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electricgg · 19 days ago

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Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 10: Do You Wanna Hear About The Deal That I’m Making?

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 (Here!) / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 /

A morgue is always cold.

Morgues are cold to slow down decomposition and preserve bodies until they are needed for autopsy or other procedures. Refrigeration helps to reduce bacterial growth and enzymatic activity, which are the main causes of decay.

Jason hated the cold. And morgues.

But he was sucking it up for the sake of finding answers.

That encounter with her had left him with questions. Many questions.

Jason hadn’t expected Dick’s rambles of delirum to be true, just some exaggerated tantrum over not having attention him for more than a five minutes. But now, he was starting to understand some of the fuss running rampant amongst the family.

He knew she’d be different, that she would become angry. Resentful. Full of spite.

Just like him. Finally. Someone who knows the same pain. The same resentment. The same anger.

But it wasn’t like that with her. It wasn’t the same.

Jason had some expectations set the moment he found out about the murder attempt. That all of those involved would be killed by his hand (because it’s what he she would have wanted). That he would shove it all over Bruce’s face (what he should have done for him her). And that he would be the only person to truly understand him (because she thinks like him, feels like him, she needs him-)

He had accomplished the first two.

The third one, however, was coming on a bit more complicated than expected.

Jason expected fury, fists flying, screaming, crying, yelling, biting. He expected fingers pointed at the old man, claims of revenge, a need for blood and justice to be served.

Instead, he got a sleepwalking fugitive who looked at him with the same fear as before.

That same weary look was on the corners of the manor whenever he visited. That tremble of shoulders whenever he spoke, as if his voice spooked her. Those flinches whenever he stepped a bit closer in her direction.

The only thing that was gone was the quietness of her voice, now replaced by a firmer, louder tone that lessened the boiling frustration underneath his skin.

Where was the anger? Where was the thirst for revenge? She was supposed to be like him now. Broken and hurt. He was supposed to pick the pieces and rebuild. Be like him. Because she is like him now. They are the same, and he wants her to act out and yell and stop lookiNG AT HIM IN FEA-

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Red Hood?”

…That’s right. He’s here for answers.

And for those answers, he had to get them from the only person who was able to provide them.

Dr. Rio Vidal was an unsettling woman and more. She had been the one to do the autopsy on the bastards that bullied his sister (after dumping what was left of the bodies right in front of the station with incriminating proof tapped on their chests), and just one small talk was enough for Jason to decide that he would not spend more than it was necessary around that woman.

He didn’t like how every hair underneath his armor stood up when he crossed looks with that woman.

Something about her wasn’t… right.

But he would ignore the knot in his stomach that twisted tighter and tighter with every second that passed in her presence until he got what he wanted.

“I need a medical file on one of your patients.” His modulator hid very well the tension in his voice.

The doctor turned around, locking one of the small metal refrigerator doors in the wall with a fake smile. “And instead of taking it from my office, you came straight to me? I am very flattered, Red Hood.”

He did not like the dark glint in her eyes when she drawled out his name.

“Didn’t find the patient that I’m looking for.” His fingers gripped the holsters strapped to his belt.

“And that would beee?” She blinked repeatedly with a sharp, unsettling smile.

Jason felt cold sweat dripping down his temple, the longer he continued to keep direct eye contact with the woman. He could feel the smugness coming out of her when he diverted his gaze towards the fridges.

“The Wayne girl.” He uttered, ignoring the exaggerated gasping of Dr. Vidal as she clutched her hand to her chest.

“How silly of me! I was carrying it with me today!” She boasted, turning back around towards a table that had neat, clean files. Flipping through them until she grabbed a thick file and waved it eagerly at him. “They were requested to be taken out for comparisons of blood analysis.”

That got his attention, grabbing the file, but Dr. Vidal’s grip on it caught him off guard. “Who requested such a thing? Was it the commissioner?”

He tried to take the file from her, but she held onto it with a tight smile. “No, that would have been me.”

“What for?” Jason didn’t like the fact that this person, in particular, was going around doing tests with his sister’s samples.

“Easy, Red,” she eased, finally letting go of the documents and crossing her arms. “I was just curious about how advanced her healing was coming along. Not everyone heals from a deadly head wound that fast, and I’m sure you are well aware of that... due to your line of work, hm?”

There. That was it.

Healing. His sister had sleepwalked from Wayne Manor to Chinatown in the middle of the night while barefoot and in pajamas, and there wasn’t a single scratch on her feet, nor woken up the next day sick (because last time he checked, she got sick easily. He remembered the various times she got sick for staying outside in the rain for a bit. It was ridiculous-) by what Alfred told him when he called to check up.

Most people would have put it as luck, but Jason knew better than that because of various reasons.

One of them being how the hell did she make 12 miles in less than five minutes.

He had a theory, multiple ones, actually.

One of them being that the water of the pool she fell into when she was attacked was lazarus’ pit water. It was far fetched and proved wrong when he ran some tests with the samples he had gathered from her old school bag.

There was another one that it could be related to the pool as well. That it could have some odd chemicals and had altered her or something amongst that line. But it was also discarded when all the test showed that it was just old still water that could only have given her a nasty virus.

Which lead to the next theory that none of what was going on with her was happening because of outside elements or sources.

But it could something more internal.

Bodily kind of internal.

And that was just a whole new pipeline he wasn’t sure he was ready to go down by.

“Any changes I should keep an eye on, Doc?” he pried, gloved fingers tightening on the edges of the file.

Rio hummed out loud with pursed lips, before shrugging. “Nothing special. I’m pretty sure all of her progress is tied to her bloodline. She certainly has quite the strong family. Strong genes, if you catch my drift.”

‘Definitely from Old B’s side,’ he thought bitterly, nodding at the woman and making his way out as fast as possible without bringing attention to himself from the cold freezer.

The green witch simply shook her head, grinning from side to side as things finally started to get more intense.

She needed to plant that small seed of doubt so everything could start to grow and stretch out some roots of chaos on the too comfortable Maximoff. It was very exciting for her to see how her new favorite pet would be able to manage the new obstacles coming on her way.

But nothing that the girl couldn’t handle, she even had some help on her side without noticing.

And, Rio still needed her to find her things.

All according to the plan.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

“I’m honestly surprised he’s still standing.”

Conner scoffed, scraping out his food plate in the trash can. “More surprised that Damian didn’t hose him down the moment we got here.”

Barbara smiled as she sipped her coffee, sitting at the main table that was low enough for her wheelchair, letting her gaze wander off to the young man who began to clean up his dirty dishes in the sink.

Both of them had arrived early in the morning at the manor, with Barbara getting there first and then followed by the younger titans.

She had gotten asked by Dick yesterday to meet up for a relaxing outing that day in the evening along with his sister, thinking it would be a great way to bond and spend more time with the younger girl.

Since said girl seemed to prefer talking with Barbara over Dick himself, judging by their last interaction earlier that week. Barb found it hilarious how Dick was clearly trying to get her attention just to get ignored by a very talkative girl that was set on asking Barbara tons of questions.

If Barbara was being honest, she thought Dick was making the wrong move.

He couldn’t just force her to spend time with him, especially if he was using Barbara as a middle ground, which pissed her off to no end. Did he honestly believe he wasn’t being that obvious?

Was she going to follow along with his plan? No, obviously. If he wanted to fix his relationship with his sister, he would have to do it on his own and earn her trust back with his blood and sweat.

She was not helping him out in this, not this time.

Besides having sent Dick a text saying that she was going to be busy during the day, Barbara had also come to the manor with other intentions.

Something was up with Cass, and she was worried.

The girl had been acting odd on patrol, something that seemed to only be detected by Barbara and Bruce.

Looking over her shoulder every minute. Her vitals spiking on the screen whenever a noise was heard in the background. Hearing the sharp breath intakes as she heard a group of girls passing by on the street. Sudden moments of stillness on her tracker, and when Barbara pulled on the body camera, Cass’s position showed her the view of a music store where a soft piano melody played to attract customers.

Maybe she needed a break, to get some time out of the house. And Barbara was more than willing to offer that if it meant avoiding strangling Dick by the neck.

“Don’t you think the case has been taking too long?” Conner’s voice got her attention, responding with a hum. “Usually, they would have been done with it after a few days.”

The young Kryptonian had gotten here about half an hour after Barbara, with a muttering Tim in tow, going directly to the Batcave with most of the recently made coffee in his giant mug and leaving his friend without another word in the kitchen.

To which Alfred extended him the invitation for breakfast, trying to excuse his master’s rude behavior. Conner refused at first, knowing the dark knight wasn’t exactly fond of his presence, but the butler had already served him a plate and disappeared into the halls without another word.

Barbara shook her head, a wry smile on her lips as she leaned back on her chair. “They’re a bit… focused on other issues at the moment.”

Conner gave her a short look before biting inside his cheek, eyes focused on the sink. His fingers flexed on the edge of the counter. I took a few moments of silence before he decided to just be straightforward.

“Is it about their sister?” his tone was hesitant and low. Taking a glance towards the hall and looking back at Barbara with expectation.

“Did Tim mention anything?” She asked, shifting her body a bit towards Conner.

The boy shook his head, drying his hands by wiping them against the rough material of his jeans (like a heathen-) and walking towards the table. “No, but he seems to forget that I have sharp ears, and he has a habit of muttering to himself out loud.”

Barbara nodded, sighing softly as her fingers wrapped around the warm cup while Conner leaned his crossed arms on top of the back of one of the chairs.

“It’s complicated,” she offered with a shrug. “I’m not sure if I should say it, but she was recently in an accident. It has been a bit tense, as to say-”

The squeaking of sneakers running down the hall made both of them look towards the source of the noise. An understanding look between them, making it clear that their conversation would have to wait.

Then, the same person they had been talking about made her appearance, her excited manner settling down for a moment when she realized there were people in the kitchen.

Connor’s first thought, from the moment he set his eyes on her, was that she looked completely different than what he had pictured in his mind.

There were very few articles on the internet about the blood daughter of Bruce Wayne. Most of them were from tabloids that made sure to put her in a bad light for the public. He had heard many rants from both Lois and Clark about how unprofessional and cruel it was for Gotham media to hound such a young girl from an early age. And he had heard even more angry rants from Lois about Bruce’s lack of action on the situation.

Most of the pictures taken of her were either blurry, unflattering, or showing a spooked expression due to the flashes of the cameras.

Much of what Conner imagined about her was a very socially awkward girl who probably preferred to avoid the spotlight.

The girl in front of him was brighter than the spotlight.

Wild, long curls pulled in half-up style with a few strands purposely framing her face on the sides. Her roots with faded black hair dye, letting him wonder what her true hair color was like. A white short top, accompanied by an open green track jacket and wide-leg pants. White old sneakers that stood out because of the silver tape surrounding the bottom and edge of the shoes.

“Didn’t know we had visitors today.” She muttered, a smile returning to her face once she realized Barbara was there. The redhead returned her smile, motioning for her to come closer, and both of them hugged quickly.

“I like the style! Going out today?” Barb asked, holding back a tick in her eye as her mind began to put some pieces together.

“Yeah,” she answered, glancing at Conner for a moment and going towards the kitchen to serve herself a plate before Alfred appeared to do it for her. “I’m gonna hang out with my friends today.”

