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furiousgoldfish · 2 years

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I hope life's been treating you well! This is an extremely helpful blog, but it's very important you take care of yourself too (and however you do that, I hope it's working for you, you deserve good things).

I have two main question topics if you're open to answering them.

First, what's the difference between a nightmare and a night terror? And if you have a dream that contains nightmare-content (gore, death, other really triggering stuff) but only makes you uncomfortable when you wake up, is that still a nightmare? Can you get used to having nightmares and your reaction to them "shut off" so to speak?

Secondly, (which is a bit more personal, which if you don't answer those sorts of things I understand. (TW for below)

I kind of realized the other day that one of my guardian's doesn't just use cult tactics but has a cult-like structure with some followers... and that I was raised within it. And under the guise of calling it "healing" they used many brainwashing and psychological abuse tactics and many many other things, including purposefully ignoring when other people tried to kill me (which happened multiple times). They adopted me when I was younger after fostering many other kids and used my extensive previous trauma to their advantage for their manipulation (but it's quite likely they're not doing anything that wrong and I'm overreacting). I won't dump anymore of that on you but I was wondering if you had any advice for getting out and/or integrating into the outer world?

(my guardians only surround themselves with people that approve of it so I don't have any outside people I can ask for help or talk to at all. Nor have I ever been allowed for a job, outside the house much, etc. Since school is online I have access to a computer, but no social media or phone calling)

You're under no obligation to answer, but thank you for any response you may (or may not) give. Even if it doesn't always feel like it, you're a great person doing something extremely helpful for so many people. Thank you :)

Thank you for thinking of me in your ask! I take care of myself whenever I can do it, and I make sure to only open the ask when I know I have the energy to give my attention to others.

For your first questions, I don't think I'm the right person to give you a good response, I've only ever had nightmares, and from what little googling I've done on this, it seems night terrors are a sleep disorder in which you suddenly wake up in a terrified state, and are mostly linked with children. They also happen in a different stage of sleep, quote: "Night terrors occur in deep sleep or NREM stage three. During night terrors, the front part of your brain that controls executive functioning and memory is asleep while the back part that controls motor movement is awake."

So you wouldn't remember what terrified you, and it doesn't say if they're linked with trauma, so I don't know.

I would call any dream that has those kind of images or anything causing distress and fear in you a nightmare. I don't know if one can get numb to them, I'm always distressed at least to some degree after a nightmare (unless it was a processing nightmare, in which case I feel awful all night but then I'm free of the fear in the morning, these are more rare tho).

I'm sorry I don't really know any details about nightmares, if anyone else can give a better response, please add it!

For the second question, I'm also going to write a tw for child abuse, it's extremely distressing that your guardian was able to ignore when others were trying to kill you, I can't imagine how threatened and abandoned this makes you feel. I agree with you that you need to get away for your own safety, and I think there has to be some resources online you could find, if you try googling 'escaping cults' in your own country and 'cult abuse resources', you might be able to contact someone to help get you a place you could safely stay in. It is incredibly difficult to escape when you're surrounded with people who are not only all in agreement against you, but also will try to kill you without repercussions.

I'm trying to google other people's plans of escape, but they're all as vague as 'pack lightly' and 'don't tell anyone what you're up to and don't take anyone with you', and I know this is not enough to go on with, you need to have somewhere to go, you need a connection on the outside, a person who will greet you and make sure you're settled and have a place to stay at. Integration in the outside world will start the second you're outside, because all of us people are incredibly adaptable to our new social environments, you'll be able to pick it up in no time, and you don't have to worry that you won't fit in or anything like that! Just seeing how other people live will easily give you ideas of what to do and how to find yourself in the new space.

Cults that frame abuse and control as 'healing' are very common and I'm so sorry you found yourself in one, it's a nightmare. I really admire your courage sending me this message and trying to get more information, I wish I had some more experience with this so I could give you more exact advice, if anyone reading this has this experience and information, please share it here.

#ask #furiousgoldfish #cult abuse #nightmares #help #please add more resources in the replies or comments #this person needs more help

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talatomaz · 3 years

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lockdown | jj x fem!teen!reader

a/n: i can’t believe that a year ago today, the last ever episode of criminal minds aired. i miss jj so much 🤧

this is sort of in line with my own experiences (to a certain extent). and there’s not as much jj x d!r as i’d intended but I hope you still like it.

(feedback/positive comments are appreciated)

requested by @ouat2017 : “could you do a jj x daughter where the daughter’s school is on lockdown and jj is worried or something like that?”

warnings: gun violence. blood

word count: 2.6k

masterlist | request list | request rules

r is jj’s 18 year old adopted daughter and suddenly finds herself on lockdown after someone brings a gun into her school

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Look, you’re the one that needs to be tutored so can you please focus?”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest in annoyance.

You were currently in the tutoring centre trying to help a self-absorbed jock pass English so he could remain on the school’s football team.

Looking around you, you saw a handful of students giving both you and Cameron - the man-child you were tutoring - disparaging looks.

“You’re not supposed to be yelling at me. You’re meant to be telling me the answers.”

The aforementioned narcissist leaned against his chair, smirking at you in a way that made you fight to hide a shudder.

You could have easily wiped the grin off his face by mentioning who your mother was and who she worked for but instead, you decided to just continue ignoring his advances and carry on teaching him.

“That’s not how this works, Cameron. Now either you listen to me or you fail and get kicked off the team. And quite frankly, I’d rather the latter happen.”

You watched as his brows furrowed in confusion. Sighing, you answered, “latter means the second thing of two things mentioned in a sentence. Now, for the love of God, just finish writing your paragraph on Heller's satire of capitalism in Catch-22.”

You let out a breath of relief when he finally relented and started to scribble on his sheet of paper. You glanced over at one of your friends, who was also tutoring for extra credit, and smiled when she rolled her eyes at Cameron’s actions.

Leaning against the large desk that stood at the front of the room, you relished in the long-awaited silence aside from hushed whispers that came from other students asking for help.

Taking out your phone, you glanced at the screen to see that it was only midday and soon the lunch bell would be ringing.

You smiled softly at your lock screen.

It was a photo of you and JJ, your adoptive mother.

It was taken a few weeks prior at your 18th birthday party. You’d been living with JJ for almost 5 years now; her having fostered you before later adopting you when you were 14.

You still didn’t know what she saw in you on that day you’d first met her - you’d lost your family in a home invasion, barely surviving yourself - but whatever it was, you were grateful because you’d gotten a second chance at life.

Several minutes passed and you’d only broken from your train of thought when you heard someone clearing their throat beside you.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw your friend, the one who’d rolled her eyes earlier at Cameron, standing beside you.

“I see you finally got him to do his work.” She whispered, loud enough for your ears only.

“Barely. He still has an essay to write and hasn’t even finished a paragraph yet.”

“I would have smacked his sorry ass by now.”

You laughed before clamping your hand over your mouth, her comment having caught you off guard.

“Ally!” You whisper-shouted, playfully hitting her arm.

She looked at you with a raised eyebrow causing you to smirk, “Trust me, I’ve thought about it but-”

Before you could finish your sentence, a large bang rang out, shattering the silence the room had once held.

With wide eyes, your head whipped to the door where the gunshot had presumably come from and you listened as the hallways were filled with panicked screams.

Running to the door, ignoring the gasps and shouts from the other students behind you, you turned the lock on the door, pulled down the blinds, switched off the lights and jammed a chair under the handle.

Looking up, you saw everyone had the same look of panic in their eyes; a few were crying, including Ally, and others were pale with shock, Cameron was one of them.

“Guys, we’re gonna be okay but we have to be quiet.” You whispered harshly, constantly looking over your shoulder at the door, listening for any indication of the shooter coming your way.

Everyone stared at you, as if you were the leader of a camp and they were small children awaiting for further instruction.

You supposed it wasn’t far off.

By taking charge, you were the one who’d been unwillingly given the role of protector.

“First things first,” you walked over to the group of 10 students, “I need you all to make sure your phones are on silent. We can’t risk being caught.”

You watched as everyone followed your instructions.

“I know you all want to call your parents but that’s going to attract attention to us so for right now, we need to be quiet.”

Your heart was beating out of your chest and as you spoke, one thought repeated in your head. JJ.

Taking out your phone, you scrolled to find your mother’s name in your contacts. You watched as your thumb hovered over her name.

Just breathe, y/n. Breathe.

Tapping your mother’s name, you brought the phone to your ear.

“I thought you said we couldn’t call anyone.”

Your eyes locked onto Cameron’s, his face pale and his eyes filled with terror and a hint of anger.

“My Mum works for the FBI.” You whispered as the phone rang out.

Any other time and you probably would have laughed at the way his face grew paler, if that was even possible. But, in a situation this tense, it was going to be difficult to find any levity.

Your Mum picked up on the second ring and you let out a shaky breath when you heard her voice.

“Hi baby. A bit early for your lunch, isn’t it?”

You closed your eyes at her soft tone, as if you were trying to engrave the way she spoke into your mind lest you would never hear it again.

From your lack of response, the blonde sensed there was something up, “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

A single tear dropped down your cheek as you struggled to maintain a steady tone. Catching a glimpse of Ally staring at you, you steeled yourself and spoke.

“Mum, you need to come quick. Someone’s brought a gun into school.”

“Oh my-AARON.”

You winced when you heard her shout for her boss, listening as you could hear her run up stairs. You held your breath as she filled Hotch in on what was happening before telling Garcia to hack into your school’s security system.

“Are you okay? Stupid question. But are you hurt?”

“Mum,” you interrupted her rambling, “I’m fine. I’m in the tutoring centre with 10 other people. I don’t know how many people are injured. It just all happened so fast.”

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be okay.”

Though you could hear the clear panic in her voice, her words did bring some form of reassurance to you.

“Penelope’s hacking into the system so hopefully she can have eyes soon.”

As she spoke, you could hear the clacking of keys in the background of the call; presumably Garcia doing exactly what JJ said.

“Mum?” You questioned when you heard Garcia swear.

Instead of JJ answering, the usually peppy tech analyst replied, her voice shaky and wet, as if she was crying.

“Y/N, thank God you’re okay.”

“What’s wrong, Garcia?”

“Someone’s disabled the cameras remotely. I can only get them back online if someone reprograms them from the inside.”

Grasping what she was explaining, you nodded, “I’ll fix them.”

“What? No!”

Your mother had taken the phone off of Garcia.

“You are not leaving that room, y/n. We’ll find another way in.”

“Mum, someone needs to fix the system from inside the school. I need to do it.”

Ignoring your mother’s worried shouts, you continued to speak, “Mum, I have to. I love you.”

You disconnected the phone and switched it off, preventing her from being able to call you back.

“Y/N, you are not leaving this room.”

You’d only just realised that everyone had been watching you intently during that entire interaction.

“Yes, I am.”

Moving away from the huddle, you rose to your feet and replied to your friend.

Cameron rose to his feet and towered over you as he challenged you, “No, you are not. You’re going to put us in danger.”

“Do you know how to hack into our school’s security system and then reconnect the transformer and enter the Mastercode?”

His face contorted to a look of confusion making you reply,

“Exactly.”

Turning to leave, you felt a large hand enclose around your arm.

“I said, you’re not leaving.”

Your eyes flickered from Cameron’s hand up to his face that dared you to take another step.

“Remove your hand from my arm before I remove your hand from your body. You may letter in football but I’ve been trained by some of the best FBI agents there are and unless you want to end up in a sleeper hold, I suggest you shut up and do what I say for once.”

His harsh grip almost immediately lessened as his hand returned to his side.

“Good. Now, have any of you been shot? No? I didn’t think so. Well, I have and whoever did get shot is probably bleeding out in the hallway. I can’t not do anything.”

No one dared to respond and instead, shook their head ‘no’ at your asking if anyone else would try to stop you.

Content that you weren’t going to deal with any more unnecessary distractions, you made your way to the door and gently removed the chair that was beneath the handle.

“Ally, you’re in charge. Lock the door when I leave. By my count, the FBI will be here soon. And Cameron, you do anything stupid and I’ll shoot you myself.”

Unlocking the door, you stepped out into the empty hallway and hastily made your way to where the main security hub was located.

Just a couple of hours ago, all you had wished for was silence but now that your wish had been granted, all you wanted was to hear the playful shouts and conversations between your friends and fellow students.

The silence that currently fell on your school was unnerving and unbearable. And with each step you took, you flinched at the sound your shoes made against the marble floor. Each noise practically acting as a beacon for the shooter to come find you.

You let out a sigh of relief when you found the Hub and you quickly worked to reconnect the security system. Typing on the laptop that rested atop one of the servers, you couldn’t help the smile that formed when all the cameras re-engaged.

Tapping on one of the keys, you navigated through the various cameras, looking for any indication of the shooter or of any injured people. You stopped when you caught a glimpse of someone.

Squinting at the screen, you saw, what appeared to be a freshman - since you didn’t recognise him as being a part of your year - laying on the ground, a hand clutching his stomach as blood coated his clothing.

Immediately knowing where he was, you cautiously made your way to the east hallway before running when you noticed him laying on the ground, his blood coating the once-white marble floor.

Falling to your knees, you pressed your hands against his wound, trying to stop the steady flow. He groaned out in pain, tears staining his face.

“H-Help me.” He choked out.

“What’s your name?”

“Jackson. But everyone c-calls me J-Jack.”

“Jack, you’re going to be okay. I just need you stay with me, okay? I’m-”

“Y/N.”

You failed to hide the surprise from your face making the younger teen smile despite his predicament.

“You’re t-tutoring Cameron. Everyone knows who you are. Y-You’re the one who doesn’t take any of his shit. I think h-he likes you.”

“Well, tough shit for him. I may be bi but he’s definitely not my type.”

Jack’s laugh quickly turned into another groan of pain.

Unzipping your jacket with one hand, you used the other to keep pressure on his wound. After removing the jacket, you harshly pressed it against his torso and watched as it barely absorbed the blood.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not. I won’t let you.” You said, tears filling in your eyes as memories rushed back of when you tried to save your brother after he’d been shot.

“You’re going to be okay. I just need you to-”

You stilled when you heard footsteps come up behind you.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You didn’t recognise the voice and couldn’t bring yourself to turn around to face the person who’d caused all this pain.

You opened your mouth before closing it again, unsure of what to say.

Closing your eyes, you readied yourself for your inevitable death when a shot rang out and a body slumped to the ground beside you.

Jumping at the action, you turned around and almost collapsed in relief at what you saw. Your Mum and her team stood behind you with several SWAT members flanking them.

The tears that had once filled your eyes now spilled shamelessly down your cheeks.

Without saying a word, JJ holstered her gun and ran to your side, hugging you as best she could since your hands were still pressed against Jack’s wound.

Paramedics soon followed and after that it was all a blur. It was as if you were floating outside of your body. Logically, you knew it was the effects of an adrenaline crash but you felt so disconnected from your body.

You barely took note as your mother gently lifted you to your feet, allowing you to be briefly looked over by the paramedics. Nor as your mother escorted you to one of the school bathrooms where she rinsed the blood off your hands.

You didn’t even say a word until you’d arrived back at the BAU where a worried Penelope wrapped you in a tight hug which you returned.

“I’m gonna take her up to my old office, Hotch.”

The Unit Chief simply nodded as he and the rest of the team watched as JJ led you to the abandoned office that was still filled with random case files.

Closing the door, she sat you down on her sofa and stared at you, not touching you in fear that even a simple caress would cause you to shatter.

You exhaled a long breath before finally speaking, “I’m sorry.”

Her brows narrowed, “Sorry? Sweetheart, why?”

You looked at your hands that had been coated in blood less than an hour before and then up at your mother; her blue eyes filled with nothing but concern, love and confusion.

“You told me not to leave and I did. I’m sorry.”

And with that, you started to cry heart-wrenching sobs that made your shoulders shake.

JJ gathered you in her arms, gently rocking you as her long blonde hair draped over you.

“It’s okay, y/n. I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

Her arms wrapped tightly around you as she laid soft kisses on your head, her hand stroking your back.

That only served to make you burrow into her even more, seeking comfort in her motherly embrace.

You muttered your apologies as she continued to reassure you that you were okay.

JJ was afraid that if she stopped, you wouldn’t be here, safe in her arms.

Still rocking you in her arms, she whispered in your ear,

“I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

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emimothvine · 3 years

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📁 for the fuckboy anon.

TW: toxic relationships and abuse

Bakugou has a distorted understanding of romance.

His mother is always loud, always pushing and pushing and pushing until she gets what she wants. She’s violent; she’s crass; she hits her husband when she gets mad because it makes her feel powerful, hits her son because that’s just what you’re supposed to do with shitty kids like him, right?

His father is quiet. Unassuming. No one expects much of him, and that’s exactly how he likes it. Honesty eludes him; manipulation is his friend. He lies to his wife when she asks him where he was last night, lies to his son when he asks why his mother hurts him like she hates him.

Bakugou also wants to be the best. He loves a challenge, thrives in spite and winning and the thrill of proving people wrong. So when his friends start teasing him about his lack of romantic life, he takes it like the bait it was never meant to be.

Long story short, Bakugou gets into a toxic relationship.

It’s a general studies girl. She’s been approaching him, flirting with him, constantly for weeks. He’s told her no, told her to fuck off multiple times, but she’s kept at it. And that’s a good thing, right? Admirable. It means she’s serious, persistent, stubborn, strong. Just like his mother was when she’d gone after his dad. This is how relationships work, isn’t it?

Bakugou thinks so. So when she corners him outside the locker room for the fiftieth time, he tells her yes - just two days after his squad’s teasing. The two go on their first date that weekend, and Bakugou tells the squad the following Monday.

They look shocked, and weirdly enough, not nearly as happy about this new development as Bakugou had anticipated. But they’re supportive, despite their strained smiles.

Bakugou keeps going out with this girl. He doesn’t like it much, but he made a commitment and damn him if he’s going to back out now. For a while, she sits with him and the squad at lunch, always clinging to his arm and demanding a share of his food even though she knows she can’t handle the spice. Bakugou honestly thinks it’s cute how she pushes past her limits like that, finds it refreshing how she isn’t afraid to throw his shit right back at him when he’s being a dick.

(The class is always weirdly nice to him when he fucks up, but she isn’t; she tells him when he’s being lazy or stupid or mean and it’s familiar. It makes sense. He listens when she tells him to shut up because his laugh is too ugly, to stay still when she kisses him even if he doesn’t want to. He listens because that’s what you’re supposed to do in relationships, and he always gives his best no matter what.)

