left into the band when Queen has three other people fighting to keep her afloat, instead of into his thesis where Brian has to rely on himself alone to carve out every inch of progress that he can. But there’s still a cold voice in the back of Brian’s mind that tells him that he’s taking the easy way out, that he’s being foolish, that he’s almost 26 now and shouldn’t he be setting aside these childish dreams already?

It’s a voice that has sent Brian down into more than one panicked spiral, late at night when he’s too anxious to sleep but too tired to keep working, when his thoughts race with a thousand directions, full of calculations of how much time he’s sunk into his thesis, into the band, into everything he’s already failed at and everything he could still fail at if he’s not careful. And it’s a voice that only gets colder every time Brian gives more consideration to the possibility of giving up on his thesis-

Not giving up.

Setting aside. Taking a break.

Freddie, unphased by Roger’s enthusiasm and unaware of the way that Brian’s heart has started to race uncomfortably in his chest, just snorts in amusement and slings an arm around Roger’s shoulders. “We’ll figure something out, Rog, don’t worry, but apart from John’s upcoming exams, we don’t even know what everyone’s schedules are like yet.”

“By everyone you mean Brian,” Roger says, and he twists around and calls back to Brian, “Hey! What’s your schedule like for the next few weeks?”

Brian’s ears are ringing, loud enough to drown out the sound of Freddie’s laughter and whatever chiding response he gives to Roger, and Brian can feel his face grow hot with embarrassment. “Busy,” he mumbles as he closes the latches on his guitar case, praying that his friends don’t notice the way his hands are shaking.

“Busy? That’s all you can give us?” Roger teases. “We’re trying to plan our rockstar career here, and all you can say is that you’re busy?”

Roger is joking, Brian knows that he is, but they’re words that hit their mark a little too well, sting a little more than they should. Brian said that he’d take the summer to fully commit to either his thesis or with Queen, but in the meantime he’s doing both a disservice. He’s holding the band back and wasting his advisor’s time, and half-assing everything that lands on his plate because he’s stretched too thin and scared of letting go of the things he knows that he can’t do. He keeps thinking that, maybe, if he tries a bit harder, works a bit longer, puts in a few more hours, he can somehow make it all work without having to let anyone down - but that hasn’t worked out for him so far.

“Give him a break, Roger, you know he’s juggling more than the rest of us combined,” Freddie says. “Speaking of which, you really should come out with us tonight, Brian dear. Rog and I are getting drinks, and you deserve a night off more than we do!”

Does he? Brian is fairly certain that he hasn’t done anything to justify slacking off, no matter how nice a night out with his friends sounds right now. He’s drowning in half-finished projects and broken promises, and as he starts to shake his head he can see Freddie’s smile dim in disappointment - and Brian’s stomach sinks, because no matter what he does he always seems to be letting someone down.

“Please, Brimi?” Freddie asks, a little softer. “It’s been ages since you’ve gone out with us.”

Brian’s breath hitches as the force of Freddie’s pleading hits him and he finds himself stammering, “I- I have to drop off my guitar…”

It’s not a no, but it’s not really a yes either - but that doesn’t stop Roger from giving a loud, celebratory whoop and Freddie from beaming at him and saying, “Not a problem, darling, we’ll walk with you back to your place and then hit the pub from there!”

“I… Well I mean...” Brian tries to backpedal as Freddie and Roger start shepherding him out of their practice studio and into the too-bright afternoon sun. He doesn’t want to disappoint them, can’t stomach the thought of ruining their excitement now, but the voice in the back of his mind is reminding him of his thesis and the work he was supposed to get done tonight, and he has to hold himself rigid to stop his entire body from shaking with anxiety.

“You two go ahead, I’m gonna smoke and then I’ll meet you at the pub,” Roger says as he pulls out his cigarettes.

“Whoever gets there first grabs the first round?” Freddie suggests, and Roger shrugs in agreement before ducking around the corner of the building.

“Well then, we’ll just have to take our time getting there, won’t we?” Freddie says, winking at Brian, and he starts walking off down the street. It takes Brian a moment to remember how his legs work and he stumbles over his feet, causing his guitar case to bang against his leg, as he hurries to catches up.

“I don’t know why Roger’s so concerned about booking a show right now,” Freddie says as they walk, and Brian’s stomach sinks as he realizes that he’s going to be trapped in a conversation about the one thing he doesn’t want to keep thinking about. “I mean, once our album is released we’ll be right back in the spotlight! And with John now graduating we can do a proper tour this fall - well, assuming you decide give up your thesis, that is.”

“Set aside,” Brian mumbles, and it takes far too much effort to force out even those two words. His tongue feels like a useless weight and he thinks his throat is closing up, until he swallows and feels that it isn’t.

If Freddie hears Brian’s correction he doesn’t acknowledge it. “And we nearly have enough new material for a second album, which the studio has already promised to let us record once they find a label willing to release our work. That’ll be more than enough to keep us busy for a while, I should think.”

Busy. Freddie says that like it’s a good thing, and Brian can see how it would be but… god, he’s so tired and the thought of giving up (setting aside) his thesis only to have more obligations piled on his plate makes his chest tight with anxiety. He takes a deep breath, just to remind himself that he still can, and realizes with a start that they’ve somehow already arrived at Brian’s flat without him noticing.

Keys. That’s the next step here, but Brian drops them as he pulls them out of his pocket. He stares at them on the ground for a moment and Freddie leans down to pick them up before Brian can get his body cooperating with him again.

“Tired, dear?” Freddie says lightly, teasingly, but the joke falls flat when he opens the door and takes a step inside. “Oh…”

Brian knows what it looks like. Papers and textbooks are scattered everywhere, half-empty cups of tea abandoned across the room, dirty clothes trailing out of his bedroom because his laundry hamper is full but he hasn’t had time to wash anything recently. Something smells vaguely off and Brian doesn’t know if it’s the trash or just the general grime that’s built up around Brian’s life when he was too busy to keep on top of things. The only thing he’s sure about is that it’s not a forgotten plate of food that’s gone bad, because Brian can’t actually remember the last time he ate something at home instead of forcing down something between errands and obligations.

Freddie, carefully, picks his way over to the small table shoved in the corner where Brian spends most of his free hours. It too is covered in papers filled with indecipherable notes, song lyrics that trail off into equations, half-formed paragraphs for his thesis morphing into chord progressions, a chaos of ideas exploding off the page with no rhyme or reason to any of it. Brian knows that, realistically, very little of that is actually usable but he still hesitates to throw any of it away, just in case one of those scraps contains some important answer that he can use as a lifeline to pull himself out of this mess.

Freddie brushes his fingers along the top of the mess of papers, and glances up at Brian. His face is carefully neutral but he can’t hide the worry in his voice as he asks, “Brian, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Brian says, or at least that’s what he wants to say. He gets the first syllable out but the fine gets caught in his throat, and he tries to take a deep breath to try again but all he manages is a hitching gasp and there’s not enough oxygen in his lungs anymore and he can’t breathe, god, he can’t breathe-

His guitar case hits the floor with a low thud that Brian barely hears over the blood pounding in his ears and his own desperate, ragged breaths as he tries desperately to pull enough air into his body. He’s had panic attacks before but never as bad as this - or maybe this one just seems worse because Freddie is there, bearing witness to Brian’s breakdown with wide, worried eyes.

Brian is shaking and spots are dancing in front of his eyes and his heart is racing in his chest and no matter how much he gasps he’s not getting enough air. He’s dizzy and disoriented and he feels like he’s going to die, he’s going to die in his shitty flat in front of one of his best friends because he’s a failure and a disappointment and can’t do anything right, not even something as simple as calming himself down because try as he might he can’t stop this. He can’t stop the waves of panic, he can’t stop gasping and choking on every breath, he can’t bring himself back under control now the dam has been broken.

And then Freddie is there, gently gripping Brian’s arms and leading him over to the couch and Brian collapses into, bringing Freddie down with him because at some point - he doesn’t remember how or when - he grabbed a fistful of Freddie’s shirt and he doesn’t know how to make himself let go now.

Freddie is talking to him in a low, soft voice but Brian can’t make out what he’s saying - or at least, his panic-struck brain doesn’t want to make sense of the words. He can feel Freddie’s chest rising and falling underneath his hand, though, and at first he just focuses on that to keep him grounded when it feels like he’s losing sense of his entire body. It’s only after what feels like a small eternity that he realizes that he’s unconsciously matched his breathing to Freddie’s, and that the tightness in his chest has started to disappear.

It takes longer for the dizziness to fade and the shaking to stop and for Brian’s breathing to even out completely. Freddie stops talking at some point but he doesn’t leave. He keeps rubbing gently along Brian’s arms, grounding him with his presence, until Brian thinks his voice has returned enough to try talking again.

“S-sorry,” he stammers, and there’s more he wants to say, more that he tries to say, but all that keeps coming out is, “Sorry. Sorry-”

“Hush, Brian, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for,” Freddie says firmly. He reaches towards Brian and gently swipes at his cheeks and - oh. Brian must have been crying. He didn’t notice that. “You should drink something. I’ll get you a glass of water,” Freddie says.