Connor could hear Barb’s heart rate going up, her smile tightening. He could only imagine what was angering her so much that it made her act like that.

That was when his ears picked up a sound similar to the fluttering of the wings of a hummingbird. Fast paced, almost like a buzzing sound.

“Any plans you guys have?” Barbara’s question snapped him out of concentration, his eyes landing once again on the girl as she took a seat with a serving of eggs almost as big as his daily meals.

She shrugged, taking a few quick bites from the plate as if it were her last meal. “Shopping at the mall. Bobby and Warren are picking me up in a few minutes.”

“Which was why I insisted on getting you up early, my dear,” Alfred’s voice took their attention. An amused look towards the girl’s plate as she grinned at him with a shrug, diving once again into her food. “I would prefer you go out with a full stomach, since who knows what ungodly hour you plan on coming back.”

“I promise to be here around ten, Al.” She recited as if it had been something she had heard multiple times, making Barbara and Alfred chuckle.

“As long as you give daily updates, I don’t mind the hour.” He said, bringing her something to drink as she finished up her plate. “Just be mindful and careful of your surroundings.”

“Will do,” She nodded, giving him her plate and drinking from her cup of juice.

“Didn’t take you as the shopping type…” Conner muttered, gathering the girl's attention, her eyebrow quirked in confusion.

“And you are?” Her tone wasn’t hostile, but it was sharp enough to make Conner adjust his posture, flushing as he took his arms off the seat and offered his hand.

“I’m Conner.” He uttered, smiling when she took his hand. Ignoring the sudden rush under his skin when she let go, that hand went directly to rub the back of his neck. “I’m Tim’s best friend.”

“Huh,” she nodded, getting up from her chair. “Thought you were new sibling, since you kind of fit in all the requirements…”

She gestured at him, making Barbara snort and Alfred call her in an exasperated tone to which got a laugh out of everyone. The girl took her drink and walked to the sink.

“No offense, but I think this family has enough testosterone for a lifetime.” That made Conner snicker, avoiding the pointed stare from Barbara by getting closer to the kitchen counter.

“I’m not exactly Wayne material.” He offered, noticing the short and quiet scoff under her breath. Along with the muttered lines ‘neither am I’ that got him frowning and intrigued to ask her more questions.

But that was pushed aside when the sound of beaten-up speakers blasting some Ariana Grande song from the outside was heard pulling up to the front of the manor.

“I believe that would be Mr. Drake, my dear.” Alfred pointed out after a moment of silence, handing her a small towel to dry her hands.

She quickly dried herself, giving Alfred a short hug and then giving Barb one as well. “I’ll text as soon as I get to the mall,” she promised, starting to walk towards the hall.

“Remember,” Alfred pestered, his voice rising. “Be mindful and be-”

“And be careful, I got it!” She laughed, turning around and walking backwards and blowing him a kiss. Alfred shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Then, she waved at Conner. “See you around, Conner. Don’t become a Wayne while I'm gone.”

Conner looked at Barb in disbelief, sputtering before speaking in a higher pitch. “I’m actually a-”

The sentence died in the air because she was already gone from the hall. The front door closing echoed on the walls, just as the loud music from the outside started to pull away, along with some laughs and cheers.

“...Not sure what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting that,” Conner muttered, making Barbara sigh with a smile.

“She is like a whirlwind now.” She mentioned. “It wasn’t like this before, it's a new development.”

‘Yeah, so I figured.’ Conner’s mind exclaimed.

She just came in, ate, made an impression that Conner was sure would stay in his mind for a while, joked around, and left without another word.

A tornado would be a more accurate description.

“Word of advice?” He nodded at Barbara, shoving his hands in his pockets as Alfred cleaned up the kitchen, pretending he wasn’t listening to the conversation.

“Keep your eyes to yourself. Especially for now.” Barbara’s gaze became serious, making Conner tighten his jaw.

He tried not to feel offended at the implication of her words. He knew he had a reputation of being a bit of a flirt (all in fun! He had never actually gone beyond flirting with anyone. Not enough time for commitment to relationships.), but he had respect. And he respected Tim a lot. He was his best friend and trusted him completely (No matter how odd he had been behaving lately), and Conner wouldn’t dare mess around with his sister of all people.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t curious about her. Intrigued, even.

Why had Tim never talked about her? They were around the same age, if he was judging well. They probably shared something in common.

Was she in the family business? It didn’t seem like it, she looked like a normal civilian from his point of view.

Why wasn’t she in the family business?

Now that he thinks about it, the whole family barely mentioned her in the past.

Barely, as to say never at all.

Something was up, but he was smart enough to know that it wasn’t his call to make.

“I'd rather keep my eyes in my head for now, thank you.”

For now.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Around 1:30 pm, Maximoff had decided that the mall was one of her favorite places to hang out.

Gotham Mall was like a time capsule, stuck in the glory days of the eighties, by the state of the artificial lights and that distinctive smell of cherry cola and bubble gum that got stuck on your nose and made you dizzy until you got used to it.

Stores of all kinds: clothes, shoes, high-end and low-end brands, jewelry, sports, toys, swimwear, video games, and even movie rentals. There was also a movie theater, a roller skating rink, a few music and record shops, an arcade, and a whole top floor filled with food places.

Warren had taken the role as their guide since Bobby had only gone to a few stores, and Maximoff… well, she was another case.

Wayne had also decided to stay back at the manor once again, malls were not really her thing. And, she had another ‘unfinished task’ that she had to do by herself.

Maximoff knew exactly what that meant, and she was more than okay with staying away from the manor while her companion did her own thing.

Just because she was friends with a ghost, it didn’t mean she liked being around spooky, haunting stuff.

Wayne had her hobbies, and she respected them… from afar.

“What about Aquaman? He’s kind of cool.”

Warren gave Bobby a deadpan stare, who was sipping on his milkshake with an expectant look. “Do I look like the type of guy that would be a fan of Aquaman of all people?”

Bobby shrugged, stealing fries from Warren’s plate to dip them in his sugary drink. “You’re asking the wrong person to judge by appearance.”

“Right,” Warran nodded, dragging his plate closer to him. “Should have known by your horrible taste in pants.”

That got him a pout from the freckled boy, “I have good taste in pants!”

“You only wear jeans, Bobby.”

“They’re comfortable!”

After visiting stores for almost the whole morning, the trio finally decided to eat at the food court. They settled on Bat Burger. Sadly for Bobby, Chili’s was way too full, and Maximoff was halfway through a low-sugar episode and needed food fast.

They sat in a booth, all their bags shoved on the corner of the side where Warren had taken his spot, plastered against the crystal window that gave a view to the sidewalk of the mall just by the electric stairs, while Bobby and Maximoff sat on the other side of the booth.

She had dozed off by staring at the view, her headache settling after scarfing down around ten orders of burgers and fries, two jumbo sodas, and three vanilla milkshakes.

The boys could only stare in amazement and disbelief while she basically inhaled the food as if someone was going to steal it away from her.

They started some small conversations about mindless themes. About school work, the current films in the theater, the amount of clothes that they bought (well, more like Warren bought for everyone. The moment he found out Bobby was going to use the savings from his scholarship, and that she forgot to bring her credit card [Apparently, Wayne did not have a credit card. Alfred was the one doing all of her money transactions, which was… weird. He had given her some cash for the trip, but she had forgotten the money back in her bedroom.] Warren had slammed down his black card without another word and even dragged them to the high-end stores and went nuts with paying them new sets of clothes.) and many other things.

Which led to their current subject.

Favorite superheroes.

Bobby had brought it up first. Since he was from New York, Metropolis, to be specific, he had a very obvious preference for The Man of Steel. He had even gushed about getting to see him fly by once because of a nearby fire in his neighborhood.

It would fall short to say that Bobby was a huge Superman fanboy. (As if those ten minutes of probably the longest description ever heard about the hero’s appearance weren’t clear enough.)

This put Bobby on the hunt to figure out who Warren’s favorite hero could be, since the blonde wasn’t interested in giving out such information so easily (meaning, he was making Bobby guess).

“We already discarded the local heroes,” Bobby groaned, “and Flash, Green Lantern, and Aquaman are also out. You’re giving me nothing, War!”

“Get creative, Boo,” He snickered, drinking from his soda with a smug look.

The brown haired boy sank into his spot with a grumble, crossing his arms and glaring at Warren, who winked at him with a cocky grin while biting the plastic straw of his cup.

Bobby then gave his attention to the now food-coma girl beside him, sipping on her milkshake absently with a faraway look as her head lay back against the red cushion of the booth. “Give me something to work with, babes. I need content!”

She rolled her head towards Bobby, still sipping from her drink. “What could I possibly offer?”

“What about your favorite hero?” Warren asked, his eyebrow quirking while Bobby jumped on his seat and grinned with expectation, his attitude switching once again.

He did not wait another moment to begin listing off heroes. “Any of the Bats? Maybe a Supe? Oh, how about Wonder Woman?!”

She stayed silent for a few moments, humming to herself while biting on the plastic straw with a frown.

It hadn’t crossed her mind. The whole hero thing.

Her mind was still very muddled. She knew certain things. Basic stuff. And even more, because of all the show references and quotes she says on a daily basis. But where did she learn them from? It came and went, however, it felt like it. Most of the time, it sat on the tip of her tongue. So close to saying it and acknowledging it, but never fast enough to process it. Letting slip right past her.

Which was why having Wayne as a guide was extremely helpful.

Even if she omitted certain information.

Maximoff would never push her to say anything Wayne didn’t want to share. That girl had had enough of shoving and pushing for a lifetime.

Part of that missing information was about heroes.

Wayne was…avoidant about them when the subject was eventually brought up by Maximoff. It was expected, since she had considered that Batman could be of help in some way. He was a hero (vigilante, but it’s basically the same, right?), and heroes were good guys and helped out people. It was logical.

The hellish screeching and crashing of Alfred’s old Chinese teapot was a clear indication that going for Batman’s help was a big no-no.

Maximoff still tried to research them (she wasn’t going to go around Gotham without knowing about its protectors), and she found their whole dynamic unique and that they somehow still made it work to keep the city protected from bad guys and criminals.

Kudos to them and their work, but she wouldn’t place any of them as her favorite hero.

Don’t get her wrong. They were doing good work, and their suits looked sick and cool, judging by the pictures going around the internet, taken by bystanders throughout the years whenever any of the vigilantes let themselves be viewed by the public.

But, they didn’t strike a chord with her. None of them stood out to her enough to catch her attention.

“I don’t know,” She mumbled, finally taking out the disfigured straw from her mouth. Her gaze moved towards the view of the mall, fingers tapping around her empty cup. “No one calls my attention.”

“C’mon,” Bobby insisted, “There has to be at least one that is your favorite.”

Warren hummed, giving her a furrowed look, “Are vigilantes not your style?”

“Are they yours?” Bobby quipped back, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Yeah, nice try. Still not telling you my favorite.”

“Ughh, you’re so boring! Just give me a hint! A tiny one! Anything, ple-”

“Flash.”

The boys turned their heads, both looking at her, confused at why the sudden mention of the speedster hero. She wasn’t even looking at them. Her stare was fixed on the outside view, her eyebrows twisting in a frown as she adjusted her slumping posture to an upright one.

