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bottom-boy-darren · 2 years

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The distance you put between us

Paring: jungkook x reader

Genre: highschool au, angst, fluff ending

Summary: your bestfriend (jungkook) befriends your bully. you can't help but feel sad about the distance he's put between the both of you, but that doesn't stop you from having feelings for him. Over the months, you try to act as if you didn't mind, but all your emotions spill out once you see your enemy confessing to him on valentines day.

Author note: Is this fanfiction about my old best friend who I had a crush on but then he became friends with my bully and stopped talking to me? Yep. is it also about a dream that I had the other night which he was in? Yes. Is it also about the fact that I can't get over him? Sadly yes. But other than that, enjoy the fanfiction 😌

Side note: B/N means bully's name since I don't want to use my actual bully's name

(Y/n's pov)

"Beep beep bee-"

The familiar sound of your alarm played in your ears as you reached your arm from under your blanket to turn off your alarm. You took the sheets off your head as you adjusted to the very slight day light coming from outside your bed room window and the noises of rain along side it.

You rolled your body over to look at the alarm clock beside you. Like every other day, the time read 7:20. You had an hour and 10 minutes to get ready before schools started. Getting out of your bed, you slid into your little bunny slippers like you did every morning and headed over to your washroom to get read for school.

- time skip to after getting ready-

You had just finished getting ready. Opening up your washroom door, you walked out and into your room. You walked over to the mirror that you had next to your desk and did a quick look down of you outfit. since it was going to be a little cold out today, you were wearing what you normally would in winter.

After giving yourself the thumbs up to leave the house, You grabbed your backpack that you had packed the night before and your phone. you made your way downstairs to the front door. You quickly grabbed your shoes and put them on and grabbed an umbrella and put it in your bag right after.

Right before leaving the house you grabbed your lanyard that had your house keys, locker keys and a few fun keychains and with that you were ready to leave the house. You walked outside, closing the door behind you, making sure to lock it and you started to walk to school.

You took out your phone and plugged your headphones into them. It was going to take about 15 minutes to get there so you decided to listen to your favourite song to kill some time But while turning on you phone, the date popped up on your screen and you remembered what today was..

It was friday. But, it wasn't just any friday. The only thing different was that today was valentines day. A day where a lot of people took time to cherish their loved ones, A day where some people found their significant others, but a day that was sad for y/n.

Today was the day you were going to confess to your best friend.. well more of your ex-best friend.. well no.. you didn't really know what you guys were anymore. But that's not really the point, because you can't confess to him anymore. Reason being that, you don't even know if he wants to see you anymore.. The person you were referring to was jeon jungkook.

You had been friends with him since the start of middle school, so about 4 maybe 5 years now. It was like you guys were attached by the hip. You guys had been beside eachother and been there for eachother through thick and thin... intill now. Now-a-days you didn't even know what he was up to.

You didn't even know If he was okay, if he had been eating well or taking care of himself. You were worried. This was all because he had befriended your bully. You didn't really know how this had happened because jungkook knew about all the things that you had went through with this bully but it still somehow happened.

Every weekday for months, you got to see him hang out with her at school and completely ignore you, your texts, even your calls. Honestly you didn't really care who jungkook was friends with but it hurt to see him act like you were a no one... like you were a complete stranger.

What happened to you guys? You couldn't answer that question but you couldn't ask him either. Because you were afraid of confronting him, You were afraid that any friendship that was left would crumble apart.

But right now wasn't the time to think of that. If he was okay, you were too. As long as he was happy. You finally opened your Spotify to play your favourite song, "still with you". with that you walked the rest of the way to school.

- time skip to when school is almost done because I'm too lazy to write about the whole school day -

School had finally almost ended and you were happy it did, since once you got home it would be the weekend and you would get to stay home and watch your favourite TV shows and movies. All you had left to do was pack your bag and go home.

You left the classroom you were in and walked over to where your locker was located. You held your books in one hand while fiddling around with you keys in the other trying to get your lock open. When you did, you grabbed your bag and put your books in.

While doing so, from the conner of your eye, you saw jungkook walking over to you. This was a normal thing since at the start of the year you picked your lockers right beside eachother so you could see eachother more often but now if felt sort of awkward since jungkook was still ignoring you.

Jungkook opened up his locker just like you and started to put his books into bag. while doing so you heard some footsteps coming towards the both of you. You looked over to see your bully walking over to jungkook. You decided to ignore her and just continue to get ready to leave school.

"Hey jungkookieee~" Said the bully to jungkook while sort of side hugging him

You could almost vomit at how fake she sounded

"Hey b/n.." said jungkook back to her sounding somewhat uninterested

"Why so bored? Why don't you cheer up a little while looking at me? Its valentines day anyways. Speaking of that... I had a question to ask."

You already knew what was going to happen. Your heart couldn't help but drop into your stomach. You already knew what jungkook's answer was going to be. I mean what do you expect? They have been hanging out for months, their practically a couple already..

"Will you be my boyfriend? I like you a lot and I mean we would be a good look together. I also already know that you probably like m-"

You couldn't take it. You slammed your locker closed and grabbed your bag. Jungkook looked at you, finally not ignoring you. You didn't want to hear anymore of her dumb confession. You just wanted to go home and cry yourself to sleep.

You looked at jungkook. You felt a warm tear roll down your cheeks but you quickly wiped it away but it wasn't much help since more tears just started to roll out. You started walking to the closet stairwell so you could make it outside the building.

You didn't even know why you were crying. it was fine. he was happy without you. No big deal. He was fine. You were fine. Everything was fine...What do you mean you were fine? You. aren't. fine. It wasn’t fine. Not since he put all this distance between you. You were everything but fine.

You opened the door double doors to get outside the school and it was raining. hard. You looked in your bag to find your umbrella and with just your luck, you left it inside your locker. How did you forget it? It's not like you had that much stuff to pack in your bag anyways.

The only few things that were actually going for you right now were that parctically no one was in the school yard, so no one could see you in your stressed out state And that your school also had a bus stop near the front of the school so you could go sit under it while waiting for the rain to stop.

You walked over to the bus stand and sat down on the bench, under the big, hard plastic covering around it. Although you were only out in the rain for a minute, you were already soaked. You felt like screaming. Why did everything have to go wrong with you? Why was it always you?

You pulled your legs up to your chest and cried into them, Wishing that everything could just go somewhat decent for you. All you could think about right now was that jungkook was probably kissing her right now or something, saying how he liked her too. Heck, he probably didn't even care about you at all right now. Probably didn't even think about you once..

(Jungkook's pov)

Jungkook closed his eyes, startled at the loud bang coming from beside him. The loud noise was y/n slamming her locker shut. For the first time in a while, jungkook actually, properly looked at you.

But this was also the first time that it made his heart sink. You were looking back at him, with tears in your eyes. You had cried multiple times before in front of jungkook but this time was different.. you were crying because of him. And that flipped a switch in jungkook.

He watched as you walked out of the hallways, into one of the stairwells that lead outside the school. Jungkook was about to run to you but someone grabbed his hand pulling him back. That someone was b/n. He quickly pulled away his hand as he did not want to be touched by her.

"Why would you really care about that garbage? Leave her be and pay attention to me jungkookiee. Anyways I think I deserve an answer to my question-"

"No." Said jungkook plainly

"No...? What do you mean No? We would be great together. Come on, I know you like m-" said b/n trying to persuade jungkook

"No we wouldn't and no I dont. In fact, I don't like you at all. I wouldn't even be talking to a bitch like you right now If I had a choice but of course you had to go a be all pathetic and black mail me. Btw for your information, the person I love is y/n. Not you." Said jungkook

He had enough of b/n's bullshit. With that jungkook grabbed his bag, closed his locker and ran to the stairwell. He opened the double door to outside of the school and it was raining. Sadly for him, he didn't bring an umbrella to school today.

But that didn't stop jungkook from going outside to look for you. He quickly ran down the school yard, trying to find you. rain hit jungkook clothes and soaked them almost entirely in just a minute.

After a while, he couldn't find where you were. Just as he was getting more worried he noticed a lone silhouette sitting in the bus stand across from the school's front entrance. Your hair and clothes were drenched and you were sort of curled up into yourself. He let out a sigh of relief as he realized it was you. he started to walk over to you.

Jungkook stood in front of you. he didn't say anything right away. He was trying to figure out his words But he couldn't think of any. So he did what he'd been wanted to for a while, he hugged you. As they say, actions speak louder than words.

(Y/n's pov)

You had been crying to yourself for what felt like hours. But in all honesty, you knew it was only about 2 minutes. Your eyes felt more sore than they ever had been before. But you still let out more and more tears.

You heard someone coming infront of you, you didn't care who it was, although you already knew who it could be. since practically no one was at the school right now, It was either jungkook, or in worst case scenario it was b/n, coming to yell at you for ruining her confession.

Even though you were curious to find out who, you didn't want to look up. You probably looked like a mess right now, and you didn't want someone to see you like this.

You stood up, about to leave the bus stand and just walk home in the rain. You didn't want tolook at whoever joined you at the bus stand but you did when that someone hugged you. You knew right away that it was jungkook. Closing your eyes, you started to cry more, Just wanting to let all out.

Once he realized you started to cry more, Jungkook pulled you closer to his chest. Putting almost no space between you two. You almost wouldn't have noticed till he started to caress your hair. The warmth of you in your sweater and jungkook in his, didn't even compare to the warmth of you in his arms.

You looked up at jungkook to see tears in his eyes. Although he was drenched from the rain, you could make out that he was on the verge of crying and that it wasn't rain drops in his eyes.

"Y/n.." started jungkook with his voice cracking a bit

You couldn't help but want to wipe away his tears away.

"I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I know I've been ignoring you for the past few months. But it was to protect you. And I know you probably dont believe me but b/n said she would hurt you if I didn't stay away and I just wanted to make sure nothing happened to you. Also I rejected her because i love you so so much. I know you probably dont like me back and probably are mad at m-"

"Jungkook, stop rambling please." You said while smiling at him

"I'm not mad at you. I'm just happy that you're here right now. And to be honest. I love you too. I have for so long. And to make up for the time you haven't spent with me, I was wondering if you would want to go out with me? Not as friends.. but as a couple."

"I would love that" jungkook said back smiling to himself

And with that,

he kissed you.

_____________________________________________________________

The end

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thepilotdogee · 2 years

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Pages: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 , 8, 9, 10 ,11 ,12, 13 , Characters

So I’m currently drawing a comic which depicts my take on the “Frisk takes Flowey to the surface” scenario. As you could tell in the title, this comic serves as my “extension” of the post pacifist ending of Undertale, particularly Flowey’s epilogue dialogue from said ending. Since this is the first time I’m writing a full scale Undertale comic, I’m working on how I’m handling writing for UT characters, as well as providing my own lore that I’m hoping would be canon compliant. But feel free to provide feedback on how I’m writing within the Undertale universe, and I can see if I can address them to the best of my ability somehow.

As of this writing this comic is still in the works so hopefully I can upload more of these as I complete them.

Notes:

This comic is inspired by LynxGriffin’s Flowey comic where Frisk takes him to the surface. In fact this comic really opened my eyes in that no… you don’t need to “re-goat” Flowey back into Asriel so that he could be brought to the surface. I would take a look Lynx’s version, it’s a good read. lynxgriffin.tumblr.com/post/14…

Should note that the 4th panal was referenced off from this comic's 4th panal here (its from the same comic linked above) since I suck at drawing and needed some inspiration for this scene. @lynxgriffin I hope you dont mind.

I consider the Alarm Clock Dialogue to be canon within the Undertale universe. But one thing that I found strange is that although it seems to be a post pacifist world, Flowey is apparently on the surface being an edgy flower boy, a far cry from his dialogue from his post-pacifist epilogue. Like, was Flowey nice one day and then afterwards he’s an edgy boi on the next day? This comic will (hopefully) address the transition, but it is interesting that in both the actual game and the alarm clock dialogue, Flowey’s edgy personality isn’t THAT consistent. UNDERTALE 5th Anniversary Alarm Clock Winter Dialogue - Flowey

I’m hoping that this comic will serve as the prologue to the Undertale AU that I’m working on, but before I can even get the story for that one started I would like to do this comic first.

The way Frisk is able to summon Flowey’s “soul” came from this part in another UT comic called Ask Fallen Royalty. I thought the way in that comic, Asriel summoning Chara’s soul by a pointing boop was cute… and really calls back to Kris when they do ACTs in Deltarune. Here is the link for the reference: askfallenroyalty.webcomic.ws/c…

I made a change for one of Flowey's dialouges. Initially he guessed that Frisk was gonna reset but that dosent make sense in context of the story. So its been changed to him simply asking what does Frisk want instead.

#undertale #undertale comic #frisk #frisk undertale #flowey #flowey the flower

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hattythewriter · 1 year

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Quick Undertale ramblings on the alarm clock and religion portrayal

Howdy and Hola, friends. So a while ago on my Asriel character arc post, doloresbernathypiplup and admiral2019 were asking about whether or not I was following the winter alarm clock dialogue and how Asriel's conversion to Christianity works in Wholehearted when it seems like the Foxverse cast has their own religious system. While I did answer those questions in the comment section, I wanted to describe my answers more eloquently in one post so that no communication gaffs happen. I'm also afraid that I came off too dismissive or blunt without intending to, so I wanna give more detail as to my opinions on both, since both dolores and admiral have understandably decent questions.

...

First, the alarm clock dialogue. I DON'T consider it canon. This is probably an unpopular opinion on tumblr, but I don't take it as canon. The reasons why I don't are, 1.) the project got canceled and never fully released. If the project were finished, then there's a possibility things would be different. But, even though dialogue got released, the clock never got finished like Undertale itself did. 2.) Toby has said before that merch isn't canon, but if the clock were released in full in an alternate timeline, then it would perhaps stretch into the "merchandise" category. In that scenario, a fully released clock being canon would be contradictory since it then becomes merch in the manner of a downloadable app. And 3.) the Undertale wiki has described the clock as "dubiously canon," which puts a question mark on canon reliability for the clock as well.

It's cool if others treat the clock as canon; I'm fine with that. But my own wish and hope are that anyone who stumbles across my story will understand *why* I don't personally consider it canon and thus don't follow it as a reference point in my works (and for understandable reasons) and are willing to agree to disagree with me. As long as people can roll with that and not try to discredit my work simply because I don't agree with the clock and are cool with agreeing to disagree instead, we're all good here.

...

Now, portraying Asriel as a believer in my works. I know people have discussed before that the monsters seem to have a religion based around the "Angel" and thus, why would Asriel convert to Christianity in the Wholehearted series, especially considering the "Angel religion" as we'll call it? I'll also explain more about that here.

Undertale and Deltarune are confirmed to be on two separate timelines. This point of reference is *really* important, because just because some lore is portrayed one way in Deltarune doesn't mean a writer has to *follow* said lore in an Undertale-based story, and vice versa. This is due to them being on different timelines, and thus part of why I can write Asriel as a Christian in an Undertale based story without worrying about Deltarune. Let's get into that now.

In Deltarune, we have a fully-fledged religion based around the Angel. Lighteners worship the Angel as their god, and there's a full church system based around him. Not only that, but characters like Asriel, Toriel, Monster Kid, and Reverend Alvin faithfully worship the Angel in said game, with Asriel even being a church choir boy and a religious ska enjoyer. How does this differ in Undertale? Well, we hear of an Angel prophecy where the Angel, who has seen the surface, will free the monsters one day (which is revealed to be Asriel/Flowey). However, there are many *key* differences here. In Undertale, while the prophecy speaks very positively about the Angel, we never see any church system, nor religious ska, nor choir, nor worship system build on the Angel at all. Asriel/Flowey/the Angel is treated more like a mysterious folk hero. But in Deltarune, on the other hand, the Angel is worshipped, revered, sung about, and has a full church system built upon him. We also don't know if Asriel/Flowey is the Angel yet in that game or not. Due to those fundamental differences between games, we can safely conclude that while the Angel religion is indeed a thing in Deltarune, it's *not* necessarily a religion in Undertale and is more left up to interpretation due to being far more vague and less evidence for existing as a full-scale religion in Undertale.

As for me writing Asriel as a Christian in Wholehearted, it's for many reasons. 1.) When I learned that he loved religious ska and was a faithful choir boy in Deltarune, I just translated those elements over to my Undertale post-pacifist work as a neat little easter egg thing. 2.) I'm a believer myself, and I wanted to insert a little personal part of myself into Asriel's character to give me more motivation to write. 3.) The motive for him becoming a Christian is to be free from his past and finally feel clean, wanting to be permanently forgiven for all he's done. This is explained in Wholehearted Half-Souls chapter 2, where the narrator explains that he now wears "a wooden cross necklace also dangles around Asriel's neck, reaching down to the upper part of his chest. Being a religious child of faith, he is now renewed *with hope of finally being free, and being permanently forgiven for his past.*" He also says in a later chapter (WHHS, chapter 13) that he was never a real God, and he was very arrogant in that claim, helping develop his growth in humility.

For those reasons, Asriel being a Christian is understandable for multiple reasons and both from a "Deltarune translation over to Undertale" easter egg perspective (with some tweaks) and a character arc perspective. I'll be focusing on his conversion more, however, in Wholehearted Origins, with "First Day" releasing during the next few weeks. That story takes much time to focus on how he's seeking permanent forgiveness and wants to come to terms with his past. That's the origin of how he becomes a believer in my work. And hey, considering all the guilt he's built up, it makes sense as to why he would do such. As long as that motive is there, it helps me avoid being too preachy or on the nose in my stories.

...

I'm sorry if I was too blunt or dismissive in the comments. That was not my intention, and I want to give a more fully-fledged answer now so that everyone knows I'm not mad or angry with anyone. I just have thought a lot about this and feel passionate about it. In any event, thanks to both delores and admiral for their questions and interest.