Brian nods. “Please,” he manages to say. It takes him a moment to realize that this means he has to let go of Freddie, and another moment to get his hand to cooperate enough that he can release Freddie’s shirt.

Freddie leaves the room, and returns with the promised glass of water what seems like only seconds later - though time seems to be moving strangely for Brian, and he has no idea how long Freddie was actually gone. He takes a small sip of the water, grateful for the way it soothes his throat and grateful for Freddie’s steady presence at his side, even if the cold voice in the back of his mind tells him that he should be ashamed at falling apart in front of his friend.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Freddie asks softly, after what Brian thinks is several minutes- but could be seconds or hours of silence between the friends, for all he knows.

Brian thinks about that for a moment before nodding. He does want to talk about it, but it’s a struggle to find the words - or any words at all, for that matter. All he knows is that he should start at the beginning but where does this mess even start? When Brian first realized he was burning out? With that conversation with his advisor? Or earlier than even that, when Brian stubbornly stuck with Smile - and later Queen - despite his father’s warnings to drop the band?

Does it go back further to his very childhood, to when he was a young child already torn between looking up at the stars and down at the guitar in his hands, already pressured to do more, be more, to make his father proud, but not yet knowing how herculean of a task that would be?

“My thesis,” Brian says at last, and Freddie gives him the space he needs to form the rest of that thought. “I have to gi- set aside my thesis.”

“You said that was a possibility earlier, yes. But…” Freddie cocks his head and studies Brian for a moment as he chooses his next words with care. “Well, darling, isn’t that a good thing? A sign that the band is going places? Isn’t that what we always wanted?”

“No,” Brian says immediately, but that’s wrong and he quickly backtracks, “Yes! I mean, it is, but I have to- have to make it official now. Tell people that I’m stopping. My advisor. My- my parents. My dad…”

Brian’s voice cracks a little on that last word and Freddie’s face softens in understanding. “Oh, Brian…”

Brian doesn’t talk much about his family, but he’s certainly vented to his friends about his father’s expectations for him once or twice before, enough that Freddie knows the implications of what Brian is saying - but now that Brian has found his voice again he finds that he can’t stop talking, can’t stop explaining even though he knows that it’s not necessary. “All he wanted was for me to make something of myself. To have a stable life, to be able to provide for a family, and now I’m- I’m throwing that all away! All his hard work, everything his sacrificed to give me this opportunity, and I’m just going to give it all up!”

“You don’t have to,” Freddie cuts in gently. “You can still finish your thesis, Brian. We’ll wait for you, as long as you need-”

“I can’t,” Brian interrupts, louder, faster, unable to stay calm or rational now that he’s started pouring out everything he’s been holding inside for so long now. “I can’t keep working on the thesis and holding down my job and playing with the band. It’s- it’s too much, and I’ve tried to make it work, god, I’ve tried so, so hard to make it all work but I can’t do it, I can’t-”

Freddie takes the glass of water away from Brian and then grabs his hands, and says, “Brian, darling, please, you need to calm down or you’ll get yourself worked up again. Just take a few breaths for me, can you do that?”

Brian tries, and the first inhale is shallow and a little too fast and he almost panics again. Freddie squeezes his hands and rubs his thumbs along the backs of them, and Brian tries a second breath and that one comes a little easier, and slowly Brian starts to calm down again.

Freddie doesn’t push him to keep talking but Brian wants to, needs to, and after a few moments, when he thinks he’s ready to try again, Brian says, “I’m- I’m tired, Fred. I need to take something off my plate and it can’t be the band, because that’s about the only thing-”

He cuts off before he can say the first words that come to mind: stopping me from killing myself. Because he would never - or at least, he doesn’t think he would ever - and he doesn’t need to add that to the worry that he knows Freddie is already feeling for him. “Queen is one of the few things that makes me happy, these days. It may be stupid, but I can’t give that up.”

“It’s not stupid, darling,” Freddie says without hesitating. “You have to hold tight to the things that bring you joy.”

“That’s not what my dad would say.”

Freddie bites his lip and, for a moment, Brian thinks he isn’t going to say anything at all. But Freddie has never been one to stay silent when his friends are hurting, and after a few seconds he carefully says, “I’ve never met your dad. I only know the things you’ve told us about him. But he helped you build your guitar, didn’t he? That has to count for something.”

“I don’t think it does,” Brian says. It’s the truth that he’s known for a while now, the source of every bickering argument they’ve had the last few times he’s gone home, but now that Brian has admitted it aloud he’s almost surprised by how much it hurts to really accept that.

“I think…” Freddie says slowly, “that even when our parents don’t understand our choices, they just want us to be happy. Maybe your dad thinks you can only find happiness with a proper job and a steady paycheck but that’s not true. And I think you know that that’s not true.”

Brian looks away from Freddie and down at his hands, which Freddie is still holding. “I wouldn’t be thinking of setting aside my thesis if I didn’t know that was true,” he mutters, and Freddie chuckles a little at that.

“Fair enough,” Freddie concedes. “But, Brian, darling… you can’t spend your entire life trying to please other people. At some point you have to start living for yourself, and if staying with Queen is what makes you happy then I think your dad will understand that, in time.”

Brian isn’t sure of that but he’s not particularly keen on having Freddie keep trying to convince him of this point tonight. He knows what inevitable end he’s quickly approaching, and he doesn’t want to spend more time considering what the fall out from setting aside his thesis will be.

“Yeah, I guess,” Brian mumbles instead, and before Freddie can try to force the issue Brian clears his throat and adds, “Well. I suppose we should get going to meet up with Roger, shouldn’t we?”

Freddie sighs, like he knows that Brian is trying to change the subject - though, granted, his attempt was rather blunt and hard to miss. “We don’t have to go out if you’re not feeling up to it, dear.”

Brian would be embarrassed about Freddie offering to cancel their plans like that, if he had enough energy to be anything except tired. He looks up and around at his apartment - at the mess and the grime and the evidence of the breakdown that started far before it peaked this afternoon - and after a moment he admits, “I don’t think I want to stay here right now.”

“Alright,” Freddie says easily. “We’ll go meet up with Roger then. You can spend the night at ours too, if you want.”

“Alright,” Brian echoes. He still feels tired but his chest doesn’t ache, and when Freddie pulls him to his feet he doesn’t feel as dizzy as he was expecting. He takes one last look at the disaster covering every inch of his living space, at the piles of work and obligations that he should be taking care of - and then he walks outside with Freddie, and leaves it all behind.

Fifteen months later...

“...so we’re thinking of making a bit of a medley out of the three songs. It sounds quite lovely so far, but I think you need to give it a listen before we really commit to this plan. I’ll see about bringing a tape in and… Brian?”

“Hm? Sorry, sorry…” Brian shakes his head and brings his attention back to Freddie, who’s sitting in the chair next to Brian’s hospital bed. Roger and John had stopped by in the morning before going into the studio to work out some rhythm section but Freddie was the only one keeping Brian company now, even though he probably has better things to be doing.

Stop that, he tells himself as soon as he thinks that thought. Freddie, Roger, and John have all reassured him time and time again that they aren’t replacing him in the band, and Brian has to believe that - if only because he doesn’t want to know what the stress of worrying about that will do to his invalid body.

“Nothing to apologize for, darling,” Freddie assures him. “Are you tired? I can leave if you want…”

“No! No, please stay,” Brian tells him. “God knows I don’t have any visitors except you three.”

Freddie’s easy smile fades slightly, and Brian already knows what he’s going to say a split-second before Freddie asks, “Have you heard from…?”

“My mum called and we talked for awhile, yeah.”

“And your dad?”

Brian gives a half-hearted shrug and looks down at his hands. His nails are bitten short and his cuticles are in tatters, and he thinks about asking Freddie to bring white nail polish with him next time as he says, “No. But my mum’s probably filled him in and it’s not like either of them have the time to come down, especially now that I’m on the mend.”

They didn’t come down to London during his bout of hepatitis either, but Brian wasn’t allowed visitors in the hospital then and afterwards he dove straight back into recording. And, maybe, they could have come down when he went into surgery for the ulcer but it had all happened so quickly that by the time someone had thought to contact them he was already out of the operating room and arguably through the worst of it.

There’s a lot of maybe’s in Brian’s relationship with his parents these days, but there’s one thing that he knows for sure: His father still has no interest in speaking to him.

And Brian doesn’t have much interest in reaching out to his father either.

“Do you think he’ll come around soon?” Freddie asks softly.

Brian looks up at him again, somewhat surprised by the question. He had expected the singer to lash out about Brian’s father or else launch into some reassurance that this will blow over soon enough, like he had every time this had come up in the past. Instead he seems thoughtful, almost withdrawn, in a way that sets off alarm bells in the back of Brian’s mind.

“No,” Brian says. It’s the truth, but one that he wishes he didn’t have to confess to his friend.

Freddie spent most of the previous summer reassuring Brian over and over again that his father would eventually understand. He helped Brian carve out some free time in his schedule again and helped him through the moments when Brian’s stress and fear still overwhelmed him anyway… but part of Brian always knew that this is where his relationship with his father would end up. It was inevitable, no matter how much he may have hoped otherwise - and no matter what Freddie clearly believed at the time.