Bobby was the one who talked first, taking advantage of Warren’s diverted attention to steal more fries. “The Flash? Guess it fits you! Fastest man alive, you like to run, and you’re rather fast while doing it too-”

“Not The Flash,” She interrupted him, getting up from her spot and sticking her face to the glass. “I meant a flash.”

Warren got up from his seat, going around the booth to see right behind her point of view, while Bobby scarfed down the leftover fries and looked over her shoulder.

From the first floor of the mall, a series of camera flashes pointed at the food court floor stood out from their view. It was almost impossible to see the people behind the cameras due to the numerous flashes popping up quickly.

The moment a few of those flashes started to move towards the electric stairs, Warren cursed and quickly began to pick up their bags, shoving a few in Bobby’s hands and pulling him out of her way. She instantly moved and picked up the last bags, leaving their discarded trash on the table.

There was no time to clean up, sorry!

“Dude, what is going on?” Bobby questioned as Warren ran out of the fast food place with the others following him closely behind.

“Of all the things that could have slipped my mind,” The blonde muttered angrily as he guided them in the opposite direction of the electric stairs. Some yells and calls of the people with the cameras made Maximoff look over her shoulder, glaring at the annoying flashes as those people continued to take pictures of them while taking the stairs.

The words began to register in their ears.

“It is them!” “It’s Worthington!” “Quickly, they’re getting away!” “Just a few pictures, sir!” “It’s that Wayne?!” “Miss Wayne, look this way!” “Please, let us ask as few questions!” “Wayne, what are you doing with Worthington? Are you friends? Is it a setup by your fathers?” “Who is the other boy? A friend of yours?” “Miss Wayne! Mr. Worthington!”

“Oh god,” Bobby gasped, suddenly accelerating his step as a mob began to form. “Are those paparazzi?!”

Warren took a right, their shoes squeaking against the polished floors and yelling over his shoulder. “Bloodhounds without souls would be more accurate, but yeah!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” She repeated over and over again, easily taking the front of the group, with Warren just behind her and Bobby at the end as they skipped the passersby with excuses and apologies.

Now it made sense why Wayne didn’t like malls.

“Go for the normal stairs! Left side of the hall!” Warren yelled, looking over his shoulder to make sure Bobby was still with them.

Bobby was struggling with switching the bags to his left hand while running, glancing back at the paparazzi, and cursing when he noticed how close they were. He finished moving the bags, his right hand now free as he searched in his jeans pocket and pulled out his car keys.

“War, catch!”

Warren caught the keys, pulling the girl back by her jacket before she took the wrong corner, hearing Bobby’s yell and making her look back at the chaos.

Everything suddenly moved in slow motion.

The mob was almost catching up to them, the cameras flashing slowly, and the people moved as if it were zero gravity, and slowly. So slowly, to the point they almost looked like those stop-motion figures for films that were still getting put together for a scene.

Bobby had stumbled with a rack of fabrics that was on display outside a store, the cloths floating around the air and blocking a few cameras from their view.

Bobby, who was with one knee on the floor and a hand about to touch it, looked panicked and pale.

It made her sick to the stomach.

Without thinking too much, she ran.

And it was like never before.

Warren’s grip on her jacket slipped off with ease the moment she took off. It almost felt like floating when her feet made contact with the ground, a sharp ringing in her ears getting pitchier and pitchier, but she put no mind into it. Her free arm shot out to the front, reaching towards Bobby’s arm that was near the ground and lifting him with ease. His weight was almost paperweight in her hands.

Still cold, even colder than before, but still very light.

Once she got him upright, she almost dragged him towards Warren, linking their elbows together without looking back at the paparazzi.

Reaching the stairs was like walking on the moon.

Going down them felt like jumping on a trampoline.

The parking lot was right in front of them, the moment everything came back to normal.

It took a few seconds for Bobby and Warren to fall to the floor and heave out so they wouldn’t throw up their food. Panting and groaning with their eyes closed, faces pale, and fingers trembling.

Maximoff was on some kind of euphoria, skin tingling, and ears blocked by the ringing that grew quieter little by little.

She felt so fucking good.

“Oh. My. God.” She uttered, a cackle of disbelief slipping out of her grinning lips.

The adrenaline. The motion. The ringing. The blood pumping. It all felt so good. It felt so right.

“Did you guys see that?! Did you see it?!” She turned towards them, eyes glinting in excitement and glee.

“I think I went blind,” Warren babbled, on his hands and knees with his bags scattered around him.

Bobby wasn’t any better, all sprawled out on the asphalt, tummy up and taking deep breaths. “Where am I? Am I dead? Is this hell?”

“That was fucking insane! Everyone was moving so slowly! Everything was frozen, and when I moved, it felt like floating! It was so freaking cool! I don’t know how, but- Ow!” She began to explain, hands moving around in exaggerated and fast movements and gestures, until she winced out loud due to a sharp pain in her right hand.

Her palm felt like burning. A cold type of burn. It was cold to the touch, the skin was numb and a bit red. Some flakes of frost began to melt down her hand, making her shiver from the freezing sensation.

Warren had gotten up from the floor, stumbling a bit with his long legs before reaching her, taking her hand carefully and looking at the skin with a frown. Bobby had sat up, looking at her with wide eyes, concern, fear, and confusion on his face as he held his right arm close to his chest.

His arm was blue.

Ice cold blue.

It looked like it was made of glass. Of Ice. Transparent around the edge and deep, cold blue in the center.

That had been the arm that she had grabbed.

“It’s an ice burn,” Warren muttered, disbelief written all over his face, looking between Bobby and her. “But it’s speedrunning through the healing-”

“Are you okay, Bobby?” She asked, taking her hand back from Warren and stepping towards Bobby, who looked spooked and on the verge of tears.

He gasped shakily, not being able to choose between shaking his head or nodding. His shoulders were trembling as he got up from the floor, stumbling a bit and flinching when she grabbed him by the shoulders to help him settle.

“...you’re not afraid?” He stuttered, eyes not moving from her hands, still remaining on his shoulders.

Maximoff frowned, shaking her head while Warren came closer to them, looking around to make sure nobody was watching them.

“Why should I?”

“I hurt you.” Bobby took a shaky breath.

“You didn’t mean it. It was an accident.” She said, reassuring him softly, fingers gently grasping his cold arm. It had changed back to his normal pink skin, still cold but not like before.

Bobby just looked at her before nodding slowly, gulping down some saliva. They stayed like that for a while, until Warren rattled their scattered bags while picking them up, gathering their attention. “We gotta move. The paparazzi are still around, and they’ll love getting their hands on this news material.” He gestured to the three of them.

Somewhere back on the mall, a complaining mob of paparazzi was questioning how they could have lost view of the kids for just a few seconds, get tangled on a bunch of fabrics, and slipped on a random patch of ice.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Patrol night did not go so well Dick Grayson.

He had gone to Bludhaven earlier in the week, having to commit to his day job despite the current family crisis happening back at the manor. If it were for him, he would have stayed in Gotham and spent more time around his little sister, had some heart-to-heart talk with her, made sure those boys bothering her remained far away, and everything would go back to normal.

But reality had to strike him and make him go do his work back at home.

Hours upon hours, paperwork after paperwork. Days dragged on and on, boring him and making him lose his nerve more than once around his coworkers back at the police station.

Why should he be around these idiots when he had a bigger issue going on?

He was very tempted to turn in a small leave. Just for a few days. He was confident that in just a few days would be enough to solve the issue.

Nothing beats a good quality time with his precious sister, so she would let down her guard and confess that all she needed was her favorite brother to give her some care and attention. Beg him to take her away from those mean boys and that dreadful school with even more dreadful teachers.

And he had gotten that leave! Two beautiful, long weeks back in Gotham sounded heavenly to him.

If it weren’t for Bruce dragging him back on patrol because ‘crime never takes a break’.

And God, was last night’s patrol just awful.

The comms were failing, pure static was heard, along with the channels getting switched around every five minutes. He tripped so many times on bare air or sudden wet patches on the rails and edges of buildings. Not to mention the absence of the two younger vigilantes of the clan, who apparently were off that night by their own volition and command, if Bruce’s scowl was enough of an answer. And lastly, Jason finally decided to make an appearance the moment Dick fell flat on his back from a firescape.

He still felt sore, no matter how much ointment Alfred passed over his back before he fell dead asleep in his bed.

The deep tiredness in his bones didn’t let him get up from his bed until the afternoon of the next day came around. Sleeping right through Barb’s calls and texts without a care in the world.

His sight was blurry, still heavy with sleep, slipping closed, and unaware of his surroundings. The silk sheets cool against his skin and limbs. The soft cushion of his pillow made it harder to lift his head and finally get up from the bed. The cold drops of water, hitting his forehead every once in a while-

‘…Drops of water?’ His mind supplied quietly.

A quiet moment passed by until he felt another drop hit his skin, sliding down his temple and sinking into his dark hair.

Then another.

And another.

And three more followed, one after another.

Dick tried to move his head away from it, but for some reason, his head remained on the same position.

More drops fell over him.

Starting to get annoyed, Dick tried to lift his hand to wipe away the water just to find out he also couldn’t move it. With a knot in his stomach, he tried to move his other hand, but the result was the same as before. It felt like they were pinned to the bed by weights.

The next drops dragged out grunts and whimpers out of his throat, a pressure on his jaw similar to the grip of long fingers keeping him shut.

His body felt so heavy, it was suffocating. As if boulders kept his lungs trapped under their weight. His legs and arms were constricted by cold hands with sharp nails that scraped against his skin and gave him a very unpleasant sensation, breaking shivers and goosebumps all over his body.

‘Get off Get off Get off Get off Get oFF GET OFF GET OFF GET OFF-’

As if his thoughts were heard, an ear-piercing shriek that seemed to resemble a butchered laugh got him snapping open his eyes.

Hanging upside down from his headboard, a shadowed figure hovered over him. It’s pale, wet hand gripped his jaw closed, nails digging into his cheeks. Long, drenched, black hair covered its face, the tresses making him yelp as they made contact with his skin and soaked his sheets.

It tilted its head to the side, showing a gaping head wound dripping with deep red blood and a grey eye that stared deeply into his own eyes. The blood continued to drop down it’s face, falling off and staining Dick.

Falling right into his forehead.

It crept closer, the air cold and dead around it while Dick felt tears going down his cheeks. His chest was about to burst in fear, his body drenched in his own cold sweat.

“I thought you liked physical contact, Dick.” It whispered with a horrifying skin-splitting grin right in his face.

Then, the door of his room slammed open.

In the blink of an eye, it was gone.

“Grayson, we need you downstairs right now,” Damian ordered, his frown deepening as he watched the pale man lying on the bed.

Dick sat up quickly, feeling nauseous and head pounding along with his heart beat. He began to pat around the bed, his other hand going over his face as he looked around for it.

All that he found was dry sheets and sweat on his skin.

No blood.

No water.

No it.

“Get dressed, Drake and I require your thoughts on an important subject.” With that, the boy closed the door and went down the hall.

Dick put a hand against his chest, panting as he stood up in shaky legs and stumbled towards his bathroom to throw up all the contents in his stomach down the toilet.

Dark hair disappeared behind the door of his closet.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

“Down the hall, take a left. Room 374. There’s supposed to be a guard outside the door.” A bored nurse said while handing the girl a lanyard that said ‘Visitor’ in bold, dark letters.