(His friends... don’t seem to like her very much. He doesn’t know why.)

She starts dragging him away during lunches. Bakugou supposes it makes sense; they’re dating, so they’re supposed to spend a lot of time together. She gets angry at him when he doesn’t text her back right away, and a lot of their dates are scheduled on the same days as Bakusquad hangouts. When Bakugou tries to back out, to explain, she pushes and pushes and pushes, and he lets her.

(His mom is happy with him, too. He let it slip that he got a girlfriend, and she called him brat and ruffled his hair like she hasn’t in years. You’re lucky she has shit taste, she said, told him not to scare her away by being a pest.)

(And quietly, secretly, he wants her to look at him like that again. Like he’s worth something. He wants her to smile at him more and pet his hair and love him, just a little bit. So he keeps at it, keeps going out with this girl as she tells him to stop talking so much and don’t smile, you look like a lunatic and it’s just a hickey, Suki, don’t be such a prude.)

He comes to class and he can’t look anyone in the eye, because he knows they see the marks on his neck and his face. The imprints of teeth and bruises and little crescent moons on his cheeks and his jaw and his nape from her fingernails. She likes to dig them into his face to get his attention, into his neck to keep him still while she kisses him. (It’s almost worse than the hickeys, because they’re proof of how often he fucks up, how often she needs to set him straight.)

She slaps him sometimes, when he’s done something especially shitty - ignored her for too long, said the wrong thing. Sometimes she’ll ignore him for a few days, when she’s tired of dealing with his shit, but she always comes back. She’s nice about it too - doesn’t make him drag himself out to apologize like his mom does.

Meanwhile, his classmates, his friends, his teachers are just. So concerned. Fucking enraged. Bakugou has become subdued in a way that they have never seen before, and Deku, for his part, is terrified and furious. This girl walks all over his Kacchan and he just lets her, and for the life of him Deku can’t figure out why.

(Once, at lunch, when she and Bakugou were still sitting with them in the cafeteria, she told Bakugou to laugh quieter, it’s gross and everyone can hear you. And he’d just listened. That wide, rare, precious grin had been wiped right off his face and he’d quieted down instantly. No one had said anything out of pure shock.)

(Kirishima, Mina, the rest of the squad, Deku, Uraraka, hell even Todoroki - they were seething. Because Bakugou rarely, rarely let himself laugh like that - hell, all of them sans Deku could count on one hand the times they’d seen his little happy-smile - and this bitch had destroyed those few precious seconds of genuine, carefree laughter because she was fucking self-conscious. If they could kill people with a look, half the goddamn class would have been charged with murder.)

They all hate her. They want to grab Bakugou and shake him and tell him to break up with this bitch, but he doesn’t even have the time to talk to them anymore. The squad wants their Katsuki back, Deku wants his Kacchan back, the class wants their friend back. It’s been weeks. They don’t know what to do.

Their savior comes in the form of one Shinsou Hitoshi.

He’s been watching all this go down from afar, and it’s pissed him right off. He doesn’t know Bakugou that well, honestly thinks he’s a bit of an asshole, but he likes him. He cares about him. They spar occasionally (or they used to), and it’s grueling and fun and satisfying as shit.

There’s this... something in Bakugou. Too big and too bright to call a fire, too hot and too close to call the sun. And this girl - this toxic, abusive bitch - is smothering it, smothering him, and Shinsou is sick of it.

It’s week six of this bullshit and he does what no one has managed to do in all that time: he finds Bakugou and corners him - away from that toxic bitch he calls his girlfriend.

(Let’s all thank Aizawa for that one. Underground hero training is useful as shit.)

He confronts him about it - asks him, pointblank, “Why do you put up with her?”

And all he gets in response is the most genuinely bemused expression he’d ever seen on Bakugou’s face.

Something in Shinsou’s stomach drops.

“The fuck are you on about?”

“Your girlfriend, dipshit,” he says, like it’s obvious, because it is. “Why do you let her treat you like shit?”

Bemusement shifts into pure, unadulterated confusion, and that thing in Shinsou’s stomach falls right down to his feet.

“I don’t let her do shit, dumbass.” He almost sounds indignant. “Now outta my way, I got places to be.”

Bakugou lightly shoves past him, but Shinsou grabs his wrist before he can leave. The blond glances back at him in irritation. Pale, fluorescent light casts dramatic shadows across his face, darkens the marks and the bruises dotting fair skin.

Shinsou grits his teeth. “She hurts you.”

Bakugou doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, so?”

The brainwasher’s grip goes slack.

He doesn’t fully register that Bakugou has dislodged his arm until he’s standing alone in the hallway, but when he does, the first thought that crosses his mind is I have to tell dad.

(The thing about Shinsou is that he knows abuse. He knows what it looks like, what it sounds like, what it feels like, because he’s been through it himself. And yet for the longest time, he had no idea that what his foster parents were doing even constituted as wrong.)

(Then he met Aizawa, and he learned a few things. It fucking sucked, and for a while, nothing felt real and everything was wrong and he didn’t know what to do. But Aizawa was there for him, helped him through all the nitty-gritty-shitty parts of having your whole world turned inside-out, and lo-and-behold, Shinsou got adopted like four months ago.)

(But the point is, Shinsou isn’t an idiot. He knows this shit, he’s been through this shit, and the fact of the matter is that there is no way Bakugou would think that what he’s going through is okay unless he’s used to it. So what the fuck does Shinsou do now?)

(He goes to the man that pulled him out of the fire.)

(“Dad, I need to talk to you.”)

#I will FINISH this TRAVESTY #but TOMORROW because I am TIRED #seriously you fuckboy what the hell #this was supposed to be short #how did this even happen #bakusquad #toxic relationships #bakudeku #todobaku #kiribaku #platonic bakushin #dadzawa

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aggravatetheaxe · 3 years

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hi I’m absolutely obsessed with your writing atm but also would you mind sharing any more info on your ocs if you have it?? I wanna know more about pris (and whatever tf happened with her and michael in the past)

YES i would love to tell you more about pris. this ask made me so happy, i cant even begin to tell you. i always worry people don't care about my ocs but they mean so much to me

she is one of my most favorite ocs of all time, it's just i've been so hyperfixated on house of wax i haven't gotten to write much about her and michael - BUT i really want to and i probably will eventually

tag

some quick facts about pris:

priscilla catherine tate

born in 1958 (im terrible at having concrete birthdays for my ocs but maybe she's a virgo? not sure)

5'6", pear shaped (& gains weight and keeps it on after giving birth to audrey), pin-straight dark brown hair (gray when she's older) and dark gray-green eyes, long nose

american of irish and english descent

not religious; raised non denominational christian

aromantic spectrum, bisexual, but not inclined to go out and meet people; puts more weight behind blood relative connections

when she was a child, she and her parents were involved in a bus accident and subsequent fire. she was 7 at the time and was one of the only survivors

early onset depression and mental illness because of this traumatic event, which eventually led to a dissociative disorder, specifically a form of cotard's syndrome

her illness was manageable through therapy and medication but she believes she can't die because she's already dead

was fostered longterm but never formally adopted. doesn't feel a huge connection to her foster family though

has been both an inpatient and outpatient at various mental health facilities in the area for years; the mental health community of haddonfield and the surrounding area knows her pretty well by the time she's 20

nihilistic, prone to shutting down and appearing "emotionless" because of her anxiety (but that also means she can Get Shit Done when she has to), actually could be a deeply caring and wonderful friend if given the chance despite being a wet cat of a woman

showers 3-5 times a day because she fears her body decaying, so some obsessive compulsive tendencies. if she can't shower when she wants her neuroses become exponentially worse, which is one of the reasons she does much better as an outpatient

has a sphinx cat named soup

doesn't have many aspirations for life, understandably, since she thinks she's dead; however, still needs to pay bills, uses her mental health community connections to get herself a job in the healthcare community, becomes an RN

bounces around from healthcare jobs to secretary work to cleaning jobs, etc etc

hobbies include: puzzles (esp word puzzles), board games, miniature model enthusiast but no talent for it, absolutely adores just sitting back and listening to some old country (her FAVORITE) or 40s-50s music

now when it comes to michael, it would all depend on what timeline we're talking about. and for the record I don't really like RZ Michael so this would all be OG

if we're talking Carpenter's reboot (Halloween 1978 -> Halloween 2018):

michael and pris knew each other in passing from some mental health programs when they were younger, when loomis was still Trying with michael. basically a classmate type of connection, so they recognized each other but didn't really know each other?

she was living in outpatient/government housing at the time of the babysitter murders

michael kind of staggered to her govt housing neighborhood after being shot by loomis. michael's a creature of instinct so his first is survive -> prey

wound up staying with her because 1. she didn't call the cops on him 2. she's dead, there's nothing behind her eyes; she wouldn't be interesting to kill. we see time and time again that michael doesn't kill someone unless he's interested in them/likes how they are and wants to see them die or if they are in his way and she was neither. there's nothing exciting or interesting about killing something that doesn't care about dying

life finds a way! audrey was conceived ~3 months in

they lived together for a full year without being detected. but michael likes halloween, so while pris was at the hospital giving birth (on halloween!!!) he snuck out and decided to kill some more people (fun)

he was caught this time, as the whole town was on guard

pris was thoroughly inconvenienced by this, and also a bit sad because he had been her companion and she had gotten used to him. anxious as hell because now she's a single mom (thankfully she's very experienced with navigating government programs and was able to help herself pretty well)

managed to finagle weekly or monthly visitation with michael by going over loomis's head; this became much easier after loomis died, and they got even more privileges. knows sartain very well at that point

because of this, michael never forgot who she was. she has a connection with him

they just seem sort of drawn to each other, almost supernaturally. it's like she provides some weird equilibrium...and she doesn't ask anything of him, doesn't want anything from him. he's just in her life now

michael's parents don't speak to her and audrey (and eventually they die)

she and michael are never technically married but she considers him her partner, probably the closest thing she will have (or would ever want, she's quite aro) to a husband; she refers to him in that way often

people who know about her and michael think she's fucking insane. how the hell did she even survive that? most people don't know, though, and audrey takes her last name. it would be very hard to be a myers in haddonfield

she and laurie do know each other. she has nothing in particular against laurie but she did need to get a restraining order against her. it's unfortunate that laurie hates her because i think they'd be friends in another life

she doesn't have anything against people especially and doesn't particularly want michael to murder folks, but she's smart enough to know she can't stop him

when it comes to other timelines, such as the thorn timeline... when the curse gets involved, i figure she has to have some supernatural connection to it, but i'm not a huge fan of the thorn timeline, so i haven't smoothed that out!

@waxhouse and I have a fun crack type au where all the slashers live in the same neighborhood and there pris is:

best friends with amanda, jason voorhees's wife

audrey's mom obviously

part of amanda's book club but she never reads the books and it drives amanda insane

gets her weed from bubba sawyer

bo sinclair's object of lust and fear (she hates him and his vibes)

on good terms with freddy and pinhead (she and the Girls go to brunch with pinhead all the time)

always the designated driver (she hates driving tho and avoids it)

that one friend that you're sure hates you but actually has deep deep affections for you, they're just quiet

#pris #pris tate #michael #michael myers #michael myers x pris tate #michael myers x oc #slasher x oc #slasher oc

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 21: Prinxiety (pt 2)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 21: Combine two soulmate prompts. (This will make sense soon, I promise.)

It’s the sequel you’ve all been waiting for! This is the second part to day 16 (read that first!!!!!), and y’all finally get to see what happened to Virgil! Please heed the trigger warnings below.

TRIGGER/content WARNINGS!! Anxiety, food mention, crappy foster system/group homes, implied past abuse, religious guilt/negative view of religion, homophobia, conversion therapy/abuse, starvation, sneaking medication (antipsychotics/side effects), electrocution, seizure, ambulance. I’m sorry.

Word count: 3.8k

Unlike most kids in the foster system, Virgil didn’t know his birthday. He knew it was sometime in December, but that didn’t do much. Technically, birthdays weren’t really a huge thing anyways, not when the group home he rarely left was awfully underfunded, and a party came second to little things like working sinks and clothes without holes. Even still, all the other kids at least got a little cupcake and a half hearted birthday song on their special day, and his festivities were pushed onto Christmas. He didn’t get a weak excuse for a celebration, because the other kids ‘found it unfair’ that he got that and Christmas in the same month. To prevent an upheaval, the workers told him that he’d just have to be happy with what he got.

But it wasn’t fair, because some kids got Easter and a birthday, or Halloween and a birthday, or New Years and a birthday, and poor Virgil didn’t. The fact of the matter was, they plain didn’t like him. The other kids didn’t like that he got extra free time because of his anxiety, or was allowed to leave the table when they weren’t, and they especially didn’t like he was the youngest of the bunch. The youngest had the highest chance of getting adopted, it was just facts, so they had seemingly decided that if his stay here would be the shortest, it would be the most tortured.

It wasn’t the shortest stay, though. With his barrage of anxiety related issues and group-home-toughened demeanor, no foster home wanted to deal with him. He was snarky, ran away, regularly got in fights with the biological children of the parents, and was promptly labeled a problem child. Eventually, it was deemed easier for him to just stay in a group home until he outgrew the system, since he seemed set to escape every other place. Virgil tried to pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it did; it was his fault, after all. As he watched all his older tormentors grow out of a crooked system, he resigned himself to the same fate. After all, he was almost sixteen now, and he knew his chances were out. So he stayed stuck in his group home, lashing out at his caretakers and therapists, refusing to eat unless it was alone in his room (technically, three kids slept in there, but he so rarely left it, and they wanted to avoid him, it was unofficially deemed his room), and listening to music on his phone.

He’d been given the phone on his fifteenth birthday, a gift from one of his caretakers. It was the cheapest piece of crap he’d ever seen, glitched out every other minute and needed to be charged at least three times a day, but it was a phone nonetheless. Granted, he had no one to text. But he had access to a computer, a totally one hundred percent legal music downloading website, and a strong sense of determination, so he’d soon filled the phone’s entire measly storage with all the music he could cram on the thing.

That’s what he was doing on the night of December 18th, listening to his “Emo Playlist” on a pair of $4 Dollar Store earbuds, laying on his bed and finding shapes in his popcorn ceiling as the moon shone through the window. In the bunk beds across the room from him, his two other roommates were fast asleep, but he couldn’t follow suit. It was sadly normal for Virgil to have sleepless nights where no matter what, his anxious brain just wouldn’t shut off, and it just felt like one of those nights. His hands shook and his eyelids flinched every few seconds for no reason, so he turned the music just a little bit louder and tried to calm his breathing.

It was just past 1 am when his life changed forever.

He was on the fourth cycle of his playlist, eyes no more heavy than hours before and just as flinchy. It was just entering the “existential crisis” time of the night where he started questioning reality, and he was about to give in and start letting his mind drift to darker places, when a song distinctly not his began to play in the midst of a song switch.

How can you miss someone you’ve never met?

Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,

But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,

Yeah, I need you now but I don’t know you yet.

He froze, eyes suddenly wide open, and yanked the earbuds out of his ears. The song continued; not in his headphones, but in his head. It didn’t take an idiot to realize that it was his soulmate, responding, and as an afterthought, Virgil suddenly identified that today was probably his birthday. Both amazing revelations, but one was slightly more time sensitive.

Desperately scrolling through his playlists as the song stopped after the chorus, he tried to find a song that would be an adequate introduction to this new person. When his eyes landed on a song from his Adele phase (he didn’t talk about that time) that he hadn’t had the energy to delete yet, he simultaneously groaned and grinned. Subtly meme-y, heartfelt like the song his soulmate had played, a decent greeting. He tapped play.

Hello,

It’s me.

He hoped his soulmate had the same sense of humor of him and had actually given a laugh, since he was trying to stifle laughter behind his sleeve to avoid waking the sleeping kids. He paused after the first verse, since he didn’t really want to remember that phase of his life more than he had to, and waited for the other to play the next song. Hopefully they could work out some sort of rhythm, play songs back and forth. He for sure wouldn’t be able to sleep now.

(The next song his soulmate played was an almost atrocious obviously-musical-theatre song that almost made Virgil hit his head against the wall, so he retaliated with a favorite of his, the most ear assaulting screamo he could find on his playlist.)

The clock had just passed four in the morning when there was a small pause in the routine, before his soulmate played a children’s lullaby. It definitely wasn’t something you’d listen to in everyday life, so Virgil could only assume it was the other’s way of indicating that they had to sleep. As if I’m going to let you go that easily, Virgil smirked, opening YouTube and begging that the video he’d chosen would play without an ad.

It did, filling his crackling, cheap earbuds with the opening chorus of Baby Shark. Fight fire with fire, he decided, chuckling to himself as he turned off the song just before the ‘mommy shark’ verse. Silence filled his head and he mentally wished the other a good night, turning onto his stomach and screaming into his pillow, grinning madly.

Eight months later, their new way of life was deeply imbedded into him; getting woken up at asscrack o’clock in the morning by a worker who wanted to be there as much as he did, and either playing his morning playlist to get himself slightly more ready to face another monotonous day or waiting in silence until his soulmate woke up and played their own music. He’d begrudgingly started to even enjoy the showtunes. Everyone around the home had noticed his gradual shift in attitude, and he couldn’t help the natural smiles that pulled at his cheeks when a new song played out of nowhere. It got to the point where his therapist noticed his lifted mood, and the other kids stopped avoiding him and, unknown to Virgil, his social workers decided that he was ready to try another foster home.

That’s why, eight months later, there was a knock on his bedroom door and his main worker poked in her head, asking him to come downstairs. He’d been playing music for his soulmate, so he silently apologized and joined her at the dining room table, giving her a half hearted smile.

“Virgil, we’ve found a new home for you. A foster home that specializes in… harder to place cases. They’ve opened their doors to you, and we’re hoping to get you into a trial period there within the next week.”

At first, Virgil vehemently refused. No. He didn’t want to go back to foster homes, not after… everything he went to in the first few. The ones that hurt him, the ones that were more densely crowded than group homes, the ones that turned him into the angry shell he was before he had met a sign of a possibly happy future. He didn’t want to lose the progress he’d made.

But Bev looked so hopeful, so pleadingly at him, that he gave in after three days of denying. He said goodbye to the kids he’d unfortunately grown attached to, threw his few belongings into a black garbage bag, and got into his worker’s car for the first time in years. Just rebuckling that seatbelt caused a shudder to run up his spine.