Freddie nods like he was expecting that answer. Brian wonders if Freddie is also thinking of those conversations that they had last summer, and all the reassurances he had given Brian that ended up being empty platitudes, and he has his answer when Freddie says, “I feel like I should be apologizing to you, even though I know that’s ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous,” Brian agrees. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Fred.”

“I know that, darling,” Freddie says quickly. “And I’m not really sorry anyway, because I’m glad that you chose to stick with Queen and I’ve meant it every time I’ve told you that we need you in the band - that we want you with us, no matter what happens. Maybe that makes me selfish, I don’t really know.”

He gives a dismissive wave of his hand and Brian smiles at the gesture, despite the seriousness of the conversation. “If it’s selfish, it’s a good sort of selfishness I think,” Brian tells him.

“If you say so,” Freddie says, but he doesn’t quite sound convinced.

Brian sighs and tries to sit up a bit more so he can have this conversation properly - but he moves too quickly and puts too much stress on his still-healing surgical scar. He groans and collapses back against his pillows and Freddie immediately jumps to his feet in alarm.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Brian assures him, though his scar still aches with residual pain. “Just moved a bit wrong, that’s all.”

“No, you’re not!” Freddie snaps, and the sudden anger catches Brian by surprise. “You’re in the hospital for the second time this year, for god’s sake! You got sick on tour, you’ve now had surgery because the stress of Queen made everything worse and your family isn’t here with you and-”

Freddie collapses back down on the chair, burying his face in his hands, and his next words come out softer and slightly muffled. “I spent all of last summer reassuring you that things would work out fine once the band got off the ground and they haven’t been fine. Not for you, at least.”

The guilt in Freddie’s voice is a shock to hear and Brian’s instinct is to respond with the first words of comfort that come to mind, no matter what they might be - but after everything Freddie has done for him over the last few months, he deserves better than that. Brian takes a moment to really consider what he needs Freddie to hear, before he finally says, “I always knew I’d end up here, though.”

Freddie looks up at Brian in confusion and disbelief. “You knew you’d end up in the hospital?” he asks skeptically.

Brian laughs and does his best to hide his wince when his scar throbs with pain again. “Well, no, that part was a bit of a surprise,” he admits. “But the doctors said that the ulcer was a ticking time bomb, so that at least was always going to be a problem even if I didn’t know about it before. But nothing that happened with my dad was much of a surprise.”

“Why didn’t you say something, then?” Freddie asks.

“Because I didn’t want to think about it,” Brian says. “If I thought about it too much I’d let it influence my decisions, and you were right when you said that I needed to do what made me the most happy. And Queen makes me happy. You and Roger and John, you all make me happy - more than fighting for recognition in academia ever would have.”

“But your dad-”

“Doesn’t have to live my life,” Brian interrupts. “Freddie, I’m not going to lie to you. I still want his approval, of course I do. But I’m done sacrificing my dreams for him. And if that means that we aren’t speaking for a little while…” Brian shrugs, and swallows down a lump in his throat. “Then that’s how it has to be, I suppose.”

There’s a beat of silence from Freddie before he admits, “I wish, for your sake, that it didn’t have to be like that, though.”

“I mean, I wish that too,” Brian says with a careful huff of laughter. “But it’s not your responsibility to make things perfect for me. Whether my dad comes around or not, well, that’s his choice. And Queen is mine.”

Freddie smiles a little crookedly at Brian, and Brian is relieved to see that the misplaced guilt is gone from his eyes. “You know, you really are amazing, Brian May.”

Brian shakes his head. “I’m really not. I’m just…”

He’s in pain, and he’s afraid that he’ll never get better and he’ll always be sick and in pain. He’s worried for the future of Queen with their tour plans for September cancelled and he feels guilty that he can’t help with the new album like he should. He’s angry at his dad, and scared that he’ll always be angry, and scared that his dad will never accept Brian’s choices no matter what he does. And he’s stressed, about his health and his dad and the band, until it feels almost as overwhelming as it did a year ago and he almost feels that panic starting to building in his chest again.

He’s not amazing. He’s just human, fragile and flawed and moving forward despite it all anyway.

“I’m just trying my best,” Brian says at last.

Freddie’s grin brightens, just a little bit, as he says, “Aren’t we all, darling?”

They all are, that’s certainly true - but it’s a truth that Brian couldn’t see a year ago, when his best didn’t feel like nearly enough, when his anxiety and stress and shame only let him see his perceived failures and not the achievements he managed to gain. It’s a truth that he’s only been able to see with the clarity that comes from rejection and loss, from losing a dad but gaining a family in Queen - and it’s a truth that only strengthens Brian’s convictions that, despite everything, he has made the right choices in his life.

“Yeah,” Brian agrees softly. “I suppose we are.”

#queen fic #queen band fic #brian may fic #brian may fanfic #queen band fanfic #queen fanfic #my fic #(this got posted to AO3 on... Monday I think?)#(but I've been overwhelming yall with fic so I wanted to wait a few days before posting it here)#anyway the next one should be the Maycury AU bc that got the most votes and I've already started writing it #but I make no promises on when it'll actually be finished...

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80sgothgirl · 4 years

Text

No Secrets

Chapter 2: Airplane Mode

Chapter Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: stalking, brief strong language

Hey y’all! This fic can also be found on Ao3, if you prefer! It’s a multi-chapter slow burn fic. Let me know if you’d like to be added to a tag list for updates! Enjoy!

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

The first thing you felt when you woke up was guilt, followed closely by dread. You shouldn’t have been thinking about Reid like that, not with everything that was going on. You were hardly in a place to face those kinds of emotions about someone, least of all your compassionate-to-a-fault coworker.

And then there was the dread.

Right before you left on this case, you had ended a short-term relationship with Jacob, a guy you dated for a couple of months. There were a few red flags in the relationship, and your suspicions had been confirmed when you started to receive the texts.

They came in slowly at first, then became an onslaught, each one nastier and more threatening than the last. You ignored them all, focusing on the case instead. There had been young girls, college age, being kidnapped; surely that was much more important than the danger you potentially faced? Now, you weren’t so sure. This guy knew where you lived, and you had an impending sense that you were returning to the belly of the beast.

Feeling sick to your stomach, you opened your eyes and pulled your face away from Reid’s shoulder. At least the sleep had been nice while it lasted; you hadn’t slept as well in weeks. You rubbed your cheek where it had been pressed against Reid’s shoulder; true to your prediction, you could feel the texture of corduroy on your skin.

“I’m glad you got some sleep, you were out like a light,” Reid murmured without taking his eyes off the page. He appeared to be reading a different book than the one he’d been reading before you went to sleep.

“It was all thanks to your terribly comfortable shoulder, Dr. Reid, though I’m afraid I didn’t come away unscathed,” you quipped.

This got his attention; seemingly without thinking, he turned to you, brushing his fingertips across the red, raised pattern on your cheekbone. He watched the rest of your skin flush to match and, surprisingly, didn’t pull away. He didn’t notice your blush and instead seemed to be searching for something in your gaze, perhaps expecting you to have your guard down since you had just woken up.

The moment was broken by the juddering of the jet in the air. You pulled away abruptly.

“We’re landing,” you muttered, gathering your things. He merely nodded, immersing himself again in his book.

As the wheels hit the ground, you did the thing you’d been dreading most: you took your phone off airplane mode. As subtly as you could, you turned your body towards the window and away from Reid, whose gaze on you was palpable. You held your phone in your hand as tightly as you could to mask the repetitive buzzing. One, two, three…You quickly lost count. They were all from him.

You waited until it stopped, and you could only bring yourself to read the message preview of the last one, which simply said, “I’ll be waiting for you.” It was exactly what you had been dreading.

There it is again, Reid noticed. Tense, release, tense, release. Although you had turned away from him, he could see the unconscious movement at your temple. It was in time with the faint vibrations he could hear from your phone, vibrations he deduced you were trying to muffle. He resisted the urge to read more into the situation. Morgan’s reminder floated through his brain: No profiling. He took a deep breath. You trust her. If she’s in trouble, if there’s something she needs from you, she’ll ask.

You weighed your options. Waiting until you were home to read the messages was unthinkable; you would be knowingly walking into a dangerous situation. If you read them once you got back inside the BAU office, you ran the risk of being visibly upset in front of everyone, a possibility you were still vehemently resisting. If you read them here, now, quickly, you could take your time to process on your way into the building in as much solitude as the situation allowed.

Steeling yourself, you unlocked your phone and scrolled through. A lot of curse words, a lot of graphic sexual terms. Objectification was far from your favorite thing in the world, but you could deal with that. However, the last three messages were the most troubling.

Did you forget I know where you live, you bitch? You have to come home eventually.

You always do. And when you do, you’d better be watching your back. Have that little gun of yours at the ready.

I’ll be waiting for you.

“Y/n?” Reid’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

“God, Reid—” you began exasperatedly. He cut you off.

“You’re the only one left on the jet, y/n. You’ve been sitting there for a minute or so. I just didn’t want you to get left behind.”