I'll leave it here for now. Take care, friends. I'll see you guys this weekend for the official release of chapter 2 of "First Day" on AO3 and Wattpad.

#undertale #undertale au #canon compliant #post canon #wholehearted origins #wholehearted saga #wholehearted half-souls #whhs #asriel whhs #flowey whhs #undertale alarm clock #undertale pacifist #ramblings #Christian references #deltarune

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airlockfailure · 2 years

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Cluster Headaches: What are they and how do I cope with them?

Cluster headaches are called such because they occur in cycles. This means I can go weeks, or months even without pain, but then experience near constant agony when I'm in a cycle. They're believed to be caused by a problem with the hypothalamus, which is responsible for things like your "body clock" or circadian rhythm, hence the cyclical nature of these headaches.

My clusters usually occur in late spring, through summer, and end with the arrival of frost. A beautiful summer day for you is a terrible day for my brain. The higher the humidity, the worse I usually feel, but active storms usually bring relief.

I know a cycle is going to begin because I become incredibly agitated. Emotionally, I may cry the entire time I'm awake, and may wake myself up crying. Physically, I may pace, and thrash, and shudder my muscles to try and relieve the pain I know is coming. (The closer I get to experiencing the actual pain of a cluster headache, I usually become so irritable, I start cursing and throwing things in response to problems I wouldn't bat an eye at outside of a cycle.)

When the pain arrives, it comes with one side of my body (most often the right, but it switches back and forth) becoming red and overheated. My nose clogs up on that side, and my eye weeps. Usually, one side of my mouth produces more saliva than the other, and I may have to urinate more often (I don't always notice this problem). Usually, my lymph nodes react on whichever side of my body is affected, and my joints become very sore and tender.

The pain itself is like a screwdriver, or an iron poker is being driven through my eye/eye socket. This pain is not possible to relieve with NSAIDs or ice packs or heating pads. Although I have found ice is distracting. Distracting from pain is not relieving it.

In the pre-pain irritation stage sound, light, and smell bother me much in the way they might bother someone who experiences migraines. Cluster headaches are not migraines, though. Post irritation full pain stage, sound, light, and smell don't affect the severity of the headache. I WILL be in pain regardless of what external stimuli are around me. I cannot go lay down in a dark room. That makes it WORSE. I need to move. I need to be busy. I need to claw my face off. I will pace. I will deep clean my apartment. I will cook a thousand cookies. I just need some form of physical distraction from OW. Sometimes tapping my knuckles against my skull is enough for a little while (TAPPING, not hitting).

Cluster headaches are sometimes referred to as suicide headaches, because they make you want to take your head off and punt it across the street. They are also called alarm-clock headaches, because the pain is sudden, and wakes you up at night. I have not experienced this. But that may be because people report these headaches waking them between 1 and 3 am and I am usually already awake then.

Cluster cycles, because they are linked to your body clock, do not have triggers. However, alcohol can fuck up your body clock and make you enter a cycle. I do not consume alcohol at all because of this risk. Messing up my sleep schedule does cause me to have cycles more frequently.

The number one affective treatment for an "attack" is to inhale pure oxygen for 15 minutes. Why does this work? Fuck if I know. I don't do this. I'm not lugging portable oxygen with me at work and getting caught on all the machines and mechanisms. You can take anti-seizure meds to try and prevent cycles from happening. Why does this work? Fuck if scientists know! They are injected or inhaled through the nose, and don't work very well anecdotally. You can try nerve blockers for your TMJ nerve (because that mother fucker is somehow involved??!) or try deep brain stimulation. FKSFHFKHSF

So, I do not treat my cluster headaches. I live in agony and wait for autumn and winter to come back and debate moving to the arctic. When I was first diagnosed with cluster headaches, I was on experimental natural medicine. It was based on the ergot fungus, which is now showing even more promise at being affective treatment for cluster headaches.

I'm hoping once I have a new doctor, more will be able to be done to help me. I'm exhausted. But one of my bosses actually did research cluster headaches after I had to leave work and educated himself about them, so that's a win in my book.

#swearing #cluster headaches #chronic headaches #airlock talks personal shit #chronic pain #health #medicine #hello yes #i have problems i don't like the treatment options for #which is dumb #i know

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sie-werden-nie-vergessen · 2 years

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The Bellows Book - Ethel’s Resignation (Sneak Peek)

I’m so excited to share this one with you all! It’s been in my drafts for months and I finally got around to polishing it up tonight. Obviously it will be much longer than this once it’s fully finished, but here’s a nice teaser for the full chapter. This contains MANY illusions to other parts of The Bellows Book, so don’t be alarmed if some references make no sense at this point. I promise that everything will fall into place once I can get more content ready for publishing. Time has just been a huge problem now, especially because my college classes have recently gotten very intense and I spend almost all of my time writing academic papers these days.

Content Below The Cut

Ephraim was being a coward, and he knew it. Rather than facing Ethel like he knew he ought to, he was hiding away in his room like a scared child. His father and brother were both at work at the mill, and Delanie was off making social calls with Gertrude. Surprisingly, his grandmother could be quite social when she wanted to be.

Sliding his feet off of his bed, he moved to his window once more, just in time to spot Ethel doubled over in some sort of fit. He opened the window slightly and was greeted with the sounds of a hacking cough, followed by a clearing of the throat. As Ethel began her walk down the driveway, he noticed that even her footsteps appeared weak. She plodded along slowly through the snow, nearly tripping a handful of times.

Ephraim wanted to help her. He wanted to rush out of the mansion and take her by the arm and help her home. He didn’t care that it would involve seeing Ruth again, or that it would certainly damage his reputation beyond repair when the world discovered what Ethel had learned. Why she hadn’t told them yet, he didn’t know.

He watched as she reached the end of the path, and then slowly made the turn onto the road back towards town. Another thought of concern flashed through his mind before he pushed it aside.

No! He thought. She’s tainted. She carries it - that curse - in her blood!

He turned around, his back pressed against the velvet of the curtains. He thought of Ethel, and of everything that could have been, of what might have happened if he hadn’t-

NO!

No! No! No!

Sometimes he feels as though he ought to beat himself in the head to push away his thoughts. This is one of those times.

He stood there for a while longer, listening to the ticking of the clock and the chirping of the few birds who braved the snow.

They reminded him of her, braving the snow in an attempt to bring something good to the bleak of winter.

He wanted to beat the thoughts away again.

Finally, once he was fully satisfied that Ethel was gone, he moved downstairs to retrieve the package she had left. Placing it on the foyer table, he carefully opened it. First there was a gingham tea towel, followed by a small batch of sweets and a few canned goods. At the bottom of the basket lay an envelope full of patient files, and a note in Ethel’s writing. Abandoning the basket and the food, Ephraim ascended the stairs with papers in hand.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he glanced back towards the kitchen, towards Sarah’s room. No, he thought. Now is not the time to dwell on old sins.

Slipping back into his bedroom, he slowly closed the door behind himself and moved towards his desk. He placed the files unceremoniously atop a pile of medical books and began to read Ethel’s letter.

To Whom It May Concern,

Regarding my employment at Pennhurst State Hospital —

Resignation.

Ephraim wanted to scream, to throw something, to reach for his belt to have a go at Sarah-

No!

No, that’s what started all of this to begin with!

Shut up!

No!

You murdered her!

It’s your fault that Ethel hates you!

She would have loved you, and you ruined it!

She couldn’t have loved me.

Ephraim was ripped away from his thoughts by the sound of the front door slamming open. Judging by the sound of heavy shuffling, the family had arrived home. He scrambled to hide Ethel’s letter, finally deciding on shoving it under his pillow.

He straightened his tie, smoothed his jacket, and was just about to step out onto the landing when Gertrude brushed past him, her pearls clicking together as she walked.

“Well, don’t you look disgusting!”

“Grandmother, I-”

She waved her hand in dismissal, the other still firmly grasping her cane.

“I may not be able to see it, but I can smell it. You’re having trouble with that little girl from the hospital, and it’s obvious that you can’t control the situation on your own! You’re the talk of the town because of her, and if it doesn’t get settled soon, I’ll have to-”

“She’s resigning, Grandmother. She handed in her letter today.”

Gertrude’s face instantly softened.

“Oh, well that’s good. Very good. More scandal is the last thing we need in this family.”

She leaned in closer, her milky eyes staring directly into Ephraim’s.

“You know that better than anyone.”

Ephraim nodded, although she couldn’t see. Satisfied, she continued down the hallway, her dog following close behind her.

#the bellows book #ethel moore #ephraim bellows #gertrude bellows #sarah bellows #deodat bellows #delanie bellows #harold bellows #ethel's illness makes it's debut

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oh-boy-me · 1 year

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Obey Me Devilgram Posts and Comments: Belphegor (Launch~We’re All Bad Here)

Well THIS one is a long time coming! I thought it was a good way to celebrate our return :D

There’s,,, over a year to catch up on again,,, ;w; so I’m gonna bring back #devilgram rush as a tag for you to block if you don’t want to be flooded with these posts every couple of days. The tag will be removed after some time has passed, so you’ll be able to see the post later if you look for it.

However, on the bright side I feel like I’ve gotten a LOT better at translating than I was when I last posted one of these, so hopefully that’s actually the case lol (maybe I should go back and revisit the comments I wasn’t sure of before?)

The full Japanese transcript is below the cut!

日本語は私の第三言語ので、時々間違えます。日本語話者、間違いを見たら教えてください。 (Japanese is my third language, so I make mistakes sometimes. Japanese speakers, if you see a mistake, please tell me!)

Belphie in Wonderland

Solomon: You sure are good at being spoiled

Levi: Mini size…… moe (1)

Barbatos: You reap what you sow

Lucifer: How long are you planning to keep us waiting?

#Prank #Cookie

You Warm Me Up

Simeon: Looks like he’s still dreaming.

Lucifer: Hana Ruri, rurun…? (2)

Satan: Belphie’s on a whole different level.

Beel: I’ll sleep with you guys too.

#CoSleeping #Winter

Hide and Seek

Simeon: It’s a lively afternoon (3).

Beel: Hide and seek?

Asmo: Hurry up and find her (4).

Lucifer: Hide and seek’s over.

#Daydream #Reality

Whereabouts of the Smile

Levi: At least look for pictures on your own.

Asmo: I’m perfectly photogenic too!

Lucifer: Who can get a smile out of him?

Levi: We almost had it…

#Picture #MakeHimSmileAtAnyCost

Hatred

Beel: I want to go to school with Belphie.

Solomon (5): I’m great at that game.

Mammon: Don’t ignore the rules!

Lucifer: So something like that happened too…

#Game #WhoAmI?

Seven Rulers of Hell

Luke: The sun is great!

Beel: It’s rare for Belphie to be so cheerful.

Lucifer: So you WERE sleeping…

Mammon: Are they still not back?!

#Dog #Secret

1. I don’t know if I’ve ever actually explained it, but 萌え (moe) is basically the feeling of having a fictional crush due to a character looking and acting cute. There’s ongoing debate about the full connotations of the concept, which is certainly interesting but there’s no reason to get into that in the footnotes of a devilgram post 2. I don’t have this story myself, but from what I know Lucifer should be quoting the alarm clock Levi brings here. 3. Specifically it’s “early afternoon,” but nobody says that in a sentence like this. 4. I don’t wanna spoil this one for people who haven’t read it, but rest assured that “her” is not referring to MC. 5. Yeah it’s Solomon in the Japanese version

Masterpost

ベルフェ・イン・ワンダーランド

ソロモン：甘え方が上手いよねレヴィ：ミニサイズ……萌えバルバトス：自業自得ですねルシファー：いつまで待たせる気だ？＃悪戯　＃クッキー

君であたためて

シメオン：まだ夢の中みたいだね。ルシファー：花ルリ、ルルン……？サタン：ベルフェの方が一枚上手だ。ベール：俺も一緒に寝る。＃添い寝　＃冬

かくれんぼ

シメオン：賑やかな昼下がりだね。ベール：かくれんぼ？アスモ：早く見つけてあげて。ルシファー：かくれんぼは終わりだ。＃白昼夢　＃現実

笑顔の行方

レヴィ：写真くらい自分で探せよな。アスモ：ぼくって写真写りも完璧だね！ルシファー：誰が笑顔を引き出せるかな？レヴィ：もうちょっとだったのに…。＃写真　＃意地でも笑わせる

大嫌い

ベール：ベルフェと学校行きたい。ソロモン：俺そのゲーム得意だよ。マモン：ルール無視すんな！ルシファー：そんなこともあったな…。＃ゲーム　＃Who am I?

地獄の七大君主

ルーク：太陽って良いよな！ベール：珍しくベルフェがはしゃいでる。ルシファー：やはり寝たか…。マモン：あいつらまだ帰って来ないのかよ。＃犬　＃秘密

こんなポストの体裁が忘れちゃうくらい久しぶりだったよ ^^;

#obey me #obey me translation #obey me belphegor #my new tagging system means there's like no tags for solo posts lmao #devilgram

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meowchela · 1 year

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ALPHYS!!!!

in reference to this ask meme

OOOOOOH alphys is a big fave >:3 just like me fr!! (also i havent played undertale in ages so if some of this stuff seems surface level/out of touch thats why orz)

favorite thing about them: how dare you make me choose just one thing JFDJFJ but i guess i'll say personality! she's such a good character. awkward and charming and very real, her struggles with accountability and guilt also Hit yknow

least favorite thing about them: minor minor nitpick but her sprite makes it so hard to edit outfits onto her. i dont sprite edit much anymore but whenever i wanted to give her a wardrobe change it was so HARD bc of her slumped posture and crossed arms???? like what is going on here. impossible.

favorite line: * I haven't showered, I'm barely dressed, it's all messy, and... * Ummm... * H-h-hiya!

brOTP: mettaton is a classic answer here so that but also? i'm an absolute SUCKER for people who make content of her and sans as besties. i just ADORE the idea that they used to work together even if it turns out not to be canon, their dynamic is so good, the one moment where she called him cringe in the winter alarm clock added 50 years to my lifespan,

OTP: ALPHYNE OBVIOUSLY!!!!!!! they're a total comfort ship for me omg their dynamic is peak their colors go so nicely together i love seeing how people draw them i will attend their wedding and give them the best gift i can toby should have let them kiss onscreen i pray and hope that they become canon in deltarune even tho its a seperate thing i NEED this ok i need tbe . i love them. im so normal about them

nOTP: nothing really comes to mind????? she gets crushes on everyone and only really hates herself so i honestly can't see any ship for her that i'd wanna bash (unless its some freak shit obviously but shes so unpopular nothing weird with her has gotten popular/crossed into my vision LMAO)

random headcanon: on the surface she starts learning actual japanese through duolingo so she can watch anime without the subs and get the True Intended Experience™

unpopular opinion: her status updates aren't annoying you're all just haters

song i associate with them: her theme and fishy love are both too obvious so i wont say them, but if i may cheat a bit and use something from the undertale soundtrack anyway i'm honestly gonna say Another Medium! It's been a WHILE since i last played the game/even watched a playthrough so my main association w this song is walking around morphed as Alphys in the hotland area of this one undertale rp game on roblox haha such a good track too!!! (i wouldve liked to use a non-soundtrack song but again, havent played the game in ages so my song-association brain isnt present for this one...and i havent written anything down for her in the past = =;;;)

favorite picture of them: i'm just gonna use something from canon bc i dont think reposting fanart would be good

this was the moment of all time

thank you for the ask!!!! this was fun :3

#ask a cat #NOOOOOOOO TUMBLR POSTED THIS BEFORE I COULD FINISH its ok tho ive fixed it #allphys my beloved

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21st-century-minutiae · 1 year

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Daylight Savings

Daylight savings is a process in which the official time is modified by consensus at a regular basis. Specifically, it is a series of state and federal law that redefine time zones twice a year to shift how clocks correspond to observed daylight.

The physical construct of time is based on hard science, and deals with observed, measurable reality. It is locally treated as a universal linear measurement, but it is impacted by velocity and gravity and energy, making it quite a bit more complicated than a naive conception.

The social construction of time is based on the agreement between parties. If two people say 'we will meet at noon,' there is an underlying consensus of what 'noon' means. Historically, 'noon' would refer to 'the time corresponding with the sun being at its peak at this current location,' but that working definition easily runs into issues on cloudy days, across reasonable distances, and when individuals in question need to plan in advance for meetings. Over our history, we have standardized a general clock layout with time zones, where everyone living in the same, legally partitioned zone (of which there are around 24 across the entire planet), can be defined to have a synchronized clock.

Having a legal establishment for what 'noon' means via time zone legislation (that is, the time everyone says in noon in this zone, and the time everyone says is 11AM in the zone east of us, etc), runs into the issue of violating the expectations of convenient local time. Those on the borders of time zones, for example, would not experience noon at the peak of daylight. This can cause problems with societal expectations that deal with both the physical world and social conventions. For example, it may be expected for an individual to wake up at 7AM every day to get to work, but sunrise will drift over the course of the year, making that 7AM wake up time vary greatly in terms of conveineince/experience.

To bluntly address this, further legislation is capable of modifying what social clock time is defined to be. For a variety of little reasons (saving on lighting/heating costs for example), there is a standard of Daylight Savings Time. In the autumn, all clocks in participating time zones are shifted one hour back. In spring, they are shifted one hour forward. This change happens on a Sunday right after 1:59 AM, to be as early as possible (to avoid interfering with most people's day) while avoiding having to ever deal with crossing the midnight boundary. So, in the autumn, 1:59:59 AM will tick forward back to a second 1AM, while in the spring, 1:59:59 will tick forward to 3AM, skipping 2AM entirely. The total number of hours in the year are unchanged, but there is this intentional discontinuity.