------1 month later------

“Virgil, what are you doing? Do you have earbuds in? We’ve made it abundantly clear that you are not to have technology at the table.”

Virgil fought every urge in his body to roll his eyes, flicking his hair behind his ears to show they were empty. It had gotten long and shaggy, just reaching his jaw in the back. “No earbuds. My soulmate’s listening to music, and it’s catchy.” Frankly, he was surprised he hadn’t been caught bopping along to silence before by the stiflers.

They were nice enough, a woman and a man and their two biological children, but they were too religious for Virgil’s liking. He’d never had qualms with religion before, but he had grown tired of spending Saturdays and Sundays (his only days off from their homeschool regime) in a church, surrounded by older people singing repetitive songs and being yelled at by a guy on the pulpit. Faking being sick only worked so many times before they refused to listen to his excuses. They also insisted he go to a specialized youth group on Tuesdays, but that was easy enough to escape. He just waved by and booked it to the closest 7/11 when they left, making sure he was back at the church by the time it was over and made up some bullshit about the gathering. Jameson, the attendant at the gas station, was becoming the closest friend he’d ever had.

“Your soulmate?” One of the children asked around a bite of toast, spitting a decent amount onto Virgil’s sleeve.

“Like daddy and I, Mariam.” The woman explained briefly, not bothering to chastise her about speaking with her mouth full.

“Yeah.” Unlike most of the kids at his old group home, he wasn’t warming up to theirs. They were too spoiled, too bratty. One had even bit him in his first week here and he was still bitter about it.

“When did you connect with yours, Virgil?” The question wasn’t asked kindly, more for the sake of being polite, and he assumed if he didn’t answer in an equally polite tone, they’d probably make him paint a fence or something.

He knew they cared about his bond about as much as he did about theirs. Which was approximately none. The mom took her children’s empty plates and placed them in the sink, Virgil quickly following suit. No use losing more computer time because he didn’t clean his plate.

“Last December. I didn’t even know it was my birthday, and they started playing music out of nowhere. It was pretty cool.” He finished rinsing off his plate and was confused at the sudden stillness in the room.

“‘They’?” The mom asked, giving her husband what she must have believed to be a subtle glance.

“Uhm… yeah?” Virgil said slowly, “I’m bisexual. So I’m not sure if my partner’s a guy or a girl or… something in between. So… they?”

He stared with rising anxiety as the two parents had a silent interaction over the kitchen island, before the dad stood up. “Kids, plates in the sink and then go get ready for church. Virgil, you too.”

There was minimal whining as the younger ones did as they were asked, racing each other up the stairs. Virgil followed, slower, listening to hushed beginnings of a conversation, unable to fight the feeling that he’d just royally fucked up.

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

“Virgil, may we speak with you for a moment?”

He froze, slowly turning from where he’d been half way up the stairs. They’d just wrapped up lessons for the day (Virgil never thought he’d miss an actual school building before, but alas) and the kids had been excused, leaving just him and the parents behind. It had been almost a week since the incident, and a part of him had been hoping they’d just drop it. There wasn’t much they could do, anyways; if their religion conflicted so badly with his sexuality, the worst they would do is send him back to the home anyways. In all honesty, he kind of hoped they would. He was sick of being here, and it was better for his record if he didn’t run.

Not that it mattered much anymore. He was almost aged out of the system anyways.

He took a cautious seat back at the dining room table, which they had just cleared from classes. The mom sat back in her chair, eyeing him carefully, as the dad began to speak.

“We spoke with our pastor the other day, and we think it would be best if we put you in therapy.”

“I don’t…” He’d stopped regular therapy at the group home almost a month before coming here, and he couldn’t imagine why he’d need to go back. He definitely wasn’t happy here, but he didn’t figure a grumpy mood was enough to warrant counseling. “I don’t understand.”

“After… what you told us? About your… urges-”

“Urges.” He couldn’t help his own disgusted tone. Of course they were homophobic.

“Yes. Our pastor suggested we try conversion therapy.”

Virgil scoffed, but he couldn’t ignore the way his heart started pounding, “Right. As if you could ever get my social workers to approve that. Ward of the state, remember?” He tapped his chest a couple times.

“Fortunately, we already talked to your social worker, Virgil. We had it approved just this morning.” The man finally stopped, as if waiting for a response.

Virgil’s eyes grew wide as he looked frantically between the two of them, the woman quickly avoiding eye contact. That wasn’t normal.

“There’s no way in hell that you-”

“Profanity, Virgil!” The man barked and Virgil shrank back in his chair, impulsively ducking to avoid a fist that didn’t come. They hadn’t hit him so far, but old habits die hard. “We’ve already signed you up. Your first session is tomorrow. First thing’s first-” He stood up, reaching a hand out to a still-shaking Virgil, “Hand over your phone.”

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

His hair was short now. Shorter than he could ever remember it being. He missed his bangs, he missed the tiny boosts of confidence it gave him when the rest of his appearance disgusted him. Now there was nothing for his hands to run through. There was no style to it, just an electric razor in the hands of his silent foster mother. He should have fought it, he really should have, but he was shaking far too much to try to move.

He didn’t like hands so near his throat.

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

Surely, his social worker didn’t approve of this. The only explanation Virgil could possibly rationalize was they’d lied about the purpose of the therapy, or the method, or something. But any type of change in a foster kid's life had to go through about a million different levels to get approved, so how the hell were they getting away with this?

It wasn’t too bad. A lot of it was using religious guilt, something Virgil did not have much of, saying he was immoral and inhumane. The rest of it was just his new therapist trying to dig into his supposed ‘trauma’ that made him ‘this way’, as if there was something that caused it. They talked a lot about his old foster homes, and his therapist seemed positive something there had to be the root to everything. It made his blood boil.

It didn’t help that they still hadn’t given his phone back, and they confined him to his room when he wasn’t doing school work at the kitchen table. He could hear the way his soulmate was losing morale, the longer he didn’t respond. The songs were darker, and were few and far between. They still refused to play songs on what he’d called ‘his days’.

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

His ‘therapy’ had ended hours ago, and yet he couldn’t stop twitching. Every time he closed his eyes in a vain attempt to sleep, it was like the electrodes were attached to him again. The images they’d shown him flashed before his eyes, of men kissing, holding hands, and were quickly followed by the sharp sting of electric shocks. He couldn’t close his eyes without flinching violently, no music to calm his nerves.

Virgil didn’t sleep that night.

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

He held to the music like an anchor, soaking in every rare song his soulmate played like a sponge. It was his only relief from the hunger pangs in his stomach, reminding him that he hadn’t been allowed to eat at all in the day leading up to another therapy session. Apparently they wanted to put him on some kind of medication, try to increase the intensity of his sessions. It was getting to the point where Virgil was tempted to pretend it was working just to make them stop.

He missed his soulmate.

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

No. He’d said no to the drugs. They wanted to put him on anti-psychotics, claiming he was severely mentally ill, and he’d downright refused. There was no way in hell he was going on anti-psychotics. Finally, after days of their demanding being met with stubbornness, they’d given in.

That had been a month ago. Maybe. Time had gotten kind of funny, like in that limbo between Christmas and New Years, or in the depths of summer break. It had been a while, for sure. They still fed him so rarely a growling stomach was more common than a full one, claiming it was part of his new therapy. He couldn’t help wonder why he was gaining weight, though. He’d been underweight for a majority of his life, thanks to a constantly overworking metabolism and genetics, along with the nasty food they served at group homes that he gladly avoided, but he was starting to fill out slightly. His ribs were barely showing.

That would be a symptom of being on antipsychotics, he knew from previous research. But he wasn’t on them, so why…?

He took another sip of his apple juice his foster mom had brought him, trying to focus on his homework. Had apple juice always tasted that bitter?

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

They’d gone too far this time, Virgil knew that much. Curse his stubbornness, his inability to just lie and go along with it. He could have just claimed the conversion therapy was working, ��oh golly, I’m healed!’, and go on with his life, finally talk to his fucking social worker, but no. He wasn’t capable of that.

They’d shown him more pictures, shocking him more frequently, refusing to stop the session even as tears streamed down his face. It just hurt so bad. Then he remembered a shout (maybe his own?), blinding pain, and the next thing he knew, he was in his foster dad’s car. He said he’d had a seizure, but he was okay now, so they were heading home. A cup of water was forced down his throat and he was laid down in bed, commanded to rest. He was so confused, but also so tired, so he let his eyes drift shut.

Just before he lost consciousness for the second time that day, he heard a soft melody drift through his mind as his soulmate played another song. It had been so long since the last time he’d heard them play music… despite his exhaustion, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

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

The days had been a bit of a blur since his seizure. It was probably because his brain had done the human equivalent to ‘Have you tried turning it off and back on again?’, but even that was hazy in his mind. All he wanted to do was sleep, to rest, to not have to do the school work that they were still shoving down his throat. From where he was laying motionless in his bed, he watched the slowly setting sun dip below the horizon.

There was a knock at the door downstairs. Virgil flinched from the noise, triggering a series of twitches down his spine and into his limbs. People were talking downstairs. He could distinctly hear the voice of his foster parents, but the others were unfamiliar. They were getting louder, near shouting, and there were pounding footsteps echoing up the stairs and down his hallway.

He couldn’t even find the energy to be scared as his door was thrown open and a man’s voice shouted, “He’s in here!”. A flurry of people stormed into the room, the ones in the lead dressed in blue.

Clambering, people shifting to make space, a woman holding his hand. She was asking him questions as they loaded him into a stretcher and he tried his best to answer, but he was just so tired. His name was said multiple times, as well as the names of his foster parents, but it was hazy, so hazy…

“We were just trying to help, I didn’t want this to happen, I don’t-”

“Quiet, woman!”

She raised her voice but it was growing farther away. Virgil realized with a start that he was looking at the sky, bumping along on the gravel path, the bright lights of an ambulance flashing across his vision.

The husband shouted again, trying to silence his wife. That was the last thing Virgil heard as the doors slammed shut, and he finally allowed his eyes to close.

Part 3 HERE

Taglist:

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#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #abuse tw #conversion therapy tw #ts soulmate au #sanders sides fanfiction #sanderssides #sanderssidesfanfiction #sanderssidesau #sanders sides au #sanders sides

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trulivin · 4 years

Text

Actual Sex God

A/N: As promised. Sorry it’s so short. I’m in a real writing slump right now and I don’t know why. I hope you enjoy this and to the nonny who requested, I hope this is what you were looking for! Also this is my first time writing something mildly smutty so I apologize in advance.

JJ x Reader, Outer Banks

Warnings: a lil bit of sexual themes, swearing

*gif not mine*

“My friends will love you, I promise,” Kie said to Y/N as the two of them made their way up to the front porch of the Chateau. “You don’t know that,” the girl nervously bit her lip, “I just moved in three days ago and from what you’ve told me, y’all seem pretty tight.” Kie threw her head back and let out a light laugh.

“Y/N you are my new sister. They have to like you. And besides, they’re super chill. I promise you,” Kie smiled sweetly before entering the screened-in porch. “Guys!” she called, “I have someone I would like you all to meet!”

Y/N watched as three boys piled out of the house. “This is Y/N Y/L/N, my newly adopted sister,” Kie introduced.

The first one who stepped up said, “What’s up? I’m Pope.” He gave Y/N a kind smile and shook her hand enthusiastically. The boy with brown longish hair raised a hand and spoke, “John B and this,” he gestured to the blond boy who was shamelessly checking Y/N out, “Is JJ.” “Sup,” JJ winked.

“Pig,” Kie muttered as JJ threw his hands up in defense. “Hey you never told us your new sister was hot,” JJ responded. “No, nuh uh Y/N is off limits. No Pogue-on-Pogue macking,” Kie fired back. As the two went on bickering, John B approached the timid girl with a gentle look on his face.

“Welcome to the life of the Pogues, Y/N,” John B said. “Thanks,” Y/N returned the smile, sitting on one of the chairs. John B took the seat next to her as Pope, Kie, and JJ settled around them.

“So, Y/N,” Pope started, “Why did Kie’s parents adopt you, if you don’t mind me asking.” Y/N chewed on the inside of her lip instantly heating up as all the attention turned to her. Y/N glanced around and saw Kie give her a small smile of encouragement.

“Yo, you don’t have to tell us if it’s like some personal shit or something like that,” JJ interrupted. Y/N shot him a grateful glance but took a breath anyways. “My dad left and my mom is now an addict. They’ve known Kie’s parents a long time before we moved off the island so when DCS wanted to put me in foster care after my mother about OD’d, Kie was the first person I had them call. So now we’re here,” Y/N explained. At this point, Y/N was relieved to get out of her messed up home.

As soon as Y/N stopped talking, she noticed how quiet everyone was. Heat flushed her face as she spoke again, “Look, not a big deal. I’m glad to be gone and out of the foster care system.” She glanced around and saw looks of sympathy and pity written across everyone’s faces.

“Well,” Pope said slowly, “Welcome to our family.”

The others murmured in agreement, and Y/N soon felt herself relaxing even with JJ’s eyes constantly on her.

Weeks turned to months and Y/N soon found her place amongst the Pogues. During that time, she had grown extremely close to JJ, surprisingly. It took awhile for her to stop being so ruffled by his flirtatious remarks, but once the ice was broken, the two found themselves inseparable.

Especially on beautiful days like today.

The Pogues decided it would do them some good to take a break from the whole treasure hunt and Kook drama and spend the day on the docks.

“This is so peaceful,” Kie groaned, laying out. Y/N smiled at her “sister” before turning her attention to the boys who were lounging on the floats.

“Do you guys ever wonder if like crabs can communicate with their own kind in some sort of language under water?” JJ asked. “Annnnnd, moment ruined,” Kie sat up shooting JJ a confused look. Y/N let out a laugh as John B, Pope, and the blond started discussing their theories.

Kie just laid back down rolling her eyes as the boys began arguing over some other stupid topic. Y/N, however, happily watched her friends so care-free and for once, relaxed. John B wasn’t worried about finding the gold, Pope wasn’t stressing over his scholarship, and JJ, well he seemed happier than he had been in days.

JJ had told her he went home a few days ago and it wasn’t the greatest reunion between him and his father, leaving him in a sour mood.

Y/N took the time to really look at JJ too. She noticed how the sun seemed to turn his skin bronze while his hair golden. The glistening water dripped down his toned arms every time he would articulate while his abs flexed when he held himself up on the float. The aviators gave him a sexy edge as well. He looked like some sort of sun god or something.

Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off of the boy.

“You’re staring,” Kie said as she sat up again. Y/N jumped at the sound of her voice. “I am not,” she snipped. Kie let out a hearty laugh and said, “You should just tell him you like him.” Y/N gave her an incredulous look. “Pfff,” she struggled to lie, “I do not.”

“Is-is that drool?” Kie asked playfully gesturing to Y/N’s chin.

Her eyes went big and her hand shot to her mouth. Y/N felt nothing.

Kie roared with laughter as Y/N playfully smacked her. “Shut up Kie!” she exclaimed as her friend kept cackling. “It’s okay. You two are always flirting anyways,” Kie laughed. “We do not!” Y/N retorted.

“Ya you do,” Kie said, “But it’s fine because JJ seems very happy whenever he’s around you.” Y/N felt warm and not because of the sun. She always loved seeing JJ happy even when he had a horrible home life, and she was glad she could be a part of his happiness.

“No Pogue-on-Pogue macking,” Y/N scoffed. Kie rolled her eyes from right next to her. “Long before you got here, JJ hit on me like everyday. And not to mention John B tried kissing me once,” she said.

“What?” Y/N barked out a laugh. The sound carried all the way to the boys in the water causing JJ’s attention to turn to the girls on the dock. Y/N’s bikini clad body and the sound of her laugh made JJ feel weak.

“Yes yes shut up,” Kie retorted playfully, shoving Y/N.

“My point is, it’s really not that big of a deal. Unless it’s one-sided then things get weird. BUT it’s not one sided so you should hit that,” Kie added.

“You sound like JJ,” Y/N snorted, “but I will say, I would gladly.”

***

Later that evening, as the sun was setting, John B and Pope made a bonfire while JJ, Y/N, and Kie were inside the Chateau gathering whatever they could burn. Luckily they also found marshmallows and stuff for s’mores.

Kie slipped outside with her items leaving JJ and Y/N to finish scouring the home.

Y/N opened a cabinet and saw an unopened box of graham crackers that weren’t stale, and went to reach for them. Unfortunately, her height was unforgiving tonight as she stood on her toes trying to reach for it.

She huffed, trying to jump up and grab it, but still was unable to reach it.

A warm hand grabbed her exposed waist as an arm appeared to her right grabbing the box with ease. “Shortie,” JJ laughed in her ear. Y/N turned around and immediately flushed at the close proximity of their bodies. JJ was wearing his signature smirk and no shirt.

“Thanks,” Y/N tried to sound playful, but it almost came out as a stifled groan as his body pressed hers against the counter.

“Aw what’s got you so flustered Y/N?” JJ grinned. Y/N dared to meet his gaze. He had a playful look in his eyes, but his pupils were completely blown. She gulped slowly trying to ignore the heat radiating between them. “Nothing,” she gasped as his warm hand found her waist again. His other hand rested on the counter, trapping her further.

Y/N subconsciously bit her lip and saw JJ’s dark eyes flicker to her mouth hungrily. The next thing she knew JJ was leaning closer. Y/N’s head was spinning. His face was mere inches from her. He smelled like salt and still seemed to be glowing even without the sun. Closer and closer. Y/N didn’t dare move.

And just as his lips brushed hers, he turned his head and whispered in her ear, “Are you sure about that?” All traces of playfulness gone. Y/N didn’t even respond as his lips connected with her ear and trailed down her neck.

Finger tips danced at the waistline of her shorts. Her hands immediately steadying herself by grabbing onto his ripped stomach.

“You know,” JJ spoke lowly in between his wet, sloppy kisses burning her skin, “You’re not so subtle when you are staring.” Y/N’s eyes flew open, more heat rushing to her cheeks. JJ halted feeling her tense under him, pulling away to look at her.

“I-I was not,” Y/N mumbled, diverting her eyes. She felt JJ’s chest erupt with laughter before his hand tugged her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “I like staring at you too and imagining what you’d look like without clothes for that matter,” he drawled.

With that, JJ attached his mouth to hers and Y/N immediately melted into the kiss. He was sweet and slow at first before his tongue slid over her lips asking for permission. Tongues fought for dominance as she hooked her legs around his waist as he hoisted her on to the counter.