You grabbed your go bag from the floor and followed him off the jet. He didn’t speak to you at all on the walk in to the BAU, but he did keep shooting you looks. You ignored them. You needed to think, but your brain went to the place you least expected, least desired it to go.

I can trust Reid, can’t I? Something in you wanted it, so badly, to be true. Don’t be a sucker, y/n. Just because you sleep on a man’s shoulder doesn’t mean you can trust him. You can’t trust anyone if you don’t want them to look at you differently because of this. He’ll have to tell Hotch, and they’ll need to take a bunch of precautions, and I don’t want to be the victim.

But at the same time, even with your gun and your badge and all your training, you were so, so scared to go home. Something about the whole situation felt wrong, and you couldn’t ignore your instincts. If you were going to verbalize them, the man holding the door for you was your best available audience.

“Reid?” You began hesitantly. “Can I—can I show you something?”

“Of course, Y/n.” He followed you into the building, glancing at you once more. “Is—would you prefer privacy?”

You nodded. Now more than ever, the tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You willed yourself to keep it together, at least until the story was told.

“Do some paperwork at your desk until Hotch and Rossi are gone. When they leave, we’ll go into Hotch’s office, okay?”

And that was how you found yourself, far too late at night, crying at your boss’s desk when he wasn’t even in the building. You would have put money on the fact that you’d end up crying in there at some point, but you never thought it would be quite like this.

Thankfully, Spencer seemed to understand, and focused mainly on you, not asking any of the questions about Jacob you’d dreaded. You blamed yourself, with all your knowledge as a profiler, for being so stupid as to let this man in.

“So he hasn’t made any specific threats of violence against you?” He asked matter-of-factly.

“No, he just said—”

“That he’s waiting for you. And you think he’s being true to his word.”

You appreciated Spencer’s steadiness, his pragmatic nature. He wanted to know if there was anything that would warrant calling the police outright; other than that, he just wanted to make sure you were safe.

“He…he’s scary. I know that’s not the right word, not very descriptive, but I don’t know how to describe it better than that. He knew things about me…sometimes he remembered things that most people wouldn’t remember, not about someone they were only dating for a month or two. And occasionally he would say things about me that I didn’t even remember telling him at all. And when I would question it, he would just give me this look…I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” you trailed off. “This really isn’t like me, to tell this many details about my personal life. I…I don’t want you to feel obligated to get involved, or to give me advice, I just needed to tell someone.”

“Y/n,” Spencer knelt down beside where you were seated in the chair. In any other context, the gesture would have seemed incredibly odd, as if he were treating you like a child, but now it was comforting.

“This isn’t petty, personal drama. If this man is waiting at your apartment, you’re in danger. And I’m your friend. The bare minimum of our relationship is that I should be able to help you if you feel unsafe, that I care about your basic well-being. You don’t have to feel guilty for telling me.”

His eyes shone in the dim light coming through the blinds of Hotch’s office.

“Do you want me to take you home?” You nodded, following him as he crossed to the door.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you

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that-one-girl-behind-you · 4 years

Text

Illicio 2/?

Part 1

"In my defense," Gerry starts saying as soon as he closes the door to Jon's office, "she was supposed to say yes."

Jon lets out a weird little noise that could pass for a laugh if it didn't border on hysteric.

"Not your best guess by far, I'm afraid." Jon sits down behind his desk and starts booting up his laptop, apparently unaware of Gerry's eyes on him.

But, see, Gerry has known bad people.

And Jon isn't one.

"I thought you were going to do your own thing," Basira says when Gerry walks into the Institute with Jon next Monday. "Was he hiding with you?" she adds, giving Jon a pointed look.

"He wasn't hiding, just- he's been staying at my flat," Jon mutters. It's interesting to see he doesn't try to meet her eyes when he speaks. Gertrude definitely never had that consideration with anyone, and Gerry doubts Elias does either. Just another little way Jon is different from the Beholders that came before him.

Basira arches a thick eyebrow in suspicion. "Why?"

Gerry's not about to just let it out in the open that he now literally feeds off of Jon's voice, especially to one of the women that was so adamant on killing him on his very first day back here.

"I didn't exactly have a place to live," Gerry says before Jon himself has any chance to respond. Basira's big, deep brown eyes latch on to him with such intensity Gerry doesn't even need to See to know the owner of the mark on her soul. "And I like Jon."

"Do you now?" Basira's gaze turns skeptical, and Gerry gives her a shrug.

"Don't you?" he asks back.

He knows the question was a mistake almost immediately, from the way Basira's expression shuts off.

"We'll just- I have some things to work on," Jon's voice breaks the silent stare-off. His hand is slightly raised towards Gerry, like he was going to reach for his forearm but then thought better of it. "Gerry's going to be assisting me with some research, Basira. We'll be in my office, if... in case anything happens."

Gerry gives Basira one last look before he follows; she's watching Jon go and her expression is stony, but her eyes look troubled. In the end she just turns around and leaves, and Gerry's left thinking he's missing some sort of context.

"In my defense," Gerry starts saying as soon as he closes the door to Jon's office, "she was supposed to say yes."

Jon lets out a weird little noise that could pass for a laugh if it didn't border on hysteric.

"Not your best guess by far, I'm afraid." Jon sits down behind his desk and starts booting up his laptop, apparently unaware of Gerry's eyes on him.

Gerry stays by the door, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he watches Jon. He's... a bit awkward, yes. And a danger magnet, considering he visited America exactly one time and somehow ended up both tagged by the Stranger and trapped by the hunters. And he does look like he's constantly having a nervous breakdown and has forgotten what food and sleep and combs are.

But, see, Gerry has known bad people.

His mother is still a shadow well pushed against the back of his mind so he only ever thinks of her accidentally. He's met avatars that take a perverse delight in feeding their patrons, instead of merely doing it to survive. He's seen humans at their lowest, when they'd gladly throw others into the line of fire to get a few extra seconds to run. Gerry knows bad people.

And Jon isn't one.

Gerry spent enough time with Gertrude to know that getting close to Archivists is a surefire way of getting killed, and he's also painfully aware he barely has any reason to trust Jon.

But he looks... lonely. Not capital 'L' lonely, but still enough so that Gerry can't just let the matter rest.

"You're not unlikable," comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. Jon's hands still over the laptotp keys. "I'm also getting the feeling no one here likes each other, so maybe don't take it personally."

It takes a few more seconds for Jon's fingers to go back to tapping a tuneless melody on the plastic keys, and Gerry guesses that's all there's going to be. Just a little moment of encouragement that didn't quite land as he hoped it would. He still kind of wants to defend Jon for some reason. It's either some sort of Eye thrall, or leftover loyalty for the only person who's ever respected his wishes.

After a while, Gerry moves to pull a chair to sit on, and grabs a statement from a file box next to Jon's desk. Apparently these are the fake ones, because it narrates an encounter with a demon duck that Gerry suspects was only a regular pissed off goose chasing off a group of very intoxicated young adults.

"We used to- we liked each other, before," comes Jon's voice by the time he reaches the statement' thrilling conclusion. Gerry's still getting used to this, and he still can't tell how much of the soothing warmth comes from Jon's words feeding him some kind of monster energy, and how much is just the fact that Jon has a very nice voice. "Or they did, at least."

"You didn't like them?" Gerry asks without looking up from the paper. Jon keeps tapping away, the sound lulling in its repetitiveness.

"I never tried to- they liked each other." Jon's voice tastes like a confession. Gerry wonders how much of it is true, and how much is only Jon's perception. "My assistants at least, Basira and Melanie never quite- they're different."

"I would have never guessed," Gerry says, because he can't think of anything else.

The silence broken by the tapping on the keys stretches for another long pause.

"But- but thank you, I guess." Jon pauses in his typing. "It was... a nice try."

He looks up at Gerry with gratitude in his dark eyes and the smallest, saddest hint of a smile in his cracked lips, and a single thought flares up in Gerry's mind so suddenly it surprises even himself.

Fuck.

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

"Hey," Melanie drops a paper Krispy Kreme bag on top of whatever bullshit it is Basira's reading right now. If she's lucky, the grease will stain it so bad Basira won't be able to read it anymore.

A much better alternative than ripping it out of her hands and tearing it into a million pieces. Every time she sees Basira do anything but hate this place Melanie feels her blood boil and her hands itch to hurt.

Basira frowns at the bag, before looking up at Melanie. "How did you get this?"

"Helen dropped me at the loos," Melanie shrugs. Basira goes to open the bag, and Melanie feels her near-constant irritation soften when she sees her lips twitch as she pulls out a chocolate frosted doughnut from the bag. "I was craving something sweet. Had to guess at what you'd like."

"Hm. It's been a while since I've had one, thanks." Basira toasts her with the pastry, and Melanie smiles. That's right. Basira is... not her friend, but not her enemy either. They're both trapped here. Melanie doesn't have to protect herself against her. "Helen's still in the tunnels?"

Melanie takes a seat across her and reaches for a doughnut as well. She hates red velvet with a passion, but she got one because she's been thinking of Georgie lately, and those are her favorite.