Clocks hooked up to the internet will update automatically. Otherwise, all people need to manually adjust their watches, alarms, appliance clocks, etc. This can be an annoying process. People generally appreciate having an extra hour of sleep, while loathing losing the hour in the spring. And the confusion of daylight savings inevitably leads to negative consequences in the form of increased traffic accidents and worse stock market performance. The benefits of daylight savings are not really worth the costs any more, and most people are aware of this. Despite that, daylight savings sticks around in perpetual momentum.

There are calls to end it. But there is an argument as to how. Different communities benefit from the winter hours and from the summer hours. And different individuals in those communities have their own preferences about having more daylight in the morning or in the evening. Having daylight savings be 'permanent' would mean favoring some, while having it 'stop forever', would favor the others. Until this is resolved, the process of going back and forth will remain as the default case.

Your characters might be annoyed by daylight savings. They might point to it as why they hate winter, or hate summer, as it exacerbates days being too short or too long. They might be tripped up on fixing their clock or miss work/leave for work too early, though that is less of a problem these days.

#period novel details #daylight savings does not impact spacetime #one weird piece of legislation that makes programmers hate you #just choose one or the other and be done with it

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dyrerosa · 4 years

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Movies night~

*you tell tsundereplane that She acts exactly like that character in the TV.

*Tsundereplane denies it as she screams and blushs saying the same word as the character on TV.

*Undyne laughs.

*Toriel is still train to figure it out what this "anime" thing is

*papyrus fell.

*...

*the new popcorns dies.

*and sans sleeps.

#undertale #late as always •×•#happy undertale 5th anniversary #there are some references to the winter alarm clock #I don't know how to draw popcorns

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undertale-data · 3 years

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[Image Description: an Undertale textbox with the name "napstablook" in all lowercase in its center, between two talksprites of Napstablook. The first is their default expression, and the second is the same, but with a "Dapper Blook" top hat. End I.D.]

Napstablook received 91 votes, meaning 3.4% of responders picked them as their favorite character. This was surprisingly high for a character who does not play a major role in the game. Despite not appearing very often in-game, Napstablook appeared in the winter alarm clock dialogue and in many Fangamer merch items. These are the reasons that Napstablook was included in the favorite main character survey.

Napstablook’s fans overwhelmingly found them relatable. Reasons for this relatability were that they are lonely, shy, possibly depressed/anxious, and they enjoy lying on the ground feeling like garbage.

Many fans also pointed out Napstablook’s character design, enjoying them as a simple ghost with a top hat or headphones. One responder who picked too many characters to choose said about Napstablook, “Napstablook!!!!! Heck yeah WEAR that dapper little hat made out of your tears you are so VALID!!! Love them.” Their music was another very important part of their character; fans liked both that Napstablook makes music, and that they have a great theme song in Ghost Fight.

Some fans loved that Napstablook is nonbinary; however, a larger portion of fans referred to them with the canonically incorrect he/him pronouns. In older versions of the art book and some other unofficial places, Napstablook was referred to with he/him, but in-game and in all recent official sources (like the winter alarm clock dialogue), they are referred to with they/them. The selected highlights below only use they/them, but be aware if you choose to read the full list of responses linked at the end of this post.

Highlights: (under the cut)

They are a ghost, it's very cool! I loved every interaction i had with them in the game. I love their fight and battle music. They are very kind and i love their personality.

They have such a nice character design, they are relatable, can make a cool hat and also one of the first non-binary character I encountered. (Undyne and Papyrus are very close to being my favorites but not quite.)

napstablook just has really nice vibes. they’re super sweet! definitely a bit sad but they’re super friendly! plus ghost fight is one of my favourite songs from the soundtrack (it’s a bit hard to choose one song as a favourite as they’re all so amazing, but ghost fight really stands out for me)

i relate deeply and intimately to napstablook as i, too, enjoy snails, electroswing, and lying on the floor feeling like garbage

i find them very comforting

Napstablook and I are very, very similar, and I like that. I enjoy relatable characters, especially those with nice designs, like a ghost with headphones.

[Image Description: a white wordcloud shaped like Napstablook. Some of the largest words are: ghost, relate, love, cute, design, music, shy, hat, and Napstablook, the most common words responders used in their essays about them. End I.D.]

Read the full list of responses shared with permission by clicking this link.

#napstablook #character analysis #undertale #undertale fandom census #results

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doodlebeeberry · 3 years

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Missing Persons, Missing People

days turned to weeks, which yielded no changes, which concerned him. And when weeks began rolling over into a month, into months without a single new bit of information he began to realize that something had to have gone wrong along the line

In which Soda Bottle finds a page on a certain missing person

wow! angsty gay people that have been sitting in my drafts unfinished for a month! amazing!

(ao3 link in source)

He blinked. Despite the slits of morning sun leaking through the blinds, his eyes struggled at the relative darkness he’d been plunged into, picking out silhouettes before forming more detailed shapes. His counter. His microwave. His chair—

His apartment, just as he’d left it.

He sat with one knee to his chest, his hand half-raised in the air. A radio show blared from his alarm clock yet somehow Airy’s voice still rang in his ears. He’d never hear the rest of his sentence—if there was anything more that he’d said—but he could easily imagine whose name made up the punctuation. An empty chill hung in the air.

He slammed his hand on the snooze. Pointedly, he avoided reading the time; he figured it’d been going off for a while. Traffic cut through the silence, alongside the creaking of his ceiling as someone crossed the room overhead. The bed squeaked as he shifted, breathing deep, stilling himself before he could begin to shake.

He’d gotten out.

San Fransisco crossed his mind about a week later, just as his lunch break began.

Quite frankly he considered it a miracle that he managed to keep his job at all despite his sudden absence. Though, admittedly, he’d been thoroughly chewed out the moment he stepped into the building, and had to needle and push them just about as much as he could to keep him on. The universe had to show him pity at some point, he supposed.

Leaning back against his car, he stared at the cracked screen of his phone.

San Fransisco. The city pinged important in his mind. The bay area...Backpack was from there, wasn’t he? All the way out west, farther out than he’d ever been. Not that he could really afford the trip, anyhow, but he still wondered what it was like. He turned, propping his elbows up on the hood and shivering a bit at the late winter breeze that crossed him. It was probably warmer out there, at least, the city baking in the coastal sun. He opened his browser, if only just to fill the time, hovering idly in a new tab.

...He should’ve gotten back by now, shouldn’t he? For as much of the competition he’d been dragged through himself, he’d only really been gone a week. Plus, he figured, it wasn’t as though Backpack was trying to win. Quite the opposite, actually.

He turned an idea over in his head for several seconds before tapping the search bar.

backpack san fransisco

Several stores and Amazon listings filled the results. There was an outdoors shop four blocks from him, apparently. Figures. He backpedaled.

green backpack san fransisco

The Amazon links were replaced by eBay listings. Everything remained the same otherwise. He tried again.

male green backpack san fransisco

The search results led to male styles specifically. He huffed.

male green backpack san fransisco missing persons

The first few were local news stories, all from Connecticut and all several months old by now. The fourth, a link to the SFPD website, caught his eye.

It was a short article, giving a time and place he’d last been seen, alongside a number to call if anyone saw him. Biking home, it read, just like he’d said. A picture of him, hardly smiling, looked back from the top of the page. His name sat just below it: Liam Plecak .

Liam.

The page still referred to him as missing. He tried to ignore the slight worry that tugged at his chest, scanning the page another minute or two before letting the screen go dark.

Backpack-no, Liam-hadn’t gotten out yet, it seemed. That, or the page hadn’t been updated. It was fine either way, he decided, pulling away from his car.

Not like he’d be stuck there much longer anyway.

He didn’t check it all too often, but he kept the tab open on his phone. Every few days he would spot it, pause, and look to see if anything had changed. He expected, particularly at first, to find something every time he checked, or for the page to be gone altogether. For ‘found’ or ‘solved’ or something along those lines to be thrown in front of the title, at least. Something to prove that Liam had returned home to San Fransisco, that he’d gotten back in one piece. To ease the antsy feeling that crept on him every time he checked the page, shake the last dregs of his voice from his ears and lingering images of him from his mind.

(Sometimes, as he checked Liam’s page, he’d be reminded of Scenty as well. More than once he’d considered looking her up too, just to see if she’d made it back, but he’d find himself with too little info to go off of. She’d never told him where she was from, and while he was sure he could dig something up given the time, he never had enough to commit to it. The lack of knowledge did little to sate him.)

But days turned to weeks, which yielded no changes, which concerned him. And when weeks began rolling over into a month, into months without a single new bit of information he began to realize that something had to have gone wrong along the line. That nobody had reported he’d returned, or nobody realized he’d returned, or, or—

He began checking less often.

He’d really rather not be right.

The first signs of fall began rearing their heads just before the start of September. He spotted a small few trees painted red at their very edges, for one. The sun was already low in the sky by 7, gone behind the buildings much sooner. Not to mention the bright orange displays popping up in corner stores, boasting spider-themed garland and pumpkin-shaped candies in anticipation of Halloween. He rolled his eyes every time he saw one. Somehow they appeared earlier every year.

He was indifferent to the season most years. The weather tended to be pleasant right up until the first dusting of snow in mid-November, bringing with it then the imminent threat of storms and slushy, half-salted roads. Ads for state and county fairs would fill the radio for a few weeks, and he’d imagine ferris wheels stretching far above his head, and the sweet scent of fried dough over endless streams of chatter and laughter. He hadn’t visited one since he was a teen, accompanied then by family and friends. The thought always tangled something deep and quiet in his chest, making him want to give his parents a call.

Sometime in mid-October, when he had some time off work and could dredge up the energy to do it, he’d hop into his car, make sure the tank was full, and drive north along I-95, from one side of the state to the other. Sometimes he’d turn off at random exits, weaving his way through small towns he couldn’t name until he found himself alone on narrow, unpaved roads, all dappled in shade by the trees hanging over them, burning orange and gold and all warm colours. He’d follow the traffic out of instinct, watching the world as it passed in a mess of vibrant hues that dulled his thoughts into an awed whisper, even after all the years he’d seen them, until his car pinged that it was low on gas and he’d scramble to find a station.

He found himself yearning for it, that long drive to nowhere, as he watched dusk reach his peak from where he sat, phone in hand. Truth be told, he was really yearning for the cooler weather that came with it. A heatwave had been pummeling the city all week, drowning it in humidity and sapping it of energy. He’d been off work for a while now, but his apartment was stuffy and just too damn hot to be in, pushing him to a small family restaurant several blocks down, with staff behind the counter that hardly glanced at him when he sat by the window without ordering anything. From there he alternated between people watching and skimming the news, letting his thoughts drift until they reached the speed-blurred sights of golden sunlight on golden leaves.

He always took that drive alone. It was a bit too impromptu most years for him to really invite anyone else, not without throwing a wrench in their schedule. Even if he did plan it out in advance, who would he even invite? He wasn’t really close with many people, hadn’t been in some time. He could invite his folks, maybe, but he doubted they’d really have any interest. Besides, something about inviting them didn’t feel right. Something about the wonder of it all, the role it played in stilling him, if only for a day, it felt too...intimate, for lack of better term. Too personal. Too quiet.

He watched several people walk past the window, deep in muffled conversation. One, a small green vase, burst into laughter as they passed, loud even through the glass.

He still wanted to share that moment with someone though. Someone different.

He thought of teal wax within cool glass. Of green fabric warmed by an endless sun. Green and teal, cool shades against blazing leaves, painted in foreign night-time shadows as stars came to life overhead, talking and laughing and smiling. His heart fluttered, though he’d never admit it.

Two weeks since he last checked, he flicked the missing persons tab open, watching the page slowly reload.

Presumed Dead.

His stomach dropped.

He didn’t take a long drive that October. He avoided I-95 almost all fall until the last brown leaves fell from the trees and the first morning frost hit. It wasn’t really a conscious decision on his part, he’d very nearly gone several times, but the rows of trees and bright-red leaves brought thoughts of broken glass and water-logged fabric, of frightened, shaky hands in his and an awful horror etched on the faces of strangers.

He couldn’t really understand why it bothered him so much, they really were practically strangers. He’d known them for, what, a week? He hadn’t heard news of them in months, let alone seen them. He couldn’t have, no matter how much he wanted to. All things considered, the outcome wasn’t a surprising one given the circumstances, and yet he couldn’t get the phrase out of his head.

Presumed dead. Presumed dead. He’d made it back, but for whatever reason Liam hadn’t shared his luck. He feared that neither of them did. There was nothing he could do about it now, he knew it. He couldn’t pop into The Plain and pull them back like it was nothing. It was out of his hands, no matter how much he wished it wasn’t.

He checked the page one last time, one partly sunny day in December, before closing the tab for good. He didn’t so much as look at his phone for the rest of the day.

Winter felt a little colder than usual when it finally hit the city.

A little bit hollower too.

He blinked. Despite the slits of morning sunlight leaking through the blinds, his sleep-addled eyes spent a moment struggling to take everything in. His counter. His microwave. His chair.

His apartment, the same as it’d ever been.

He rolled awake with a groan, his mattress squeaking in sync, and shut off his alarm clock. The screen blinked up at him, a bright green 8:00 a.m. It’d only just begun to ring. Taking a moment to breathe in deep, he pulled himself to his feet, stretching, before shuffling over to the window and lifting the blinds just enough to peer out. A car or two rolled down the street, adding to the faint birdsong in breaking the morning quiet. A small puddle of water had begun forming on the outside sill, as an icicle melted somewhere above it. Uneven patches of snow littered everything they could. He let them fall back down, uninterested, and set about getting ready for the day.

Breakfast was equally uneventful, nothing but corn flakes and milk. He was reminded, as he was every morning, of how he disliked the minty flavour of toothpaste, and got about halfway through washing his face before—

Rap-tap-tap.

He shut off the sink, staring down his reflection as he listened for it again. Water dripped onto the counter as he waited.

Rap-tap-tap.

Huh. That was new. It wasn’t often that people came knocking on his door, even less so this early in the morning. They knocked again as he stepped out of the bathroom, drying his face.

“Yeah, give me a sec,” he grumbled, just loud enough for them to hear. He couldn’t think of anyone who’d visit him, not unless it was over some bill that he owed. Even still, running over everything in his head, he came up empty. He turned the lock, only somewhat hoping he looked more awake than he was, and swung open the door to the stranger awaiting him.

A scrap of blue paper was clenched in his hands, wide eyes tinged with shock and relief, set against green fabric so familiar it ached.

He’d gotten out.

#tumblr is annoying cause it always drops my italics n replaces them with spaces whenever i copy paste stuff #also i did NOT mean to make this this long like. i wanted to finish it real quick n then like four hours later its this #it just ran away #hfjone #soda bottle hfjone #backpack hfjone #liam hfjone #do i put this in amelias tag #eh shes relevent why not #amelia hfjone #sodapack #scentdapack #writin and ravin

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vydante · 3 years

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Restart | END | Avengers x Male! Reader

I am discontinuing my Restart series because I've simply lost creative juices for it. That's it, no elaborate or other reason. Anyways, I didn't want to just end it on the last chapter, and as someone who loves to overshare (especially if it's unsolicited), I thought some might like to see what drafts I had in plan, going chapter by chapter.

It goes up to Ch. 20 with additional bonus chapters, and chapters where I wasn't sure where they were going to be placed in the timeline.

If you have any comments, let me know! I'd love to read them :)

Here goes! Warning: very long, since the formatting is weird! The reader will be referred to as (Name) and "you", as in the story.

Right after Ch. 12 (Circumvention), are 2 special chapters (High Caliber Bullet) & (America's Sweethearts).

(High Caliber Bullet)'s basic plot was that Barnes, now # amount of weeks since the last chapter, has gained some freedoms and can now go out and about with either (Name) or DAHLIA for supervision (via his phone, and through the cameras everywhere).

In this particular chapter, he basically goes out for a typical grocery run with DAHLIA "accompanying" him, since before, he remembers (Name) telling him that "I won't always be there with you". But something bad happens! Wooo! (Maybe an attempted robbery, I didn't have the details sorted out yet.)

Either way, DAHLIA loses contact with him, and she tries to contact you ASAP, but it takes a little while since your dumbass was asleep the whole time! Wow! The suit had to manually power on and shake you awake.

Anyways, the only thing I had "written down" after that was that, after a failed search attempt for James, you go back home and are greeted with a surprise... "Kabedon"? Or, you're pinned to the walls by James... Or, rather, the Winter Soldier!

You're not sure what's going on, only that, "Wow, Barnes is acting weird. Why is he suddenly Russian? Wh- Okay, wow, he's suddenly gotten a lot closer. Now, wait a fuckin' minute-!"

Either way, you and James make a discovery of a second personality living inside his body- the Soldier! Or Winter, I'm still unsure which I would have gone for. If you're familiar with certain WinterIron tropes, this is one of them. Anyways, that's the end of that chapter, or what I had written so far, anyway.

This chapter is really important to the canon of Restart since it establishes Soldier, but it didn't fit into my initial plans of 10 chapters an arc, so. That's why it's a "special" chapter.

The next "special" chapter after that was (America's Sweethearts). I had written 2 "chunks" of text for this chapter. The main plot is, basically, you and Steve spent a platonic (promise!) Valentine's Day together. Hence the title. Cute, right? This was referenced in Ch. 9 (Revelation) during Future! Steve's reminiscing.

Anyways, below the next text is what I had written for that chapter. It will be in normal text.

No other thoughts on that, so let's move on.

"You live like this?"

In his defense, Steve's apartment wasn't messy in the slightest. In fact, it was the other way around- everything was too clean, too pristine, too detached. The only saving grace he's getting from standing in the middle of his apartment is the fact that compared to the chilly Brooklyn weather, it was almost obnoxiously warm in his apartment.

Not only did he have the heater going on, but he had another separate, portable heater blasting hot air in the corner.