Bobby and Warren sat in the waiting area, both dozing off from tiredness after their earlier escapade, and still unsure of how to address the whole success that had happened at the parking lot.

She nodded and began walking down the long white halls of the Psych Ward of Gotham’s General Hospital. It smelled of disinfectant, sterile and cleaning chemicals, making her try not to take big breaths through her nose so her eyes wouldn’t water from the strong smell.

Bobby had been quiet the whole drive, no matter how much she tried to reassure him that she was fine. Her hand had healed in record time, too! She had shown it to the two of them, but Warren stressed that it wasn’t about that at all.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“I don’t get it! I am fine!”

“It’s more than that! You have a mutation! And it awakened in public! Do you know how much trouble that could bring to you?!”

Bobby took a deep breath, driving his truck and muttering to himself while focusing on the road. Maximoff turned to look at Warren, with visible confusion in her expression.

“What mutation? What is that?”

The truck screeched to a stop, rattling everyone inside and making them scream and hold onto something.

Bobby whipped his head towards her, a dry gulp echoing from her throat at the serious expression on his face. He took a deep breath, fingers gripping the wheel before letting go of it, leaving traces of frost where his hands used to be.

“I am your friend,” he began to say. “And we haven’t known each other for long, so I don’t expect you to tell me everything about you the same way I haven’t told you everything about me.”

He waited until she nodded slowly back at him to continue.

“And I know you’re hiding something. Something big, and I won’t push you to say it until you’re ready to do so.”

Warren bit his tongue, switching looks between the other two as she sank into her seat with an uncomfortable expression. Bobby then gave a heavy sigh, his hand going through his hair.

“But not knowing what a mutation is? I’m sorry, but I know for a fact that we have discussed it in class months ago. So I will ask you for only this time to explain to me what is going on.”

The silence reigned over the three of them. The boys patiently waited for her to respond, noticing her shaking leg and wide stare, fingers rubbing harshly on the cuffs of her jacket as she took a shaky breath and closed her eyes.

“...I’m not even sure you guys will believe me.”

Warren came up closer, right behind Bobby’s seat, so he could stare at her directly. “Try us.”

She looked at them, lip trembling and shoulders tense.

“I’m still looking for answers. I’m not even sure if I’ll get them. That’s why I’m going to visit Bianca.”

Bobby furrowed his eyebrows. “You mean your mom?”

She shook her head, wrangling her fingers as they began to sweat. “Not my mom. She is someone else’s. She can help me out.”

“So, if we get you to Bianca, you’ll explain what is happening?” Warren asked, voice softer than expected.

“If she gives me the answers that I need, then yes.”

Bobby started up the car once again and drove without another word.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

She was so excited to explain the brain-numbing story of what she had been dragged into.

(She wasn’t)

Maximoff was filled with so many thoughts. It was meant to be a relaxing day! A normal hangout! Disconnect from the reality of her situation and enjoy life a little before heading right into finding answers and get the hell out of Gotham and find Billy, for fuck’s sake-

“Room 374, Miss?” A deep, gruff voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

Looks like she reached the room without noticing. That was fast.

Maximoff nodded at the guard, showing her visitor tag and taking a step back as he indicated to do so. He began to put in a digital code on a lock by the door, the thing beeping loudly twice before a hissing mechanical sound echoed down the hall and opened the door.

“Knock three times to get out. You got twenty minutes.”

That was a weird warning, but she still walked inside the room.

There was a small window that barely let any natural light in, the sun starting to set to give start to the evening and extending the shadows of the trees outside into the floor of the room. A small light bulb on the wall, just above a small and messy bed, made her eyes hurt from the artificial lighting. Her gaze wandered around, taking notice of books scattered around the floor, with pages ripped off and lying all over the place. Odd markings, some scratched on the walls and others made with a black marker, surrounded the whole room.

Kneeling on the floor with her back turned, as she mumbled to herself, a woman in grey scrubs.

‘Yeah, I’m out,’ She thought, about to take a step back and walk out.

But the door closed right behind her, the metallic hiss making her almost tear up on the spot.

“I expected you to drop by sooner.”

A melodic voice said, the woman getting up from the ground and patting her clothes down with a sigh. Long loose curls going down her back, turning around to face the frozen girl by the door.

Before Maximoff, a thin and beautiful woman stood before her. Tall, bronzed skin, a mole on the corner of her left eye, and deep brown eyes that held dark eye bags beneath them.

Wayne’s Mother. Bianca.

She could see all the resemblances between them, with the exception of the height. Since Bianca easily towered over her by two heads. Hell, she was probably around the same height as Bruce.

“Come closer,” Bianca demanded, eyes stuck on the young girl as she took a few steps forward.

Maximoff tried not to step on the symbols on the floor, not wanting to piss off the woman that did not seem in right space of mind.

When she stood a few feet in front of her, Bianca began to walk around her in circles, Gaze calculating and unshakeable, as if Maximoff was some type of fascinating artifact that appeared in front of her.

Long fingers touched her hair, Bianca humming with a frown. She suddenly leaned forward, getting right in the girl’s face and making her flinch out of reflex. The woman stared at her face, taking in her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, and her lips.

“...Fascinating. You have the same face, but it’s so much different now.” She muttered, eyes softening suddenly around the edges.

Bianca’s hands cradled her cheeks, cold fingers tracing the features with gentleness and delicacy. A sharp breath intake and her eyes watering, the more she continued to look at her.

“Was it painful for her? For you?”

Maximoff made the decision to lie to the woman.

She shook her head, a tear slipping down both of their cheeks.

Bianca took a moment to hold her for a bit longer, letting her hands slip down slowly. Maximoff wiped away her tears quickly, clearing her throat as she scratched the back of her neck with a rough sigh.

“We need your help,” she said. “ We are looking for-”

“You’re looking for Rio’s vessels.”

The woman sat down on her bed, fingers going through her hair and making the curls bounce around with a weird smile on her lips. “She is making you get them to fulfill the deal I made with her, right?”

Maximoff was caught off guard, nodding slowly with a shrug. “Kind of. More like she wants to make the Waynes miserable and gets her precious retribution… or whatever a mafia boss wants, I guess?”

“Rio as a mafia boss? Mother, you’re cute,” Bianca chuckled. “You've got no idea of who is pulling all the strings, are you?”

“I don’t care as long as I can go to my real family.” Maximoff declared, lips thinning.

“It doesn’t work like that, Maximoff.” The woman drawled, crossing her legs as the girl bit her tongue.

How did she know her last name?

“You need the bigger picture to understand what you are getting into, so sit down and listen.”

Since she did not have any other choice, Maximoff sat down on the floor with a grumble and crisscrossed her legs with a frown. Bianca ignored her attitude, moving her feet in circles as she leaned back a bit.

“What exactly do you know about witches?”

“Like Harry Potter?”

Bianca sighed and shook her head, “No, but we don’t have the time to explain all of that. So, let’s summarize a-”

“I was joking! Your daughter gave me the gist of it already!” She quickly butted in, getting a glare from Bianca in return.

“Fine, then,” Bianca rolled her eyes. “Anyway, sixteen years ago, I made a deal with death.”

Before Maximoff could interrupt once again, Bianca gave her a pointed stare that made her shut her mouth closed. With that done, she continued.

“I was expecting.” A nostalgic glint in her eyes. “Twins, actually. A boy and a girl.”

This time, Maximof stayed silent.

“My family had been through a rough path at that time. My parents were no longer with me, and my twin brother had also gone into a life of crime.” She let out a sarcastic, short laugh. “He used to be a lawyer, and I would always say that this city would drag him down with it… and I was right.”

“I was alone, well established in my career as a singer in the opera. And money wasn’t a problem either, my folks left me a good sum, and my brother took care of me from afar. What I lacked was security.”

Bianca uncrossed her legs and leaned forward with a tired expression. “I didn’t want Bruce to know about the pregnancy; he had his problems, and I didn’t want anything to do with his name. The Wayne name is a cursed name.”

Maximoff took note of that last part. Something to look up later.

“So, I summoned Death with a deal. The safety of my children, and she would get her own apprentices.”

Bianca rubbed her eyes with a groan. “That didn’t work out, since one of the twins didn’t make it. He was stillborn. I cremated him.”

“But she survived, that’s like half the deal, right?” Maximoff stuttered, mind reeling with the fact that Rio was apparently Death? How does that even make sense?

Then again, she was not exactly normal either, and she also had a ghost companion, so she should really stop questioning stuff when her day-to-day life was straight out of Casper, the friendly ghost, if it were a teen drama.

“Almost,” Bianca muttered. “In exchange, she gave some vessels to guard while I taught my daughter the basis of witchcraft so she could become Death’s apprentice. And that also did not work out.”

“Why?”

“Because I tried to break the deal.”

“Oh.”

Bianca got up with a chuckle, a weird look in her eyes as she walked around the room. “And Death did not like it one bit. She cursed me, drove me insane, insane enough to make them lock me away in here!”

She began to yell, a maniacal grin on her lips. Maximoff got up from the floor, stepping far away from the woman until her back met the wall.

“You got what you wanted, Rio! You got it!” She screamed out, banging on the walls with cries and yells and claims.

It continued for a bit, scaring Maximoff shitless as she moved towards a corner, dragging herself to the side of the wall as Bianca dropped down to her knees with sobs and laughs. Hugging herself as her nails scratched at the material of her clothes.

“My baby, my baby,” she sobbed. “She was never meant to be for the Wayne name. She was mine, all mine.”

Bianca snapped her neck toward the pale girl, still gripping the wall with shaky legs and trembling fingers. The woman let out a cracking sob, face stained with tears.

“I was never going to be able to see her grow. Not like she was meant to be. Not with my last name. Not with me.”

“But,” she shuddered, “If it was not going to be me, it would be with family. My family.”

In the back of her head, despite the scary situation at hand, Maximoff connected a big, important dot in this whole conversation.

Wayne was never supposed to go with Bruce Wayne.

She was supposed to go with her uncle.

“I signed it. I know I did.” Bianca muttered. “It took a while for me to sign it, but I gave it to Harvey, I know I did! He knew I didn’t want my baby with him, but she was still there and she wasn’t meant to be there-”

What happened next was straight out of a horror movie.

Bianca’s eyes rolled back into her skull, showing only the white part of it. She threw her body back in an abnormal arch as the light bulb began to flicker as if it were a throbbing light. Groaning and moaning words that were either in another tongue or completely gibberish.

She suddenly stood up on her feet, standing on the tip of her toes as she pointed a finger at the screaming girl, following her as she scattered to the door and tried to force it open with her body weight.

Bianca’s head snapped forward, looking directly at her despite the lack of pupils.

“Wheel of fortune,” her voice sounded distorted. “Find the ashes of The Moon beneath the Four of Wands, get The Sun its Hierophant, and reunite with the Reversed Tower.”

‘Oh, fuck this and everything else. Get her out of here!”

With the three bangs against the door, Bianca dropped to the floor as if a puppet whose strings had been cut, groaning and whimpering while the light stopped flickering. Maximoff could hear people yelling outside, recognizing Bobby and Warren’s voices, which made her cling to the door with desperation.

The sudden hand on her shoulder made her scream and jump to look at a completely normal-looking Bianca, despite the scowl on her face.