"She says she likes them." she bites into the doughnut. She still hates it. "Any news about our other resident abomination?" Melanie still refuses to believe the thing that woke up at the hospital is Jon, but it's getting harder to keep up with every day that passes because he's just.... Jon.

If anything he's become more quiet, trying to blend into the background or hiding behind a statement, like keeping up the appearance of productivity will somehow make him seem more human.

"He's fine. I guess." Basira frowns at her half eaten doughnut like it's personally offended her. "I've been thinking."

"Mm?" Melanie chews the red velvet viciously. If she has to suffer it, then it has to suffer her too. Basira's eyes are heavy on her, and she looks up from her phone when she can't stand the staring any longer. "What?"

"You're going to get mad ," Basira says carefully. "Not that you aren't all the time, but-"

"Just say it," Melanie rolls her eyes, already feeling the rising irritation prickling at her mood. "I'll keep it in."

They both know what it is, the memory of the Flesh's creatures squirming and crying out at her hands still fresh in both their minds.

Basira waits another moment, until Melanie rolls her eyes and pulls out her knife from her jacket and hands it over to her.

"I'm- I think we're going about Jon all wrong," Basira says finally. Melanie arches an eyebrow. "I think... maybe that's why the Eye brought Keay back."

"Basira, either you're not making any sense or you think you've given me much more context than you have."

The other woman huffs angrily, before pinching the bridge of her nose.

"We- Is there anyone Jon is close to anymore?" Basira asks. "Martin is up with Lukas, Tim is dead, you said your friend isn't talking to him... you make it no secret that you'd turn on him at the first wrong move, and I'm- I used to like him."

"Oh fuck, did you really?" Melanie frowns. Logically, she knows Jon is not- she knows people can like Jon. Georgie certainly did once. Tim too, if he was actually saying the truth when they got drunk in the freak's office while the doll had him kidnapped. Martin does, or did as well.

She expected Basira to have a bit more sense though.

"Not at first. I was- it was a trap. I gave him Getrude's tapes because I wanted him to trust me, we thought he'd killed her and we wanted him to slip."

"We?"

Basira seems to deflate at the question.

"Daisy and I. She... she was very interested in him from the start. I guess now we know why." Her lips curve into a dry, humorless smile. "But he was actually nice. Weird, awkward. Bit paranoid. But nice enough. He made jokes sometimes."

"I'm sure they were hilarious," Melanie mutters through gritted teeth. The conversation is setting her on edge, her hands white knuckled around the edge of the desk.

"Oh they were terrible. But seeing him try was funny." Basira's lips curve into another soft smile, but this one makes Melanie want to scratch at her face because she's smiling at the fucking monster that dragged them all into this. "Mel. The desk. You said you'd keep it in."

She hates that nickname so much. The boys at her high school used it to mock her, and it always makes her feel small and soft, like she's not being taken seriously.

Basira takes her seriously. Melanie knows this. Basira doesn't mean it in the way they did. She doesn't know, because Melanie won't tell her, because a nickname is just that and it doesn't affect her at all. It's just a name. Just-

"Okay. So he made jokes that were bad. What's your point?" Melanie only looks back up once she's got her breathing under control. It was only a slip.

"The point is it doesn't matter if we like him or not," Basira marks her emphasis on the last part, but Melanie's not too convinced anyways. "What matters is we don't want him to turn full monster. I've read about other avatars, Melanie. You saw Hopworth, you know how they can be, when they're truly gone."

"So what? The power of friendship is going to turn him human again?" Melanie snarls. "We have a sleepover and do each other's hair and that will fix-"

"Well I don't know, Melanie!" Basira snaps back, and Melanie actually stops at that. It's so rare to see her lose her cool. "All I'm saying is that it's very suspicious that the Eye decided to give him a new best friend right now. We don't even know what Keay is."

And they really don't. Melanie's been watching Gerard Keay ever since he came back to the Institute last week. He walks Jon in every morning, then goes away for the rest of the day and comes back just as Jon is leaving in the evening.

She followed him once, and saw him hurry up after a man dressed in construction gear and grab him by the shoulder to lean in and tell him something, before going to beat the snot out of the avatar of the Buried that had been following the poor sucker for three blocks.

Whenever they meet, he keeps his eyes on her and his back to the wall. He somehow always seems to know where she's carrying the blades that day, but it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is that he knows Melanie's dangerous, and treats her as such despite towering over her and probably doubling her in weight, despite all his experience in fighting beings made out of fear.

Melanie likes Gerard Keay precisely because he does not trust her.

"Does it matter?" Melanie asks. "If he becomes a problem, I-"

"I think it does matter, because right now he and the statements are all the influence Jon has," Basira points at the closed door of Jon's office across the room. "For all we know he's encouraging Jon to be- well, worse."

Melanie arches an eyebrow at her words. She'll rip Jon's heart out before pretending to be his friend. Maybe it'll be enough to kill him for good and they won't have to worry about this anymore.

"And what do you want to do about it?"

Basira sighs.

"Nevermind. I don't know what I expected," she says, defeated.

"A sounding board?" Melanie's irritation evaporates as quickly as it boiled, now that Basira has stepped back. "Good luck with that!"

"You could at least try you know?"

"I really couldn't," Melanie gestures with a smile at the crescent moons her nails dug into the wood of the desk. "Think of me as a backup plan. When you fail, I'll deal with him."

Basira groans, and digs into the bag for another doughnut.

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

It's raining heavily by the time he leaves the Institute.

Jon huffs a little as he walks towards the front door, wondering if Gerry had the good sense to buy an umbrella while he was out there doing whatever it is he does, because Jon certainly didn't think to grab one this morning when they left.

It definitely still feels a little unnatural to think of Gerry living with him. Of course it's not like Gerry wants to be there, but Jon is very aware that he's the reason Gerry's alive and therefore homeless, and he's not about to kick him out when he does need a place to stay the night.

It's also very comfortable to not be alone, he thin-

That's when Jon bumps against something soft and warm and firm, and promptly bounces back and trips over his own feet. His reflexes are lackluster even at the best of times.

A large hand clamps down on his forearm before he actually goes down, and Jon uses the support to right himself.

"Jon?" says a soft, open voice, and Jon freezes.

"M- Martin!" This is great, this is amazing. He hasn't seen Martin in two weeks and he had to literally run into him now that he looks a right mess and... and of course Martin doesn't care how he looks, that's- why is he even thinking about that? "I'm- How are you?" he asks, and the unnerving, heavy pressure on his stomach intensifies.

"Oh? Ah, I'm just-" Martin averts his eyes from him, and Jon feels himself deflate a little. Sure, no one really looks at him in the eye anymore, but the fact that it's Martin makes it a different kind of painful. "I'm...fine?"

"You look fine." Too fine almost, for someone who's been hanging around Peter Lukas for months. Jon takes in the soft curve of his face, his full cheeks, and his strong brows. His sad green eyes behind his glasses. Jon's stomach tightens even more. He really has been blind.

"I... I have to go now Jon," says Martin, and only then does Jon notice how long he's been standing there in silence just staring at Martin like a creep.

"Would you- I mean we could-" Jon stumbles to get his words out because Martin is here and they're technically outside the Institute, and he can't just let him go. "Uh- a coffee? Just-"

"I can't- Jon I've really got to go," Martin sighs. "Here, take my umbrella, I'll grab a taxi."

"I'm- it's ok. Gerry has one, he's just around the corner." He Knows this suddenly, only really hears the static after the words come out of his mouth. "Uh- you've heard about Gerry?" It occurs to him that not everyone has supernatural means of knowing things, and it's been a while since Martin last went down to the Archives. "Gerard-"

"Peter told me, yes." Martin opens his umbrella with a single, practiced push to the runner. "Get home safe Jon," he says, giving him a last over the shoulder look before walking out into the rain.

His eyes are grey.

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

Jon is suspiciously quiet as they walk to the bus stop on the way to the flat that evening.

Gerry's spent the last two nights out looking for people to help, and he's starting to run low on juice, so he'll have to sit this one out. The rain hopefully means there'll be less people out on the streets, and while he knows the entities can reach people at home just as easily, he also doesn't really want to be out there getting soaked.

"Who was the marked guy?" Gerry asks as he tries to keep the umbrella over the two of them while accounting for the fact that Jon is trying very hard to not step into Gerry's space. "The big one with the glasses."

That makes Jon stop walking, and Gerry has to hop aside to not bump into him.

"Watch it, I'm going to run you over next-"

"Is it the Lonely?" Jon looks up at him with tired eyes, like he already knows the answer. "I... guess I should've seen it coming," Jon says after Gerry's silence extends a minute too long. "That's- he's Martin."

The name in Jon's voice tastes like devotion when it slips into Gerry. Ah shit...

"I'm going to guess Martin is not an easy subject." Gerry watches Jon's face for a reaction. "Do you want to like... talk about it? I know a good Chinese place nearby."

Jon's lips curl into a humourless smile. "You don't eat."

"I do. Just not Chinese." Gerry guesses it'll make a good side dish at least. "You don't have to tell me. But maybe I can help."

"I don't think Martin wants anyone to help," Jon says instead of answering.