(Sometimes, and only sometimes, Steve will stand in front of the heater and slowly spin around like a rotisserie chicken. The heat feels good, in his defense.)

The heat was something that you, thankfully, didn't comment on as you shed your jacket and slung it around the coat hanger near the door. You're wearing an over-sized tee- Thor's tee, he absentmindedly notes- and some sweats, both like and unlike the (Name) he often sees.

(It's not uncommon for Steve to glance at a newspaper or TV still shot and see you with your hair slicked back and dressed head to toe in a suit so expensive he's confident it costs at least a few years' worths of a typical New Yorker's rent.

Neither is uncommon to see you on the front cover of Men's Magazine, wearing a simple tee that shouldn't look that good on you but still does and posing confidently for the camera.

But despite all that, all of the clearly flattering outfits you could possibly wear at the tips of your fingers, often Steve will see you wear a disparagingly obnoxious, dirty shirt, and an old pair of sweats as your go-to outfit.)

(No, he will never admit that he really likes seeing you like that. Even with the mysterious smudged substance often found on the bottom of your sweats, as if you had swing danced in mud and crude oil.)

Regardless, while he often questions your private life fashion choices (and this is coming from a man who willingly wears khakis), he at least knows why you're wearing what you are, given the fact that he's also dressed in an overused tee and some joggers.

"What's wrong with my apartment? Not up to par with your penthouse standards?" Steve jests.

"Steve. Please." You threw him an unimpressed glare, much to Steve's never-ending amusement.

You glanced back to the inside of the apartment and squinted at it with what Steve could only describe as a rich man's scrutinizing gaze, before shrugging nonchalantly. You strolled into his apartment with a confidence Steve can still never get used to, one that reminds him so much of Tony's, and even Howard on his bad days.

(He understands why Tony doesn't like it when he brings Howard up, as he belatedly realizes that Howard didn't die the same man he knew him as, but he never understood why you've suddenly gotten bitter about Howard as well.)

He follows you into the hallway, and if it weren't for the fact that this was his apartment, he would've looked like a lost puppy following its new owner.

His apartment's not really that big, so it doesn't take long before you've both reached the living room. A simple TV, simple couch, simple table. Nothing really exciting in his living room, but it serves its purposes, in Steve's opinion.

(This is the end of that chunk. Next is where I picked up in writing. Short time skip, they both fall asleep and now Steve's waking up.)

It was the change in the smell that woke him up.

It's always the scent of fresh linen that greeted him early in the morning, something that's become so attuned to his everyday life. So when, instead, popcorn and sweets drifts his way, for a brief second his heart rate jumps.

'What?', his mind asks as he opens his eyes, bleary but cautious.

'Oh,' his mind responds back at him when his eyes drift down to your sleeping form laying splayed right on top of him, body glued to his side. You're mainly hogging the blanket, but he doesn't really mind as he runs hot 24/7.

'Oh', his mind repeats softly, as something deep unfurls from his stomach and rises to his throat, clenching up and unable to say anything as his eyes fixate themselves on your steady breathing. Your lips are too close to his neck, each breath too warm, even for him. His skin burns where it meets yours, and absently he thinks, 'this is nice'.

'Yeah,' he lifts his hand to brush away a strand of hair away from your eyes, 'This is nice.'

Steve blearily throws a glance at the clock on his nightstand. 4 more minutes until he'd typically wake up and start his day with a morning jog.

'No,' his body protests.

'Okay,' his mind agrees without a fight.

He carefully reaches over and presses the silence button on his alarm. Above him, a breathy exhale escapes your lips at the sudden movement, and if possible, you curl closer to him than you were before. He pauses, unsure if you're going to wake up or not, but relax when he realizes that you're still in a deep slumber.

(Another break. Next sentence was supposed to be the final sentence of the chapter.)

In the end, neither of you commented about how Steve had missed his daily morning run as his limbs were straddled in between yours.

Ch. 13 (Upheaval) and 14 (Airlocked) are short in terms of drafting, so I'll combine them into one section here. Ch. 13 (Upheaval) was about taking down SHIELDRA in a better manner than the mess that was CA:TWS. And (Name) also forces Steve and Natasha to fess up immediately about Tony's parent's murderer. ((Name) threatens them.)

As for Ch. 14 (Airlocked), it's pretty much a filler chapter of sorts. (Name) graduates, there's now an official class-action lawsuit against Ross, also now keeping an eye on Baron Zemo, and we see some progression on Barne's therapy session. Not much, but some.

I really was not looking forward to these two chapters, as I knew they were gonna be boring as hell.

Ch. 15 (Spiralling) has actual written chunks. It's basically about the early prevention of Ultron. The Avengers go to a Sokovian HYDRA base, take out baddies, and the Super Twins get captured first- wow! But not before Wanda does... something to (Name), causing you to hallucinate and lose contact with the team- uh oh!

But don't worry! You get run over by a car. Lol. Below is what I had written for it, sans minor text.

A/N: In Ch. 7 (Summer), there was a 'dream-sequence' that happened where (Name) was on Titan with Tony, Peter, Stephen, and the GOTG. I've now decided that in canon, (Name) was not on Titan- instead, you were on Earth instead during IW helping at Wakanda. Just a brief plot-hole wrap-up; let's imply that (Name) had watched video footage of the fight at Titan via Tony's suit afterward, and that's where the nightmare came from. Okay bye.

(VERY abrupt start into the story, not meant to be the start of the chapter in the final draft, just where I wanted to start writing. Intro to Wanda.)

You jerked your head, catching a glimpse of brunette hair in the corner of your eyes. You swung your gauntlet instinctively and made instant contact with whatever was next to you. Flutters of red wisps followed your eyes, and you instantly knew what just happened as a body dropped next to you.

You grunted and leaned onto the nearest wall, watching the girl's limp body with caution. Your shoulder plate lifted, and a tranquilizing dart connected to her thigh.

Just in case.

"Guys, I- I've been- ugh..." You wanted to vomit, the pounding in your head worsening with each millisecond that passes. Already, your surroundings distort you with each blink, walls melting and the floor sinking in on itself. "I've been- com-," you swallowed back your bile, "-compromised... Sending- location... Ergh..."

You didn't even have enough time to hear a response before the whole world around you shifted. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to calm your thundering heartbeat. The pounding got worse as the armor around you dissipated into nothing but the under-suit you were wearing. Before, where there were the shouting and gunshots, is now replaced with an eerie silence filled with just your laborious breathing.

You didn't know the full extent of what visions you were about to see, but you needed to remember that none of this is real. Scientifically, that was your only safe haven from possibly losing your mind for what's about to come. And it was worse because you had no idea what visions you'd see. Would you see Thanos? The Chitauri, just like your father once had? Or would it be something more close to home; the bunker? Tony's dead body, splayed with vomit around him, frostbitten to the touch and still like a marbled statue?

Ready to go up and arms at whatever it was you're about to see, you cautiously opened your eyes.

(Line break, there's meant to be an "oh shit" line, like "Only, you were met with eyes far too similar to yours." but I still didn't know what I wanted to do for the hallucination sequence. Maybe meeting an older you, a younger you, or your dream life without the Avengers or meta-humans.)

(Below is an abrupt shift in the story; same general setting, but outside POV! What I had was dialogue only, alternating between people in bold, as a POV switch.)

(Name) "Guys, I- I've been- ugh... I've been- com-compromised... Sending- location... Ergh..."

(Steve) "Apex, do you copy? (Name)!"

(Steve) "Shit, (Name) isn't answering! Tony!"

(Tony) "Got his location, he's inside the base. J.A.R.V.I.S., what's his status?"

(J.A.R.V.I.S.) "I'm sorry, Sir, but it appears that I am not in contact with his suit."

(Tony) "Wha- the hell do you mean you're not in contact?!"

(J.A.R.V.I.S.) "I cannot connect to his suit; it appears that Young Sir has somehow deprogrammed me from his suit."

(Tony) "Wha-!"

(J.A.R.V.I.S.) "However, it seems as if there is an A.I. present nonetheless. Though..."

(J.A.R.V.I.S.) "I do not recognize the code. Would you like me to attempt at forming a mode of communication?"

(Tony) "Yeah, just- God, make sure (Name)'s okay, please."

(J.A.R.V.I.S.) "On it."

(J.A.R.V.I.S.) "Establishing a connection."

(DAHLIA) "Mister Stark?"

(Tony) "Wha- I'm sorry- who are you?"

(DAHLIA), ignoring Tony, "An enhanced got to (Name). The operative is down, but (Name)'s experiencing hallucinations. I can't get through to him- you need to get to him, now. I fear he may hurt himself more than he already has."

(DAHLIA) "And if I may be privy to a request?"

(Tony) "What?"

(DAHLIA) "Don't bring Rogers." (I don't remember why I wrote this bit.)

(Steve) "Any updates on (Name)?"

(Tony) "Yep, and by the looks of it," there was a loud boom coming from the base, and as Tony looked up to see an all too familiar suit fly out of the building. Or, rather, flying was an interesting way to put it- it was more of a free-falling more than anything else.

(Steve) "What was that?"

(Tony) "That was (Name), and he's not havin' a great time I'll tell you that."

His voice was light and joking, but he'd be lying if he didn't say that his heart wasn't in his throat by the sight of you flying out of the building and falling back into the forests.

(Line break, another POV switch)

Steve sprinted towards the loud boom, movements quick and calculated, but mind racing a thousand miles an hour. He saw a red and gold glint fly up above him, zipping in and out between trees gracefully.

(Line break, but no switch, same place. Another story POV shift, sort of. Steve makes contact with (Name), or so he thinks.)

"(Name)? Hey, do you copy?"

The suit was eerily silent, glowing eyes that once gave comfort to the soldier now bringing nothing but an awful, gripping dread; one that he'd get when there were Nazi soldiers nearby, but he couldn't tell where even with his enhanced senses. The suit gave away nothing that usually screamed out everything that was you- no head swaying, no restless and constantly shifting feet, only a stillness that looked so unnatural. Almost as if there was no one in there.

"(Name)?"

There was no response from you.

The hairs on Steve's neck stood up, everything in his system suddenly screaming to get out of there, run, leave, get away from the suit, but he ignored it as he took a cautious step forward.

Again, you didn't seem to react.

Then, the suit took a step forward.

Then another one.

And another one.

"(Name)-"

Before he could say anything more, the suit lunged forward. Only for a moment could Steve react, but even he wasn't as fast as you could be when you're in the suit. He raised his shield, ready to be shot at, but only the sound of harsh metal on metal makes it to his ears. By the sounds of it, it sounded like Tony had managed to land a direct hit on you, from wherever position he was at. Cautiously, Steve lowers his shield to look.

But instead of the familiar red and gold suit of armor greeting him, it's the sight of two (color) suits wrestling on the ground with each other that manages to sucker-punch all air from his lungs.

(Basically, you went bat shit insane and got out of the older suit, then prematurely activating the nano suit instead, in a fit of panicked hallucination. The older suit, now operating by DAHLIA, was trying to protect Steve from being ambushed by (Name), and now they're wrestling.)

(Another big break, but I think I had a hallucination sequence from (Name)'s POV planned here. Not sure what I was gonna do here since I planned this like, maybe in 2018, early 2019. It's... 2021 now...)

"-(Name)!"

Your eyes widened as the world around you suddenly shifts out of existence, and instead, you're outside in the dim, snowy alps once again. Someone called out to you, you don't know who, but there's a light in the corner of your eyes that's so goddamn bright. You turn your head in the direction of the light, and amidst all of the yelling and gunshots, DAHLIA's cool, chilling voice rings the loudest in your ear.

"Aborting protoc-"

And then the world turned black.

Ch. 16 (Enflamed) also has written text. Basically, you're recovering from being caught slipping by a car, the team is now aware of certain secrets you've been keeping behind their backs, and you realize that you have to get back to Barnes to let him know you're okay.

This chapter was meant to be focused on the twins, but I guess I forgot that as I was "writing" it. Basically, the gist was that their parent's deaths weren't by officially licensed Stark tech (maybe even a counterfeit since Stark weapons are the best, and don't malfunction as it did in WandaVision ep. 8). Maybe HYDRA was the one that did it in order to recruit more people. Or something like that. Basically, Tony wasn't the one who authorized those weapons to be sold and used there, but it was Stane. Either way, they get their own healthy moment to mourn and lament over it all.

Here's the text below. Italics for a dream sequence, since you were unconscious/ in a coma from being bOnked on by a car.

"Hey, sweetheart."

You smile, turning around to face the voice only to be greeted with lips on yours. You chuckle, amused that this was the first thing you'd be greeted with, but lean into the kiss anyways as you wrapped your fingers around their cheek.

They pull back first, but their eyes are warm as they smile, lingering in the space between the two of you. Where their hands laid on your hips, your skin burned bright hot, but you paid no mind to it.

(There's supposed to be more, maybe foreshadowing, but I stopped here in terms of the dream sequence. Jump cut to another POV, but you're waking up!)

(Name) "Hnng..."

(Steve) "Stay down! You're in no condition to move at all, just- just rest, okay? The doctors- and- your dad are coming."

(Steve) "How're you feeling? You want some water?"

You tried to turn your head to look at the blonde but hissed suddenly.

(Name) "S'nnof'a' b'ch..." (Son of a bitch.)

Steve helped you settle back onto your pillow- which even he'll admit doesn't look like the most comfortable setting in the world.

"Language, (Name)..."

He reprimanded, but there's no heat in his words as he's just so thankful that you're even capable of forming any words, no matter how profane they may be.

Beside him, Clint laughs a bit too loud for comfort. Steve wants to tell him to be quiet, as he's sure you're sensitive to noise right now, but God he can't blame the archer for his overwhelming relief.

Lord knows Clint wasn't the only one to stress over their youngest Avenger.

"First words after a damn coma, and it's 'son of a bitch'! I told you he's a fighter!"

"Of course he is, he's a Stark after all."

All eyes turn to see the billionaire and assassin walk into the room. They look clean and pristine as always, but by the slight sheen of sweat on both of them, Steve knew they rushed here as soon as word spread that you were awake.

(Natasha) "Tooting your own horn a little much there?"

Natasha's smile betrays her words as she looks fondly from the senior Stark to the junior. Even the ironclad wall she has up 24/7 has a soft spot for the team's junior member.

(Especially for the junior member, but you didn't hear that from Steve.)

(Tony) "It's both of our horns, excuse you."

Tony turns his attention to you and places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"You sure took a hit back there, champ."

"Mmm... 'm feel like a... Nn... A damn Make A W'sh kid...", (Mm, am feeling like a damn Make A Wish kid...) your eyes, though blown out from still being drugged up, wandered across each Avenger. You frowned, then smirked- well, as best as you could, anyways.

"Where's th' Hul'k? T'or?" (Where's the Hulk? Thor? (As a joke, since usually the whole gang visits, but they're missing))

"Relax junior, you're not that special. We can only afford so many Avengers to visit you."

Despite his harsh words, Tony places a kiss right on your forehead. Your eyes flutter closed, lashes delicately batting as Tony leans away.

(Big block of nothing, there were supposed to be more text here, more dialogue or something. Same setting!)

(Tony) "So. We need to talk about what happened back there. Y'know. The brand-smackin' new A.I. that's in your suit- she's been awfully quiet. Oh, and the- lord, the thing's a work of art- the- what is it? Nanite suit? That's in a collar- a collar? I mean, I'm not one to judge questionable fashion statements, but-"

(Steve, or someone else) "Tony."

(Tony) "Right- but, we are going to talk about all that, okay?"

"L'ter, ple's? Am tir'd..." (Later, please? Am tired.)

"An' b'sides, chok'r's fun..." (And besides, chokers are fun.)

(Line break, basically, you remember you have a certain Winter Soldier that's been sitting at home without any word from you.)

’Oh fuck.’

(Big line break, basically, you get discharged from the hospital, and now you visit the safehouse Barnes is in to check up on him.)

It was eerily quiet when you opened the door to the safe house. You limped into the door, thankful that the ride on the way back, there were no paparazzi to see you leave at all. (Really, Happy should get a raise.) Lord knows how much of a rile that'll get out of the news media.

'Avengers' Golden Boy: Fatally Injured?' or something dumb like that.

You'd love to roll your eyes, but the tension that's coiling up in your gut surpasses the want as you slowly step into the house. It's warm, more so than the slow brewing chill that's been tempering outside. James never liked the cold, but even so, the house was warmer than you remembered. His shoes are still near the doorway, in the exact place that you remembered it to be, so he definitely hasn't gone anywhere.

(Though, the alerts that were on your phone from DAHLIA definitely show that he wanted to.)

For a brief moment, you were concerned that there wasn't enough food; but even then, DAHLIA would still be up, so she could place an online order to refill the fridge at a moment's notice, so it's not like James (even with his super-soldiered appetite) would starve himself here.

You quietly slipped out of your shoes, slowly as to not incur another cramp in your back, and stepped into the hallway barefooted. You glance into each room you pass by, but not a single sign of the soldier was anywhere to be found.

You stopped when you stood in front of one specific lounge room; yours and James' favorite lounge room.

Lurking into the room, you glanced around.

The room looked exactly like how it did days before when you were still conscious. There are a few mugs strewn about. Most empty, conjoined in one area of the table (James' area), but there's one that's filled with your favorite drink. A drink that you don't remember making for yourself.

And it's placed right in front of your favorite chair, too. Something squeezes at your heartstrings as you couldn't help but smile fondly.

It's gone cold, you absently note as you dip a finger into it. Wiping your finger on your pants, you grabbed it and the rest of the empty cups, making a note to place them into the dishwasher when you make it into the kitchen.

"James?"

You called out, but only your voice echoed back. The cups quietly rattled with each step, and it's not long before you make it into the kitchen. It, too, looks the same, but there's a thin layer of dust only a clean freak would notice. The sink is empty and clear of any beads of water. Unused for a little bit, you concluded.