JJ’s hands dug into her thighs as he ground into her looking for any sort of friction. Y/N let out an exasperated groan as she felt his member push on the inside of her thigh. His hands found their way to the waistband of her pants again, wasting no time tugging on them for permission.

Y/N let out another strangled moan as his lips broke from hers and found her neck again, as a hand dipped in her pants now. His fingers slowly teased her before slipping into her entrance. “Shit JJ,” Y/N cursed causing him to chuckle.

“Guys!” a voice yelled from the porch. JJ and Y/N both seemed to jump a part being pulled back into reality. John B couldn’t see them from the porch but he could definitely hear them. “We’re waiting on the s’mores stuff and I would really appreciate it if you two don’t fuck in my kitchen!” John B shouted.

JJ and Y/N looked at each other sheepishly before he helped her down from the counter. “We’re coming man!” JJ yelled back, helping Y/N gather stuff up. JJ smiled at the appearance of her. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks were flushed, and her neck was already starting to bruise up.

Y/N met his gaze and smiled back before letting it falter. JJ instantly frowned.

“Um, this-this isn’t just like a uh one time thing?” Y/N asked quietly as they made their way for the house. “What?” JJ replied. “Like it…” she paused, taking a breath. “Like it isn’t just a fling. Like there will be more to it than just this.”

JJ stopped and faced her. He had just assumed she thought he liked her with all his constant flirtatious remarks. “Y/N,” he said seriously, “I told you the moment I met you, you were the hottest person I’d ever seen in my life.” Y/N rolled her eyes, not really happy he was saying this. She thought for a fraction of a second that Kie was maybe right, and that maybe JJ liked her back and more than just her looks.

“And then I got to know you,” JJ continued immediately after she tore her gaze away from him. Her eyes snapped back to his. “Your personality made you ten times hotter. You have a beautiful soul and you never fail to make me smile everyday no matter what. You became my best friend from day one. How can there not be more to this?” JJ concluded.

“JJ…” Y/N grinned. He smiled back at her before leaning down and pressing his lips to hers again. The kiss was soft. Reassuring.

“Seriously! Don’t fuck in my kitchen!!” John B shouted again while watching the two on the porch. Y/N and JJ broke apart laughing at each other. “Ok! Ok!” JJ yelled back wrapping his arm around Y/N.

“Besides,” JJ leaned into her, whispering as they crossed the lawn, “When I do fuck you, it won’t just be on his counter. We’ll christen the whole damn house.” Y/N’s stomach dropped and heat rushed to her face earning another chuckle from JJ.

“One day sweetheart,” he said kindly, pressing a kiss to her forehead joining their friends around the fire pit. “One day.”

____________________________________________

Yay I’m so glad I got something out there! SO SO sorry for the delay!

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ethrenisnotthehero · 3 years

Link

Let’s talk about this now.

Everything that follows in this post is totally my own opinion. It has nothing to do with Jill; it wasn’t read by her or condoned by her. It’s my story and my experiences, and I think it’s important in this context because some of a survivor’s worst enemies are often other survivors.

As someone who has survived abuse, and as someone who is currently in training to become a Court Appointed Special Advocate for youth victims of abuse and domestic violence, I’m going to explain why internet callouts and motions like the #MeToo movement are not only something you can believe, but that you should believe because of the complete and systematic failures that continue to persist in our real-life institutions of justice.

Please heed the tags. Nothing is in too graphic of detail, but I remember when just the words were enough for me.

TW: Abuse, Neglect, Gaslighting, Sexual Assault, Pedophilia, Trafficking, Drug Use, Mental Illness, Violence

I spent a majority of the first years of my life in sexual slavery.

Before April, 2004, pseudoephedrine could be purchased over the counter and without an ID in the United States. Tablets of it were used across the nation to manufacture what some people still call “the drug of the 90s:” methamphetamine. In 2021, many people might know meth because of television shows like Breaking Bad, and make xenophobic jokes about Mexican drug cartels and the infamous “Wall” while breaking up blue-tinted sugar candy.

The truth is, few people our age this day remember methamphetamine use being the epidemic it was when Oklahoma enacted its ban of pseudoephedrine in stores. In 2005, which required medication to be sold at licensed pharmacies and for purchasers to present a photo ID to acquire limited amounts, OK officials located and shut down 334 home meth labs -- less than half of the 812 seized before the ban.

In fact, meth use was so widespread and easily accessible that 93% of people who went through rehabilitation for it would end up using again. It was viciously addictive, and the help that was offered was only a drop in the bucket of a growing sickness that the government wrote crime bills to control instead of trying to treat the symptoms. By 2004, it was too late for a lot of people. By 2004, it was too late for me.

My birth parents spent their entire lives addicted to meth. My birth mother grew up in the American foster care system and was adopted as a teenager by junkies in the deep South; my birth father was a paranoid schizophrenic who spent the first 7 years of his life locked in a closet by his parents until they lost custody, and then aged out of the system. She used drugs to get away from the fact that her birth parents despised her; he used meth to “calm” his paranoid rages when he couldn’t afford medication. They both tried rehab. They both failed to stay sober.

They had several children before us. My birth mother miscarried. She tried again. My birth father lost custody of his first before he met her, and they relapsed together and lost custody of a second child. That child died from complications of neglect.

They had me.

They stayed sober for six months. They relapsed again. They weren’t smart enough to make meth, so they bought it. They had another kid. My birth father lost his job. They couldn’t afford it. They couldn’t afford medicine or food. They had no money, they couldn’t get work, and so they gave up what they did have.

2004 was too late for me.

When the ban came, my parents moved to try to escape. We came to a new state. They found a job. My “uncle” became their new dealer and they paid the only way they knew how. One day, a SWAT team showed up at our door. They told us we could pack one box of our belongings, and that was the last time we ever belonged to those people.

The law chased them down, but not for what they did to us. They were given a plea deal; my birth parents would sell out their suppliers and their “business partners,” and they wouldn’t go to prison. The entire case would be locked up, the records closed, and they could try to get their kids back.

My parents never served a single day for their crimes.

They showed up once to visitation. They kissed me. They promised me they would come back. I privately wished that they would disappear forever, and they did. I later learned they relapsed the day before our next visitation, and had parental rights terminated.

The law does not protect children. It rarely protects the victims that it’s meant to, but it never protects people who can’t speak for themselves. Unless you have money, no one will care. If no one cares, your transgressors will never, ever answer for their crimes. To this day, the United States Justice System will not let me own records or copies of records of the case against my parents. I couldn’t speak until I was six years old. When I was put into foster care, I couldn’t eat solid food for three months. My gag reflex was so bad I couldn’t brush my teeth comfortably until well after I was adopted. I trembled under my bed because my nightmares blended into my waking hours and I was so scared I couldn’t even scream.

When I turned 18, my birth mother found me. She lives with my birth father in a state known for its rampant meth use. She had another child. He’s 14 now. He plays soccer, has girlfriend, learned the flute last year, and his favorite Pokemon is Rayquaza. He got all A’s in his final year of middle school. They started over.

I talk to him sometimes. I don’t talk to her, because when I asked her to apologize for what happened, she told me the government was lying to me. She told me there were two sides to every story. She told me that my adopted parents had poisoned me against her. She called me an ungrateful little whore and told me that God would punish me one day. She told me she was a victim, too, and she deserved a relationship with me.

She is a victim. I still remember the sound when my birth father broke her arm in a rage when she threatened to leave him.

I also still remember trying to hide with her as she lay on her bed, high as a kite, not so much as lifting a finger to help me.

Being a survivor doesn’t give a person the excuse to minimize the experience of other survivors. Some people get justice. A lot of people don’t. Sometimes the police swoop in and make predators pay. Sometimes they shoot mentally ill foster children to death because the alternative takes too much time and effort. Technology is a useful tool, because it gives a voice to the voiceless. It empowers people who are made powerless. My adoptive parents didn’t believe me when I finally had the words to say “I was harmed.” They beat the shit out of me when I was little for trying to draw out what was wrong. They stopped letting me see a therapist when she told them I showed signs of serious trauma from sexual violence. The internet gives a rope to people who are stuck in a whole with everyone around them calling them a liar. Technology gives survivors and outlet to make their story their own again.

Your story doesn’t erase other peoples’ stories. People who are nice to you can be hurtful to others. What you see isn’t necessarily the truth and until we have a government that survivors can rely on it’s always, always important to believe survivors.

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cloveroctobers · 3 years

Text

HARRY ZHONG (MITCHELL-WHITE)

IG info/bio: @/heedful.harry | 15.6k followers| hi, I’m Harry and I’m a business major. No, You don’t have to hold your applause 🧐

21 years old

From York, England

Cancer sun + ARIES MOON energy

He and his younger brother, Archie were foster children in the Mitchell-white household

which consisted: Harrison Mitchell and his daughter from a previous marriage, Briony, Piers White and together they had a surrogate carry their child, which gave them their second daughter, Pippa

Later they came to the decision to adopt Harry and Archie Zhong, if only that’s what they wanted too

It took longer for Harry to warm up to the family since he was still waiting and wishing for his mom to come back for them

He was diagnosed with IED around 15 years old

Goes to therapy for it and meetings with others with similar issues...he dreads the meetings since it makes him feel like he has a problem or something, which HE DOES but it makes him feel like a...but he knows that’s a ignorant way to think

He’s currently a business major and loves telling people about it *yawn* (don’t drag me lmao)

He’s thinking he’ll be a Financial analyst or a Marketing manager

The type of person who’s done a lot in his short life that it’s often unbelievable ex.) telling the villa he’s driven one of the cars that was used in the fast and furious franchise & getting pissed when bill and everyone else didn’t believe him

Harrison is a train driver and is normally bubbly + wears bright preppy clothes

He also loves Broadway, much to Harry’s annoyance...if he hears one more Hamilton song he’s gonna slam his head thru a wall stg

Piers is a music producer and is more reserved or “stand-off-ish” until he gets warmed up to you + his aesthetic is a rocker, yeah he’s got the whole tattoos and boots thing going for him, after all he was in a rock band

Piers makes the most $ and is of high status, which brought him and his family perks but is not a snob about it...it’s whatever ya know?

Harry’s closer to piers, feels he understands him more & can be kinda rude to Harrison when he’s in one of his moods but tries to be better at responding to him since he made him cry once years ago — yes he felt like complete shit afterwards

Harry is anemic so he always finds himself cold, experiencing fatigue, irregular heartbeat, and if he gets up too fast or moves too fast? Let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the—FLOOO000R! (I’m making this joke as a person with anemia)

Likes cold weather since everyone else can feel what he feels on the daily

Plus he loves dressing for winter season, trench coats, wool coats, turtle necks, thermal t-shirts, fleece pants, rolled up beanies that keeps his ears covered and his hair glued to his forehead...you name it!

On the regular? He’s a khaki’s kinda guy, dress shirts, and loves wearing suit and ties...he’s not the biggest fan of jeans. He loves dressing fancy unless the measurements are bloody awful

I’m going by the alternative design for Harry and...whew! Then he’s 6’1 if we’re talking about the one they gave us then we all know he has a baby face, so I’d say he’s about 5’8

He’s got long legs + arms and hates how majority of his pants barely fit around his ankles

has dry scalp too

I feel like he’s pretty intelligent and sometimes it can come off as a know it all, yet, he’s always down to help people & isn’t condescending while doing so

He knows how to make soaps and would sell them on his etsy account in highschool where plenty shat on him for it so for awhile he stopped the hobby until Harrison encouraged him to keep at this if it was what makes him happy

Harrison is the type of parent you go to for comfort and hugs even if it might feel like he’s smothering you

Piers is the one who lets you come to him when you’re ready to talk about it, no pressure

Harry went to a high school that focused on technology so he’s all into the latest gadgets

This is a secret but he only got a apple watch to feel like a true spy

His intelligence got him somewhere with a few ladies ;)

He’s a certified freak, 7 days a week and had a handful of hookups and about 4 gfs in his life so far

He’s kinky!!!

& has a f**t fetish

His past relationships were not long relationships, which sucked but Harry felt like...this might sound arrogant, but it’s either their lost — although there was never any bad blood with his breakups! or his person was still out there somewhere...

I haven’t fully played his route (AJ stole my ass since I couldn’t romance seb or Nicky sorry) but I’ve seen screen caps and he’s a total sweetie if he’s really committed to you, you might be his “true love”

He’s nervous opposed to his usual confidence when he’s chatting to other ladies with ease, with you it’s different, it’s magnetic, nerve-wrecking, butterflies, electric, and exciting all wrapped in one

I feel like he shows his love language with quality time but also enjoys physical touch from his partner

Picky eater

But he was worst as a child! Barely ate anything which led to him being lanky or it’s in his genes but mostly he wouldn’t eat a damn thing

These are a few of his favorite things: figs, green tea, and almond milk

makes the best spring rolls with the rice paper, those are superior than fried! “Fried food will kill u u know!” “Okay bill.” “Iona, don’t know if u had too much to drink but, erm I’m Harry.” “R/WHOOOOssssh! And you’re s’pposed to be the smart one, yeah right.”

outside of the villa he found himself continuing his friendship with bill—even tho he pisses him off sometimes since he’s always got some shit to say but they’re probably the closest, Iona she’s always honest and is always a good time to be around when they hang out, Then there’s Camilo and Miki that he hangs out with too

Is the first one sharing about his day in the group chat with all of the villa, he can feel half of them rolling their eyes at him since many feel he tends to exaggerate

if he’s not endgame with mc...he kinda feels a way that Genevieve found her happiness in seb instead of him, it’s not that he’s bitter—he genuinely liked her and felt like maybe they didn’t try hard enough but deep down knows relationships can’t be forced. It’s just his ego trying to control things that’s all! plus he was comfortable with vieve even if it felt more on a platonic side...oh well

once slid into jen from s1’s dms one dark stormy drunk night & admitted on live that erikah kinda gave him some tips before going on the show... & that he thought one of the new girls that entered the villa was a better fit than one of the originals from s2 which caused him to get blocked by said original OOP

Has a circle of close friends outside of the villa, they’re all brainiacs and have something going for themselves

Enjoys action films and biographical drama films like: James Bond, John Wick, and the social network

Isn’t ashamed to admit that he loves using sheet face masks but isn’t the greatest at following a consistent skincare routine

Has his own back massager that he spent a lot of $ on since it wouldn’t go on sale and then a week later...it went on sale

sends a lot of “🙃🙂” texts when you piss him off

probably worked at GameStop, the apple store, Godiva, and currently works at a electronic repair shop for a side of cash but is looking for a internship since he’ll be graduating next year

Always Keeps cough drops on him?

is a huge cuddler & falls asleep easily

His brain is always active, experiences REM sleep often

fav video games are tekken & hitman

owns a drone now 😏

also loves strategic board games & riddles

Took quarantine life seriously, did his research before it completely broke globally and started buying shit excessively in person and online that he sent most to his family before the campus shut down

Is the friend that will check on his friends :)

Keeps his dorm and his room back home CLEAN af, is OCD about everything being in order/organized. Will know if you touched his shit, Archie felt his wrath many times before

Has a life goal board in his closet, & plans to be fully established by 25. More power to ya Harry!

Celeb crushes: Victoria justice, Jesy Nelson, Deepika Padukone, Brec Bassinger, jasmine tookes, and princess Mae

Who does he listen to? oceanfromtheblue, Galimatias, Ta-Ku, Aries, Tyler, the creator, rich Brian, NIKI, viji, & AJR

Anthem = DPR IAN, “So beautiful”

#litg #litg3 #litg s3 #litg harry #litg genevieve #litg bill #litg seb #litg mc #litg oc #litg moodboard #litg headcanon #litg headcanons #yes I’m still doing these and it’s kinda challenging but at the same time not?

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fae-redux · 3 years

Text

im stuck on you

S: People usually find their soulmate by following their heart (the closer you are to your soulmate, the warmer you’ll feel). Remus has been pining for so long, he doesn’t know how to handle himself.

P: dukeceit

happy birthday, @littlemisschameleon!! it’s corona and i can’t give you a physical present so have some dukeceit soulmate au!! i hope you like it :D (here’s an ao3 link if yall like that formatting better)

***

Remus sends the letter because Roman’s teacher thinks a penpal will help him learn English. Also, because Roman thinks it’s stranger danger and won’t.

If he gets kidnapped, at least there’s a chance for his heart to feel warmer whichever direction his kidnapper goes. Fact remains, he’s freezing and bored and he’d do pretty much anything to not be.

He neglects to say that in the letter.

His penpal instead receives the gift of approximately two full pages of fun facts about different species of mushrooms and how fast they can decay different animals. It’s pretty well written, if he says so himself, and it’s all in English because he’s polite, not because it has to be.

Any who, Ms. Andrea says she’s not going to read the letters before they’re sent, and Roman is only required to send one at a time, so Remus signs it with his own name and lets it go.

He doesn’t expect the letter he gets back to be so nice.

His penpal’s name is Janus and he doesn’t like to eat mushrooms unless they’re in fried rice, but he loves how mushrooms look.

There are little mushroom doodles that line the bottom, along with a few snakes, which Janus goes on to say is because they’re his favorite animal because of the way they unhinge their jaws.

Remus has never wished to be in the same school as someone more.

***

The next letter they write to each other includes their emails, and Remus takes full advantage of it to send Janus all the deadliest snakes he’s found out about in the library, and includes a pain scale with human accounts of getting bitten.

Janus sends back a heart and fun facts about the deadliest octopi in the ocean.

He feels his heart get slightly warmer when he hugs the monitor, and when he loudly proclaims he found his soulmate, he gets a laugh from Roman.

He asks him what his plan is here, and Remus tells him to shut his fuck and keep his nose out of it if he doesn’t want to get smacked.

***

When they’re old enough to have phones, they exchange cell numbers, and Remus gets daily updates instead of sporadic emails.

He finds out that Janus likes to dress a little more on the punk side and that he wants a million tattoos as soon as he’s old enough. Janus tells him about foster homes and how he thinks he might be sticking with one of the other kids he met who is a little older than him, but is sort of like him.

Janus is smart, smarter than anyone he’s ever met in real life, and he wants to go to law school because he knows he can talk his way out of hell if the devil asked him to try, and Remus is inclined to believe he could do it if he wanted to. He thinks through all his words, his every movement, ten times before he follows through, unlike Remus’ zero-thought policy.