The rain's starting to come down harder. Gerry looks down, and the boots keep him pretty much dry, but Jon's trousers are already starting to soak up water from the splashing sidewalk.

"C'mere," he grabs Jon by the shoulder and starts moving again.

If anything, Jon looks a little less miserable holding a hot cup of jasmine tea, even when he's telling a very sad story about a man who took a new job without knowing what he's really agreeing to.

"-and I- of course I don't like it. But Gerry, I have to trust him. He's- it's the least I can do. The least he deserves." Jon's expression is almost desperate, like he expects Gerry to disagree with him. "He's doing this for a reason, and I already- look where not trusting people has brought me. I made a choice and... and I have to stand by it."

After all this, Gerry thinks he's formed a pretty solid idea of this Martin, and his conclusions are not too favorable. Gerry's spent his entire life pulling people out from this world, and this man is arrogant enough to think he can waltz in and come out unscathed.

Still, he doesn't mention it. Gerry's not unobservant by any means. The whole marked by the Eye thing helps, he guesses, but even a blind man could probably see how bad Jon's got it for his former assistant, and bringing a less than stellar opinion to the table is definitely not going to do any good.

"Lukas is dangerous," Gerry offers. Nothing Jon doesn't know already, and probably nothing that will help soothe his worries, but it's the truth. Jon deserves that. "But at least your Martin doesn't seem too far gone yet."

"I- he's not my Martin," Jon stammers out, his flushed face noticeable even under the harsh yellow lights of the restaurant.

Gerry chuckles. Jon's not a bad looking man, under the unkempt exterior, and he's definitely much gentler than he shows at first. He can see why Martin liked him. He can also see how Jon didn't notice.

"Of course he's not." Gerry makes his eyeroll as exaggerated as he can, and it has the desired effect of making Jon go even redder. The tea's gone cold long ago, and the server already brought back Gerry's untouched food in a take-out bag.

Jon is avoiding his gaze by studiously looking at Gerry's fingers where he's taping restlessly at the table. The tattoos, probably. They've always been -excuse the joke- eye-catching.

"Let's go to your place," Gerry days after a moment, and Jon's face whips up as if startled. "You okay?"

"I- yes. You're staying tonight?" Jon asks, lifting an eyebrow. "It's raining."

Gerry guesses he technically doesn't have to, Jon's recounting of his transformation into the Archivist was enough to top him off.

But Jon looks... oddly hopeful under the questioning look. And it would be a pretty bastard move to have him lay out such a personal story and then just leave him alone.

Gerry looks out the window at the distorted reflections of the streetlights. "Yeah, I think I could stay," he says, and pretends not to see how Jon's entire stance relaxes on his seat, the little satisfied curl to his lips.

He can definitely see why Martin liked him.

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

There's really no reason why Martin should keep coming down here to brew his tea.

Elias', now Peter's, office has an en suite kitchenette, and it's just inefficient for Martin to make the trip down to the Archives' break room every time he wants a drink.

But -and he guesses this is the main reason he'll have to stop coming down here- this place feels like home in ways that hurt, but also remind him just what he's doing this for.

This is where he and Sasha and Tim sat down and planned Jon's birthday party, because Jon never really came here so the place was basically theirs. They had a whiteboard with ideas and lists littered here and there with Sasha's little doodles.

"Oh no, trust me. He's a cake guy," Tim had said with one of his trademark mischievous smiles. "He can pretend he isn't, but you'll see."

Martin had been so jealous back then, because he often forgot Tim and Jon were friends and Tim actually knew things about Jon and hung out with him and- it all feels very silly now. Like something that happened to someone else while Martin watched. He wonders if it's the Lonely's effect or just the PTSD from the past four years.

He sighs when he comes back to the present and looks down to find he's preparing two cups instead of one, before he goes to return the extra one to the cupboard. Those days are over.

It's probably for the best.

That evening a few days ago, Martin was far too close to saying yes. A coffee date on a rainy day with the man he loves is everything Martin would've wanted some years ago, but he made a deal with Peter, and it's the only way to keep Jon-

"So you're Martin?" someone asks behind him, and Martin just about flings the cup into the sink out of surprise.

He turns around to find a man looking him up and down with a raised eyebrow, like he's evaluating him and Martin isn't scoring too well. The man is nearly as tall as Martin is, with broad shoulders and tattoos and at least three face piercings, and Martin is pretty sure he knows who he is even before he gets to the truly awful dyejob.

"And you're Gerard Keay, aren't you?" Martin asks as he gets his pulse back under control. "I didn't know you were here."

"I'm not usually, I have better things to do," Gerard says none too gently. Martin is... very surprised to find he doesn't care too much that this man finds him lacking. He just wants to be left alone. "But I'm checking on you. For Jon."

It would be so much easier to save the world if Jon hadn't chosen this moment to care about him, Martin thinks. "Did he-"

"He doesn't know I stayed. I usually just drop him off." There's something casual about the way Gerard says this, and Martin's stomach prickles with irritation. He should be glad Jon's got someone keeping an eye on him, especially since he apparently hasn't moved into the Institute like Basira and Melanie. If two archival assistants -however reluctant- can't go out without half the entities trying to get a piece of them, the Archivist probably shouldn't either.

He's not too glad.

"So what do you want?" Martin crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the kitchenette counter.

Gerard takes a step towards him. Martin tilts his chin up, the way Tim used to do when he got into fights with Jon. He probably doesn't look nearly as intimidating, but he hopes it'll come across as a warning.

"I don't know what you're playing at," Gerard takes yet another step into his space, his eyes hard and narrowed. "But you better have one hell of an anchor, Blackwood, or you're not going to like what happens."

Martin feels something hot and ugly climb up into his chest from the pit of his stomach. Who does this guy think he is? He doesn't know the least of it, he has no idea the sheer amount Martin is sacrificing for-

"That's very nice. Thank you for the advice," he says through gritted teeth. "I don't think I owe anyone an explanation though, least of all you, Mr. Keay."

Gerard lifts a pierced eyebrow, unimpressed. "What about Jon?"

"That's what you're here for, isn't it?" That's what Peter had said. Well not exactly, Peter had taken it as some kind of blessing from the Watcher, a new way to convince Martin to isolate himself.

"See?" Peter had said, "the Eye knows how important our mission is. He doesn't need you to keep worrying about him," like it hadn't become as natural to Martin as breathing by this point. But if it keeps Peter away from Jon, so be it.

"Ugh. Listen, I don't care for your little soap opera, Jon is worried about you and-"

"I don't care," Martin cuts into whatever Gerard was about to say. Of course Jon is worried, of course Jon cares. If anything, that's Jon's biggest problem. "And if you ask me, not minding your own business has historically ended very poorly for you, so I'd advise against it. Excuse me," he says before walking past the other man. He thinks about shoulder checking him just to be petty, but the thought of touching another person triggers a deep feeling of revulsion.

Peter would be proud, he thinks as he makes his way to his office, tea-less and bristling.

"That was a splendid display." Sure enough, Peter's voice comes from behind him right as he reached the office. Martin looks right in time to see him slipping out of the fog. "I must admit, I've been worried you keep going to that break room out of some sense of nostalgia, but it seems to be making you more lonely, so by all means keep doing it."

Martin hates that he's right.

"Mhm. I'm going to need you to sign some papers today," Martin knows better than to engage with Peter unless it's absolutely necessary.

Peter chuckles, and Martin knows every move he makes is playing right into his hands. It's what he wants, but it doesn't mean he likes it.

He thinks of Jon, to try and remind himself of why he's doing this, but the thought brings less and less comfort every day.

#jongerrymartin #jonathan sims #gerry keay #martin blackwood #j/g/m #vit writes

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darkpoisonouslove · 4 years

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I retaliate/reward you with writer asks 2, 3, 4, 12, 22, 24, 36, 37, 39 and 42 ;D

Sounds good to me. XD

Okay, let's break these down. (I've crammed things that should be separated in different paragraphs in the same paragraph because of the structure of the ask. I just think it is easier to navigate it that way even if more paragraphs would make more sense. That way every opinion is constricted in one paragraph and you can tell which point it refers to easier. (At least imo.))

(I can't put a read more link rn as I'm on mobile. Sorry.)

2. Don't use adverbs

I cannot begin to describe to you how much I LOATHE this. It is, by far, some of the stupidest writing advice I have ever read. No, I don't care Stephen King supports this. Stephen King writes mostly horror and in horror you need to maintain suspense so short and to the point is definitely better and cutting adverbs is certainly a way to do that. However, I don't think this applies to all writing. I think this isn't really a genre thing as much as it is a specific case by case thing. And in most instances I think this advice is bullshit. Think about it. Language was created to allow us to express ourselves. Cut all adverbs out of it and that narrows down your way to express yourself. It's kinda like "Oh, hey, my leading hand serves more purpose. I should probably cut off the other one because it's not that effective." Congrats, you just crippled yourself. It's the same with language. Why would you deny yourself the help of an entire group of "tools" to express yourself? I just don't understand it. I suppose you've seen the posts going around about "good" and "bad" adverbs so I won't go into that as I agree that an adverb is a good idea when it adds some meaning to the word that wasn't there before (eg. "cried happily"). Sometimes it can actually make things faster to just "tell" them rather than show them through the context. I think adverbs are as neat as any other part of language and deserve their place in writing.