Yeesh.

You placed all of the cups into the dishwasher, which was also dry and empty as well. Sighing, you turned on the machine and jumped out of your skin when you felt a pair of built arms wrap themselves around you tightly.

It only takes a split second for you to realize that, no, this is not some ax murderer that's about to choke the life out of you, it's just James.

James who, apparently, is holding you flush against his chest, fingers curling themselves against your bandaged abdomen. You held back a wince of pain, careful not to make your breathing waver, as James nuzzle his whole head against the crook of your neck.

(Honestly, for someone named the Winter Soldier, he sure is warm because whew, boy-)

"Ja-"

"I thought you were gone."

His name is caught in your throat as James' voice- gritty, deep, unused- rumbles into your skin. You freeze, unsure of what to say to that as you shuddered, suddenly breathless as he mouths at your neck. Your ears turn bright red as he takes that moment to speak up, not once letting up on his fingers ghosting a trail on each muscle on your abdomen.

"You were gone. One second you were in my arms, and the next... The next, DAHLIA's tellin' me you're in a damn coma."

You winced, not sure how to respond to both what he said or the growl that accompanied it. You looked up at the camera that was in a nearby corner and threw it a withering glance, feeling slightly betrayed by DAHLIA for telling James that.

Thankfully (or probably not), James isn't really looking for a response as he continues on.

"Моя звездная пыль (My stardust)," Russian slips out, bringing a chill up your spine as bits of Winter spills out from James' fingertips, "The witch got to you, didn't she?"

Goosebumps raised on your skin, and to your silence, James snarled. You can barely feel his teeth graze on your nape, and you really don't know if you should feel embarrassed or something else.

And wow, okay, maybe you should tell James to ease up on the "hug", because holy shit, his grip's getting tighter and it's starting to actually hurt.

(Ah, he might tear the stitches.)

"HYDRA сукa...! Я убью ее...!" (HYDRA bitch...! I'll kill her...!)

You huffed, still red in the face as he hasn't even nudged away from letting you go. You patted his forearm, signaling for him to loosen up his grip, and to his credit, he does. Barely, but it was still something.

"I dunno what ya' just said in Russian, but I know what Hydra сукa means. No cussing in Russian, only in English."

He mumbles something incoherent into your shoulder, rubbing circles into your stomach with a tantalizingly slow speed. You coughed; in literally any other situation this would be one of the hottest things you've ever experienced, but considering that James was more Winter than James right now, and your stomach is literally burning in pain from the rubbing, you opted to ignore the fact that you really liked that James was this close and spoke up.

"Not to alarm you or anything, but uh, if you keep rubbing my stomach like that," your breath hitched, the pain starting to become a little too much, "I'm gonna pass out from the pain," you said, with clenched teeth.

(End of what I had written down. Anyways, not sure where I was gonna go from here.)

Ch. 17-20 are relatively short in terms of what I had written down.

Ch. 17 (Reconditioning) has 3 things typed down:

integrating the twins, thoughts of integrating bucky

supreme distrust between you and the twins

meanwhile maybe thoughts from twins abt you? you're around their age

3rd bullet introduces the idea that they might be love interests. Maybe. Shrugs. That chapter would be heavier on the character developments of the twins, both as their own persons and their relationship with you, specifically. They don't like you because you're Tony's son, still some bitter feelings there, and you don't like them because... Well... there's just a lot of bad feelings. They helped kill J.A.R.V.I.S. in your original timeline. Wanda basically fucked off with Vision. She antagonized Tony. (And there is a hypocrisy there since I would've written you to have done the same thing there. (Name) isn't perfect.)

You just didn't get along with Pietro since, back when he wasn't dead, you were immature and not yet accustomed to dealing with people who're purposefully frustrating/ teasing/ mocking/ etc. Nothing really personal with him, it's Wanda that you had beef with. But you'll get over it one day.

Ch. 18 (Longstanding) is shorter.

you and james have a talk, and after a year or two being solitary, you agree that he should be in the avengers

he joins the avengers

That's it, that's the chapter.

Ch. 19 (Accountability) deals with newer Accords (not a Sokovian one! Just from the proposed need for accountability).

It goes better around this time, as basically all of the Avengers agree to it, with their own caveats of course. Steve especially, but of course, he's willing to work with the governments about it this time around. Also, Peter Parker gets introduced, in accordance with the "underaged enhanced/ superheroes" clause, or some bull like that.

Ch. 20 (Wakanda) is basically the intro to CA:CW but like, civilized. No bombing since Zemo still has his family. Introduces Wakanda, and T'Challa as a potential love interest. If you're interested in IronPanther, I highly recommend reading the IronPanther Collection by Okyverlo on AO3. It's great and got me a lot of interest in T'Challa as a love interest.

As for official chapters with the plot, that's about it. I wasn't sure what to do afterward.

There were some loose ideas I had about what would happen to (Name). Maybe the truth is revealed, that you're actually from the future, and Dr. Strange separates past and future you into two separate bodies. Future! you into your original future body, and past! you into the current body. Past! you still have the same memories and thoughts that future! you had, but with less angst. Future! you is noticeably more depressed and just a bummer. Lol.

And after that, 2023! you would go back to the future where you belonged, and Past! you would stay in the present since, duh, that's still Past! you's original timeline. It's a little confusing when I type it down haha.

I was thinking maybe 2023! you would pair up with Steve since you realized how burdensome it is to continue to resent someone. Now you understood what Tony meant.

And Past! you would definitely pair up with James, but maybe Steve too. A nice lil' polygamous relationship.

Now here's the other, non-official chapters.

2 What If's, and 3 Specials, in the order they're listed at the moment.

What If (2013 Counterpart) plays with an initial idea I had, where Past! (Name) was actually sent into the future into 2023! (Name)'s body during the prologue. Not sure where I was gonna go with this chapter, but I really wanted to mess with that possibility, and show just how immature and teenager-y Past! you were.

What If (Swapped Places) plays with the idea that you and Tony, in the original timeline, had swapped places. You were on Titan with Spiderman, Dr. Strange, and the GOTG, while Tony was on Earth with everyone else. That's all I had planned. Maybe you actually won and managed to get the gauntlet off of Thanos when you realized that Peter Quill was about to go crazy over his ex's death, and you knocked him down in time.

Special (Find My Body, Only At The Oak Tree), deals with you and your depression over the reality that you might have to relive the blip again, and aside from the Avengers, you really don't have anyone else and nothing's worth really living for at this point. I actually have a lot written for this one. Not sure if I wanted this to be canon.

Trigger warning: suicidal tendencies.

(Below is the general idea I had for the plot.)

(names) birthdays across the years so far

we see slow mental deterioration of (name) as he aches

we see as we reach closer and closer to the deadline, (name) dreads even thinking about thanos and wants to die before even looking at him, a symbol of their failure

lowkey highkey suicidal

___

The first time you celebrated your 17th birthday was in 2014.

The second time you celebrated your 17th birthday was also in 2014... Obviously.

The first time you celebrated your 17th birthday, the whole tower was flooded with people who you knew and people who you couldn't care to know. It was filled with what little was left of your friend group outside of the Avengers; it was also filled with the rich, the pompous, the irritating of New York.

You got into a yelling match with your dad that night, over something you couldn't even bother to remember, and stormed off into your room, fuming as the party still went on without their birthday boy present.

(It's always like that as if you're replaceable. Surely, you must be; the Avengers can and will, if need be, exist without you.)

The second time you celebrated your 17th birthday, you told your dad you wanted it to be small and personal. Only the Avengers were there, as a few days ago did you spend a pre-birthday celebration with some of your high school 'friends' (which only mainly consisted of playing Smash Bros Brawl in your room and eating an ungodly amount of junk food as you fake laughed along with their shitty jokes.) (Steve promptly made you burn those calories off in training.).

(What Steve doesn't know is that you purposefully ate that much to train with him; otherwise, you had the whole day off the next day.

You didn't want to be alone.)

It was sweet as everyone gave their gifts to you (which you already knew what it was, but said nothing of it), and as everyone got drunk off of the expensive liquor or Asgardian mead, you quietly snuck out of the building and back into the safe house where James was waiting for you.

(He waits, but how much of it is because he has no other choice?

It is not like that, you keep reminding yourself.

Who is to say, other than you?

James never says anything of it, and you start to wonder if he feels as if he has no choice.

As if he feels like he's been made another prisoner, once again.

At what point, what is separating the distinction between you and HYDRA, in his mind?

You're not too keen on finding out the answer anytime soon.)

The whole way there, you thought of nothing in particular.

You quietly celebrated with him too, shared a few slices of cake he made just for you before you quietly said goodnight to him. He kissed you on the cheek, said a simple goodnight, and slipped away into his own bedroom.

Meanwhile, you spent the rest of the night drinking too much alcohol, alone, in the dark of your room, staring at nothing in particular, thinking about nothing in particular.

The next morning, you jokingly wished you had just died last night as you're bent over the toilet emptying your stomach contents.

___

The first time you celebrated your 18th birthday, you spent it outside in another country with your friends.

The second time you celebrated your 18th birthday party, you rented out a bumper kart arena with the Avengers.

The first time you celebrated your 18th birthday, you tried desperately to hang onto the remaining friends you had outside of the Avengers, a chance to feel normal for once. You practically went hiking across Europe and into Asia over the week of your birthday, and by God did you visit so many places. From the Louvre to the casinos in New Deli, you trekked everywhere with your friends and acted as a cash pig for their endeavors under the guise of celebrating your birthday. Least to say, you always got 'accidentally' blackout drunk on multiple occasions, oblivious to their actions.

Later you found out and cut them off instantly without another word. They didn't seem to notice that you stopped talking to them.

It hurt.

Pointless of you to try to maintain that friendship.

So on your next 18th birthday, having long forgone those friendships ages ago, you suggested going bumper karting with the Avengers. Bruce operated as the 'coach' of sorts, but he seemed to have enjoyed it as well.

It was fun, obviously.

It went on for a few hours, as you all had made up mini-games to play along with as they got bored of chasing after each other aimlessly for half an hour. A few games had you pairing up with some of the Avengers; the other had them actually using their skills to try to maim each other.

(Wanda at one point lifted everyone into the air as Pietro zoomed through the rink; though, he did slip and slam into the wall. Everyone laughed, but it was interrupted as Wanda promptly dropped everyone out of shock.

Everyone was too busy in their own shock as well to notice your labored breathes, wild crazed eyes, or how you clawed viciously at your throat at the sight of Wanda's red wisps. Your fingers were tinted a sick vermilion.

Thankfully, the arena was relatively dim, so no one could tell what just happened.)

It was fun. Everyone didn't hold their shoves back, and when things riled up, it turned into who would break a bone first. No one did, but everyone was definitely sore afterward. Of course, the enhanced ones didn't limp as much, but it made your limp nothing out of the ordinary.

(You tried your most damn not to just collapse completely, both exhaustion and pain threatening to snap your spine into little bits and pieces.

You jokingly wished it did.)

Thankfully, during the whole ordeal, no one noticed how you didn't avoid obvious hits, instead opting to just get harshly jostled in your kart and neck snapped haphazardly to the side at the sudden jolt. Or how you 'accidentally' keep forgetting to put on your seat belt or keep your fingers inside the kart.

Or at least, if they noticed, no one said anything as you limped around the tower the next day, bruises marred everywhere on your skin, a sheen of sweat blanketed on your skin throughout the whole day.

___

The first time you celebrated your 19th birthday, you were too swamped with both college and SI to actually... Celebrate.

You didn't even realize it was your birthday. No one did, actually; it took one of your professors to comment on how your name was trending on Twitter to actually get you to realize what the day was.

But even that didn't change your schedule, and as you moved on with your day, so did Twitter and the Avengers.

You never got to celebrate your 19th birthday, too swamped with other things to care.

The second time you celebrated your 19th birthday, you had too much free time in the world.

It ended up being just like your 17th. The Avengers had a little get-together (they remembered this time; what made it so different?) and all of them got drunk wildly off their asses. Once again, you slipped away from the main lounge, and stalked silently, blank-faced, towards a balcony.

You adjusted your collar appropriately and stood there. You stared outside into the bustling busy streets of New York, the city that never sleeps.

(Strange, that it's named that when often times it's the quietest whenever you're there to see it.)

You spend maybe 10 minutes standing there, staring into the oblivion that is New York.

And then, you climbed onto the railings.

Standing there, there was no rush of adrenaline that coursed its way through your veins, nor was there any fear or dread.

Only an overwhelming and crippling exhaustion that made waves through your body. No longer are you in your 19-year-old body, but your 27th. No longer are you in your younger, former self; one that shone brightly above the others, aspiring as both a heroic figure and one that would help pave the way towards a better, peaceful world.

No, instead, your soul feels like it's settled deep into your bones, an aching tire that keeps rocking and rattling at your already fractured, beaten down body, laughing at how pathetic you look.

(You're so tired.

You just wanted to live normally.

You never can, you eventually come to realize on your first 24th birthday.

That thought, now fully realized, would come to permeate it's way deep into your bones.)

All you wanted to do was to just take one step forward, off of the railing that you're so delicately balanced upon, and dive into air headfirst.

Really, all it takes is just one step.

And truly, you've never felt more at peace as your body dropped from the railings, descended quickly towards the streets below you.

What should've been a quick few seconds of a dive felt like an eternity drowning in a bottomless pool. The lights of New York flashed and beamed at you, but it changed rapidly from one to another. Your throat closes, shuttering, and you want so desperately to start screaming.

Only, no one would hear them.

The winds would carry away your screams, rushing a sound of its own that would overpower yours.

You wonder, absently, was this similar to what Rhodey felt that day?

Well.

You'd never really find out, now, will you?

Too late to ask.

(There's no way to get back home.

You can never see Morgan again- the Morgan that called you her big Care Bear, the Morgan that cried and threw a temper tantrum because you forgot to give her a goodnight kiss.

You can never see mom and dad again- while they're still here, it's just not the same. You'll never get to see the same Pepper who was so relieved just to see you alive after the Battle of Wakanda, even if you were practically on your death bed. You'll never get to see the same Tony who you spent hours crying into the shoulder of after the Blip.

You can never see the same Steve, Natasha, Rhodey, anyone, ever again.

Years spent just trying to be better, to help the world, to mend and build any relationships you could, gone.

And even if they weren't?

There's just no way to get back home anymore. Not back to the person you used to be.)

The next day, you got an earful from your parents when photos of your falling body appear all over the internet. All the meanwhile, you're not really listening to them, just staring right back at them.

Odd.

('When did you start looking at me with contempt?', you'd ask one day.

Tony just stares at you, then out the window. In his hand, he's holding a cup of coffee; in yours, water. You've since stopped drinking anything remotely sugary, caffeinated, or alcoholic, though you've never told anyone why.

'When did you start mistaking concern with contempt.', he responded, though it was more of a statement rather than a question.

You stared at him, then followed his gaze out the window.

Neither of you says anything, even as the hours go by in the blink of an eye.)

(That's all I had written down so far. Not sure where I wanted to go with this afterwards.)

Special (Vapidity, Testament To Absence) deals with future DAHLIA realizing what it means to mourn someone.

The house is empty.

It is an irrelevant thought, DAHLIA notes.

Technically speaking, the house has been empty quite often than not; after all, you were a busy man with an equally busy schedule. Being the CEO of SI and a huge contributing factor to the world's rebuilding made it more or less impossible for you to stay at home for long. Though, she also doesn't linger long in the house, either. But she's still there regardless, even if she's also with you on the other side of the planet for diplomatic reasons.

She knows of the emptiness inside this house; it was never an unfamiliar concept.

But with this emptiness, she's never once associated loneliness with it either.

It's a bit better when Virginia occasionally comes around to the house to do some maintenance. She might even bring along little Morgan with her.

("You keep saying she's a pest, but I know I sure as hell ain't the one that keeps shifting the TV to the kids' channels when she's around," you comment, not even taking your eyes off of the pan. DAHLIA says nothing towards your accusations, instead opting to tell you that you're burning your eggs.

You aren't, but she says nothing amidst your panic.)

A few others occasionally visit, too, much to DAHLIA's internal disapproval.

Rogers used to visit every day ever since she first noted the emptiness. His behavior was also peculiar. He'd prowl around the house, pausing here and there at random parts of the house. He'd often just... Stand there, seemingly looking at nothing for a long period, before jolting back and continue what he was doing. She's thankful that he hasn't noted her silence when he's around.

Often Banner would come along too, and he'd be talking quietly with Rogers. As of recently, they've stopped visiting though. Probably because of the recent news (that (Name) might still be alive, just lost in time), DAHLIA almost bitterly notes.

James ("Just call him Rhodey- literally no one calls him James nowadays." you laugh, eyes crinkling with amusement) visits too. He doesn't linger for long, but he makes sure to check up on DAHLIA, help tend to the flowers... She'd even dare say she wishes he'd visit more often.

Peter also visits here and there as well. He often comes with Morgan and Virginia, but there have been a few occasions where he's come here by himself. He'd spend most of his time in the garden, your favorite place. And when he's alone, she'd given him privacy out of respect, but even at a long distance, she can hear him talking by himself. He'd come back eyes red and swollen, but he's always smiling afterward.

A few others have visited too, but not as often as the others. Though, none of that really helps negate the emptiness she feels as she wordlessly navigates through a routine she devoted herself to after your disappearance.

And the final chapter, Special (Chemically Compromised) is basically a fluff filler with (Name) chaperoning Peter's field trip, inspired by an Instagram post.

Written in bits and pieces, unfinished. Not sure if I wanted it to be romantic (the name implies it in a nerdy way) or just a fun, platonic, "dude you're literally embarrassing me" way.