He learns that Janus likes boys, but there aren’t really other people in his hometown like him, and that he wants to study in a big city someday so he’s not so alone.

He learns that Janus wants to keep talking to him forever, or at least that’s what he tells him.

Remus in turn tells him about his brother, and their origin story. He tells him about how everyone else just seemed to have grown out of curiosity and how he feels out of touch with other people his age sometimes.

There’s still a part of him that feels like he’s been touching all the stars in the sky, but none of them have set his orbit quite right, leaving him drifting endlessly.

He tells him that he might like boys too, but he doesn’t really want to tell his mom because she already rags on him for everything else, like wanting to go to art school and his knife collection and how he’ll never meet his soulmate with an attitude like his.

He doesn’t tell him about the small seed of doubt in the back of his head that Janus won’t want to stay if he ever meets him in real life.

He tells him he wants to keep talking forever too.

***

They don’t ever talk about meeting in person. For the first time in their lives, they’re in the same city, but every time he goes to bring it up, seeing a picture of Janus in the financial district, or near his favorite Starbucks, something makes him hesitate.

Remus wants it so bad, it feels like all the air in his lungs isn’t real sometimes, or like something cut up his insides then spooned all the pieces out to replace them with ice. Still, the thought lingers in the back of his mind that Janus hasn’t suggested it for a reason.

They still talk all the time though, whether it's to rant about professors, or homework, or siblings, or just about something they saw recently.

Janus tends to hyperfocus on cases he works on in his internship sometimes, and when he’s allowed, he tells Remus all the gory details and grins when he revels in the fun, while also giving valuable insight that contributes to his defense.

Remus in turn sends him the paintings that don’t involve Janus’ face and stupid selfies he takes at random food carts around school that are rumored to give you instant food poisoning.

He makes sure to send progress updates on the projects he really feels good about and sends him updates on Roman and his new trends, whether they be six second dance videos or random quotes he’s said to him of varying hilarity based on how stupid they are.

The longer he lives in the city, the more Remus knows his heart feels warmer. He’s been feeling it since the start of the semester, but he hasn’t said anything yet, at least not to Janus. Roman is free game, though:

“Roman, I swear to everything fuckable within a ten mile radius, he probably goes to the same college as me,” Remus groans, his feet propped up on the back of the couch as he lies upside down. “I get warmer every time I go to campus.”

“There’s a million colleges in New York, so he really might not be,” Roman says reasonably, doing his eyeliner in the hall mirror. “Besides, he’s pre-law, right? There’s no way.”

“You’re just being uppity because you fricking met your soulmate on campus,” He responds grumbling.

“You’re right, I am. My soulmate’s a genius and I am very lucky to have met him when I did,” His twin’s pride infects the room, and he throws one Roman’s unnecessary couch pillows at him. “If you make me screw up my eyeliner, I’m going to run you through with one of your stupid wall-katanas.”

“They aren’t stupid, and I’m never going to see him face to face at this rate, so you might as well,” he snipes back, his purely decorative wall-mounted katanas be damned.

Roman raises an eyebrow, as if his mocking will affect Remus at all, “I’ll be back in like three hours, then you can mope your heart out, okay?”

He gathers his things from the hall table as Remus yells at his retreating back, “I don’t mope, I’m not you!”

“No, you’re not, and that’s why you don’t have a hot date tonight!” he hears as the door shuts.

He wishes he kept the pillow to suffocate himself with.

***

When Roman knocks on Virgil’s door, he doesn’t expect the person who answers the door to be so familiar, and he’s sure the answering party doesn’t expect him either.

“I thought-Sorry, I thought my roommate’s soulmate was coming over,” Janus says, a flash of recognition in his eyes, completely stunned in a way Roman has never heard while listening in on his brother’s phone calls.

“Yeah, no, I’m here for Virgil. Janus, right?” And at the immediately suspicious look goes, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you send my brother at least five selfies a week, and he agonizes over your beauty for ages after every single one, you have to know I would recognize you on sight.”

“....Roman?” he asks, like he doesn’t actually know what was going to leave his mouth when he said it.

“That would be me,” Roman just goes for the back of his neck, before wincing at the Remus-like gesture. “So, uh, Virgil?”

“Yeah, yes!” Janus opens the door fully so fast, Roman almost expects him to run himself over, “Do come in. Would you like anything while you wait? Water? Tea?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Janus hovers for a moment like he’s going to say something, but bites his lip instead, “Want to know how my brother is doing?”

He shifts elegantly, though his chains rattle, making the adjustment more obvious, “Of course not, what do you take me for?”

“A liar, you definitely want to know how he’s doing. Well, you’ll be happy to know he lives fifteen minutes away,” Roman grins, “And he’s home alone right now, pouting about wanting to see you, if you wanna go over.”

“It would be rude to leave you unattended in my home,” Janus replies, his voice strangled. “Arrangements can be made to get Virgil to hurry up.”

Leaving the room in a swift movement of leather and metal, Janus nearly vaults the couch in his haste. Roman can hear him yelling at Virgil to “Hurry up, you nasty, spider-pet keeping bitch,” and his soulmate’s yells to “Get out of my room, you tattooed skank!” Then an offended gasp, “How dare you?” and the snarling response, “You barge into my space and-”

“You hooked up with my soulmate’s brother-”

”Who is my soulmate, idiot!”

“Would you just-”

“Fine!”

Janus leaves the room and, in Roman’s line of sight, straightens his shirt as if he’d just been in some sort of scuffle. “Virgil will be out shortly, if you wouldn’t mind giving me the address.”

“You two are going to be related if you marry my brother, you know?” Roman grins as he puts the address into Janus’ phone.

He takes the phone back and rolls his eyes, “We were fostered by the same family. We really can’t get any closer, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“We were adopted by the same person, Jan, why do you always conveniently leave that part out?” Virgil grumbles as he enters the room. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and be safe.”

Janus sniffs turning up his nose, “I’m going to get violently murdered before I even make it there,”

“Don’t test me, I will put off this date,” he pushes Janus’ head forward so he can’t look up at them. “Be safe, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Janus mumbles, fixing his hat and his chained belt, “Do I look okay?”

“My brother is a trash rat,” Roman responds, louder than he means to, “You will look like a model next to him and you will constantly get questioned as to why you’re in a five foot radius of him.”

“So, good?”

“Fantastic,” Roman confirms. “Now have fun.”

Janus double checks his pockets for his phone and his wallet, and then he books it in the direction of the twins’ apartment.

***

For the first time since he moved in, Remus feels himself getting warmer by the second. It’s not as though he’s moved from his spot going over every single thing that could currently be going wrong at Roman’s date, but somehow, his heart is pounding like he has.

“What do you see?” He asks it, vaguely aware it can’t actually respond. Either his soulmate just figured out where he lives, or there is something extremely important happening in the city.

Picking up his phone to check, it lights up with a text from Roman reading ‘Sending a pick-me-up your way,’ but he has no idea what it means.

After two minutes of constant heat, he searches for major events happening nearby. Nothing.

Five more minutes pass, and he thinks he might die young to a heart attack.

There’s a knock on the door.

His self preservation instincts must be completely nonexistent at this point because he yanks the door open with a knife in his hand and freezes. There, right in front of him, is Janus, who he thought he’d never see, and who was always too good for him, and yet, perfect for him in every way and, “I could have accidentally killed you with one of my many wall-hung weapons because you didn’t knock like Roman,” and that is the first thing he chooses to say to his soulmate.

“I wouldn’t have appreciated the trip to the hospital after I just sprinted over half a mile to see you,” he pants a little, “I know we didn’t talk about it, but Roman showed up at my door, and I knew you had to be nearby, and I just-”

Remus yanks him forward into his arms, and sighs in relief as the heat abruptly goes away, “Mr. I-think-everything-through needed to be impulsive, huh?”

“Yes,” Comes the fervent response as he clings to Remus’ body. “I missed you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to meet up. We didn’t even-”

“I know,” And Janus’ mouth brushes his cheek, just barely, because he’s not tall enough to reach, and Remus bends down, and kisses him soundly on the mouth, the feeling running through his body like a new kind of heat and comfort, and it feels like he’s done it a million times, even if it’s the first time.

Breaking apart, he notices they’re just standing in the doorway of his apartment. “Come inside, sweetheart,” He wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, Janus bursting into laughter as he pushes him back.

“Nope,” He grins fondly, and this is the first day of the rest of their lives, it hits Remus, “I think I’m going to cause problems on purpose.”

“Fair enough, honeybee,” He tugs at the yellow cuffs of Janus’ leather jacket, pressing a kiss to a tattoo at the edge of his hairline, “Want me to carry you? Roman did say he was sending a pick-me-up, and I can definitely pick you up.”

He’s giggling, Remus delights as he scoops him up, kicking the door shut behind them, “If you call me one more pet name, I will combust, and you will have no soulmate to be with, is that what you want?”

And he says what he wants to say, because Janus has never once cared about the shit that leaves his mouth, “Biscuit, I’ve waited so long to see you, even death couldn’t keep me away from holding you.”

Janus pushes into him and kisses him again, putting a hand in his hair, tugging slightly to get the angle he wants, “I wouldn’t want it to,” Then after another kiss, “Love you.”

Remus sighs into his mouth, his world aligning so he could be the orbit to Janus’ sun, the whole system correcting itself. “Yeah,” He holds him just a little bit tighter, “Love you, too.”

#dukeceit #remus sanders #janus sanders #ts remus #ts janus #sanders sides #intruceit #awen writes #its the floof guys #im also getting into human au stuff and like punk sides #you can blame tulip for that one #punk janus is a classic tho #imo anyways #remus uses pet names because all the others cringe something awful whenever he uses them and janus is the only one who gets normal ones #did i project my wish to be called honeybee into this fic? yes #would i do it again?#also yes #hey alex #go listen to falling for u by mxmtoon thats what the titles from

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reidimagines · 4 years

Note

Could I make a request of you? Maybe Spencer and the reader are fostering a kid who has a disability of some sort, and they really decide they wanna be their parent?

ahh so cute! The child is deaf, and I made you a translator. I hope you like it!

“I can’t believe it’s over,” You couldn’t lie; you were sad, missed him already. “Isn’t there anything-”

“Hey,” Spencer said softly, moving closer to you. “You know that he’ll feel his best there. You met them, they’re two lovely ladies, one is always home. Malcolm needs that.”

As much as you knew he was right, it still hurt. You and Spencer had had that child in your protection, your care, for five months. It was hard to not get attached. You let him wrap his arms around you, slumping in his embrace. “I know.” You sighed finally, closing your eyes.

“He’ll miss us, too,” You knew he only said it to make you feel better, but it didn’t work. “I mean, a child gets-”

“Stop, you’re going to make me cry,” You chuckled, holding back tears. You still had Malcolm for another week, but his new guardians were coming in at least three times. “I think I need some air.” Just the thought of that - no matter how lovely they were - made you feel helpless, sad.

You pulled yourself away from Spencer, and soon found yourself sitting on the stairs to your apartment. You hadn’t expected saying goodbye to Malcolm would be so hard. You felt like he needed you, as silly as it was. You’d met the people who’d adopt him. They were good people, both had training in helping people, one even followed some classes around deafness. There was no better place for Malcolm to be, and yet…

You heard the door behind you, and scooted over to let the person pass. But they didn’t. It was Spencer, he sat down next to you. “You can’t shut me out right now,”

“I’m not, I just don’t want to talk right now.” You muttered. “I didn’t know it would be this hard.”

Spencer hesitantly put an arm around you, and once again, you let yourself lean into his touch. “I know.”

“Do you think we did well?” You asked, turning your head to face him. “Like, as parents?”

He glanced at you, seeing the need for him to say the absolute right thing for once. “Yes,” He said. “We did well. We’re good parents. Much to learn, sure-“

You smiled softly, resting your head on his shoulder. “Do you think we could…” you trailed off, sighing deeply. “Start a family, one day?”

He was quiet, at that. For a moment, you were worried you’d said something he wasn’t ready for, or something he couldn’t answer. You knew he wanted children, it was you who hadn’t been as vocal about it. He wanted children, but did he want them with you?

“I’d love that,” He eventually said. “Not right away, we’re both not in the right space for that, but…”

“Someday soon?” You asked, almost hopeful. He chuckled, pulling you closer once more.

“You’re just saying that because Malcolm gave you baby fever.”

“Hmmm,” You hummed softly, closing your eyes. Now that Spencer was here, the breeze was comforting, and you felt… okay. At peace. “He’s not a baby, though.”

“Don’t we have to pick him up?”

“Yeah, wanna join? It’s perfect weather for a milkshake or something.”

—

“Is there anything-” You said to the social worker, looking for the right words. “I mean, I know they’re pretty set, but... He’s been with us for the past few months, he’s adapting. I can’t imagine anyone taking better care of him.”

The social worker sighed, taking his glasses off. “I don’t know what you want me to say, they’re going to come in to talk to him, thy signed the paper-”

“There has to be a way,” Spencer jumped in. “He’s old enough to make a choice, right?”

You and Spencer, although a bit impulsively, had decided that you wanted to adopt Malcholm. It would be a bit of a fight, since most of the paperwork was already done by Nina and Ellie, but they had yet to meet the young boy.

“There’s nothing I can do. Unless they don’t like him, it’s a sealed deal. And I wouldn’t count on that.”

Your heart was racing, your eyes moved to Malcholm in the other room instantly. He was playing with cars. You knew there was little chance you could still have a chance, but you had to hope. You couldn’t lose him.

Nina and Ellie came in a few minutes late, you and Spencer watched from behind the window as they spoke with the social worker, as they talked to Malcholm.

“They can’t even sign right,” You huffed, although it was a bit petty. You’d studied it for years, they’d probably learned it a few months ago. “Why’s he crying?”

You grabbed Spencer’s hand, seeing the boy cry. Nina tried, but it didn’t really work. “You can go in, you know that, right?” Spencer said softly.

You didn’t want to, not really. As much as you wanted to adopt Maclcohlm, you knew the chance was small. But he needed you, so you went in with a soft smile. You grabbed his attention, and his arms went for you.

“Do you mind?” You asked the woman, who shook her head. He couldn’t hear you, but you whispered little comforting nothings, took him in your lap and ran fingrs through his hair. When you looked up, all you saw was Spencer looking at both of you adorningly.

“You’re good with him,” Nina said with a smile, sitting next to you, moving to take his hand. He pulled back, burying his face in your neck.

“He’s a bit shy,” You said. “He just started to make friends at school. Where’s he going to school?”

“Well, there’s a special school not too far,” Nina said. “We live too far to keep him on the same school.”

You nodded, although you didn’t agree. In his file, it said he had problems with connecting with people, dragging him to another school again couldn’t be good. You knew Spencer had a similair comment on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t speak when you shot him a glare. “Why’d you decide on Malcholm?”

“We didn’t want a baby, we wanted someone full of life-”

You laughed, you didn’t mean to, but you had to laugh. “Then you picked the wrong kid, he’s calm.”

“Wait, what?”

“They backed out,” The social worker said. “I know it’s last minute, but they felt little connection with Malcholm. I know it’s unusual, but if you want, you can come fill in the paperwork.”

You looked at Spencer, surprise evident on your face. “What?” He asked.

“I’ll call you for an appointment, thank you, sir.”

“What?” Spencer repeated. “You’re lookng at me funny.”

“Nina -” You began. “They- we... we can sign to adopt Malcholm.”

He looked as surprise as you’d imagined your own face before grinning and wrapping you in a hug. “Oh my god, we’re going to be parents.”

“I know,” you said, getting a bit teary. “I can’t believe it.”

“I love you,” He said. “We’re going to be amazing parents.”

#i'll admit #this is not my best work i'm sorry #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader

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addercharmer · 3 years

Text

Izumi had slept next to Keigo again, he had woken just after midnight with a scream and both Izumi and Nezu had raced their way into his room to find the boy curling up as small as possible under the desk in his room.

It took half an hour for the stoat to coax Keigo out and back into his bed, where the elder had shuffled around blankets and pillows until it felt more like a true nest.

Nezu then had Izumi climb into the base of the bed, Keigo had quickly snuggled into her side, Nezu then climbed into the nest and settled above their heads. They had all fallen back asleep and no other nightmares had woken them.

Izumi's inner alarm woke her and she groaned a little at the weight that was sprawled on her chest. A squeaking laugh from near her head had Izumi sighing at the fact that Nezu now would have photo evidence of them sleeping together.

"Morning dad." Izumi croaked out, then she started to wiggle her way out from the nestling.

"Bathroom, then we gotta talk." She tells him, there hadn't been any time the night before. Nezu had gotten an emergency call to do some analysis on a well known villain group of this time.

Izumi stumbled to the bathroom, she emptied her bladder and washed her hands, before making the snap decision to take a shower.

She didn't let herself linger under the spray no matter how much she wanted to, she washed her hair and put in the conditioner to soak in as she washed her body, then rinsed out the creamy substance.

Wrapping her hair and body in towels she then scurried to her room. Izumi had no plans to do anything today unless it involved her rosefinch so she pulled on a pair of black leggings and a lightweight sweater dress. She stopped in the bathroom long enough to grab a brush and hair ties, and hang her towels up to dry.

Skipping down the stairs Izumi was greeted with the mingling smell of coffee and tea, in the kitchen there were cereal boxes and a half liter of milk already on the table, along with bowls and spoons.

Izumi sat quickly and combined the cereal and milk into a bowl, she dug in with a hum of enjoyment at the sugary meal. Nezu slipped a large cup of coffee on the table by her elbow before taking his own seat.

"I didn't get to tell you, but some stuff happened at the mall." Izumi started the conversation after they had both finished their food.

"When we got the preening brushes I suggested we look at the ones for hawks and Keigo flinched pretty hard." Nezu's eyebrows scrunched a little and he let out a hum.

"The specialty stores for physical mutations had hardly anything for winged people, but when I was little originality my mom was friends with fashion designers...if you were okay with it I could try to make contact, they were family friends and I could maybe tell them that Inko is my sister, aunt Mitsuki never had the best memory, and if we could find and doctor some photos it would work as evidence." Izumi rambled, she was a little nervous about suggesting this, but at the same time she believed it could be good for the future if she could put herself in an older sibling or aunt role for some of her friends.

"Good idea, what would you say about wanting to get back in contact?" Nezu asked her.

Clearing her throat a little, Izumi thought carefully as she sipped her coffee.