3. Write what you know

Yes, you should know what the hell you're writing about. Whether it was something that you were familiar with before you started writing or you did your research on the matter. I might be a little biased on this because I kinda hate doing research so I can be swayed towards write only what you are completely familiar with but that would just make things boring. So I think you can write about stuff that isn't quite your area of expertise as long as you put the effort to research it to the proper level depending on what you need it for. If it's more of a mention, you don't need that much knowledge about it but if you intend to make it the subject of your writing, please make sure you understand what you're going to be talking about in the entirety of your story. I am begging you because when you don't, we end up with stuff like 50 Shades of Grey (and I'm not just talking about the sex parts since this book is full of poorly researched stuff that, shockingly, ends up being unbelievable at best, potentially harmful at worst). However, I think that applies to a greater degree to published fiction rather than to fanfiction but let's not get into that debate since it's a completely different topic and I already veered off course.

4. Avoid repetition

This I mostly agree with but it depends on the purpose of the repetition. If it is done in order to establish a theme or motif or to emphasize a point (without overdoing it, of course), I fully support it. (I do that a lot in my personal writing and it shouldn't be that hard to find examples of it when looking at my fics ("What Is the One Thing That Can Never Break?" is the best example of this but I have done it countless times in most of my fics if not all of them since this is one of my fave techniques).) However, there is a thin line between establishing a theme and making dead herrings aka something that is brought up repeatedly without any point to it other than boosting the word count since it doesn't lead to anything and it was already discussed at a prior point (which I might have done a few times myself in some of my longest fics). If you're bringing another angle to an issue you've already looked at or are furthering the point, you should be fine but this is indeed a thin line to tread so it demands a bit of caution. I do believe repetition can be a valuable technique in specific circumstances, though, so it all depends on how it is used.

12 is already answered here

22. Do not use semicolons

My personal opinion on this isn't very applicable to anything else because I am not really quite sure how to properly use semicolons so I avoid them. I also don't really like them in other people's writings. I'm sure they have their uses but I think a lot of authors also overuse them to make those horrendously long sentences that I hate (but have started becoming guilty of as well even though I think that if you can't remember how the sentence started at the end of it, it is too long and needs to be split in some way). It is why I haven't bothered to learn how to operate them. XD But I think that my point about adverbs should be applied here as well. It is another tool you can use and I am sure it can be helpful. So I am not necessarily against it and wouldn't tell someone to stop using them. Only, maybe try using full stops as well? And I'll try to do the same because, like I said, I have started becoming guilty of paragraph long sentences as well. (Just to be clear, sometimes longer sentences are okay. But not when literally every sentence is over 150 words. You need to break them down, spice it up with shorter sentences thrown in the mix.) Also, I think this is an instance of the trap of "bigger is better" for a lot of writers except that here it is "longer is better". It really isn't. And I can tell you why. My scenes have started getting thousands of words long and if I were to write novel, I could hit 50k words with about ten scenes. Most novels are up to 120k words total. Those would be 24 scenes in my numbers but don't you feel like a novel will need more than 24 scenes? Consice writing is definitely a good idea and it is much harder to cut things rather than to add (at least for me). Fanfiction gives more room with the word count but I still think that it is important to be able to convey your point in as little words as possible. (Btw, this is a tangent but long sentences and semicolons appear a lot in academic writing and I hate it even more there because it makes it more incomprehensible than it needs to be (and in a lot of cases it already is written to be as incomprehensible as possible). Just... start another sentence, I am begging you. This one already is a page long, for the love of everything in the world.)

24. Don't edit as you write

A complicated one. Mostly because I have done this. I used to do it a few years back. I (mostly) don't do it anymore. I might stop to edit a typo or change a sentence that just doesn't read right but nothing bigger than that. And you should, arguably, not do that either. Why? Because you may end up deleting the entire paragraph, page, chapter and all that perfecting will have been for naught. It has happened to me when I spent a ton of time perfecting the first chapters of several of my works and some of them I will never finish while others actually need to start from a different point in time so the whole chapter needs to go. Along with all of my efforts. I would say this is mostly for longer and chaptered projects since the structure of a one shot (depending on the length) is easier to figure out and you probably won't need to rearrange parts of it. And if something is really poking your eyes out, you can fix it real quick. But once you have the whole thing, it will be easier to see what needs to stay, what needs to go and what needs to be changed. Sometimes the temptation is hard to resist and it's fine if you give in as long as you're doing it with the knowledge that "yes, this may be all for nothing but I can't look at it like that for another second". Sometimes I would say that you need to go back and see where everything derailed if you can't move on. There was good advice that if you're stuck, the problem is probably a few paragraphs before the point where you hit a wall and it has helped me get over a block a time or two. However, if you can move on without touching anything, you probably should. That can also save you from deleting something that is actually good. I have felt like the whole thing I was writing was terrible but holding back from deleting or even altering anything and, instead, giving it some time to breathe has saved a few fics along the way from being completely butchered. So I think this is, generally, good advice because of the reasons I listed but just like any other rule, it can be bent and broken. (I would say fixing typos is a form of bending it which I allow myself all the time. Spelling is just really important to me.)

36. Never use a verb other than 'said' to tag dialogue

I hate this specific phrasing of it a lot. Never start any rule with never. Of course, you need to use other verbs as well since they were created to express the wide range in which a person may speak their chosen words. My problem with this is the reason that is usually given for it and that is that it distracts the reader. It has never distracted ME. Not a single time. And while I agree that using said most of the time works since people usually speak in a calm, even, steady manner which to describe as simply "said" works well enough, I think that other dialogue tags have their places too. Because people don't always say things. Sometimes they scream them, sometimes they whisper them, sometimes they hiss them, sometimes they snap and so on. Here I think a better phrasing would be to use Syndrome's lesson again that "when everyone is super, no one will be". Dialogue tags different from said are supposed to direct your attention to the change in tone. They're supposed to stand out. If everything stands out, nothing will. (This philosophy is so applicable to so many things and I think we have to take a minute to appreciate how valuable the lesson of "The Incredibles" is.) So as with every other writing tool, if used accordingly, dialogue tags (all of them, not just "said") can only be of help and will not hinder you in any way. Just don't put more frosting on the cake than there is cake, you know?

37. Do not start a sentence with a conjunction

FUCK THIS RULE so much. This one you have to keep to only in academic writing. The moment you step through the threshold of creative writing this rule should be crushed under your soles. I often start sentences with "and" or "but" because I am looking to emphasize whether this sentence agrees with the previous one or not. Think about it. When you say "I liked him. But I didn't trust him.", it reads very different from "I liked him but I didn't trust him.". It focuses your attention on that contrast and makes you pay more attention to the objection to the first sentence that comes in the second. That can be incredibly valuable and help emphasize what you're saying in a more subtle way than repetition would. This is one of my favorite techniques of focusing the attention on where I want it to be and I will never give it up. Sue me if you want. And see if I care.

39. If there's a story you want to read but it hasn't been written yet, you must write it

Must is too strong a verb. You are not obliged to write anything. I couldn't possibly write everything I want to see written in a single lifetime. Calm down there. I think what people need to understand here is more that "if you want the story done the exact way that you would do it, you will have to do it yourself because no one else will do it the very same way". Doesn't mean that someone can't come close enough (I had that luck once) but it is unlikely that they'll do it in a way that you won't have any complaints about. So, really, "if you want something done right, do it yourself". But this can also mean "you have something fresh that the world needs because no one else has done it yet" (or at least not the same way you would do it). Which is cool but you really don't owe anyone anything. If that story is what you want to read and write (emphasis on that because writing is hard and takes a lot of energy, guys), then great! Go right ahead. But if you don't feel like doing that, you can leave it alone. Someone else might do it in time but with that we loop back to my previous point. I think that you should write whatever you want to write whether no one has written it before or it has been done hundreds and thousands of times.

42. Write your first draft by hand

Very mixed feelings here. I used to do that. The main reason for that is that I didn't trust myself to edit quite as sufficiently if I wrote it directly in a document as I would if I had to transcribe it from paper to the computer. For me personally, it is easier to change sentences when there is only blank space after that sentence since I don't have to worry whether the next sentence I have will still make sense once I'm done rewriting the current one. It was just easier to change things. A way to deal with that is to just press enter a few times before you start editing the sentence so that it looks like there is nothing after it and you're free to change it as you please. However, writing directly in a document is definitely faster and since I was having a lot of things to do in a limited time, I started doing that. It helped get over the fear of a blank page to a degree. It is faster. And I don't think I have noticed a change in the quality of my fics. Not a negative one at least. I just know that if I had had to write the 10k+-word ones by hand before typing them on the computer, I would've lost it. It would've taken way more time and patience than I was willing to give these ideas. Writing the words by hand sometimes helps me feel them better, though, (if that makes sense) and I wouldn't completely give up on it. I like to go with my intuition when deciding whether to write it by hand or type it directly in a document and it has worked out well enough for me so far.