(Peter) "I can't believe you're doing this...!"

(Name) "What? What's wrong with this?"

Pan to (Name) dressing like he's a Typical, Normal Civilian Man, but it's clearly (Name) Stark, son of Tony Stark, and an Avenger.

(Peter) "I don't need you to chaperone my field trip...! May could've done this-"

(Name) "No, she really couldn't, sweetheart. She's got a busy shift, and even told me that no one else's parents was free."

(Name) "Listen- this really could have gone worse if, say, Tony, knew. God knows Tony would've dropped everythin' and just embarrass ya- he did that shit to me every chance he got," Peter winces, almost forgetting that Tony was still your dad, and a chill ran up his spine as he imagined what it would have been like for you.

(Peter) "But still..."

(Name) "Don't worry, I'll just wear a cap and sunglasses."

(Peter) "That can't possibly work."

(Name) "You'd be surprised- Sam's standin' down there, right near that phone booth."

Peter's head snapped over to where you were pointing at, and indeed, right on the floors of the Manhattan streets, there was a relatively built black guy that's wearing a cap, sunglasses, and a brown leather jacket. Peter tilted his head.

He hasn't been around Sam all that much, but he still knows what the Avenger looked like. But even then, he wasn't sure if that man was actually Sam. He's built right, but Peter can't see much of his hair or eyes. Plus, he's kind of far away.

He squinted at the man, before glancing back at you, now unsure of himself.

(Peter) "That's really the Falcon?"

You stared at him, before snorting.

(Name) "Nah, I'm joshin' ya, that's just some random guy...", you glance at the man, sniffing, "... Probably."

That's... pretty much it. That's all I had for Restart, as far as writing goes.

Now here are some closing thoughts, just to wrap all of this up nice and tight, sort of.

I'm not really happy with how the initial chapters were paced and how they were written. My writing style has mildly changed, and if I had the motivation to, I'd love to rewrite them. But alas, I don't.

I think about this story often; or at least, variations of it. It's like when you daydream, and you restart it but to the left. But unfortunately, writing a plot without too many plot holes while remaining as canonically correct as possible, and making it interesting without being a complete word-by-word remake of the movies, is difficult.

I'm not sure if I would ever pick up this story again, especially since this whole chapter told you what I had in store anyways.

Thank you to those who took the time out of their day to write nice and encouraging comments about this story. It's unfortunate it had to end this way, but I'm glad it happened anyways. And hopefully, it's the same for you.

And remember: the one thing writers love to do is talk about their story! If you have any other comments, questions, or just general thoughts about the story, I'd love to discuss it further!

Anyways. If you're reading this now, thanks for sticking with Restart for as long as you did.

_____

Masterlist

_____

I know I had people on the tagged list, but it’s a bit hard to get them all as URL’s change, so I opted not to. Sorry!

#male reader #avengers x male reader #steve rogers x male reader #bucky barnes x male reader #avengers #reader insert #avengers x reader #restart

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Text

Correspondence, Chapter 06

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary: An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together – until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don’t really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Slight offscreen peril, a bunch of POV changes, and we’re going to start introducing the team one by one so a whole lot of Rossi this chapter. Everyone will get their turn, and a few people (Garcia and Morgan for sure) get more than one. This chapter got very very long, once again. Set in season 6-7, self beta’d.

Word Count: 10716

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

–

Chapter 06

–

March 2011

–

Although the BAU sends teams out frequently to different corners of the continental US -- whenever they’ve been requested or invited in, or when they are interviewing captured criminals for research studies and papers -- for the most part they can do all of their work right there at home. In Quantico, Virginia.

Hotch’s team is one of four domestic Behavioral Analysis teams in the Unit, who work alongside three Behavioral Research and Instruction teams, as well as liaisons from the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crimes (NCAVC) and two international BAU teams. Hotch doesn’t directly oversee the international sectors, or the liaisons, but he is Unit Chief as well as the leader of his team and he seems to constantly be buried in a sea of paperwork. Especially when he is back in his office at Quantico, and can’t use the excuse of being called out on a case to defer some of the workload.

But one thing about being home that Hotch appreciates more than anything is the routine it creates; with his work, with his home, with Jack, and now -- with Spencer. Being three time zones apart is difficult, but it’s all they’ve ever known, and it becomes second nature for Hotch to always be aware what the time is in California. What time of day it is for the other man, what his routine might be and the little stolen minutes that are best to send texts, sneak in phone calls, and they become quite skilled at it. Spencer knows Hotch’s schedule better than he does himself, some days, and he always returns the favor in kind. Quite literally living in each other’s pockets, via a cell phone, and Hotch finds that thought amusing to no end.

It also means that the younger man is… always on his mind. Just a glance at a clock and he already knows what time it is across the country, and he often finds himself thinking about what Spencer is doing. What class he is teaching. If he’s grabbing coffee or actual lunch like he should. They’ve hit this point in their relationship where the constant communication is all but seamless and interwoven into their everyday lives. It becomes a common occurrence to always think about Spencer, to always check his phone as often as he might check his watch, and Hotch starts to realize that this long distance relationship has taken some deep roots within him. That he just very might be falling head over heels for a man he’s never met, and although it takes him a moment to grasp that concept fully -- he finds that he doesn’t really mind it, either. Because this is the happiest he’s been in a long, long time.

And after the past few years, he’s learned that that is not something he can afford to be cautious with.

So he lets it all progress unchecked, as nerve-wracking as that can be, instead of keeping it in the consistency they’ve grown so used to. The relationship akin to many of the experiments and projects Spencer regales him with; a constant that needs variables in order for it to change and ignite. It should have been jarring, this free fall that Hotch had begun to allow, but somehow it never was.

And just like that, they continued to grow closer, a little less wary than before.

After that week in December, their phone conversations become as frequent as their text messaging. Every night, sometimes over lunch and on the weekends, Jack has even jumped in once or twice during the daytime hours when their time together overlaps. Hotch was surprised at the younger boy’s enthusiasm to talk to whoever he has been messaging off and on for the better part of a year, and even more at how the two get on even over the phone. But Spencer points out one night that Jack probably is more used to speaking and connecting with people over long distance because of his father’s constant travel through the year. As often as Hotch calls and messages Spencer, he also talks to Jack every night that he’s not home, so it would be a very minute shift for him to be introduced to Spencer and find it as normal an occurrence as if Hotch was on one of his trips. This creates various juxtaposing emotions for Hotch, glad that Spencer and Jack can meet each other without it being stilted or awkward with the distance, and morose that he’s created this precedent in his son that could last his whole life. Thankfully, it only takes a few nights of Spencer’s stream-of-conscious lectures indicating statistics and case studies and small anecdotes speckled throughout, all connecting like constellations in the sky, to soothe his apprehensions.

Spencer always seems to have that effect on Hotch, when they talk.

They have come to find that just the sound of the other’s voice is enough to ease even the most stressful of days, and for Spencer as well. Through physical application they discover just how well, as the months pass them by. Through the Christmas holidays, a hard time for the Hotchners because it was always Haley’s favorite time of year, resulting in many a late night phone call that goes far beyond when even Spencer should have fallen asleep. On past New Years, and Spencer’s mom’s birthday in late January -- another hard time -- where the younger man confided in Hotch that his mother is permanently institutionalized with paranoid schizophrenia. Something he never shares with anyone, if he can help it, but a large part of his life he knows he wants Hotch to be aware of now. After all this time. They help each other through each and every instance, are there through the thick and thin of it, solidifying a trust that appeared as naturally as everything else about them.

And with it… the feelings grow. So much stronger than before.

And although their phone calls stay more tame than not, they do revisit the hushed tones and quiet gasps that they had lapsed into that night in Wyoming -- and they were getting very good at it.

But with the new development of spoken conversations as well as through text is so much more than just the sexual progression, that’s not how this all started. There’s a companionship there that transcends all the multimedia facets they explore.

Spencer becomes one of the most important people in Hotch’s life. And Hotch is Spencer’s… whole world, outside of Caltech. They mean so much to each other, have blended together through time and distance and millions of words and messages. It’s really a wonder that more people don’t know about their relationship. Private as they are, each in their own right, they hold a place in each other’s days and nights and thoughts at all times.

Once winter gives way to spring, and March bleeds into the calendar, Spencer mentions one night that it’s been exactly one year since Hotch had emailed him on that first case. An anniversary of sorts.

How had it been a whole year, already, and still felt so brand new?

And yet, neither man can even remember what their life was like before they’d met. How could they possibly have gotten through the day, and not have it speckled with those little moments of conversation? Filling the spaces where they hadn’t even realized they’d been lonely. Had no idea what they were missing, until they had it in their hands.

It’s a day in mid-March that finds the BAU oddly quiet. Everyone is home, for the most part: no urgent cases, no pending interviews, just mountains of paperwork and yearly evals paired with recertifications to keep them occupied. Rossi even takes the week off to go attend a convention in L.A. where one of his books is being featured, again. Hotch doesn’t bother to try and fight him on it, there’s really no need with everything seeming in a lull for the time being.

But, since one person got the week off, naturally everyone else starts to take it easier as well. Procrastinating by taking frequent snack and coffee breaks, sitting at each other’s desks in the bull pen and generally goofing around -- not getting much work done at all. Hotch can see his team, or most of them, from his office where he has been finishing up some reports that really should have been completed by the group horsing around all morning.

But it’s such a comforting sight, smiles and laughs in the place where they confront violence and depravity at all hours of the day. His team deserves a break, he decides, so Hotch finishes his report as if he can’t see the team out of the corner of his eye, and checks his phone again while waiting for a reply from Spencer. The professor has also been dealing with procrastination among his own students, the majority resorting to messing around in the labs instead of actually getting their work done like they should. The situational parallel alone enough to make Hotch bite back a smile that would be too much in plain view; not wanting to reveal that he is taking his work at his leisure, as well, that day.

“Garcia!” Prentiss calls as she walks past Hotch’s office door, always left open for easy access by his agents, and so he can hear the goings on of the BAU floor. “There’s some kind of alarm going off in your office? I’ve never heard it before.”

“What does it sound like? Is it the Doctor Who theme, or kind of ‘Mission Impossible’-y,” she asks as she relinquishes Morgan’s chair (which she had commandeered over an hour ago) and makes her way through the maze of desks. “Oh! Or is it the 007 music? I’ve been waiting for a message from our BAU friends abroad--”

“No, no this kind of sounds like an air raid siren.”

Garcia’s face drops, and never has Hotch seen that look on her face before. She spins on her leopard print heels and is hurrying back across the bull pen as fast as those four inch stilettos will allow.

“Pen?”

“Baby girl, what is it?”

“No one panic! Not until I get there!” she calls back, with an edge of franticness in her voice that creates the exact opposite reaction she is calling for. Morgan looks up to Hotch, who is already out his door and following after the tech analyst, and they share a look of affirmative action. Whatever it is that has her worked up, it can’t be good.

It’s always on the quiet days. He should have known.

“Morgan, get the jet prepped if it’s available. Prentiss--” Hotch spins and points at her still on the high rise as he makes his way towards the elevators. “Be on standby for communication. JJ’s not due back until next week.” He had finally gotten her negotiated back from the State Department (and the Pentagon, too, he had cashed in quite a few big favors for that one), and Garcia has done a good job covering for her the past year and a half. But it would be so nice to have Agent Jearau back and running the place once more like the well oiled machine it is.

Especially when he needs her, like right now.

“Talk to me, Garcia,” Hotch demands, slipping into the elevator beside her before the doors can close. “What does that alert mean?”

She looks only mildly nervous, but the panic bleeds through now that they’re closed off from the rest of the team. “It’s a friends and family alert I customized, for if a 911 call or emergency is issued around someone important to us.” She looks at him through her red rimmed glasses and Hotch can plainly see in her expression that it has been a while since this particular alert has gone off. “I have it linked to everyone’s homes, homes of family, old team members, schools for the kids, places of work. And the parameters are narrowed down pretty specifically, after I was getting alerts every other day in Chicago around Morgan’s mom’s house. That neighborhood is going downhill fast.” The elevator dings and they make their way to Garcia’s office, Hotch already pulling his phone out and texting Jessica to see if she’s alright and if Jack got to school okay.

“So could this be another false alarm?” he asks, keeping his voice steady and calm to counter her franticness. His deep tone seems to remind her to breathe evenly until they find out what caused the alert. Which is, indeed, going off like an old fashioned air raid siren, circa the London Blitz.

Garcia spins into her swivel chair, custom-ordered and much more comfortable looking than even his in his home office. With a few seconds of rapid-paced typing the alarm goes quiet and she is pulling up the details of the alert.

“Where is it?”

“California,” she says, still waiting for zeroed in coordinates and police reports.

“Rossi?” Hotch asks, remembering the man is in L.A. at a conference, and the chance a bomb has gone off there is slim to none, but the chance of criminal activity in the vicinity is statistically high.

“Not quite, a little further Northeast --” she trails off, and Hotch feels his stomach drop just as Garcia’s eyes go wide at the report appearing on the screen. “Pasadena. CalTech.”

His phone is in his hand and calling Spencer’s number before she finishes speaking.

The tone rings once, twice, “C’mon, Spencer, pick up,” he mutters, his tone no longer even or calm.

“The number you have called is out of service. Please contact your local provider for maintenance requests or inquiry--”

“All phone lines are down around the campus,” Garcia tells him over the automated voice in his ear. “They were knocked out by an explosion at one of the science labs.” A few more seconds of typing, creating a tension filled backdrop that can’t be good for his heart. “In the… Physics and Engineering Complex, building 254--”

“That’s Spencer’s building. Garcia patch me through, I don’t care to who or where. I’m calling Dave.”

“Roger, Roger,” Garcia complies as Hotch turns and paces the room, a dial tone once again ringing in his ear. Los Angeles is only a 20 or 30 minutes drive from Pasadena, depending what side of the city one was on. No matter which way he looked at it, Rossi was the person most likely to get there first.

He has to call twice to get the man to pick up.

“Please tell me we don’t have a case.” Rossi sounds as self-suffering as ever, and Hotch barrels right over his premature complaints.

“No. I need you to get to CalTech as soon as possible,” Hotch tells him, straightforward as he can be. “As in right now.”

If there’s one thing he’s learned from phone conversations with Spencer, it’s how to tell that someone is making a gesture or facial expression from just the slightest nuances of sound. That’s how he can hear Rossi smirk on the opposite end of the call, and years of friendship cast a pretty clear picture of it.

“Something to do with Dr. Reid, I’m guessing?” he deduces, and sounds so smug about it Hotch has to resist rolling his eyes. “Y’know, until that case in Wyoming I’d thought you had stumbled upon some hidden virtual dating line within the FBI consultant network, but I have to say I’m still stuck between the ‘friend of a friend’ scenario or--”

“Dave.” Hotch snaps, short and concise. “There’s been an explosion at the CalTech physics lab, and all communication has been knocked down. I need you to get over there and find Dr. Ried and --”

He stalls, realizing he hadn’t gotten that far yet. Hotch just needed to know Spencer hadn’t been in that explosion, that he wasn’t being rushed to a hospital, he needed to know what was going on and Rossi was his only chance at finding it out. Nosey, means well, but always in his business friend that he is.

“And?”

“Just, make sure he’s okay?” Hotch says, and his voice changes a little on the last syllable. Opens up a window to something more vulnerable, because damn it all he’s worried and Hotch schools that cadence in his voice as quickly as it reveals itself. “I’m sure there’s a swarm of police presence there but all cell service is offline and I can’t get a hold of him.”

Rossi doesn’t answer, just waits patiently as if there’s more to say.

Because of course there’s more to say. Hotch just hadn’t planned on saying it in such a plain context.

“Yes, it’s Dr. Reid I’m… seeing. Dating. I just need to know he’s alright.” The carefully controlled tone of his voice threatens to break apart, but Rossi nor Garcia would know that listening to him. Aaron Hotchner has had a lot of practice dealing with grace under pressure, and even his loved ones in danger under pressure -- last time had been devastating. This time, not just yet, but going through it twice is not something he is looking to experience.

“Okay, alright,” Rossi tells him, as if he’d somehow been hysterical about it and Hotch frowns at his phone. “I’m walking to my car now.” Those questions Rossi wants to ask hang unanswered between them, and Hotch doesn’t know if he has the patience for them at that moment. “Anything I should know before I meet him?”

Rossi is not slick, like he thinks he is. Hotch has known him far too long to not know what he’s doing, baiting the question without asking it. Hotch pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs long and drawn out before answering.

“He’s young.”

“I gathered,” Rossi deadpans. “And--?”

“He’s very young.”

“As in scandalous young? You’re turning into me.”

Hotch snorts. “He has 5 Ph.D.’s and runs three departments. I think our side-by-side comparison weighs in my favor.”

“So… how young is young?”

“Dave, don’t make this a thing,” Hotch all but begs the older man, now sounding as self-suffering as Rossi had when he’d answered the phone.

“Oh -- that bad?”

He’s not going to drop it. Hotch can hear cars and the sounds of a parking garage echoing through the background, and the last thing he wants is for Rossi to stall -- holding his assistance hostage while Hotch stands there and worries about if Spencer is okay or hurt or dead because Rossi can also be an asshole at the worst of times.

“... He’s 30.”

“ 30? As in three-zero, 30?”

Hotch frowns further. “ You’re judging me?” They both remember the 20-something barely in grad school from Greg Peterson’s wedding four years ago, Hotch doesn’t even have to bring it up or remember her name to make Rossi scoff in answer.

“Yes, but that’s me. This is you.” Rossi pauses, and if he’s stopped outside his car without getting inside of it Hotch will reach through the phone and strangle him like an old-school looney tunes cartoon.

“ Don’t bring it up to him, Dave. I swear -- just, make sure he’s alive. Please.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll check on your scandalously young boyfriend and call when I can,” Rossi tells him. Almost too easy, despite the struggle it took to get there that’s making a headache build behind Hotch’s eyes.