"Aunt Mitsuki has always had a huge soft spot for kids, not that anyone could tell. Inko from what her medical history says had been in and out of rehab for the last four years, it's caused a lot of problems with her mental health. It would make sense to say that you adopted me after you found me bleeding from being bullied at a foster home, and not in Inko's care."

Izumi sighed deeply. "But that's more the in depth story, in reality I could simply explain I am Inko's sister trying to get in contact with Mitsuki because I remember she was into fashion and I need help with my newly adopted siblings wing mutation."

"Hmmm, good good." Nezu's tea cup clacks when it's put back on the table. "Let's go braid your hair and we can work more on the back story and get those photos ready." The stoat directs already moving to the living room.

Izumi followers close on his tail, sitting in front of him after putting the hair brush and ties on the couch. She's also pulling the coffee table and her laptop closer so she can find pictures as her dad works his magic on her hair.

"Lay out your life as Inko's sister." Nezu tells her as he starts running the brush through her hair.

"Well, I was a sickly child, I spent most of my early life in hospital. It wasn't until I was ten that I got better, I was back in my parents care for a year and a half before the accident that took their lives happened. I was quickly placed into foster care when Inko refused to take me in, five months later you found me and adopted me. Then we can just say the truth from there. My quirk developed under extreme stress, I had a lot of healing, I finished school within six months of living with you, I have several degrees, I am a fashion disaster, and now you are adopting a severely abused boy." As Izumi speaks she's hacking through Inko's computer, phone and cloud account for photos.

Nezu is finished braiding her hair into twin tails when there are feet thumping their way down the stairs. Nezu gets up and goes to help Keigo in the kitchen as Izumi starts doctoring the photos to include her.

She can hears dishes flatted as Nezu loads them into the dishwasher, then he's dragging a box into the kitchen, it's one of his case file boxes that he gets from the police force to help solve crimes.

It takes two hours for Izumi to doctor the photos, replace the originals with hers in both Mitsuki and Inko's devices and cloud account. When she's done Keigo is just sitting down next to her with his hair and wings still wet and a towel in his hand.

"Let me help rosefinch." She laughs lightly.

Gently she rubs the towel through her hair, it's not as thick as her own so it takes less time to get it only damp, with his wings she carefully runs it down in the same direction that his feather go, it takes time but soon they are only slightly damp as well.

"Give them a fluff and a shake for me." Izumi tell Keigo, she had looked up some care tips before she first went to bed last night.

Keigo follows her direction without any hesitation, when he's done he looks like a fluffy baby bird and Izumi falls a little more in love.

"Go get your oil and comb, I'll give you a preen before we figure out what to do today." Izumi drops the towel she had been using over Keigo's head and it earns her a laugh before the boy is sprinting away.

He's back faster than Izumi thought he would be, just before he sits again Keigo fluffs his wings and Izumi spots his hair fluffing up with the feathers, Izumi has to work hard to stop herself from laughing.

Once the oil is in her hands and the comb is sitting on the couch between them Keigo stretches his left wing out, Izumi opens the bottle noticing it's a light vanilla scent as she posts some out into a cupped hand.

Snapping the bottle shut again she puts it beside the comb and then runs her hands together.

Making her hands into loose claws she starts at the joint where wing meets skin, she takes her fingers through the feathers twice just to be sure she has them all coated before moving on to the rest with the same care. Izumi needs to recoat her hands with oil three more times before the whole wing is finished.

Next she picks up a wide toothed wooden comb and starts to drag it through the feathers again, realigning any with her free hand as she goes. Izumi does this twice before she and Keigo switch sides to do the right wing.

The longer Izumi presents Keigo's feathers the more relaxed he becomes, little chirps and coos leaving him.

"All done." Izumi tells Keigo, she hands him back the preening items and gets up herself to clean off her hands.

"Nee-chan, what are we going to do today?" Keigo asked Izumi from the stairs.

"What do you want to do?" Izumi asks right back, as she starts pulling out things to make sandwiches. "Lunch first though. You too dad."

Izumi quickly puts the sandwiches together and on one big plate. Keigo had come and grabbed smaller plates for each of them to use.

"Can we play a game after?" Keigo asks as he grabs a sandwich.

"What kind of game? I know my friends picked a few out, those should be in your room. But we can go outside too." Izumi eyes Nezu who still hadn't taken a sandwich, as he hits to reach for another paper Izumi taps his paw and pointed looks at the food.

"Really?" Keigo asks, sounding more excited about being outside than he had about playing a game.

"Mmmyep, I even know where the park is." Izumi tries to sweeten the deal, and with all the cyber stalking she has done on Endeavour she knows that Rei takes the kids there every Sunday afternoon.

Nezu must hear something in her voice that has his head snapping towards her, she lets her grin turn a little feral.

"Mmm dad will even come, I saw a family there, two children had ice quirks and one had a really powerful fire quirk, the fire user looks about your age." Nezu's answering toothy grin is enough for Izumi to know she was understood.

"I haven't been to the park since I was taken." Keigo says with a sad sniffle.

"Why don't we make it even better and I can invite my friends too, then you can meet Oboro and Nemuri." Izumi offers, she knows that it's going to be hard, Keigo had been deprived of so much that everything was going to be a new experience again.

"Shō-nii and Zashi-nii?" Keigo perks up a little, and Izumi is so happy that her little rosefinch liked them.

"Yep!" Izumi says back just as chipper. "I just have to message them and ask, dad has to clean up his papers and the dishes."

Mouse?Bear?Human?: My rosefinch hasn't been to the park since the commission took him, he would like to play with you all.

IBreakGlass: be there in under 2 hours gotta finish my chores ಥﭛಥ

FemFatale: shō and I will be there in 30

LoudAssCloud: u sure?

: I just mean what if were 2 much?

Mouse?Bear?Human?: He will be fine, he loves Zashi and Shō.

: He's already dubbed them Zashi-nii and Shō-nii, and I'm sure you will be Obo-nii soon enough.

LoudAssCloud: (　-_･) ︻デ═一 ▸

: (*ฅ́˘ฅ̀*) .｡.:*♡

: be there when I can

LoudAssCloud is offline.

#rewound #female midoriya izuku #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #shirakumo oboro #dad nedzu #kayama nemuri #takami keigo #time travel #bnha

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benkouji726 · 4 years

Text

Written for alexweek2020. Sequel to “Settled”, but can also be read as one-off. ...I think.

Anyways, “Settled” is based on meet ugly prompt 2: I bought a house three months ago but I’m finally moving in and discover you’ve been squatting because you’re homeless.

Spoiler alert: they ended up living together! And none of them are aliens! Jesse died in the previous work, so all is well...ish.

Home can be a person

They’d been living together for a month now, and Alex still knew nothing about Michael Guerin.

OK that wasn’t entirely true. He knew plenty. Because one, he was a military man, his livelihood depended on his observation skills. And two, their schedules somehow synced perfectly, and after a week of awkwardly bumping each other in the kitchen and waiting turns to use the bathroom, it was simply easier if they just worked out a systematic plan to build their lives around each other, which led to divided chores, respected bathroom routines and shared meals. And when two men spent that much time together, they had no choice but to have conversations, which were really not that hard, because they clicked like magnets and they actually enjoyed spending time together.

So Alex knew plenty. Both from his observations and their conversations. But it was not like Guerin volunteered personal informations, and even he did, it was always surface stuff, so it didn’t really count. Like he knew Guerin was a mechanic, who was really good at his job. So good that he even opened his own auto shop the second year into the business. And based on what Alex saw, money was not exactly an issue for him. Which frankly didn’t match up with his squatting life style, not to mention he owned a perfectly functional airstream, but that topic was always brushed aside.

Alex also knew Guerin had two siblings, who moved away a year ago. They were both married, and apparently lived nearly enough that they did a weekly get together. Guerin would join them via FaceTime, they would laugh and talk, and Guerin seemed so happy when they did this, which did not explain why he was always a little sad when they were done. But again, not to be talked about.

Sometimes Alex would be impressed by Guerin’s topic changing skills. Granted, his go-to move was more often than not flirtation, but it worked like a charm on Alex, so whatever got the job done, right? And rationally, Alex knew he should be grateful, because Guerin was a surprisingly pleasant roommate. He was good company, he wasn’t nosy, he did VERY good repair work around the house, his cooking skills were better than Alex’s, and he slowly became the reason why Alex was looking forward to going back home after a day’s work. And truth be told, Alex wasn’t exactly an open book himself, so he should just respect Guerin’s boundaries and enjoy their easygoing companionship.

But he just couldn’t.

34 days into their co-living arrangement, Guerin came home, visibly upset. It was Alex’s day to make dinner. So he ignored Guerin at first to finish the lasagna. But when he was putting together a cob salad, he heard Guerin throw his tool box on to the floor, and caused a loud clang.

Guerin NEVER threw his tool box.

“What’s got into you today?” OK that was a little harsh. But in his defense, Alex was kind of tired of asking “are you ok” at that point, because he always got a “just dandy” and a too-big-to-be-genuine smile in reply.

Guerin shut down immediately, threw on a well-practiced smirk, and said: “Nothing. Unless you are up for the job?”

And just like that, Alex snapped.

He got up, got his keys, and left the house.

It was when he sat in his car, had no idea where he’d go, he realized that he didn’t even bring his wallet and phone, which was just stupid.

The whole thing was stupid.

He knew he had no right to feel angry and hurt. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. Guerin didn’t owe him anything.

But he had felt their connection the first time they’d met, and it was there ever since. He thought Guerin felt it too.

Apparently he was wrong.

He came back two hours later, because he needed that time to work out an apology and also to learn not to be this naive again. When he got home, Guerin was sitting at the kitchen table, seemingly lost in his thoughts, lasagna in front of him, cold and forgotten.

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier, it was really none of my busi...” He began but was cut by Guerin mid-sentence.

“I didn’t eat”.

“...OK? Were u not hungry or was the lasagna that bad?”

Guerin looked up at him then. His eyes big, voice raw.

“I didn’t eat because it felt wrong.”

He looked back down at the lasagna.

“After you left, I was angry at first. Because fuck you, you know? I don’t owe you anything.”

“Yes, Guerin, I know, I was trying to apologize...”

Guerin continued as if not heard him at all.

“And then I got up to help me some food, man’s gotta eat, and frankly, lasagna is like, the only food you can make right. So I got myself a plate, and I sat down. Normally at that point, you would begin to nag me about eating some salad or drinking some water first, but then I looked up, and you were just, not there.”

He looked up again. All open and bare.

“So yeah, maybe it was not your business, but it was also wrong of me to assume I didn’t want it to be.”

They stared at each other. Both at lost what to say next. Eventually, Alex sat across the table, reached out, and squeezed Guerin’s hand.

“You reheat the lasagna, I’ll finish making the salad. And we’ll eat. OK? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, you didn’t even bring your wallet. I mean, dramatic much?”

“Shut up, Guerin.”

They didn’t talk about why Guerin was upset that night, but it was OK.

—————————

Things got better after that. They talked now, not just making conversation. Alex learned that Guerin had been in the system for a long time. His siblings, Max and Isobel, were actually not related to him. They had been just best friends in group homes, until they were adopted by the Evans, while Guerin went through many terrible foster families. They were united at the age of 15, when Guerin’s new foster home brought him to Roswell, and they had been inseparable ever since.

“That was, until Max decided to marry someone in LA, and moved there. And then Isobel’s husband also got a job in LA, they moved soon after. So it was just the same old me, again.”

They were at the fire pit in front of Guerin’s airstream, which he still wasn’t using, except sometimes he would go in there and do God knows what, they still didn’t reach the subject why he had been squatting yet. Alex suspected it had something to do with his issues with his siblings moving away, like the bitterness in his voice now had.

“Well, you’re literally sitting next to me now, so not exactly the same, you know?”

Guerin startled, and looked over at Alex with something like hope mixed with fear in his eyes. Alex stared right back, because at this point, he really wasn’t interested in pretending that they didn’t mean something to each other. And he hoped Guerin would drop the “I’m a lone wolf and I don’t care” act too, at least when he was with him.

Whatever Guerin saw on his face, seemed to satisfy him. He smiled, the kind of smile that reached his heart and soul, and said,

“You trying to hold my hand now, private?”

And they did.

—————————

Alex woke up in screaming. Next thing he knew, he was in Guerin’s arms.

He didn’t remember the dream. But he could easily guess the content. It was always the same. Bomb, blood, cries, he looked down, his leg was gone. Sometimes his father was there, sometimes he wasn’t. Either way, he felt his presence.

Normally, after he woke up from such a dream, he would do some breath exercise, get up, get some water, and didn’t even try to sleep again. But tonight, Guerin was right there, humming something like a lullaby, and rubbing soothing circles on his back. He didn’t say anything, or ask how he was doing, just held him and gently rocked him.

At some point, maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour later, they lied down, together on Alex’s bed. Guerin’s hand slowly reached down, until he touched his stump. He rubbed it once, twice, and then he just stayed there.

Alex fell sleep.

——————————

Friday movie nights became some sort of tradition between them. They would finish their work, meet at the house, grab something to eat, and then drive to the drive-in theatre. Alex liked those nights, hell, he cherished those nights.

So he was very irritated when some shitty client just didn’t know what it meant to demand something WITHIN REASON, and he had to cancel their movie night via a short text. He was even more irritated when said client walked out in the last minute, so his previous work was totally wasted. Plus his new prosthetic was giving him trouble all day. Safe to say he was not in the greatest mood.

When he got home though, he was met by Guerin’s soft smile and homemade dinner. By the time they finished eating, he felt more or less like human again. Then Guerin gave him a dessert, told him to rest a bit on the sofa, and disappeared in the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, he pulled Alex into the bathroom, where he already drew a bath for Alex.

He even lit some candles.

All of a sudden, Alex wanted to cry, except he hadn’t cried in ten years.

So he let out a shaky breath, buried himself in Guerin’s arms, and asked a stupid question.

“Why did you do all this?”

Guerin held him, shifted somewhat awkwardly, and said in a quiet voice.

“You spelled ‘bail’ wrong.”

Of all the answers, THAT was not what Alex expected.

“What?”

“Your text. I guess you meant to say you had to bail on our movie night. But you spelled it ‘ball’. Auto correct or something. And you never spelled wrong. So I figured, you must be exhausted.”

At that, Alex just HAD to kiss him.

—————————

They visited Greg together on a Saturday morning.

At the drive home, Alex was awfully quiet.

Michael didn’t ask. He made coffee. He fetched a blanket. He sat beside Alex on the sofa, and began to read his monthly mechanic magazine.

Alex talked before he decided he wanted to.

“My father was a piece of shit. And out of my three brothers, Greg is the only decent one. But when we were kids, he didn’t know how to protect me or stand up for me, when my father beat the shit out of me.”

Michael dropped his magazine, and silently held his hand. And Alex decided he wanted to keep talking.

“I wanted to make music. He sent me to war. Frankly, war wasn’t even a worse choice than my so called home. It just wasn’t a better choice either.”

“I never felt I belong anywhere, not at home. Not at war. I bought the house because Greg asked me to, because he was the only one who reminded me a shred of the ‘home’ concept. But today, seeing him with his family, I realized, he is my family, but he is not home.”

“I still don’t belong.”

He hadn’t cried for ten years. He didn’t want to begin now.

Expect the hands wiping his tears were so gentle, he couldn’t seem to stop.

“I was offered a great job opportunity in New York, when I finished my study at UNM. But four years apart from Max and Isobel were tough enough that I decided to ditch that and move back.”

“I never felt I belonged, too, what with the fucked up system and shitty foster homes, except when I was with them. So I clung to them, a little bit desperately. When they moved away, I felt betrayed, left out and abandoned. I didn’t want to live in my airstream anymore because it felt like a fantasy I built, just to fool myself into thinking I could have followed them anywhere in it, because they were my harbor. But then they were gone, so I decided I wasn’t supposed to settle in anywhere, and that’s when I began to squat in people’s not lived in houses. Because they are just like me, you know, abandoned.”

“Until you invited me to live with you.”

They held each other a long time after that.

—————————

The email came on a Wednesday morning, and Michael was on the plane that very night to LA, because Liz was going into labor and Michael would become an uncle.

He asked Alex to come with him, but he was caught up at work so he just couldn’t make it.

They called each other every day though, Michael showed him so many baby pictures he even dreamed about it one night. He was vibrating joyful energy and Alex was happy for him.

Then on the fourth night since he was gone, he called Alex, hesitation evident in his voice.

“Liz pulled some strings at her university. And they offered me a job here.” He said, without so much as a hello.

Alex felt the world shook for a moment. Then he blinked, and the house seemed the same, intact, but somehow much quieter, and larger.

“I’m happy for you.”

An exhale.

“You are happy for me.” Michael repeated, slowly.

Alex shut his eyes. He thought of all the times Michael looked at the photos of the three of them, and all the times he seemed to be lost after he ended their phone calls, and he opened his eyes again.

“They are your family.” He said simply.

Another exhale.

“Yeah, they are.”

Silence.

After three minutes of nothing else, Alex hung up.

——————————

Michael came back on Tuesday afternoon.

Alex had not been sleeping well, or eating properly, so at first he thought he might be dreaming or something.

But there he was, clearly not been sleeping well, or eating properly himself, eyes glaring with fond anger.

“You are a dumbass, you know? You’re just gonna give me up like that?”

Alex refused to back down.

“It’s not giving up. You always wanted a family, a home. I don’t wanna stand between you and your opportunity of that.”

Michael shook his head, sighed, and pulled Alex into his arms.

“You still don’t understand, do you? They are my family, true. But YOU are my home.”

And there, stood in his embrace, Alex finally understood.

#alexweek2020 #day 1: home can be a person #malex #malex fic #my fic #alex manes #michael guerin

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 years

Text

Love Her (Part 1)

Summary: When the reader and her younger brother and sister are moved to a new foster home after discovering some news about their father, she is convinced their new foster dad is only interested in adopting her sister. But he has a few secrets of his own he’ll have to work through as the reader starts to learn what family really means...

Masterlist

Pairing: Doctor!Dean x foster daughter!reader

Word Count: 2,600ish

Warnings: language, mentions of death

______

“Y/N-”

“Over my dead body,” you scoffed, crossing your arms as you sat back in your seat in her office. Paula stared at you and you gave it right back. “I’m serious.”

“A man is interested in adopting Rae, Y/N. He will foster-”

“We have a dad in case you forgot,” you said.

“He will foster her for the time being. You know how this works,” she said.