“Stop yelling,” she growled. Maximoff, feeling a bit dizzy from the whole ordeal, shut up.

Bianca took out a piece of paper from her back (how the fuc-), and shoved it in the girl’s hand, closing it in a tight fist. “I had it written down before you came in. Follow it to the letter and don’t skip any steps.”

Maximoff nodded with a weird sound, feeling lightheaded as the door behind her hissed open.

Before she got dragged out by the guards, Bianca whispered to her an important name with a request.

“Harvey Dent. Find him. Find him and he will make sure the Waynes never interfere with you ever again.”

Find Harvey Dent, huh?

That should be easy, right?

Right?!

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Author's note: I lied, this became over 9,900 words lol. Hope you all enjoy this bc chapter's will not be this long again, I just got really inspired for this chapter and couldn't stop writting. Started summer class last week so hopefully I'll survive. Many things happened and I can't wait to see what are everyone's comments and thoughts! Remember to follow the asks rules and to be respectful!! Lots of love and hugs, GG✨

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple @staarflowerr @xoxoyukixoxo @whyiseveryuseenametaken @holderoflostmemories @doggyteam2028 @leeiasure @shadowypeachsweets @jjoppees @astraeasworld @wrenbirde @scarletdfox @letsbedragonstogether @exactlynumberonekryptonite @randomlyappearingartist @angwlart @ceramic-raven @vndexd @suneaterscape @initial-ari

Bonus Memes:

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fairuzfan · 1 year ago

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Also re:necropolitics of israel (click)

A few days ago there were reports of Israeli soldiers "returning" bodies of martyrs they took like just straight up from Gaza. Here is a report about bodies being stolen from al-Shifa (click).

The director of Al-Shifa had reported the bodies being stolen back in November (click) before his arrest. The hospital workers mentioned not knowing why the soldiers would do that. The speculation of the photo-op arose because the photo-op of October 7th within Israel happened a month and a half after October 7th, after the Al-Shifa raid. People (Palestinians) noted that the level of violence done to the bodies seemed similar to what they had been seeing with the bombs in Gaza, and found it hard to believe that Hamas could inflict that much damage. There was a thread that was examining this idea but I haven't found it as it's been a bit. If I find it, I'll comment on this post.

But even then, Israel routinely makes corpses serve out their sentences or even outright steals them for the sake of enacting psychological torture onto the relatives of the martyr (click). The burial process is an essential step in mourning and grief, which means by withholding the bodies, they ensure that the family is unable to recover emotionally from the death of their loved one nor are they allowed to move on. This is essentially a form of ensuring that people are unable to resist as the emotional toll this takes on them is quite high.

A variety of reports and testimonies are linked in this article regarding the harvesting and removal of organs throughout the years by Israel (click). The most damning of the evidence is a testimony by Dr. Meira Weiss in her book "Over Their Dead Bodies." The article has a translated passage from Hebrew about the period at the turn of the century and their practices then (roughly 1996-2002):

“They would take corneas, skin, and heart valves, while noting that non-professionals would not notice the absence of these organs as they would place something plastic in place of the corneas and ‘take’ the skin from the back so that the family wouldn’t see it. In addition, the bodies of detained martyrs are used in medical colleges at Israeli universities for research purposes.” Weiss confirmed that “in the first Intifada, the army effectively allowed the institute to extract organs from Palestinians under a military procedure that required the autopsy of a Palestinian prisoner. The autopsy procedure was accompanied by organ removal, which was used by the Israeli Skin Bank established in 1985 to treat burns suffered by Israeli soldiers. This was after the Chief Rabbinate Council issued a ruling legitimizing it, which led to saving the lives of many Israelis who were injured during attacks on Palestinian citizens, continuous assaults, and wars — at the expense of Palestinian martyrs, according to specialized Israeli medical sources for burn treatment.”

It's worthy to note: as an occupying force especially, Israel should not be doing ANYTHING with these bodies and just returning them to the families. I've seen some people say "they didn't JUST harvest Palestinians' organs, they also harvested Israeli organs." It doesn't matter. They are an occupying force that enacts systematic violence on Palestinians especially and within this context, anything Israel does towards Palestinians is a targeted, racialized violence. It is widely known that Israel denies crimes it has committed until many, many years, especially from during the Nakba, such as well poisoning.

People provide evidence that organs can't be used after a certain point in time.... in this context (October 2023-December 2023), it's not about whether or not the organs were used for anything. It is specifically for the purpose of body desecration which Israeli soldiers especially have not been shy about. Here is a report during the bulldozer massacre in which people report that Israeli soldiers run over bodies for no other reason than desecration (click).

Also, remember the grave desecration that happened a few days ago? It was reported that they had stolen bodies believed to belong to young Palestinian activists then (click). This is widely known as 'necroviolence' on Palestinian bodies in order to humiliate them (click).

You cannot remove the context of an oppressive force (Israel) that is documented to have disrespected graves and bodies. You must analyze it within this context, not any others. Withholding bodies of Palestinians, no matter what they did while they were alive, is a form of disrespect and oppression on a subjugated population. To deny that this happens and to attribute it to antisemitism is not only disrespectful of Palestinians' mourning rights, but also an effort to remold the narrative into one of "Jewish people against Palestinians" by emphasizing the Jewishness of the occupying force rather than focusing on... you know... the fact that they're an occupying force known to enact violence on Palestinian martyrs.

#palestine #gaza

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incognit0slut · 1 year ago

Text

Much Ado About Nothing (Act II, Scene I: The Suspicious Scheme)

The three times you sense something strange when everyone pairs you with Spencer, and the one time you understand why.

Part warning: Definitely inaccuracy in autopsy procedures and Spencer’s educational background, it’s hard writing a genius Words: 5.6k (not proofread, I’ll do it when I have the time so please excuse me if you see any mistakes) A/n: I tried to make this part shorter but I gave up. I hope you don’t mind reading more😌

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

I. The Forced Partner

There was usually a system when Hotch paired the team up, a method to his leadership that balanced skills and personalities to get the job done efficiently. But as Spencer and you were directed to the autopsy room together, you couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch was pushing his luck—or preferably yours.

It was weird. Two weeks had gone by since the last case where he had to witness you both sparring, and you would’ve thought he’d keep you apart. Yet here you were, together again, stepping into the cold, sterile room.

The faint smell of antiseptic filled the air as you pulled on your gloves, the latex snapping against your wrists. A woman in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, turned to greet you and Spencer. She extended a hand.

“I’m Dr. Nina Patel, I’ll be overseeing the autopsy today. You must be from the BAU.”

You nodded, shaking her hand firmly.

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” you introduced, gesturing towards Spencer, who offered a brief nod and a tight lip smile in greeting. Dr. Patel returned the gesture and motioned for you both to approach the table.

“Our Jane Doe was found early this morning in an alleyway downtown," she explained, pulling back the sheet to reveal a woman appearing in her late thirties. "There are no apparent injuries, and no ID was found with her.”

Spencer stepped closer. "Any indication of the time of death?"

"Preliminary estimates put the time of death at approximately eight hours before she was found."

You watched as she started pointing to various parts of the body.

"She was also found with her clothes in perfect condition. It’s possible she was placed there post-mortem."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Could suggest transportation from another location.”

You moved to the head of the table, examining Jane Doe's hands and nails. "No defensive wounds," you added. "She didn't fight back, or more likely, wasn't conscious during her final moments."

Dr. Patel nodded as she considered your observations. “It’s plausible that a strong sedative was used, which would leave minimal to no struggle marks. We’re running some tests as we speak.”

Spencer chimed in quickly after that. “The Unsub might have used succinylcholine, or even benzodiazepines,” he suggested. Then, turning toward you with a condescending tone as if simplifying it for your benefit, he added, “They’d metabolize quickly and would require a toxicology screen to detect definitively.”

You rolled your eyes.

“That’s impressive, Dr. Reid,” Dr. Patel remarked, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer than seemed strictly professional. You narrowed your eyes at her. “Did you study pharmacology formally, or is this a passion of yours?”

“I actually did a bit of formal study during my Ph.D. programs.”

“Oh, really? What did you study?”

“Chemistry and Engineering. Pharmacology intersects quite a bit with those fields, especially when looking at biochemical reactions.”

Dr. Patel seemed genuinely impressed. “That’s quite a formidable educational background. No wonder you’re so thorough with your analyses.”

You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Her admiration was professional, sure, but the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way her voice dipped just so—it was a tone you recognized all too well.

She was flirting with him.

You watched them, your gaze sharp and assessing. Although it wasn’t like Spencer to notice her advances; he was smart, yes, but his brilliance often left him oblivious to the layers of personal interaction that didn’t involve textbooks or theories. And Dr. Patel, with her easy smile and obvious interest, seemed to have her focus on him rather than the body lying between you.

You cleared your throat, louder than necessary.

“Can we continue?”

Dr. Patel seemed to catch your eye, her expression shifting back to professional as she nodded. “Of course.”

She resumed her explanation, detailing the various findings and pointing out subtle indicators on the body that might have otherwise gone unnoticed. Spencer listened intently, his gaze shifting between Dr. Patel and you, noticing the subtle tension in the room, but didn’t comment.

It wasn’t until you had all the information you needed—and after you caught one last flirtatious look from Dr. Patel directed at him—that Spencer finally spoke up.

“She seems nice,” he remarked as you both stepped outside the building, heading toward the parking lot.

You shrugged. “Sure, if you say so.”

Spencer glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Am I missing something?”

You looked over at him, debating whether to explain, before you finally sighed.

“It’s just... she seemed a bit more interested in you than the case,” you said, trying to keep your tone light but failing to hide your slight irritation.

And then he noticed it. The subtle tension in your voice, the way you avoided his gaze, the underlying frustration—it clicked. “Wait, are you... jealous?”

“No, I’m not!” You replied quickly, then softer, “I’m not.”

“You sound like it.”

You scoffed. “No, I sound like a friend trying to remind you that we have a case to focus on.”

“Oh, so now we’re friends?”

“I meant that in the broadest, most professional sense of the word.”

“Right,” Spencer replied sarcastically. “I didn’t realize jealousy was part of professional behavior.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you snapped. “Stop making it into something it’s not.”

“Sure.”

“Reid.”

“Y/L/N,” he shot back in the same flat tone.

Dear God, why was he so infuriating? How he had this ability, this perfectly annoying talent to get under your skin without seeming to try was beyond you. You both stared at each other for a while, until finally, you broke the silence with an exasperated sigh.

“Let’s just go,” you muttered, brushing past him.

You walked a few steps ahead, trying to shake off his words. It was absurd. The very idea was ridiculous when you were focused on the case, on solving the mystery—nothing more.

You were not jealous.

II. The Unavoidable Flight

“I’m telling you, she was definitely flirting with him,” you said, your voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance as you and Penelope made your way toward the plane. “It was so obvious, the way she kept looking at him, the tone of her voice. I mean, does professional decorum mean nothing anymore?”

“Why are you acting so surprised? Wonder Boy is actually quite the catch,” Penelope responded. “He’s not my type, but he clearly has admirers.”

Your eyes involuntarily drifted toward the man in question, who was walking a few paces behind, engaged in conversation with JJ. He was casually gripping the strap of his satchel bag, laughing at something JJ had just said. You narrowed your eyes.