“Thank you.”

“-- But we’re talking about this later.”

“No, we aren’t.”

“Oh, yes we are.”

“I’m hanging up.” Which is exactly what he does, Rossi’s low, smug laughter echoing down the line before he can disconnect the call. Hotch turns back to Garcia, who gives him a grimace of a smile and a shrug. “That went about how I expected.”

“I actually thought it would be worse,” she tells him with a laugh, and Hotch can’t help but agree. “No communication yet, but there hasn’t been an ambulance sent out from the site, as of two minutes ago. So that’s good news, right?”

“Yes,” Hotch answers, even though his mind whirls at all the reasons it could be bad news and still fit that scenario.

He’ll just have to wait until Rossi makes it to Pasadena, finds Spencer, and can re-enter the land of cell service once more.

However long that might take.

Spencer sighs through his nose as he helps the paramedic hold one of his doctoral students still, applying burn treatments to their scalded arm as the young man babbles a stream of nonsense that might have been some kind of explanation. At least it was a form of apology, but Spencer isn’t the one he needs to apologize to.

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Reid,” the 22-year-old sobs, wincing at the paramedic’s medical application once more. “We didn’t think it would combust, we didn’t account for--”

“The parameters of extra weight and testing it outside experimental procedures, I know Jesse,” Spencer sighs, wiping at his own face and smudging more soot there as he does. His clothes are covered in it, and damp as well from the building sprinklers. He does everything in his power to not think about his books in his office, or his half written papers and experiments he’s been conducting personally -- or any of his students’ work. Years of experiments and dissertations and data, gone up in flames if the fire spreads beyond the lab.

He had sealed in the fire as best he could, they have safety protocols in place for this very thing after all, but not everyone had their data backed up. And then with the cell tower knocked out with the explosion, and the landlines a mess from the electromagnetic currents running rampant through the campus, there’s no saying what protocols were still online to keep the whole building from going up in smoke.

“I’m still so sorry, I didn’t mean for it to happen,” the poor kid feels terrible, that much is obvious, and the pain stimuli doesn’t help his emotional state. Hence why Spencer is consoling him before he has to go convince his other doctoral students that life is still worth living if they have to start from scratch on their dissertations.

“He doesn’t seem to be exhibiting any smoke inhalation symptoms that aren’t severe. But I’m still going to take him to get checked at the E.R,” the paramedic relays as she finishes up with his burn wounds.

“We have to wait until we’re clear to leave the scene, it’s a science lab there’s too many unknown chemicals and variants,” Spencer tells her with no room for argument. His student, Jesse Simmons, was still having a very severe freak out -- and Spencer was doing his best to console him so he has more information on the explosion, but it’s been a while since he had to use any kind of bedside manner training outside a classroom. “Jesse, I need you to try and breathe evenly, and tell me if anything doesn’t seem right.”

“Pretty sure I’m hallucinating,” Jesse tells him, dazed and manic and in shock all at once.

“Yeah, that would do it,” the paramedic murmurs under her breath, sharing a look with Dr. Reid.

“What are you seeing?” Spencer asks.

“David Rossi.”

“The true crime author?” The paramedic asks in confusion. Spencer can’t help but be in agreement at it’s randomness.

“Yes, you should take him in. I’ll see if the hazmat teams have decontaminated the lab yet and take a look around for what he might have inhaled--”

“Is one you Dr. Reid?”

They all look up and there, in broad daylight, is a famously familiar face watching them expectantly in a black and grey suit.

The paramedic is the first to speak.

“Holy shit, it’s David Rossi.”

Spencer blinks, running mental cognizant tests to make sure he’s not out of sorts. But mass hallucinations wouldn’t apply as a side effect, here, so he clears his throat and tucks hair behind his ear -- no doubt smudging more soot on his face but he needs to look at least a little bit put together like the department head he is.

“Um -- yes, hi, I’m Dr. Reid,” he tells the older man, fully turning towards him only to be met by mild surprise. Mild only in that Mr. Rossi appears to be a very subdued man. But his eyebrows raise, looking him over openly, and Spencer has to fight the urge not to scowl. He hates being judged for his age more and more with each passing day -- Hotch has brought that out in him, and the ever looming day that they get the chance to meet. “How can I help you Mr. Rossi? I don’t usually shake hands, but I’m also covered in--” he gestures to the soot and ash covering his suit. Or what’s left of it. There’s singe marks on his pants and his jacket is removed, never to return. The item a lost cause after he’d used it to shield Jesse’s face as he dragged him from the lab.

Mr. Rossi holds up a hand, indicating it’s no trouble -- not too fond of formal gestures and greeting, either, it seems -- and puts his hands in his pockets instead.

“Aaron sent me,” is his answer, paired with a patient stare that observes every minute twitch of Spencer’s face and body language. He knows this easily, can see the profiler in him turned all the way up to 11, and suddenly -- Spencer can’t control his face or appearance in the slightest. Not after --

Aaron? As in--

“Hotch?”

The kid looks stricken, surprised with tinges of worry bleeding through.

“Hotch sent--” his eyebrows knit together in confusion, looking in the direction of the fire crews still trying to put out the building behind them. The lab explosion is still a fresh occurrence, smoke streaming into the sky and no one even allowed to leave the scene, yet. Garcia must have gotten the alert the moment it happened.

“Penelope has you on a friends and family list,” Rossi explains. “She is alerted as soon as there’s any trouble with anyone -- and the cell towers are down. Aaron called me as soon as he couldn’t get ahold of you. Probably pacing a hole in the floor of his office as we speak.”

There’s a fondness in the way one side of Dr. Reid’s lips tilt into a small, surprised smile, gaze far away as if trying to see 3,000 miles across the country. A complicated mix of touched that Hotch was worried about him, and sorry for worrying him in the first place -- although the moment he recognizes Rossi profiling him where he stands, he schools his expression into one hell of a poker face. Even Dave is impressed, the kid has some gumptcha about him after all.

“He moves fast,” Dr. Reid murmurs, again fond and maybe a little embarrassed, heightened when Dave snorts and raises an eyebrow at him.

“You would know better than me.”

Okay, so he might be trying to rile the man up, but Aaron is obviously head over heels for this kid and Rossi is nothing if not thorough in his scrutiny of his prospects.

The kid gapes at him, eyes narrowed again and about to say something when the paramedic interrupts them with, “Dr. Reid, I just got the okay to take him to the hospital. Are you riding along?” He turns and addresses her, as Rossi continues to profile him beneath the soot and damp. A slight thing, tall as Aaron is and dressed like a movie extra in a prohibition flick. Taking the academia style to a new extent, probably to counter his age if he’s had his doctorates as long as it looks like he has. What had Aaron said? Five Ph.D.’s and runs three departments, and he’s 30? That’s not just a genius, that’s unprecedented. Dave is surprised no one from the bureau snatched him up while he was still young and impressionable.

“Jesse, just call or text if you need anything, I’ll talk with the dean and try to get things at least marginally smoothed over,” he assures the younger student, and they see off the ambulance as it pulls out of the over-crowded parking lot, sirens blaring. “I apologize, this isn’t a common occurrence around here.” He’s giving Dave his own appraising looks, now, and he can’t help but be amused as well as curious in his speculation. “You know Hotch -- Aaron, from the BAU, then?” he phrases it like a question, but they both know the answer and Rossi lets the formality slide. The kid is used to speaking with people not on his level of perception, just intellect.

“We’ve worked together off and on a long time,” Dave tells him, face as open yet stoic as Dr. Reid’s. “I’ve known him since he was your age, fresh and green from the prosecutor’s office. He was running out of the Seattle field office, back then. Bright and eager thing that he was.”

That draws another smile to Dr. Reid’s face. The same soft, sentimental one that definitely looks smitten if Dave’s ever seen it. “I’d love to hear some of those stories,” he admits, and Rossi nods slowly in agreement.

“I’m sure you would.” It comes off a little condescending, even he will admit, and that tugs a frown back onto the young doctor’s face. “I’m a good storyteller. Made a living off of it.”

“I’ve read all your books, I’m aware,” Dr. Reid says, and there’s a tone in his voice that says Rossi need not be impressed that he’s done so. The kid must read a lot, if it causes such a small blip on his radar. “And from the eleventh chapter of your third book, as well as the seventh chapter and acknowledgements of your second one if I can be so bold to assume, you seem to have some underground ties with the Italian mafia as well. Unofficially.”

Okay, the kid is sharp.

“Unofficially,” Dave parrots, a tease of a smile on his face. Impressed. “Did you work that out on your own? Or would some of my… old friends know of you if I mentioned your name?”

“Not unless they have ties in Vegas,” he says cryptically, hands in his pockets and continuing to peak Rossi’s curiosity by the minute.

“Vegas? Got into trouble there one weekend?”

“I’m from Vegas, born and raised,” the kid reveals. “And I’ve been banned from every casino floor for my card counting abilities and algorithms in poker and slot machine statistics.”

Vegas, huh. “Well, that explains the poker face,” Dave tells him, making a circular motion to his own which still mirrors Dr. Reid’s in not giving anything away.

Aaron picked a winner, it seems.

“So, is this is your version of… what do they call it… a ‘shovel talk’?”

Dave decides to play the part. “You could say that.”

He pauses, then, the two having progressed through the equivalent of a verbal chess match and Rossi already has a highly different opinion of him than he had walking in. First impressions are a bitch, and apparently he is going to continue to be surprised. Dr. Reid licks his lips in a unique nervous tick and chooses his next words very carefully, if the prolonged quiet was anything to go by. “I’m glad Hotch has a friend like you, that treats him like family.”

“He is family.” Dave would do anything for Hotch, and he is vehemently reminded of that in this moment. “I love that man as if he were my own son, so you understand why I’m protective of him. After everything he’s been through, he doesn’t deserve another second of trouble, and he has been through enough for a lifetime. More than you could ever know.”

Dr. Reid crosses his arms then, his first tell, but it’s a purposeful one. His way of leveling with Dave about something they probably shouldn’t be speaking about in public like this, but Dave wanted to get the kid on his toes. Make him uncomfortable. He’s smart as a tack but does he have the heart to go with it? The kind that Aaron deserves?

“... I do know. We’ve… discussed it, a couple of times.”

“Really?” The kids nods. “All of it? Foyet? Haley? Jack?” He still nods. “So you do know about Jack. You’re aware that Aaron isn’t just a one man show, he’s a package deal.”

“Of course I know about Jack,” Dr. Reid says with a more intense frown. “We talk about him all the time. I’ve even talked with him on the weekends here and there; he’s a sweet, smart kid. Hotch loves him more than anything, how could I not know about him?”

“You’ve spoken with Jack?” Rossi is genuinely surprised by this. Aaron wouldn’t have introduced them if this was still an experimental thing. He’s only asking all the uncomfortable questions because they need to be asked, Dave worries about Aaron all the time and how lonely he’s been -- but the past months or even longer he’s been better. Happier. All because of this kid. Every sign and notion here is pointing towards this being a very serious thing -- and they haven’t even met.

The kid seems to read his mind, because he looks at least a little sheepish when he nods. “We’ve been talking for a year, now,” as if that was somehow an explanation. And in a way, it is. A year is a very long time. Hotch trusts him enough to introduce him to his son, even over the phone, and that’s no small step. Rossi needs to at least appreciate that much.

“So -- genius, accomplished, good with kids. Seems like Aaron has struck gold, finding you.”

Dr. Reid is watching him again through squinted eyes, guard all the way up and frown ever so slight -- but more intense for it. Interesting. “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not.”

“I was, but not in a bad way,” Dave explains, and that deepens the frown on the kid’s face. Although it loses a lot of the seriousness when he does. “I’ll keep grilling you in the car.”

“--the car?”

“Yes. You’ve been cleared to leave the scene, and I’m assuming you would like to chance clothes,” he indicates to Reid’s ruined suit, the kid looking down at himself and trying to dust off some of the soot that has soaked into the fabric. “Also, we should probably call Aaron before he has an aneurysm. Hmm?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” It’s clear he knows Dave’s game, but is going to play along with it anyway. He really looks uncomfortable in those dirty clothes. Dave has an inkling the kid might be a bit of a germaphobe, which will be interesting in a house with a six-year-old boy, but that’s counting the chickens before they hatch and Dave has quite a bit more profiling to do before he’s made a decision about this Dr. Spencer Reid.

Although, his gut is telling him that Aaron might have indeed struck gold, somehow.

It’s in Mr. Rossi’s rental car that Spencer finally enters a area with cell service, his phone buzzing in his hands from missed calls and voicemails and messages alike. Apparently, word had spread fast about the explosion in his building -- it was nice to know that so many people were worried about him.

But he ignores them all, and dials Aaron’s single missed call back. It barely rings more than once before the man picks up.

“Spencer?”

“You are such a show off,” Spencer scolds gently, with no heat but more than a little amusement. “You had David Rossi come and check up on me?”

“--Dave is actually an old friend of mine and we work together, he owes me more favors than I can count. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Spencer assures him, quiet and enamored all over again. “One of my students miscalculated a calibration in their experimental combustion engine and it set the lab on fire. Everyone is out safe and the student suffered minor burns, although I’m pretty sure he’s getting suspended for this.”

“But you are okay?”

“When I saw him he looked a little like a chimney sweep, but he seems no worse for wear,” Rossi says next to him, out of the blue and loud inside the car cab. Spencer winces as Hotch sighs heavily through the phone.

“I don’t have you on speaker, I swear,” Spencer says quietly.

“No, Dave just has ears like a fox.” The other man groans. “No conversation is private, especially with him sitting right next to you. Hi Dave.”

“Hi Aaron, anyone else with you.”

“I am! Hi Dr. Reid,” Garcia chirps cheerfully in the background, bringing another smile to Spencer’s face. “I’m glad you’re alright, sugar bean. You had us worried sick.”

“I know, I’m so sorry Ms. Garcia--”

“Sweetie, you better just start calling me Penelope because -- if Rossi didn’t tell you -- you’re on the BAU family radar now. I’ve always got my eyes on you.”

Spencer laughs as her voice gets a little farther away, Hotch back to pacing the room and probably shooting her a look that doesn’t quite meet reprimand but is on the spectrum of scolding. He recognizes the tone from evenings when Jack is being over zealous in wanting his turn with Spencer on the phone.

“Where are you now?”

“Mr. Rossi is just driving me home so I can change clothes, but I need to go right back afterwards and assess the damage,” Spencer relays to him. “Talk some of my students off the ledge if they have to start their research dissertations over.”

“Okay. Just, be careful.” There’s such a heavy sense of worry and the frown so evident on his face that Spencer can’t help but want to smooth it out in any way he can.

“Of course. I’ll message you when we have cell service again, or when I get back home if we don’t.” It’s a needless assurance, but he hopes it helps ease Hotch’s still very obvious apprehension.

“Alright, I’ll call you later tonight.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

There’s a heavier pause, then. An unspoken word or several that hang very prominently in the air, and Spencer almost thinks he hears Hotch’s mouth part around them -- about to speak before he stops himself. Spencer knows his brow furrows in confusion, his own mouth open about to ask if he’s alright when--

“-- Bye, Spencer.”

“... Goodbye.” He adds, still confused, a little stunned and feeling like he’s missing something, which is not a place Spencer finds himself in often. Very suddenly lost in contemplation after Hotch hangs up, still looking at his phone.

Beside him, Rossi doesn’t look confused at all. In fact, he looks like something was just confirmed to him, and he makes a sound in his throat of affirmation.

“-- I think I hear church bells ringing.”

It takes Spencer more than a moment to understand what he’s indicating, and he has to tamper back any embarrassment or admonishment because… it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it.

“I’d settle for just hearing his voice across the room,” he admits quietly, still cradling his phone in his hands and glancing out the window to keep any open-ness in his expression from the seasoned profiler.

“Hmm… time will tell.”

Spencer stays deep in thought the rest of the drive, and Rossi blessedly leaves him be as they make their way through the streets of Pasadena.

They arrive at Spencer’s apartment complex not ten minutes later. A small series of two story white stone buildings with terracotta roofing, making it appear more like an Italian villa than temporary housing. Spencer explained, after Mr. Rossi inquired, that this was the faculty transitional housing, and he spent a lot of his doctorate years here since he had been too young to sign a lease on his own apartment or house. When he came of age, he just bought out his condo on the end to keep, as it had become more his home than Vegas had ever been. Then, when he returned after his doctorates at MIT he became somewhat of the permanent resident for everyone to turn to about anything on the campus.

“How did you afford a condo at 18?” Mr. Rossi inquires, and Spencer rolls his lips to keep any kind of smirk or smile off his face.

“Like I said, I was kicked out of every casino in Vegas. I also don’t have any student loan debt,” he adds flippantly, unbuckling his seat belt once Rossi has parked outside. Turning to the older man, he decides to cut to the chase -- because he does really want to change his clothes. “I assume you’re about to invite yourself in for coffee--”

“Oh? I thought you’d never ask.”

“So you can profile my living room while I change clothes? Sure, why not.” How dangerous could that be?

It’s more than apparent that Mr. Rossi knows Hotch well, holds him in high regard, and if Hotch has him on speed dial at a moment’s notice he must be someone that’s important in Hotch’s life… and he is also the first person that Spencer has met to fit that entitlement. As loathe as he is to admit it, Spencer finds craves the approval of the older man that he and Hotch are as good for each other as he hopes they are.

Maybe letting him poke around his apartment would help in that endeavor. After all, Spencer really doesn’t have anything to hide.