“What about Ryan? What about her fucking twin, hm?” you shot back.

“Language,” said Paula.

“They are almost five years old. They are twins and you want to rip them apart? Rip us apart?” you said.

“You are fifteen, almost sixteen. You understand the likelihood of your biological father regaining full custody,” she said.

“So you’re going to auction us off like cattle in the meantime? Sure, give the kids a new dad, different dads. Who gives a shit?” you said, glaring at her.

“I do, Y/N. I have kept you three together from the time you entered foster care five years ago,” she said. “My job is to look after the best interest of the child. This man will be able to do that for Rae, much more so than your other foster homes have.”

“Let me guess. He’s some rich guy,” you said.

“He’s a doctor.”

“Shocker,” you said as you stood up. “The second you come down to our house and try to take her away from Ry and me, you’re gonna have problems.”

“Y/N-”

“You can’t take her,” you said as the door opened, the receptionist standing there with a man.

“Your three o’ clock is here, Paula,” she said.

“One more minute,” she said. The receptionist pulled the door shut and you took a deep breath, Paula standing up. “Y/N. We always try to keep the family together if we can. You know that.”

“Then why are you splitting us up? Dad gets out soon. A few more months and then he’s out on probation. It was an accident. They’re gonna give him probation,” you said. She sighed and walked around the desk, resting her hands on your arms.

“Y/N...there’s been some developments over the past few months,” she said. “Your father gave up custody-”

“No,” you said. “He wouldn’t.”

“He decided to give up custody two months ago. It’s in process. He’s become violent and committed a few crimes on the inside. He’s admitted to doing a few things. His sentencing is changing. He likely won’t be leaving prison. Not for a very long time, if ever,” she said.

“Excuse me?” you said.

“Y/N. I asked you to stop down after school so I could tell you. I know you’ve been waiting years for your dad to get out but I’m so sorry, sweetie. It’s not going to happen. Not anytime soon,” she said.

“So you’re telling me that in addition to the fact someone is trying to take Rae away from us, dad’s not getting out of prison and apparently he’s no longer my dad?” you said.

“We do what’s in the best interest of the child. In the long run, this is better for all three of you,” she said. You scoffed and shrugged away.

“Rae and Ryan are going to get split up and I’m...like you said, I’m almost sixteen. My shot of being adopted is zero. So basically I’m going to be in foster care until I age out, the twins will get new and different families and we’re all fucked,” you said.

“Y/N-”

“Forget it,” you said. “You’ll do whatever you want anyways.”

You left her office quickly and bumped into the man outside, a pair of scrubs on him. Of course he was the freaking doctor that was taking Rae away.

“Asshole,” you said, bumping his arm as you went.

“Y/N,” said Paula as you stormed down the hall. “Y/N!”

“Leave us alone.”

The Next Day

You couldn’t help but be extra clingy with Rae since you left the office. You didn’t want her to go. She could drive you insane sometimes but you loved her more than the world. It would upset Ryan if she left and you’d have to be strong for him and you were just plain tired of doing that all the time.

You were playing dolls when the doorbell rang and you saw Rob, your current foster dad, give you a long look.

“What?” you said.

“Just try and behave for once,” he said as he got up from his chair and went to the door.

“I do behave, jerk,” you mumbled. He returned after a moment with Paula, Rae’s moving duffel and backpack being set down. You wrapped your arms around your sister and brother, giving Paula a glare.

“She’s not ready to go?” asked Paula.

“No,” you said. Paula sighed and glanced at Rob.

“Did you not tell her?” she asked.

“I thought you were going to,” he said.

“We’re going to discuss this, Rob. Y/N, go pack your bags and Ryan’s,” she said.

“No,” you said.

“Well you guys are going with Rae to her new home so unless you-” she said as you broke into a smile. “Yeah. I figured you’d like that. Pack up your stuff.”

You gave the twins both a hug before you were off and heading for the bedroom you shared with them. Rae’s part of the dresser was already empty and you’d packed up your own and Ryan’s things often enough that it didn’t take long.

You were fully aware that this doctor guy had intentions of adopting Rae but maybe he’d be interested in Ryan too once he met him. There was still a chance they’d end up staying together and that was more than enough for today. Your odds...you knew your odds but at least the twins might have had a chance to be okay.

“Whoa,” said Ryan as Paula parked in the driveway of your new foster home an hour later. “Their house is so big!”

“Your new foster dad is a doctor, Ryan. He’s single,” she said and you raised an eyebrow. The guy was probably a workaholic and a nanny would be watching the kids. Or maybe that’s why you had gotten to come along, so you could watch them for him.

“Y/N,” said Paula when you started to frown. “You were excited not twenty minutes ago.”

“I was excited for…” you said, nodding backwards at the twins. “Pretty sure this guy isn’t going to be dad of the year though.”

“Give him a chance. You three are his first fosters,” she said. You sighed and got out of the car, Paula following after. “Y/N. Please give him a chance. This guy is looking to adopt. It’s not just another way station.”

“He’s looking to adopt a little kid, not me,” you said. She didn’t say anything and you knew you were right. You sighed and opened the back door for Rae, handing her the pink backpack she owned, Paula helping Ryan on the other side. You slung your own over your shoulder and grabbed your duffel from the trunk, Ryan’s on top of yours while Paula got the other one. The kids ran up the front path with Paula and rang the doorbell as you trudged behind, standing at the back.

“Hi,” said the man when he opened the door, a nervous smile on his face. You hadn’t paid him much attention in Paula’s office but he was probably only mid or late thirties if you had to guess. “I’m Dean. Come on in.”

“You guys know the drill,” said Paula, ushering them inside, Dean holding open the door for you as you stepped into a foyer. It was a nice house, way nicer than anything you’d stayed in before. But being a doctor you figured this guy was knocking down a pretty decent sized salary. “Guys, this is Dean Winchester and he’s going to be taking care of you for quite a while we hope. Dean, this is Rae, her twin Ryan and this is Y/N.”

“Hi!” said the twins. Dean gave them a smile and looked at you, swallowing when you just stared back at him.

“Why don’t we find your new rooms?” asked Paula. Dean took the lead and you followed them upstairs, Ryan and Rae each getting their own rooms with a bathroom in the hallway to share. You headed towards the other bedroom up there but Dean chuckled.

“Oh, your room is downstairs,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

You looked back at Paula and she waved you to go with him. Back down on the first floor, he showed you a small hallway and opened the door.

“It was the guest suite but there’s a bigger bedroom, closet, your own bathroom. I thought you might like the privacy from the little kids,” he said.

“Why?” you asked.

“Paula mentioned you’ve always had to share a room with them. I thought you might like it. You’re free to take the bedroom upstairs if you’d like that better. This one is a bit nicer is all,” he said.

“It’s fine,” you said, dumping the duffel and your backpack on the bed. “So I heard you want to adopt my sister.”

“I was interested in it,” he said. “I hadn’t realized there were other kids in the family at the time though.”

“So now you don’t want to?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“I didn’t say that. I’m sorry if I offended you in some way but I’m not sure what I did to-”

“Are you some kind of weirdo? Or workaholic?” you asked.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve met my share of foster dads and you’re different. So what is it. You work too much and couldn’t find a girl? Are you just super weird? You’re like, old enough to have found someone and made your own kids at this point,” you said.

“I’m thirty seven and life doesn’t happen on a schedule,” he said, his face a little harder than before. “I’m simply at a point where I don’t want to have to wait for the right person in order to have a family.”

“I see you avoided the workaholic question,” you said.

“I’m a pediatrician. I work in a family practice. 8-4:30, five days a week. That is all. I have some flexibility so I’ll take you guys to school and pick you up,” he said. You hummed and rolled your eyes, Dean lifting his chin. “If you have a problem with me, I’d rather we address it now.”

“I have a problem with you stealing my siblings away from me,” you said.

“Stealing your siblings? I’m sorry but I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

“You wanted to adopt a child, Rae, right? Maybe you’ll reconsider Ryan too since they’re twins and all but me? I know how this ends up,” you said.

“You do, do you,” he said, crossing his arms in return.

“Yeah, I do. I don’t care if you end up adopting them,” you said, stepping in front of him and getting in his face. “They are my siblings, no matter what.”

“Kid. I don’t know what you think I’m going to do but all I am going to do is be a foster dad to them and to you,” he said.

“Save the bullshit,” you said. “I’m not a little kid, Dean.”

“No, you’re not. But you’re wrong about me,” he said. “It would have been far simpler to just take Rae in. But I’m not someone who’s going to breakup a family. Ever. So maybe I didn’t expect you but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to be welcomed here.”

“I’m sure you mean that too,” you said. “But I know given everything that happened with my dad, Rae and Ryan, they’re getting adopted, whether it’s by you or someone else. I know what happens to me so why don’t you leave me the fuck alone.”

“I do know what happens to you,” he said. “You have a permanent home now. Someday I hope you realize that.”

“I thought I said to leave me alone,” you shot back.

“I think you’ve been alone enough in your life,” he said. “Good luck getting me to stop caring.”

“Challenge accepted,” you said. “Now leave.”

“Y/N, oh and look!” said Ryan, showing you the playroom again that night, Rae still running around in circles in there before jumping on the big stuffed animal bear and giggling.

“Hey guys, you like the playroom?” asked Dean when he poked his head in the room, both of them nodding their heads. “Maybe this weekend we can pick out a few toys? I heard two someone’s are turning five soon...”

“Yeah!” they both said. You rolled your eyes when you back was to him.

“Alright. We’ll check it out then. I think it’s getting to be bedtime for you two though,” he said. They whined and looked at you.

“Come on. Put on your pajamas and then we’ll do story time,” you said, ushering them back towards the door. You walked past Dean and followed Rae into her room, quickly getting her changed, grabbing a book from the shelf and following her into Ryan’s room. Dean followed quietly and hung out by the door while you spent the next ten or so minutes reading over their shoulders to them. Rae started to lean on you and you shut the book, giving Ryan a hug goodnight before you carried her back into her room. You sighed after you pulled her door shut, Dean back out in the hallway area. You gave him a glance before heading downstairs and making a beeline for your room.

“Y/N. You don’t have to go to bed,” he said. “It’s only a little after eight.”

“I know,” you said, opening the door.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“About?” you said, turning around to face him.

“Anything? You haven’t spoken a word since Paula left,” he said.

“I don’t really want to talk to you, Dean,” you said. You saw him move but you stepped inside the room and shut the door in his face.

“Y/N,” he said, knocking on the door. “Can I come in?”

“No,” you said.

“...Don’t forget to set your alarm for school,” he said quietly.

“I got it,” you said, walking into your bedroom and laying down. You stared at the ceiling for a while before taking a quick shower and changing into your pajamas. You climbed into bed and reached to turn off the light, spotting a piece of paper on the ground by the door.

You got up and went over to pick it up, sighing when you read it.

I know you don’t like me but if you ever want to talk, I’m here.

“Yeah. Sure you are.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

#spn #supernatural #dean x foster daughter!reader #au #series #dean winchester #dean #winchester #dean x #doctor!dean

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ohmightydevviepuu · 4 years

Text

our little life (rounded with a sleep) / chapter 1

our little life (rounded with a sleep) chapter one / AO3

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had blonde hair, green eyes, no family, and she was good at finding people; in fact, she proclaimed this on her office door. “Swan and Humbert,” it said. “Private investigations, missing persons, and bail bonds.”

Only lately, she's been thinking that maybe it should say "Emma Swan: Loner, Loser, Complicated wreck."

Her partner's been killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him. But when she tracks a possible perp to a bar on the outskirts of town, Emma will find out exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes.

(a FULL rewrite of "the stuff that dreams are made of" completed as part of the 2020 Captain Swan Big Bang Rewrite-a-Thon)

with awe and infinite thanks to @captainswanbigbang and the team of mods there ( @optomisticgirl, @phiralovesloki, @spartanguard, @shippingtheswann) for running an insanely first-class event. thanks also to the crew in the discord, who helped me plug MANY a plot hole, and especially to @shireness-says who kept me accountable on so many nights when i was floundering.

i lost track of how many times i begged @thisonesatellite, @profdanglaisstuff and @katie-dub to read or re-read sections of this; especially to @thisonesatellite who’s been working with me on this story since before the event was official and dedicated many countless hours to suggesting--gently--that i stop banging my head against the wall. @profdanglaisstuff came through and saved this story AT LEAST three times. (that is probably a lowball estimate TBH)

CW: canonical character death (minor character) rating: T/M (mild implied violence, language) AO3

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective.

She had long, blonde hair that curled just so at the edges of a face with skin as fair as snow, save for the hint of a blush across the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes glinted green, like emeralds in the sunlight, and the fall of her lashes was thick and dark. Emma Swan looked like nothing so much as a fairy-tale princess, but if Emma Swan knew one thing about her life it was this: nothing about it was a fairy tale.

Her hair, for starters, was the product of nearly an hour’s work in front of a mirror most days, curling it and drying it and styling it just so. Twenty minutes perfecting the “no makeup” aesthetic with no less than three base layers before the foundation swept across her cheeks; the thickest mascara wand she could find and the darkest shade of black available completed the look unless she was feeling particularly ambitious and added lash primer. Contact lenses instead of glasses, though her eyes were naturally green which meant that at least one of her parents probably had green eyes, too, not that Emma knew for sure either way. But she was beautiful, which was a thing she did know for sure, capping it all off with a carefully curated collection of leather jackets and knee-high boots, black trousers and jeans and pencil skirts, for a look that said very clearly do not fuck with me.

Emma was her actual given name, or at least it was according to the one tangible thing--besides her eyes--that she knew she had gotten from her parents. The letters had been lovingly stitched into the hand-knitted blanket in which she had been found near a diner by the side of the road in Bumblefuck, Maine sometime in the first few hours after she had been born. Her last name, Swan, had been attached by the one family who had considered adopting her, and had stuck on every piece of official paperwork that followed her from foster home to foster home after they had traded her in to have their own kid. Sometime around her fourteenth or fifteenth birthday, soon after the first time she had run away, Emma had decided she might as well keep it as not. Something about believing in herself and saying ‘fuck you’ to fate because no one else was going to do it for her.

No fairy godmothers in this world.

Emma Swan also had a talent: She was good at finding people, and she proclaimed this fact on her office door. “Swan and Humbert,” it said. “Private Investigations. Missing Persons. Bail Bonds.”

So, Emma Swan was twenty-eight, as of today; beautiful, but prickly, which was the nice way that people said it. “Unfeeling bitch” was what Graham Humbert called her, and most days, he meant it as a compliment.

Last night he had meant it to wound her. “Heartless bastard” was what she had called him in return after he’d crossed a line she had never intended them to cross. As Emma pushed the office door open, she was wondering if she should change it to “Emma Swan: Loner, Loser, Complicated Wreck” before deciding that would probably scare potential clients away.

And for now, at least, she still had a partner. If she hadn’t scared him away, too. Emma was furious just thinking about it--their partnership was supposed to be easy and constant, one of the few reliable things she’d found in this life she’d scraped together for herself.

“He’s not here, is he?” Emma asked, sighing, as she walked into the outer office.

“Mmmm?” Ruby murmured, not looking up from her makeup mirror as she fluffed her waist-length, red-streaked black curls until she was satisfied with their volume. “Graham just phoned, actually, said he was gonna be late.” She pouted into the mirror, testing the longevity of her red lipstick, and finally looked up. “Whoa, Em,” she said, gesturing at the cropped red leather jacket Emma had selected for the day’s ensemble. “What’s with the battle armor? You can’t be like this today, you have a client waiting.” Ruby snapped the mirror shut and nodded at the inner office door with her chin.

“Like what?” Emma challenged.

“Nope,” Ruby said. “Not going there.”

Emma glared, just for a second, and cracked a small smile. “Sleazy divorce case?” she asked, almost hopefully.

“Ah.” Ruby nodded, like that explained something. “You’re in that mood. Explains the outfit. So we’re not solving the mystery of True Love today, then?”

“No mystery,” Emma said. “Sooner or later, the people you love let you down. Life lesson from me to you, Ruby. At least then, they end up here--and we need the eighty bucks an hour.”

“You make it sound so tawdry,” Ruby complained.

“These are our people, Red.”

Ruby paused, eyeing Emma up and down one more time, lingering on the red leather. “What did he do?” she asked, lowering her voice. “Do I need to, like, rip out his throat or something?”

And--it wasn’t like Emma hadn’t felt a flash of something when he’d kissed her in the office late the night before, it’s just that it was easier to feel nothing when what you were feeling, most of the time, just plain sucked.

Emma didn’t answer and the silence stretched out until Ruby expelled a breath. “Okay,” Ruby said, not sounding happy about it. “Whatever. But--trust me, Emma. We need this client.”

“He just needs me?” Emma asked. “Or, I guess, just one of us?”

“Actually,” Ruby said. “He said he wants you. He was specific,” Ruby said.

Emma had a good reputation for someone her age and especially for someone whose resume most closely resembled one of the people she was trying to track down. But the truth was that clients who came in with a specific personnel request generally went straight for Graham.

“Right,” Emma said.

“But lower your shields a bit and, you know, smile--but not the kind where you show your teeth because you don’t want to scare them off.”

Emma pushed the corners or her mouth upward with her middle fingers and made sure to bare as many teeth as she possibly could. “All the better to eat you with, my dear.”

Ruby gave her a wink and an air kiss. “Any time, babe, you know that.”

Emma laughed, breaking into a real smile. “I’ll leave that to Victor, I think.”

“It’s cute,” Ruby said, “that you think he’d care, except to come and watch--or maybe help,” and smacked her lips again when Emma rolled her eyes and turned toward the door marked ‘Private.’ She ran a hand over her hair to smooth it, squared her shoulders, and straightened her jacket.

“Shoulders back, chin up, tits out, Em,” Ruby muttered. “It’s worth way more than a sleazy divorce case, I can smell it.”

Emma braced herself, opening the door and shutting it behind her.

Her visitor stood in the center of the room, facing the window and leaning on an ornate walking stick. He turned around at the sound of the doorknob and smiled, a sickly, fake thing that flashed just a hint of a gold tooth. “Ah,” he said. “Miss Swan. It’s nice to see you again. I’m Mr. Gold--”

“I remember,” Emma said, “sir.” Sir because if what her landlord charged for this place was any indication, to say nothing of what his made-to-measure three-piece suit must have cost, Ruby was right: they needed this case.