“Well, I don’t understand what they see in him.”

“It might be that genius brain of his—totally irresistible to some.”

“It’s annoying, is what it is,” you grumbled, quickening your pace as the plane came into view.

Penelope responded with a sly grin. “You know what you sound like?”

“What?”

“Like someone who’s maybe a little jealous.”

You frowned, hating how she was the second person to conclude your irritation with something else. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. You seem unusually focused on how others interact with him.”

“I’m focused on maintaining a professional work environment,” you defended, trying to keep your voice even as you approached the steps of the plane. “Not about… whatever you’re implying.”

“Fine. If Dr. Patel makes her move and actually calls him, what would you do?”

Your eyes widened. “What? Who did you hear that from? Did he tell you? When did she call him?”

“Hypothetically, oh my god,” Penelope laughed, stepping onto the plane as you followed, slightly flustered. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, if it happened, what would you do? How would you react?”

You paused at the entrance, processing her question. “I’d do nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?”

“Yes, I’d do nothing because I’m not jealous.”

“That’s what any jealous person would say.”

You narrowed your eyes at her as you walked past the entrance, and when you caught her making herself comfortable on the long couch by the front, you quickly made your way to the back of the plane.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To find a spot where my supposed jealousy isn’t your inflight entertainment,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I knew you were jealous!”

“Supposed jealousy!”

Her laughter trailed after you, ringing down the narrow aisle as you navigated through the plane, bypassing Rossi, who was typing away on his phone, and Hotch, who sat across from him with his eyes closed, leaning back against his seat. You walked further down the aisle until you spotted an empty spot at the very back of the plane, looking very isolated and inviting.

It was perfect.

“Garcia! That’s my usual spot,” Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed through the plane as you made yourself comfortable in your chair.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him standing over Penelope, a hand gesturing toward the seat while his other hand clutched his bag.

“But it’s so comfortable,” Penelope responded, settling deeper into the plush seat. “Come on, Reid, I don’t travel as much as you do. Let me have it.”

Spencer paused, his initial protest fading as he took in Penelope’s exaggerated comfort. “Where would I sit?”

“You can sit…”

You quickly closed your eyes. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t–

“Over there! There’s an empty spot in front of Y/N.”

You were going to kill her.

You sank deeper into your chair, hoping to avoid any forced small talk or, worse, awkward silence with him. Maybe if you were lucky enough, he’d pick another chair—perhaps next to Hotch, or Rossi, or—

A cough interrupted your thoughts.

“I know you’re pretending to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you opened one eye, peeking at him.

"Mind if I sit here?"

For a moment, you considered ignoring him, but the look on his face told you he wasn’t going to let it go. You rolled your shoulders, giving up the pretense, and sat up straighter.

“Actually, yes, I do mind.”

He raised an eyebrow but lowered himself onto the seat anyway, clearly unfazed by your objection.

"Reid,” you warned him. “I’m serious.”

"I know you are.” His eyes briefly swept around the cabin as he settled into the seat across from you, placing his satchel bag on his lap. "But every other seat is taken. Unless you want me to stand in the aisle for the next few hours?"

You rolled your eyes, letting out a resigned sigh as you crossed your arms. "Fine, but I'm reserving the right to nap, and you're reserving the right to not disturb that nap."

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He leaned forward in his seat. “Do you know that you snore when you sleep?”

You gasped. “I do not!”

“You do. You sound like a little chainsaw.”

You gaped at him. The idea of a rough, grating noise being associated with you was almost laughable, and yet here he was, completely serious. You were unsure whether to be amused or offended.

“A chainsaw? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Well, considering the average chainsaw operates at around 90 decibels, I'd say it's an appropriate comparison."

“Don’t make me throw you off the plane.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Just so you know, certain sleep positions can actually help reduce snoring. Maybe you should try—ouch!”

You nudged him with your foot, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your point clear. He rubbed his leg and glanced up at you with a wry expression.

“Consider that your first and only warning,” you stated firmly before closing your eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.

“See, your position is all wrong, if you slightly elevate your—”

“Good night, Reid.”

There was suddenly a moment of silence, the kind that feels almost tangible, stretching out in the small space between you. Then, you heard it—a slight, barely audible chuckle.

You wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you, the sound so faint that it seemed it could easily be a figment of your imagination. But no, there it was again, a soft, amused sound that had you frowning even with your eyes closed.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Maybe you were already dreaming.

III. The Lock-in Incident

“Y/N,” JJ’s voice chimed from behind you while you were gathering a stack of folders on your desk. “Can you take these down to the filing room? Spencer’s already down there reorganizing some of the older case files.”

You eyed the thick folder in JJ’s hands. When there wasn’t an active case, the team often spent time organizing and maintaining the archives. As tedious as it was, it was a necessary task, and normally, you wouldn’t mind lending a hand.

But the sound of his name made you pause because working with him in a confined space seemed very much unappealing.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Aren’t you going there?” She asked, her gaze shifting to the folders in your hands.

Internally, you groaned. Yes, you were headed there, that had been the plan. But now that you knew Spencer was there, every step towards that cramped, paper-stuffed room felt like walking into a minefield.

“Maybe you should go down there instead.”

“I can’t,” she responded, already adding her folders to your pile. “I’ve got to finish my other reports before the end of the day.”

Your eyes glanced over to Derek’s desk across from you. “Morgan?”

He turned over a page in the file he was reading, not even looking up. “Sorry, Pretty Girl, I got my hands full with this case report.”

“Oh, come on.” You stormed over to him, desperation edging into your voice. “I’ll do you a favor—anything you want.”

Derek glanced up, finally giving you his attention, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Anything I want?”

“Within reason.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, but I really can’t. This report’s due in an hour.”

Frustrated, you glanced over towards Emily’s desk, hoping for a backup, but groaned when you saw it was empty.

You finally sighed, feeling the weight of your options—or lack thereof—settle on your shoulders. You gathered the heavy folders in your arms, the paper edges digging slightly into your skin. It was just a few hours, you reasoned; you could manage Spencer. He could be insufferable, but you had your own ways of being equally annoying.

With a deep breath, you headed toward the filing room, mentally preparing yourself. He was already busy sorting through a pile of disorganized paperwork when you got there, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I have more work for you,” you announced in a sing-song voice.

Spencer looked up, his eyes scanning the sight of the hefty folders in your arms. “Nope. They’re yours, not mine.”

You paused, leaning on the table filled with sorted files. “Are you sure you want me to do this by myself? Because, you know, I might just rearrange what you’ve already organized here. It would be a shame if all your hard work got… scrambled.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he quickly warned. “Hand them over. I’ll do it myself.”

You moved closer and placed the folders next to his neatly arranged stacks, deliberately nudging them just enough to seem accidental.

“Really?” he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone as he carefully realigned the folders you had nudged. “You know, we could actually get this done much faster if you’re not acting like a child.”

“Oh, please. Like you’re the mature one.”

“At least I’m trying to get the job done, not make it harder.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so uptight about every little detail, it wouldn’t be so hard,” you shot back, grabbing another stack of files to sort.

“I’m not uptight. I’m precise. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

Spencer opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get the words out, the sudden sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the cramped room. Both of you turned around simultaneously.

“Did that just…?” He began, stepping towards the door and trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He jiggled it again, more forcefully this time. “Great, it’s locked.”

“What?” You walked over, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Who the hell locked it?”

“I don’t think anyone did. These old doors… they stick. It’s probably just jammed,” Spencer explained, though his voice carried a hint of doubt.

Yeah, right, you thought, your skepticism growing. Despite his logical explanation, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a coincidence. The timing was just too perfect, and you had a sneaking suspicion that someone might have been behind this.

But then the reality of the situation sank in. Your immediate concern shifted to the fact that you were trapped here, with him, until someone realized you were missing. The prospect was both frustrating and daunting.

“Look, let’s just keep working,” he suggested. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can figure out how to get out of here.”

You nodded, though a part of you wanted to argue. “Fine. But if we’re still stuck here by the time we’re done, you’re explaining this to Hotch.”

“We’ll get out, don’t worry.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” You picked up a folder from the pile, flipping it open to look over its contents. “How do I do this?”

“Sort them by case type first, then by date within each type.”

“So, this one would go under…?”

“Unsolved homicides,” Spencer replied, taking a quick peek at the document you held open. “And make sure it’s in chronological order with the others.”

You moved to the designated shelf, sliding the folder into its appropriate spot before returning to grab another. “Wait,” you opened the file, your eyes scanning the page. “I think this was my first case.”

You read through the document and nodded.

“Yes, look, it’s the one where the Unsub was targeting families with children,” you reminisced, your mind going back to the time when you were still new to the job. “That was such a hard case. Remember how I couldn’t stop crying? And how Hotch had to debrief me because I was still shaking even after we made the arrest?”

When you were met with silence, you looked up to see his back facing you, seeming too busy as he organized his files. You closed the document in your hands and walked back toward the shelf.

“Of course, you don’t remember,” you muttered under your breath. “Why would you even remember?”

A twinge of disappointment settled in your chest, even though you hated to admit it. It was stupid, really, to expect him to recall every little detail from the past, especially when it had to do with you. But just as you turned to grab another file, Spencer’s voice stopped you.

“October 19, 2011.”

You paused, turning slowly to face him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“The date you started working here,” Spencer said, still focused on his task. “You wore a black blouse and the brightest shade of red on your lips.”

You blinked, trying to understand what he was getting at.

“The case was in St. Louis,” Spencer continued, now looking up to meet your gaze directly. “Your first field assignment. You told Hotch you were ready, but the case really got to your head.”

You found yourself at a loss for words, realizing what he was trying to do.

“You cried when you came back from talking with the victim’s family. You cried when the second victim was found. You cried when we finally caught the Unsub.”

You continued to stare at him, not knowing how to process his words.

“You also cried when I sat beside you on the plane.”

He remembered.

The realization struck you hard, almost like a physical blow. A part of you had convinced yourself that he barely noticed you, that any memory involving you was erased from his mind. But here he was, recalling not just any memory, but your first week when you joined the team, right down to the color of your lips.

“You…” The frown on your face deepened. “You remembered.”

There was a pause as he looked at you, his eyes carefully assessing your reaction. “It’s hard not to."

You held his gaze. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you were still on good terms. Would you smile at him now? Would you tell him that, yes, you also remembered how he allowed you to lean on his shoulder during that flight back home, despite the awkwardness of your first meeting when it seemed he’d rather keep his distance?

You shook your head, looking away from him. It was wishful thinking. Letting yourself dwell on what could have been would only lead to another heartbreak. You had learned to protect yourself, to keep your distance, because hoping for a return to those days would only make the present hurt more.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your composure as you gripped the folder in your hand. “I forgot you have an eidetic memory.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, a quiet, lingering gaze that you felt more than saw. The room suddenly felt incredibly small, the walls seeming to close in around you as your fingers fumbled slightly with the papers, grabbing another file.

You needed to get out of here. You needed to regain control. The faster you finish your work, the sooner you can escape him.

IV. The Table For Two

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” You pressed, arms linked with JJ as you both walked down the sidewalk, your stride matching the quick tempo of your rising irritation. The accusation in your voice was clear, but JJ just offered a casual shrug, avoiding direct eye contact.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You expect me to believe it was an accident?” Your skepticism was palpable, and you watched as a small smirk played at the corner of her lips. “That the door coincidentally locked itself when we were both inside?”