#ask #her-majesty-wears-jeans #writing #writing advice #writing rules #my opinions

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qualquercoisa945 · 5 years

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could you love this? would this one be right? well if i'm being honest, i'm hoping it might

AO3 link

Title Inspiration- If I'm Being Honest by Dodie

so. here we are. last chapter, huh? we've come a long way, honestly- can you believe it's been six months?- and i've changed a lot since the first chapter. not just as a writer, but as a person. and this is gonna sound sappy, but i owe a lot of it to this fic. it's the first multi-chapter i've finished and the first fic i've ever posted. i don't know where i'd be without it- and quite honestly, i don't want to know. but i do have some people to thank, in no particular order (and these are all tumblr urls so just bear with me here). first of all, one of, if not the first person to ever know of this fic's existence, @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts, who was the actual sweetest when reacting to it and was one of the main forces behind me beginning to post my stuff. thank you so much for everything, i owe you so much 💙💖 then, the actual ray of sunshine who beta-read through this fic, @lailaliquorice, who has been nothing but a positive force in my life and is just an all around great friend and is again, an actual ray of sunshine personified. so laila, thank you for everything and i hope i get to hold you again soon, sunshine 💖💙 next, @i-was-a-writer, someone who's been nothing but supportive and enthusiastic about everything i've told them about, and who's helped me keep a level head when my mind decided to be bitch so many times. thank you for helping me and supporting me, rico, i'm so glad you're in my life 💙💖 but obviously this wouldn't be complete with the actual angel in my life who's been there for me since fucking day one, @the-quiet-winds. when i first dmed you julie, with that crappy ass maragon fic, i had no clue that i would find one of the most supportive and fantastic people in my life. i'm not joking when i say that you've changed my life. i love you so fucking much my angel, you're the best older sister i could ever ask for 💖💙 and last but definitely not least, you all, who have read, liked, reblogged and commented on any of my fics. i wouldn't be where i am today without you all, and thank you all for giving me a reason to keep on posting them. i love you all 💙💖 i'll probably rewrite this fic eventually. i've considered maybe from a different point of view? we'll see. but for now, this is the end. so with all the sappy stuff out of the way, sit back and enjoy the last chapter of the kitty snaps fic. it's been a wild ride, but a good one. thank you all for everything 💖💙

Trigger Warnings- Hospitals, mentions of appendicitis, surgery, and stabbing in the context of a metaphor. As always, ask me to tag anything

The day had started… Well, definitely not well, considering her and Kitty’s… situation, but not terribly, all things considered. At least, Jane had managed to stick to her usual routine, which considering how chaotic things had been lately, was a win in her books.

Well, until she’d gotten that phonecall while on her way back to the theatre from her break between the two shows. She’d nearly let her phone fall right then and there as she heard Cathy retell how Kitty had fainted and how she’d had to call an ambulance, and that they were currently on their way to the hospital.

As soon as she knew where they were heading, Jane made her way to her car, not daring to hang up in case she’d miss any updates from Cathy, just barely keeping herself from speeding there as she drove to the hospital.

She was just barely out of the car when she noticed Cathy running over, and swiftly she pulled her bandmate into a hug, that was cut short by the latter pulling away. “It’s appendicitis.” Cathy explained without much pretense, and Jane herself could only barely mask her panic. “She’s in surgery right now.”

She felt Cathy’s hand give her own a light squeeze as, at least she assumed, her expression begin in morph into one of panic. “Hey, breathe. Times have changed, love, especially in this regard. It’ll be alright.”

Jane forced herself to take in a deep breath, nodding quickly. “Right, well, let’s go in, yes?”

The time spent in a waiting room felt like torture for Jane. The other queens had tried to get her mind out of it, but eventually they’d had to go on and thus it was just her and Cathy, whose mood wasn’t much better than her own. Finally, she resorted to simply watching the time, waiting in silence as she tried not to slip into panic.

She looked up from her lap when she hear three sets of footsteps rush over, watching as Catherine, Anne and Anna rushed over. She vaguely listened as Cathy gave them the same explanation she’d given Jane, before they all sat down near them. To her surprise, she noticed Anne sit down on her free side, and then they all fell into silence.

It was a few minutes later when she felt a light tap on her knee, and she looked up to face Anne, who nodded towards the door before getting up- a silent invitation for her to follow.

So she did. Jane followed Anne outside, and they stood there in silence for a moment before the latter spoke. “How’re you holding up?”

Jane couldn’t help but role her eyes at that. “Take a guess.” She muttered out, a seldom-heard bitterness lacing her words.

“Welcome to the club.” Anne replied with a shrug, leaning against the wall. They fell into silence for a while longer, before Anne spoke up again. “I’m not gonna say all that “oh, times have changed” bullshit because you and I both know that’s not gonna help. But Kitty’s tough, even if she doesn’t seem like it. She’ll be alright.” Anne seemed to pause for a minute, and Jane opened her mouth to speak before she continued. “And if you need to talk about it, which no one can blame you for, we’re all here for you.”

Jane nodded, but whatever she was going to give as a reply disappeared when she noticed Catherine go through the doors.

“Jane, she’s awake, and she’s looking for you.”

Kath had woken up to dull noises and a hazy vision. She just barely remembered asking for Jane, but now that she was slightly more awake and sitting on the hospital bed cross legged, she couldn’t help but lightly bite her bottom lip in anxiety as she waited for Jane to come.

If she did come.

The thought snaked its way into her mind nearly silently, only to immediately hit her like a truck. Would Jane want to come see her? After her outburst, and her behaviour following it… She couldn’t help but worry, wrapping her arms around her waist as tightly as she could without it hurting.

She was snapped out of her reverie by the sound of the door opening, and she swallowed dryly as she waited to see who it was.

And it was Jane.

Kath wasn’t quite sure what went through her mind once she’d seen her. All she knew was that a sudden wave of emotions hit her far too quickly, and a word she’d been wanting to say for god knew how long finally made its way out her mouth.

“Mama.”

She wasn’t sure what Jane’s immediate reaction had been, but she did remember quiet footsteps hurrying over, and a gentle kiss being pressed on the top of her head, followed by a dip on the mattress next to her and Jane pulling her into her hold, which she sunk into, her face buried in Jane’s shoulder as she let out a week’s worth of emotions through her tears.

“I’ve got you, love.” Jane’s voice felt just a bit more distant than it should be, and so Kath pulled her tighter, whimpering softly. “It’s alright.” She focused on Jane’s soft touches and words, using them to keep herself grounded as she cried in Jane’s hold.

As the tears slowly started to slow, Kath’s hold on Jane slackened while she slowly, slowly processed just what she’d called Jane before her outburst. Once it hit, though, she all but jumped out of Jane’s arms, not even able to look Jane in the eyes as she mumbled out a teary “I’m sorry.”

“What for, love?” Jane’s gentle yet confused tone only served to push the metaphorical knife deeper into her heart, twisting it around so it’d cause her even more agony.

“For calling you…” Kath gave a sideways nod, hoping Jane would get the message. It would seem she did, though her response was nothing like the one Kath had been expecting.

“Oh, darling…” Kath froze when Jane cupped her cheek, finally looking up to meet Jane’s soft gaze. “It’s alright, dear. I’m not mad.”

“You should be!” Kath finally exclaimed, sitting up straight. Jane recoiled her hand in shock, and so Kath made herself slow down a bit. “I was awful to you last week. An- And I’ve been ignoring you ever since and I-”

“Kitty.” Jane’s firm yet soft voice snapped her out of her reverie, getting her to focus on Jane. “You were understandably angry, love. I should have listened to you, and I’m sorry you felt like you had to lash out for us to listen. And…” Jane paused then, and Kath braced herself for the worst.

“And you’re right.” She blinked at that reply, tipping her head to the side ever so slightly. “You’re right, he wasn’t- he didn’t love us.” Jane finally murmured out, and it was then Kath noticed an odd sort of vulnerability that she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen on the eyes of the third queen.

“M- I mean, Jane-” “If you want to call me mum, you can.” Jane interjected softly, giving Kath a soft smile when she looked up in shock. “I mean it, love. We can ignore it and pretend it never happened, or, if you’d like, you can call me it. Whatever you’re comfortable with, love.”

Kath found herself pondering on that for a few moments, she’d wager maybe a minute, then nodded and fell back against Jane. “Well, mum,” she spoke the word slowly, almost hesitantly, but the light squeeze from Jane’s arm around her shoulders pushed her to continue, “it’s alright. And, I’m sorry for losing my cool like that.”

She felt herself relax even further into Jane’s embrace, struggling to keep her eyes open as emotional and physical exhaustion began to seep in after the incredibly loaded conversation she’d just had. She perked slightly when she felt a light pressure on top of her head. “Sleep, my little love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Jane’s soft words were all she needed to fully relax, and although she didn’t feel like everything was fine just yet, she felt like things were heading there. Slowly, but surely, she’d get there, she found herself promising to herself, no matter how long it took.

#six the musical #six fanfiction #katherine howard #jane seymour #catherine parr #anne boleyn #but it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand

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