“I have a proposition for you, Miss Swan,” he said. “I need your help.”

Emma sank slowly into her swivel chair, turning to face her visitor and smiling politely--the tight, thin kind that showed no teeth. She took him in: his charcoal grey suit with a hint of a sheen on the fabric, the blood red dress shirt underneath, the black tie streaked with gold and just a hint of purple with a matching pocket square at his breast.

“It would appear,” he said with no preamble, his voice low and soft, “that I’ve been robbed.” He spoke with a smoothed-over accent; Scottish, perhaps, but every few words there was a syllable with a cadence so foreign Emma couldn’t even begin to place it.

“You seem unsurprised,” Emma remarked cautiously.

“Other attempts have been made in the past,” he said, tapping his cane lightly against the heel of one of his polished leather shoes. The walking stick, it turned out, was quite genuine, as the man had hobbled slightly when crossing the room toward the visitor’s chair at Emma’s desk. “I am a man of means with collections representing many varied interests and there are always those who come to me for--” he paused, and Emma sensed the deliberation with which he chose his words, “--help. Sometimes I am able to oblige them; other times, I leave them to their own devices.”

“You’re saying that you’re a target,” Emma said, “and that something has been taken from one of your collections?” He nodded, and his hair nearly brushed the tips of his shoulders. It was long for a man of his apparent dignity, with strands hanging around his face and nearly in his eyes.

“What can I say, Miss Swan?” he asked rhetorically. “I’m a difficult man to love.”

His eyes had clearly been following hers as she made her mental evaluation of him, and the effect he gave was almost that of a reptile.

“Here’s the thing, Mr. Gold,” Emma said, keeping the smile intact and speaking softly. “A missing object, stolen from your shop--it sounds like the kind of job the police should handle. Though I understand why a man in your position might choose discretion above all else, I also know that a man of your means would typically have no cause to approach someone like me directly--which tells me that whatever has gone missing is something of such value that you can’t even take the chance that anyone knows it’s missing.”

His gold tooth glinted again as he parted his lips and nodded his head, almost as if in appreciation. Emma took it as a confirmation--not that she needed it. Her life had taught her many things, and her skill at reading people had gotten to the point where if she was concentrated and detached, she could tell a lie better than a polygraph.

“What’s been taken from me, Miss Swan,” he said, “has been in my possession for longer than you’ve been alive.”

Emma nodded. What he said was not a lie.

“Okay,” she said, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on her desk. “So tell me what I’m looking for.”

“You misunderstand me, Miss Swan,” he said, tilting his head at an angle as he, too, shifted his weight forward. “I have no need for you to retrieve my stolen property. I merely require your assistance in apprehending the man who had the audacity to violate me in such a brazen manner.”

Emma gave Gold a long, hard look. “Robbery is a public menace. You’re asking me to aid in what could be construed as obstruction of justice. And you won’t even tell me what--?”

“Let’s just say,” he said, “that it’s a precious object and leave it at that. Further, I will give you my assurances that it poses no danger to anyone as long as I get it back as quickly and quietly as possible and that it remains my secret. But it is imperative that I find this person sooner rather than later. I am, you might say, on something of a schedule.”

“You have a funny definition of justice, Mr. Gold,” she said.

“My dear Miss Swan,” he said, the tooth glinting, “who said anything about justice?”

“What did they really do?”

“They stole,” he said, and nothing else.

Emma sat back and crossed her arms.

“I would hate to think that I’ve made a mistake in coming to you, Miss Swan,” Gold said, his voice still low, the words turning silky. ”It was my understanding that you are quite...dedicated in your chosen profession and have, for the most part, a record of success in finding those whom you seek.”

Emma managed not to flinch. He couldn’t know that much about her from the cursory background an internet search would reveal; couldn’t know that she never had found her parents, because the kind of assholes who hand-knitted their kid a blanket and then left said kid on the side of the road were also the kind of assholes who had left absolutely no trace of their identity in any system Emma had access to.

Had they ever even held her?

She’d never let herself hold her son, because Emma knew exactly what kind of asshole sent their kid out into the world on their own: the kind that couldn’t be a parent. The kind that needed to give that kid their best chance.

If she’d held him--if she’d given herself at least that--maybe it would have been easier.

Hell, it certainly couldn’t have been any harder.

“Miss Swan?”

Emma drew in a deep breath and set her shoulders. “And you have a history with this person, I take it?”

“Miss Swan,” he said, and the laugh that accompanied it was a distinctly unpleasant one, “you will find that there are very few people in our little corner of the world with whom I do not have history. And this man, I am sorry to say, has an unfortunate history of taking what is mine.”

Emma nodded, slowly. “Okay,” she said, with some reluctance. “I’ll check him out.”

“I’m sure you will,” Gold said smoothly. “In return for this service, you will of course expect payment.”

“Our hourly rate is--”

Gold was uninterested. “Of no importance,” he said dismissively. “You may invoice me, assuming I don’t find him first. If I do...let’s just say that bad things happen to bad people.”

“Is that a threat?” Emma asked, incredulous.

“More of an observation, or perhaps an incentive,” he said, and the sickly smile was back. “Do we have an understanding?”

She nodded again. “Deal,” she said.

“Grand,” Gold said, licking his lips.

“What’s going on in here?” said a voice from the doorway, lilting and accented and familiar.

“Graham,” Emma said, “Mr. Gold would like us to take a case on his behalf. Mr. Gold,” Emma turned her attention back to their new client, swallowing her reservations because she was good at her job. She needed that comfort--that belief--because her job was all she had, no matter what Graham thought he wanted. “This is my partner, Graham Humbert.”

As Graham stepped forward and offered a hand, there was a look on his face that Emma had never seen before. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept properly--or at all--and his gaze focused on Gold as if he was the only thing in the room.

Something flickered across Gold’s face before he offered Graham his hand to shake. “Indeed,” he said. “Miss Swan and I have just struck a bargain.”

Emma was sure she imagined the flash of fear that briefly overtook Graham’s features.

There were flowers on the table when Emma got home--she grabbed them and dumped them straight into the trash.

“Oh!” Her roommate, Mary Margaret, walked in.

It all came down to the number seven, which was the number of addresses she’d had in the past ten years, assuming that eleven months in the Arizona Correctional Facility for Women counted as an address. Graham had hired her, and she’d stayed, in spite of the lack of dental or any other benefits. Mary Margaret Blanchard had not been looking for a roommate, but they’d met each other and there was the offer of the spare room that wasn’t even properly a room, more like a lofted open space just big enough for a double bed and a small wardrobe, before either of them was quite sure what had happened. Something had clicked, and Emma had unpacked the three cardboard boxes that contained all of her possessions and tucked the one small cigar box that held her life, such as it was, away in a corner of the office.

She had a roommate and a job and friends and she hated Graham for putting all of that at risk for something that would never work. Because if Emma were the type who allowed herself to believe in such things, she’d have said that finding Mary Magaret--and Ruby, and Graham and her job and her life here--had been like coming home; as if she had always been meant to be there.

“Can you believe this shit?” Emma gestured at the flowers. “Graham think this is gonna work on me?”

“Yeah, no, those are mine,” Mary Margaret said, then corrected herself: “Were mine.”

“From the married guy? Seriously?”

“I know,” Mary Margaret said, then: “Wait. How did you know?”

“You’re an elementary school teacher,” Emma said flatly. “I’m a private investigator.”

Mary Margaret sighed. “It’s a disaster,” she said.

“It can’t be that bad if there are flowers,” Emma said, eyebrows raised.

“No, that was--no,” Mary Margaret said. “I just can’t seem to--I feel like a different person when I’m around him. It’s like I can’t help myself, like I have this need to be with him.”

“Trust me,” Emma said. “Married guys are never worth it, no matter how good the ‘flowers’ are.” Emma made exaggerated air quotes with her fingers. “If you need an itch scratched, stick to one-nighters with no attachments, like I do.”

“Yeah, but that’s because you’re--”

“Because I’m what?” Emma’s eyes flashed green in challenge. Unfeeling bitch, he’d called her, then walked in on her meeting looking like shit, but otherwise as if nothing had happened between them.

That fit with what she knew of him; Graham was a kind, good-natured guy, and most days Emma felt lucky to have him in her life. It’s easy, between them.

“Never mind,” Mary Margaret said.

“No,” Emma said. “Tell me. What do I do?”

“You’re just,” Mary Margaret said, gesturing expansively, “protecting yourself. With that wall you put up.”

“Just because I don’t get emotional over men--”

“You don’t?” Mary Margaret was not the type of person who snorted derisively, which Emma was grateful for more at that moment than she might ever have been; especially since Mary Margaret had no real notion of exactly how much Emma was, in fact, protecting herself from.

Because she did not get emotional over men.

“All I’m saying,” Mary Margaret said, “is that the floral abuse tells a different story.”

“Come on,” Emma said.

“I mean it, Emma,” Mary Margaret said. “That wall of yours might keep out pain, but it will also keep out love.” Mary Margaret was all about “mawwaige” and “Twoo Wuv” and refused to give up hope that Emma would find both of those things.

God, was there something in the water today? This felt like the second time, at least, she’d been forced to endure some version of this conversation. One more minute and she was likely to start screaming about patriarchy and freedom and submitting herself to an institution that fails as often as it succeeds, and for what? A bullshit ideal of fairy tales and happy endings?

Certainly Mary Margaret’s sordid affair was a horrible ‘Exhibit A’ in the case for True Love.

“He kissed me,” Emma confessed, watching the progression of emotions cross her friend’s face: happiness, confusion, disappointment, resignation.

“And?”

“It wasn’t a bad kiss,” Emma admitted, watching Mary Margaret’s eyebrows shoot up. “It was nice, I guess. Easy.”

“And?” Mary Margaret said again.

“And,” Emma emphasized it, “I’m neither of those things?” She threw her hands in the air. “It’s not what I want, Mary Margaret.”

“Are you sure?”

There was a knock at the door before she could respond, and Emma went to answer it. Sheriff Nolan’s hand was poised to knock again as she opened the door, and Emma spared a glance at her roommate, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the married guy her friend had been not-so-secretly seeing.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Emma said knowingly, and was surprised at David’s hand on her shoulder.

“I’m here for you, actually,” he said.

Heartless bastard.

Emma would have laughed, except she was crying and trying not to throw up at the same time.

@kmomof4 @stahlop @katie-dub @imlaxdris71 @snowbellewells @mariakov81 @shardminds @carpedzem @anne-and-gilbert @teamhook @winterbaby89

#csrt #our little life (rounded with a sleep)#cs fic #captain swan rewrite a thon #cs rewrite a thon #canon divergence #season 1 divergence #an alternate theory of the curse #cursed!killian

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wondersofdreaming · 4 years

Text

Lost Boys - FIVE

Characters: August Walker / Captain Syverson / Walter Marshall

Word count: 1.392

Warnings: Mute on purpose. Lots of crying. Encouragement. A bit of fluff. More crying.

Author’s note: Everything in this story is a figment of my imagination, with inspiration and snippets from the movies ‘Mission: Impossible - Fallout’, ‘Sand Castle’, ‘Nomis/Night Hunter’. This is pure fanfiction. If something doesn’t make sense, it’s not supposed to.

I do now own any of the characters from the movies that I write about in this story. Only the OFC’s are mine.

Tag: @katerka88 @littlefreya @hell1129-blog @mitzwinchester @mary-ann84@valkavill @sciapod @henry-cavlll @luclittlepond @iloveyouyen @trippedmetaldetector @radaofrivia @omgkatinka @gothwhopper @fcgrizi @vania-marie @alyxkbrl @readings-of-a-cavill-lover @singeramg @mis-lil-red

Feedback is appreciated. Seriously, please tell me all the good and bad stuff, else I won’t be able to develop into a better writer if I don’t know what I’m doing right and wrong. I swear I don’t bite.

MASTERLIST

[ONE] [TWO] [THREE] [FOUR] [SIX] [SEVEN] [EIGHT] [NINE] [TEN]

Trevor watched as his brothers walked away in two different directions with their new families. Both Oliver and James looked back with uncertainty in their eyes. Trevor, even as a five-year-old boy, was already strong-willed and his protective instincts were on high alert. He nodded, assuring them that he would keep his promise of finding them, whenever he had the chance. James smiled, something he wouldn’t do much in his adult life. Oliver didn’t smile, instead, he nodded back and a single tear ran down his left cheek.

“Are you ready to go, sweetie?” Silvia Syverson asked. Trevor looked into the olive-green eyes of his new foster-mom. She had kept herself in the background as he had said his goodbyes to his brothers.

Trevor slumped his shoulders and followed the blonde woman to the waiting taxi that was taking him to the airport and away from his brothers, his family. He had no idea, where James or Oliver were going, he just knew that he would find them.

I promise that I will find you. I will find you.

Silvia introduced him to her husband and son. John Syverson had black hair and was growing a beard on his defined jawline and cheeks. Joshua was the splitting mine-me-image of his father; except he had his mother’s green eyes. John’s eyes were emerald-green that could bore into the soul of Trevor.

Joshua was ecstatic over finally having someone to play with. Every morning he would ask Trevor what they should play that day, but Trevor would shake his head and go sit in the treehouse that John had built in their backyard. It was actually more of a platform, but it reminded Trevor of home, of his parents, of his brothers.

Silvia and John would talk to him every day, trying to get him to answer them with anything besides a nod or a shake of his head.

John did notice that the boy loved rock music, so he bought a small transportable radio, set it on the rock-channel and handed it to Trevor, while he was sitting on the platform.

Some light had returned into Trevor’s eyes, but his mouth had stayed shut and soundless.

Three months living with the Syverson’s, John had gotten enough of Trevor’s wallowing. He had dragged the young boy with him to work, a military base where he, at that time, was training recruits.

Trevor had been fascinated by the training regime. He had wanted to try the training ground himself, but John had deemed him too young but promised when he was older, he could try it out.

One day something changed. Trevor was sitting on the platform, listening to music, looking at a picture-book about knights and dragons when he heard a blood-curdling scream from inside the house. He jumped down the three metres and ran as fast as his little legs could muster. He found four-year-old Joshua crying in the living room next to a fallen chair.

“What’s the matter?” Trevor had asked. Joshua had immediately stopped crying, hearing Trevor’s voice for the first time had shocked him into silence. Joshua sniffled and pointed to a large fairy tale book that sat on a shelf none of them could reach unless they used a stool. Trevor lifted the chair back on its four legs and crawled up. He stood on the tip of this toes and stretched his little body as far as possible. His fingertips touched the spine of the book in question, and he managed to grab it. He pulled the heavy book down with both hands and gave it to Joshua, who was beaming an appreciative smile towards Trevor.

Silvia was standing at the door, watching the interaction between the two boys. Tears were streaming down her eyes. Trevor had finally talked. She knew that giving him time, he would come around eventually.

Another month passed with Trevor starting to talk more to Joshua, but he was still apprehensive to say anything in the presence of John or Silvia. They didn’t mind. He would come to trust them and then he would start speaking to them as well.

They were having dinner that night when Silvia told the boys that she and John had an announcement to make.

“We’re going to have another baby,” she said excitedly. Trevor had kept eating his food.

“May I leave the table?” He asked when he finished dinner. John and Silvia looked shocked at him, then at each other.

“Go ahead,” John said. Trevor took his plate to the kitchen and went up to his room.

Silvia had just put Joshua to bed when she heard rummaging coming from Trevor’s room. She knocked on the door, but no one answered. Silvia peaked and saw Trevor sitting next to an open suitcase. His clothes from before he had moved in with the Syverson’s were scattered across the floor.

“Trevor? Honey? What are you doing?” She asked quietly as to not scare him. Trevor whipped his head towards the entrance, tears were coming out of his sad blue eyes. Silvia’s heart clenched and she did what any mother would do, she went inside and pulled him towards her. Trevor immediately started wailing. Her heart-breaking for the sweet boy in her arms.

John had heard the sobbing and had arrived quickly. He watched as Silvia rocked the young boy with a big burden on his shoulders cry into his wife’s chest.

“Son, what’s the matter?” He asked and crouched down next to them.

“I’m scared that I have to leave,” Trevor’s voice was tiny and broken.

“Why do you think you have to leave?”

“Because you’re growing your family. I’m not family. There’s no room for me here.”

The words were like bullets to John. They hit hard and hurt more than getting hit by the real thing. He cupped Trevor’s chin in his large hand and forced the young boy to look at him.

“You are not going anywhere. This is your home, Trevor. This is your room with your things, and we want you to be part of this family, Trevor.”

A new stream of tears ran down the already reddened cheeks. Trevor launched himself into John’s arms. He promised never to think about leaving again. John mumbled a thank you and cradled the sweet, caring boy to his broad chest and carried him over to the bed.

“Will you read me a story?” Trevor asked John.

“What kind of story do you want to hear?” John asked as he tucked the duvet around Trevor’s small body.

“One with trolls, wizards, and dragons.”

John smiled and went to the living room. He came back with an old copy of ‘The Hobbit’ in his hands. Silvia watched the two males interacting with the book. She put all the clothes back to their rightful place. Her heart was soaring that Trevor finally was trusting them enough to voice his concerns.

That night changed Trevor. He started interacting more with the adults. He asked John to teach him how to read, so he could read ‘The Hobbit’ to Joshua and the coming baby. Every night after dinner, John would sit with Trevor for an hour and teach him how to pronounce different words. Trevor was a smart boy and was a fast learner.

When the new baby-girl, Melanie, came home, Trevor could already read on an advanced level. The same day, while Melanie was taking a nap, did Silvia and John sit down with Trevor on the dining table and handed him a piece of paper.

“What’s that?” He asked, looking confused.

“It’s called an adoption paper,” John explained. “If we sign it, you can officially become part of this family. You can even change your last name to Syverson if you want to.”

Trevor looked at the document.

“Can I change my first name too?”

“Of course, but why would you want to do that?” Silvia asked, “You have a lovely first name.”

“I want to belong to your family, so you have to choose my first name.”

“Well, how about Lucas?” John suggested.

“Lucas Syverson,” Trevor tried the name, rolling it off his tongue.

“Lucas Philip Syverson,” Silvia commented and smiled.

“I like it.”

“What do you want to be when you grow up, Lucas Philip Syverson?”

“I want to be in the army like my daddy.”

#Henry Cavill #This man #I need a drink #August Walker #Captain Syverson #Walter Marshall #Lost Boys #My story #Fanfiction #Series #Triplets #henry cavill fanfic

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