“The doors are old,” she said, keeping her gaze forward, her steps even and unhurried. “You know how it is, sometimes if you even just shut them too hard, they jam. Could happen to anyone.”

Her tone was too nonchalant, too practiced, and you tugged on her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Right, and I suppose it was also just chance that the door closed by itself?”

JJ paused, finally facing you with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t do it.”

“Then somebody did.”

“Y/N,” she replied, her smile broadening in a way that only heightened your irritation. “Nobody did.”

You groaned, resuming your walk as you pulled her along. “You guys are so annoying.”

JJ laughed. “How did you get out of there anyway?”

You sighed, the memory of the escape bringing a frown to your face. The entire time you were locked in that room, you had done everything possible to avoid talking to him, focusing on shuffling through files and pretending to be absorbed in the work.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence and strained small talk, you both gave up trying to ignore the situation and started moving around the cramped space, phones held high, desperately trying to find a signal. When you finally managed to get a single bar, you quickly dialed Penelope, who answered with her usual upbeat tone, clearly amused by your predicament.

"We had to call Garcia to let us out,” you said, your tone dry. “She found the whole thing hilarious."

JJ's laughter grew as she imagined the scene. "She would have loved that. Probably made her day to rescue the two of you."

“She’s already teasing us about it.”

Her laughter slowly died down as she gave your arm a light tug. “Did anything happen while you two were in there?”

You hesitated, recalling the awkward silence, the shuffling of papers, and that brief, tensed exchange. “Not really,” you admitted. “We just tried to organize the files without screaming at each other.”

“But did you talk at all? I mean, really talk?”

“Jennifer,” you warned, the tone of your voice hinting that she was treading on uncomfortable territory. The thought of delving deeper into what had—or hadn’t—happened in that room was not something you were eager to talk about.

“I know, I know, it’s complicated,” she conceded. “Just thought it seemed like a good opportunity to maybe clear the air between you two.”

“Well, you thought wrong. There’s nothing to talk about.”

JJ looked at you skeptically, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see right through your defenses. She seemed on the verge of pushing further, but then her phone rang, interrupting the moment. She glanced at the screen and sighed, giving you an apologetic look. "Hold on, I need to take this. It's Will."

You nodded and watched as she stepped a few feet away to answer the call. You waited and tried to give her privacy, but it was hard when her words were clear as you listened to her talk, and the more she spoke, the more you narrowed your eyes at her.

“…right now… sure… no, it’s fine… I can be there in ten… of course, honey...”

You crossed your arms when JJ finally ended the call and turned back towards you.

"I need to head home,” she said, a bit too casually. “Will got called into work unexpectedly.”

Suspicion started to creep in as you processed her words. The timing was impeccable—a little too perfect. You both were supposed to meet up with Penelope and Derek for dinner, and it was almost guaranteed that Spencer would be there too, considering Derek had taken it upon himself to drag him along at any given chance under the pretense that ‘the kid needs to go out more’.

But the thought of JJ bailing on you on such short notice seemed out of pocket, even for her.

"Really, right now?" you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. She shifted on her feet, her smile a bit forced. “Is everything okay?”

JJ nodded, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that looked more like amusement than guilt. "Yeah, I just need to get home to the kids. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

The more she spoke, the more your suspicion grew. Her demeanor seemed too casual, almost rehearsed, as if she was trying to assure you while simultaneously eager to leave. It felt like she was in on some inside joke that you weren't aware of.

“Well, if you really have to go…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” JJ flashed a quick, almost relieved smile and gave you a hurried kiss on the cheek. “Have a good time tonight, and fill me in on all the details later.”

“Details? What details?” You called after her but she was already walking away. “JJ! Why do I have to fill you in the details?”

She simply waved a hand without turning back, leaving you standing there with a growing sense of unease. You slowly resumed your walk, taking out your phone to call Penelope but stopped in your tracks when you saw a message from her, sent five minutes ago.

Hey, Sweetie, so sorry I can’t make it to dinner tonight! Something urgent came up. Have fun without me :)

Your stomach dropped as you read the message. First JJ, and now Garcia? It was starting to feel like you were being abandoned, or worse, you were being set up. You glanced around, half expecting to see Derek lurking in the shadows with a mischievous grin, orchestrating this whole fiasco.

It wasn’t until you arrived at the restaurant and spotted Spencer alone at the entrance, trying to avoid any immediate contact with the other patrons, that you realized your suspicion was confirmed. The pieces clicked together almost too neatly, and the man seemed as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

His discomfort was evident as he adjusted his stance, gripping the strap of his bag, eyes darting to you as you approached him.

“Morgan’s late,” he announced as a greeting.

“He’s not coming,” you said, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into your voice. “And neither is JJ or Penny.”

“He told you that?”

“No,” you replied with a sigh. “But it’s pretty obvious now, isn’t it?”

"What is?"

“That we’ve been set up,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “They’re not coming, and I’m willing to bet they never planned to.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together. “You think they did this on purpose? Why would they—”

“Come on, Reid,” you interrupted. “They’ve been nudging us to talk for weeks. What better way than to leave us no choice?”

Spencer’s gaze hardened slightly. “I don’t need to be manipulated into having a conversation,” he said sharply.

“And you think I do?” You retorted. “I’m not exactly thrilled about being tricked into a dinner date either, if that’s what this is supposed to be.”

“It’s not a date,” Spencer replied quickly, almost defensively.

“Well, that’s one thing we agree on,” you snapped, then sighed, trying to rein in your temper. “Look, I don’t want to argue. Let’s just forget this ever happened and go home.”

There was a pause as Spencer looked around, his eyes settling back on you. “You want to go home?”

“You don’t?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, we’re already here. Might as well stay and eat. It’s not like I have any better plans.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. A part of you had expected him to jump at the chance to escape, but here he was, suggesting you to stay.

It seemed like a bad idea. The tension, the potential for awkward silences, the possibility of yet another argument—it all pointed to leaving being the better option. But against our better judgment, you found yourself considering his suggestion more than you wanted to admit.

Maybe it was the hunger gnawing at your stomach, or perhaps it was the realization that leaving now would only make things more awkward the next time you saw each other. Dinner with Spencer was the last option you’d choose, but it was better than coming home to an empty fridge.

“Fine,” you finally said, brushing past him. “But you’re paying.”

Spencer looked momentarily surprised but then nodded. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked into the restaurant, but immediately stopped in your tracks when you took in the setting. This wasn’t just a restaurant, it was a place designed for dates. The realization made you pause as you looked around the room in horror.

The dim lighting cast a soft glow on polished wood and fine china, while a gentle melody played subtly in the background, setting an unmistakable romantic mood. Just as you were taking in the scene, a hostess approached with a warm, inviting smile.

"A table for two?"

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as you realized how the evening was poised to look. Turning slightly to gauge Spencer's reaction, you found him even more flustered, his face turning a shade redder as he stammered a response. "Uh, yes, that's—um, that will be fine."

The hostess nodded and led you to a small, intimate table near the window. Spencer fidgeted with the strap of his bag as you both sat down, his eyes darting around the room before finally settling on you. "This is... not exactly what I expected.”

You took the menu from the hostess before she left you both alone. “I’m going to kill them,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit extreme.”

You sighed, flipping through the menu without really seeing it. “They’re always meddling. They don’t know when to stop. I'm also convinced that being locked earlier was also part of their plan. And this—this is just so...”

“Annoying?” He offered.

“Infuriating,” you emphasized, throwing your hands up. “It’s infuriating. And embarrassing. And—”

“And yet, here we are,” he cut in, feeling the same way. Spencer paused for a moment, then leaned in slightly, sending you a pointed look. “You know, maybe we should just give them what they want.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a fact that humans are generally satisfied when they get what they want. And since what our friends want is for the two of us to get along, maybe we should just... pretend that we do.”

“Reid,” you pressed, mirroring his posture as you leaned forward. “They don’t want us to just get along. Look around us. They want us to really get along.”

Spencer paused, considering your words, his gaze lingering on the candlelit table and the other couples around, deep in conversation. He seemed to realize the full extent of the setup, the romantic undertone that wasn't simply incidental but intentional.

“You’re right,” he finally responded, leaning back in his seat. “Forget what I said. It was stupid.”

You studied him as he opened the menu, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his face. He was right. Not only was it stupid, it was crazy. Pretending to be civil with him was one thing, pretending that you shared some kind of unspoken, lingering feelings was another thing. The mere thought of it made your heart race, but you couldn’t tell if it was from anxiety or nervousness.

You quickly shook your head. It was ridiculous. How could you even begin to pretend to have feelings for someone with whom you shared such a complicated past? How could you act like there was something more between you when the reality was so different?

The whole idea was far-fetched, almost laughable. You couldn’t imagine yourself romantically involved with him, even if it was just for pretend.

#much ado about nothing #gifwriting #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencerreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #Fanfiction

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demonic0angel · 6 months ago

Note

"Wolf, please show us mercy." Angent M begged, "Our leaders are dead. The rest of us aren't a threat."

Batman placed the last of his explosives on the locked door that separated him from Wolf and her prey.

"Mercy?" Wolf crooned. She prowled closer to Agent M. "You tried to torture my husband and brother to death. You planned to harm my sister." She lunged at him. "So long as one of you exists, my family is at risk."

Scampered a safe distance away from the door, Bruce set of the detonator. His mouth pressed into grim line when he saw that the explosion barley left a dent. He pressed a hand to his coms, "Oracle, get these doors open."

"The entire system is offline. There's no way for me to open it. I'm looking through the site's blueprints for another way in. But this place is heavily fortified. Unless I find something you're going to have to find your own entrance."

Wolf stalked away from Angent M's body, hunting for every last one of his associates scattered in the sealed building.

(*does a heel click of happiness*)

Jason opened his eyes, blinking heavy eyelids as he looked up and observed Wolf standing over him. Her tall body cast a heavy shadow over him, her face shrouded in her helmet and shadows as she leaned over him like a vengeful spirit.

“Hey, Princess,” he said with a smile. “I knew you’d come get me.”

He reached for her, and her gloved palm slid onto his. Something slick dripped down her fingers and all over his arm.

Jason’s eyes widened as he sat up hurriedly. The pain flashed through his body, making him gasp and pause, as Wolf quickly reached out to help him, her wet arms smearing all over his body. He grabbed her wrist before she could do more though, as he observed the red staining her leather gloves and bodysuit.

“Wolf! Are you hurt?!”

She shook her head quickly. “No. It’s not mine.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and squeezed her hand. “Don’t do this again. I don’t want you killing for me like this.”

“Hypocrite,” she muttered suddenly, but nodded silently. Jason beamed at her and got off of the autopsy table. His wounds were stitched up and already healing, since none of the agents had the time to restart another procedure on him while Wolf was tearing up the facility.

“Thanks for coming to get me, Princess. Let’s get your brother and go, okay?”

She nodded again. Then she said, “Batman is chasing after me.”

Jason snorted and then he smirked. “That’s fine. We’ll just have to outrun him.”

He stretched, thankful that he still had his pants on. Wolf handed him his uniform and guns and he put it on, uncaring of her presence in the same room.