Dr. Reid’s apartment very much looks like the inside of a professor’s office, but extended to multiple rooms. There’s custom built bookshelves lining the walls of the living space, turning it into a library that is overflowing with books, and yet there are still more stacked in every room. In the kitchen against the backwash, in his actual office organized on low-rise shelves that hold collector’s editions even Dave raises an eyebrow at, and he doesn’t dare venture into the kid’s bedroom but he bets there’s even more books there as well. Art work from no known artists Rossi has ever heard of are framed on the walls, abstract things that are interesting and interpretive and probably belong to students (though not necessarily the doctor’s own), and there’s an absurd amount of coffee in his kitchen but at least the kid has taste.

His interests are varied, extensive, sophisticated, and yet -- in the corners he’ll find vintage Doctor Who figurines, Halloween decorations, a well-worn chess set sun-bleached under the window seat, and Go set up in the library that looks like he’s playing himself. But the most lived in room is his office, and Dave has a very good inkling why. Besides the kid’s work literally being his life, as is shown by the doctorate degrees lining the walls there, his laptop is open and the keys near faded from typing, and Dave knows it’s from countless late nights talking with Aaron. Because Aaron’s work laptop that he takes home with him looks the exact same.

“Did you learn anything?” Dr. Reid asks, appearing in the doorway in corduroys and a sweater vest over a new button down and tie ensemble. The layering helps fill him out, make him look less willowy than he is, and he seems to have tried to tame his hair but it’s still a curled, disheveled mess from the sprinkler systems at the lab. The kind of disheveled people pay hundreds of dollars to get through product alone.

“That you really, really like books.”

It’s such an absurd thing to say, and it takes the kid a beat but he laughs and there’s a set of dimples there on his face framing his wide smile and -- oh, Aaron is in trouble when he meets this kid.

“Um, yes, astute observation.”

“Have you actually read all of them?” Dave asks, peering into a glass china cabinet that’s been converted to hold very delicate first editions of Shakespeare and Proust and a few things that aren’t in English.

“Those I have, but the rest I haven’t,” Dr. Reid tells him, coming up on the other side of the desk and keeping a few feet between them. Allowing Rossi to continue to pick apart his life, indicating either some kind of power play or… this kid really has nothing to hide that he thinks Dave won’t find. Or that Aaron doesn’t already know about. “When I was visiting Prague for a conference once I was invited to the French ambassador's house for dinner. He has a library even larger than mine, and I asked him the same thing. He told me, ‘No, of course not, and I also haven’t sampled all the bottles in my wine cellar.’ ”

Dave ticks his head to the side in thought, and can’t help but agree. “Smart man. A real library isn’t for showing off a collection, it’s for giving yourself options.”

“All books are just waiting for the right time to be read, and I’ll get to them all eventually,” Dr. Reid shrugs, glancing around his office at titles that probably have been calling to him recently. “I read very fast, and once I’ve read them I either give them to people I think would enjoy them or I donate them.”

“Why not keep them? Won��t you want to read them again?”

“No need, I have an eidetic memory. I can recall everything I’ve read verbatim,” he says with a shrug, like it’s a common occurrence and Dave can’t help but stare at the kid. Who exactly was this guy?

“Why on Earth are you working at a university and not for a multi-million dollar think tank? Or for us? The bureau had to have contacted you at some point.”

“Oh, they did,” Dr. Reid says with a half smile, glancing to the chess board under the window. Avoiding eye contact that lasts longer than a few moments. “Jason Gideon tried for months when I was at MIT, but I backed out at the last minute. Don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for it.”

“That sounds like Jason,” Dave mutters, recalling his old partner and what he would have thought of a boy genius that soaks up everything he reads like a sponge. Doctorates already under his belt and just waiting to be molded into the perfect successor. He would have been chomping at the bit. Dave had been much the same about Aaron, when he first met him.

There’s much to consider about this Dr. Spencer Reid, but there’s also a handful of things to be wary of.

The kid is impressive, that’s for sure -- but he’s buried into this villa like a tick, under a pile of books and very much is used to a bachelor’s life. Everything is impeccably neat, the amount of soap and hand sanitizer he’s found does indeed confirm his theories of him being a bit of a germaphobe, and although there is a lot of stuff around his apartment everything also has its place. Cluttered, but lived in and cared for. If he and Aaron were really going to try and be a thing, would he be surprised by Aaron’s more minimal approach to décor? To his tendency to hold on to nostalgia items? Or the messiness of a young boy’s toys and children's amenities taking up all space and corners left unattended?

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Dave asks, before he really thinks about it, and the beat of silence as Dr. Reid takes his question seriously is more comforting than he realized it would be.

“No. But, I don’t think either of us really do,” Dr. Reid admits, leaning against his desk, thoughtful and honest. “What we have has... very much grown all on it’s own.” And Dave believes him, he’s seen it happen first hand. How it’s affected Aaron so slowly and over such a span of time he almost didn’t notice it.

Almost.

“And the long distance thing works?” Dave pries further, skepticism barely kept out of his voice but there enough he knows the kid can hear it. “You really have feelings for a man you’ve never even met? Who you don’t even know?”

That gets the younger man’s attention, and not in the way Rossi thought it would. His gaze snaps up, shocked, and… offended.

“Of course I know him,” he states, quiet and matter-of-fact. Light brown eyes as alight as they are defiant. “I know him better than I know anyone. I just don’t know what he looks like, and that doesn’t matter. Not to me.”

Again, Rossi almost believes him. He sounds like he means it, in a near naïve sort of way, but Dave has been around the block a time or two and experience tells him differently.

“Looks always matter.”

The kid shrugs in response, not at all fazed by his stubbornness. “I have a pretty accurate spoken description, if that eases your mind.” And oh, does Dave want to unpack that one, but this isn’t the time to delve into it when he’s giving the kid the intellectual third-degree.

“Does he have one of you?” he asks, accusing without specifications. Everyone always keeps a bit of themselves at bay, when speaking to another person, but if they were sharing physical descriptions then it sounds like those barriers are falling away bit by bit and there’s no knowing what Aaron has actually shared of himself to this kid.

His question creates a moment of unexpected pause.

“Yes? I mean, I cut my hair recently but I’m sure I mentioned it,” he murmurs, suddenly a little concerned, and Dave almost finds himself laughing.

All the skeletons he could have in his closet, and the first time this kid’s face has cracked is at the thought he forgot to mention he cut his hair.

Okay, Dave is sort of laughing. In utter disbelief, because the genuine-ness of this kid is near overpowering. He’s factual, he’s private, but he’s not sinister or plotting anything and he’s definitely got the quiet, book worm thing going for him. Maybe Aaron did strike gold, after all.

“Relax, kid, if a haircut is what you're most troubled about keeping from him I don’t think I have much to worry about.” The array of emotions that crosses the younger man’s face is almost comical. The frown at Dave calling him kid, the embarrassment that he’s worried he kept anything at all from his better half, to relief -- relief that Dave has given him a stamp of approval. It hits him then that the kid views him almost literally as the father-figure he had claimed himself to be to the other agent, and this was his version of meeting the parents.

Well, then, better make it worth the stereotype.

“Just… be careful with him,” Rossi levels with him, and Dr. Reid gives him his utmost attention. Direct eye-contact and all. “Don’t break his heart, because I don’t know if he will have much left over if you do. After the past couple years, I never thought he’d be the same, but he’s come back into himself and I’m grateful to you for that.” The softness in his face is palpable, and Dave knows the other man feels the weight of what he’s telling him. “But if you hurt him, I’ll make what happens after look like an accident. Capisci? ”

Dr. Reid nods seriously, and answers him back in kind, “Capisco.” The verb connotation actually catches Dave off guard, enough that his own expression finally softens into half a smile.

“Molto buona.”

“So… I talked with your boy toy.”

“God,” Hotch groans, head tipping back and already regretting answering his phone in the middle of the afternoon. “Do not call him that.”

“I just dropped him off back at the lab, it’s still a mad house but he went in looking to set a lot of people straight so I think he’ll be just fine.”

That’s a relief to hear, and Hotch feels his shoulders and spine begin to relax where they’d been tense and creating knots in his muscles for hours on end, ever since he’d been in Garcia’s office.

“Thank you, Dave,” he says, and means it more than he can really relay accurately. Rossi makes a sound of admonishment, passing it off as if he hadn’t made Hotch metaphorically bend over backwards to get him to go there. He can’t even imagine what the man had asked Spencer during their time alone together, but if anyone would get a good character assessment out of the interaction then it would be David Rossi.

The beat of silence is as heavy as it is long, and before Hotch can come up with something that doesn’t sound leading, Dave sighs and barrels over him.

“Go ahead, ask what you want to ask.”

“...What did you think?” Hotch’s words are low and careful, not entirely sure he wants Dave’s opinion but… he’s actually met Spencer, now. The only person Hotch knows who has. “What’s he like?”

“You know him better than I do, Hotch, and it’s obvious that you are head over heels for that kid. But if you really want to know what I think -- you are going to have your hands full, and you are going to fall hard and fast if you haven’t already.”

“Yeah, a little late for that,” Hotch tells him, hints of a smile in his voice and on his face, and the response surprises even himself. There’s a lot of revelations that have hit him one after the other today, and they all seem to be pointing towards the same direction.

Rossi can’t seem to help but smirk at him down the line, an upbeat sound in reaction to Aaron’s own subdued happiness -- because his friend really is, finally happy -- and of course it’s in an impossible situation. Now Hotch has to scoff a laugh. That sounds just like him.

“He’s quite a looker, too,” Rossi teases, baiting, and Hotch can’t help but scoff for a whole different reason, then.

“And how would you know?”

“I can appreciate a handsome fella without being attracted to them.”

“Sure, Dave,” Aaron deadpans, not even wanting to humor the man.

“Little too ‘pretty’ for my aesthetic, though--”

“O-kay, thanks again Dave. Happy to have your stamp of approval.” But he can’t help but wonder what ‘pretty’ is supposed to mean. “Have fun at your conference, I’m sure you’re going to be late to the cigar room.”

“Worth every missed minute to meet your mystery man.”

Hotch hangs up with a roll of his eyes, not sure how or why he picked up David Rossi as one of his close friends and not really finding much reason to keep him other than he has a whole lot of heart. But that’s always been reason enough. He turns with a half smile still on his face, and freezes when he sees Garcia in his doorway of his office, a secretive smile all her own on her neon bright pink lips. He doesn’t even reprimand her for sneaking up on him, just levels a look at her and mutters, “What?”

“For what it’s worth, he is very pretty,” she out right smirks, coy and loving Hotch’s reaction as he narrows his eyes at her, brow furrowed and searching. “What? I ran his background check months ago, I know exactly what he looks like. And Rossi is right, you’re going to be so smitten, sir.”

Oh no, now the whole team is going to know.

“I think I’m going to take your word for it over his,” Hotch admits, and relinquishes the smallest traces of a smile. Just for the tech analyst, and no one else. “Thanks, Garcia. For today, and for… keeping an eye on him.”

“Always, sir,” she tells him, biting back a too wide grin all her own. “It’s good to see you happy again, I’ve missed those dimples.”

“Garcia.”

“Right, on my way,” she giggles, and leaves in a colorful flurry of clicking heels and retro skirts.

Cell service doesn’t return that day to the CalTech campus, and although Hotch is acutely aware that Spencer is probably busy cleaning up the mess and wading through mountains of reactionary protocol and hazmat jurisdiction (he’s been there himself before, on cases with bioweaponry and science tech labs) he can’t help but feel like he’s holding his breath until later that evening. When Spencer finally messages him once he has the cell range to do so, letting him know he’s on his way home. Meaning Hotch had been left to his thoughts all afternoon and evening, awaiting the younger man’s presence once more.

And Hotch has had… much to think about.

They never really talked about Hotch’s near death experience months ago, when Spencer had quite literally saved his life with just a phone call. Day in and day out Hotch is faced with dangerous situations, knows all the proper procedures and training to navigate them safely and effortlessly. But when it comes to the unexpected accidents? The ones that occur outside his sphere of influence and control, he doesn’t always quite handle them the way he should. Either shutting down entirely in order to regain that control, or drowning in the emotional turmoil it can cause.

It isn’t until he hears Spencer’s voice on the phone later that night, just past dusk for the other man in California, that he’s able to put all of this in order. Unpack it in a way that he can articulate and convey, because Spencer knows just from the way he greets him that something is wrong. Weighing heavily on his mind, and has been for hours on end.

“Is it selfish of me to say I don’t like the idea of you in harm’s way?” Hotch starts with a jesting, rhetorical thing that doesn’t quite hit any kind of punchline.

“Well, luckily for you, I’m not in the profession of dangerous scenarios,” Spencer tells him, pointed and yet with an aim for comfort. Hotch supposes he had that one coming.

“Like me.”

“Like you. I always worry about you, although I know you’re more than capable.”

Hotch sighs, because he knows that Spencer puts up with this very situation constantly. Just as Haley had, when they’d been married, until she hadn’t been able to stand it any longer. “I just… don’t know what I would have done if you’d been hurt. Fly out there? Show up at the hospital, maybe -- that wouldn’t have been the greatest first impression, I’m sure.”

“I’d be mortified if we met and I was in a hospital bed.”

“You know I wouldn’t care.”

“I know.” It’s Spencer’s turn to sigh. He’s exhausted from the events of the day, Rossi’s visit and interrogation, but having the older man still so attentive and caring on the other line has him warm with too many emotions and chemicals to name. Even though he can, composition and all: a warm bath of monoamines, dopamine, neopinephrine and serotonins flooding through him. All seeped in phenethylamine, which is well known for creating the chemical reactionary symptoms of… well...

“Hotch, I’m okay,” Spencer insists, soft and gentle, tenderness there he doesn’t give to just anyone. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

There’s a long silence following that. It’s heavy and prominent, and Hotch keeps opening his mouth, the words wanting to come out but… he doesn’t know if he should let them. A year’s worth of time and words piling up behind it until he isn’t sure he can really hold it back much longer.

“Hotch?” Spencer asks, worried again. “What is it?”

Another long pause, a sigh that’s… weighed down with even more emotion than before, and Spencer feels his own breath catch as he waits.

“I love you.”

It’s said so profoundly, softly, it resonates through the phone and Spencer finds he can’t even breathe.

A series of heartbeats progresses, and despite every attempt he can’t find his voice again.

“You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know.”

Spencer’s brain kickstarts into a mild panic, and words suddenly spill forth like a broken damn.

“No! No, it’s not that -- you have no idea how long I -- I just…”

He’d had a plan, daydreams on daydreams, compounding and building and this wasn’t the moment he thought it would happen if it happened at all and Spencer finds himself near speechless with how it has appeared before him. Completely unprepared.

“I always thought… hoped, that when I told you I would… be saying it in person.”

Not through a phone. He wants one milestone that isn’t through the damn phone, his lifeline and his bane and what connects him to the man he can’t even imagine living without anymore.

Hotch makes a sound that’s more winded than vocal.

The thought of seeing Spencer in person sends a flurry of fluttering sensations through his chest and stomach, and Hotch can’t help the warm, soft smile on his face. Because between the lines, Spencer had already said it back, and that alone is enough to floor him. Spencer loves him, too, and he wants to say it to his face. He wants to meet. He’s thought about it, he was planning on it.

He wants --

“Then wait,” Hotch tells him, reassuring and adoring and unbelievably smitten -- just like Garcia had said. “Save it for then. I don’t mind the waiting.”

“But I --”

“I know.” Hotch all but sighs out the words, heavy and wonderful and full of promise. “I do know, Spencer, and the knowing is enough. You can tell me when we… when we meet.”

Some day. One day.

“Soon?”

“Soon. I promise.”

Spencer is… not crying, he doesn’t cry. Hasn’t cried in years and years, the only time close had been those months ago when this wonderful man almost slipped through his fingers and out of his grasp, but his vision goes blurry and it has nothing to do with his glasses steaming up. He takes them off and rubs at them, clearing his throat so he doesn’t choke out his response. “Okay.”

The strain in those two syllables makes Hotch’s heart ache, and Spencer’s feels so tightly wound in his chest the heart-strings are more than binding. They hurt they ache so badly.

“How can I miss you this much without ever having met you?”

“I miss you too,” Hotch smiles, sadly.

“Maybe that’s not the right word. We’re as close as we’ve ever been, how can we miss a proximity we’ve never experienced?”

“It feels like the right term, I don’t have another way to describe it. That’s your area of expertise, I believe.”

Spencer huffs a humorless laugh, curled up on his couch and realizes he wants to hear Hotch say it again. Wants those low tones in his ear reminding him why they are doing this. Knowing he has no right to ask that of Hotch when he won’t even return the favor.

Then Hotch breathes out happily, slowly, and says it anyway. “I love you.”

Spencer smiles and exhales in relief, a mix of a laugh and a strangled sob. “You always know.”

“I can hear you fretting through the phone--”

“Oh yeah? Any ideas to get me to stop?” he jokes, half kidding, because he feels like he’s shaking out of his skin and he can’t pinpoint the source.

“...One,” Hotch says with an amused lilt.

“Hm?”

A slow pause. “--What are you wearing?”

Spencer burst into laughter, high and hysterical, and relief floods through him. He bites his lip as he hears Hotch chuckle quietly in turn, and then answers the older man in the same teasing lilt -- bordering on coy. “Still in my work clothes. Actually… I was just about to get undressed.”

“Hmm, lucky me.”

“I was going to change, Hotch,” he laughs in reprimand.

“Oh, there’s no need for that…”

And they dissolve into quiet laughter once more, perfectly timed and blended and the most wonderful sound in the world.

–

(tbc…)

–

Tagged List: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake @anxious-enby

#another super long one #I'm putting this on a timer so I hope to God it actually posts when it should #and that it isn't out of order #everyone form a prayer circle that this super duper long snippet isn't all out of order #thank you so much for reading I hope you all enjoy it #if you want in on the tags list I can always add to it just hit me up #Correspondence #HotchReid #heid #katyswriting

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