He could feel Wolf’s gaze on him, and he flexed once just to tease her before he took her hand and grinned, pulling her towards the door. She dripped blood all over the floors, and Jason purposefully did not look at the bodies littering the ground.

“Shall we?”

He could almost see her smile through the helmet. She squeezed his hand. “Let’s go.”

And they ran, hand in hand as they weaved through the halls of the GIW headquarters.

The Red Hood and his Wolf were back.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #danny phantom x dc #dp x dc crossover #ask #jazz fenton #anon ask #jason todd #anger management ship #hardcover ship #jason x jazz #assistant jazz au #ty for the ask <3

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literaryvein-reblogs · 11 months ago

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Writing Notes: Autopsy

Autopsy - dissection and examination of a dead body and its organs and structures.

The word autopsy is derived from the Greek autopsia, meaning “the act of seeing for oneself.”

Also known as: necropsy, postmortem, postmortem examination

Why is an autopsy done?

To determine the cause of death

When a suspicious or unexpected death occurs

To observe the effects of disease; when there's a public health concern, such as an outbreak with an undetermined cause

To establish the evolution and mechanisms of disease processes

When no doctor knows the deceased well enough to state a cause of death and to sign the death certificate

When the doctor, the family or legally responsible designee of the deceased person requests an autopsy

Who does the autopsy?

Autopsies ordered by the state can be done by a county coroner, who is not necessarily a doctor

A medical examiner who does an autopsy is a doctor, usually a pathologist

Clinical autopsies are always done by a pathologist

How is an autopsy done?

After the patient is pronounced dead by a physician, the body is wrapped in a sheet or shroud and transported to the morgue, where it is held in a refrigeration unit until the autopsy.

Autopsies are rarely performed at night.

Autopsy practice was largely developed in Germany, and an autopsy assistant is traditionally honored with the title "diener", which is German for "helper".

The prosector and diener wear fairly simple protective equipment, including scrub suits, gowns, gloves (typically two pair), shoe covers, and clear plastic face shields.

The body is identified and lawful consent obtained.

The procedure is done with respect and seriousness.

The prevailing mood in the autopsy room is curiosity, scientific interest, and pleasure at being able to find the truth and share it.

Most pathologists choose their specialty, at least in part, because they like finding the real answers.

Many autopsy services have a sign, "This is the place where death rejoices to help those who live." Usually it is written in Latin ("Hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae").

EXTERNAL EXAMINATION

The prosector checks to make sure that the body is that of the patient named on the permit by checking the toe tag or patient wristband ID.

The body is placed on the autopsy table.

Experienced dieners, even those of slight build, can transfer even obese bodies from the carriage to the table without assistance.

Since the comfort of the patient is no longer a consideration, this transfer is accomplished with what appears to the uninitiated a rather brutal combination of pulls and shoves, not unlike the way a thug might manhandle a mugging victim.

The body is measured.

Large facilities may have total-body scales, so that a weight can be obtained.

The autopsy table is a waist-high aluminum fixture that is plumbed for running water and has several faucets and spigots to facilitate washing away all the blood that is released during the procedure.

Older hospitals may still have porcelain or even marble tables.

The autopsy table is basically a slanted tray (for drainage) with raised edges (to keep blood and fluids from flowing onto the floor).

After the body is positioned, the diener places a "body block" under the patient's back. This rubber or plastic brick-like appliance causes the chest to protrude outward and the arms and neck to fall back, thus allowing the maximum exposure of the trunk for the incisions.

Abnormalities of the external body surfaces are then noted and described, either by talking into a voice recorder or making notes on a diagram and/or checklist.

OPENING THE TRUNK

The diener takes a large scalpel and makes the incision in the trunk. This is a Y-shaped incision. The arms of the Y extend from the front of each shoulder to the bottom end of the breast bone (called the xiphoid process of the sternum). In women, these incisions are diverted beneath the breasts, so the "Y" has curved, rather than straight, arms. The tail of the Y extends from the xiphoid process to the pubic bone and typically makes a slight deviation to avoid the umbilicus (navel). The incision is very deep, extending to the rib cage on the chest, and completely through the abdominal wall below that.

With the Y incision made, the next task is to peel the skin, muscle, and soft tissues off the chest wall. This is done with a scalpel. When complete, the chest flap is pulled upward over the patient's face, and the front of the rib cage and the strap muscles of the front of the neck lie exposed. Human muscle smells not unlike raw lamb meat in my opinion. At this point of the autopsy, the smells are otherwise very faint.

An electric saw or bone cutter (which looks a lot like curved pruning shears) is used to open the rib cage. One cut is made up each side of the front of the rib cage, so that the chest plate, consisting of the sternum and the ribs which connect to it, are no longer attached to the rest of the skeleton. The chest plate is pulled back and peeled off with a little help of the scalpel, which is used to dissect the adherent soft tissues stuck to the back of the chest plate. After the chest plate has been removed, the organs of the chest (heart and lungs) are exposed (the heart is actually covered by the pericardial sac).

Before disturbing the organs further, the prosector cuts open the pericardial sac, then the pulmonary artery where it exits the heart. He sticks his finger into the hole in the pulmonary artery and feels around for any thromboembolus (a blood clot which has dislodged from a vein elsewhere in the body, traveled through the heart to the pulmonary artery, lodged there, and caused sudden death. This is a common cause of death in hospitalized patients).

The abdomen is further opened by dissecting the abdominal muscle away from the bottom of the rib cage and diaphragm. The flaps of abdominal wall fall off to either side, and the abdominal organs are now exposed.

REMOVING THE ORGANS OF THE TRUNK

The most typical method of organ removal is called the "Rokitansky method." This is not unlike field dressing a deer. The dissection begins at the neck and proceeds downward, so that eventually all the organs of the trunk are removed from the body in one bloc.

The first thing the diener does is to identify the carotid and subclavian arteries in the neck and upper chest. He ties a long string to each and then cuts them off, so that the ties are left in the body. This allows the mortician to more easily find the arteries for injection of the embalming fluids.

A cut is them made above the larynx, detaching the larynx and esophagus from the pharynx. The larynx and trachea are then pulled downward, and the scalpel is used to free up the remainder of the chest organs from their attachment at the spine.

The diaphragm is cut away from the body wall, and the abdominal organs are pulled out and down.

Finally, all of the organs are attached to the body only by the pelvic ligaments, bladder, and rectum.

A single slash with the scalpel divides this connection, and all of the organs are now free in one block. The diener hands this organ bloc to the prosector. The prosector takes the organ bloc to a dissecting table (which is often mounted over the patient's legs) and dissects it. Meanwhile, the diener proceeds to remove the brain.

Another method is called Virchow method, which entails removing organs individually.

EXAMINATION OF THE ORGANS OF THE TRUNK

At the dissection table, the prosector typically dissects and isolates the esophagus from the rest of the chest organs. This is usually done simply by pulling it away without help of a blade (a technique called "blunt dissection"). The chest organs are then cut away from the abdominal organs and esophagus with scissors. The lungs are cut away from the heart and trachea and weighed, then sliced like loaves of bread into slices about one centimeter thick. A long (12" - 18"), sharp knife, called a "bread knife" is used for this.

The heart is weighed and opened along the pathway of normal blood flow using the bread knife or scissors. Old-time pathologists look down on prosectors who open the heart with scissors, rather than the bread knife, because, while the latter takes more skill and care, it is much faster and gives more attractive cut edges than when scissors are used. The coronary arteries are examined by making numerous crosscuts with a scalpel.

The larynx and trachea are opened longitudinally from the rear and the interior examined. The thyroid gland is dissected away from the trachea with scissors, weighed, and examined in thin slices. Sometimes the parathyroid glands are easy to find, other times impossible.

The bloc containing the abdominal organs is turned over so that the back side is up. The adrenal glands are located in the fatty tissue over the kidneys (they are sometimes difficult to find) and are removed, weighed, sliced, and examined by the prosector.

The liver is removed with scissors from the rest of the abdominal organs, weighed, sliced with a bread knife, and examined. The spleen is similarly treated.

The intestines are stripped from the mesentery using scissors (the wimpy method) or bread knife (macho method). The intestines are then opened over a sink under running water, so that all the feces and undigested food flow out. As one might imagine, this step is extremely malodorous. The resultant material in the sink smells like a pleasant combination of feces and vomitus. The internal (mucosal) surface of the bowel is washed off with water and examined. It is generally the diener's job to "run the gut," but usually a crusty, senior diener can intimidate a young first- year resident prosector into doing this ever-hated chore. Basically, whichever individual has the least effective steely glare of disdain is stuck with running the gut.

The stomach is then opened along its greater curvature. If the prosector is lucky, the patient will have not eaten solid food in a while. If not, the appearance of the contents of the stomach will assure the prosector that he will not be eating any stews or soups for a long time. In either case, the smell of gastric acid is unforgettable.

The pancreas is removed from the duodenum, weighed, sliced and examined. The duodenum is opened longitudinally, washed out, and examined internally. The esophagus is similarly treated.

The kidneys are removed, weighed, cut lengthwise in half, and examined. The urinary bladder is opened and examined internally. In the female patient, the ovaries are removed, cut in half, and examined. The uterus is opened along either side (bivalved) and examined. In the male, the testes are typically not removed if they are not enlarged. If it is necessary to remove them, they can be pulled up into the abdomen by traction on the spermatic cord, cut off, cut in half, and examined.

The aorta and its major abdominal/pelvic branches (the renal, celiac, mesenteric, and iliac arteries) are opened longitudinally and examined.

Most of the organs mentioned above are sampled for microscopic examination. Sections of the organs are cut with a bread knife or scalpel and placed in labeled plastic cassettes. Each section is the size of a postage stamp or smaller and optimally about three millimeters in thickness. The cassettes are placed in a small jar of formalin for fixation. They are then "processed" in a machine that overnight removes all the water from the specimens and replaces it with paraffin wax. Permanent microscopic sections (five microns, or one two-hundredth of a millimeter thick) can be cut from these paraffin sections, mounted on glass slides, stained, coverslipped, and examined microscopically. The permanent slides are usually kept indefinitely, but must be kept for twenty years minimum.

Additional small slices of the major organs are kept in a "save jar," typically a one-quart or one-pint jar filled with formalin. Labs keep the save jar for a variable length of time, but at least until the case is "signed out" (i.e., the final written report is prepared). Some labs keep the save jar for years. All tissues that are disposed of are done so by incineration.

A note on dissection technique: All of the above procedures are done with only four simple instruments -- a scalpel, the bread knife, scissors, and forceps (which most medical people call "pick-ups." Only scriptwriters say "forceps"). The more handy the prosector, the more he relies on the bread knife, sometimes making amazingly delicate cuts with this long, unwieldy-looking blade. The best prosectors are able to make every cut with one long slicing action. To saw back and forth with the blade leaves irregularities on the cut surface which are often distracting on specimen photographs. So the idea is to use an extremely sharp, long blade that can get through a 2000-gram liver in one graceful slice. Some old-time purist pathologists actually maintain their own bread knives themselves and let no one else use them. Such an individual typically carries it around in his briefcase in a leather sheath. This would make an excellent fiction device, which, to my knowledge, has not been used. Imagine a milquetoast pathologist defending himself from a late-night attacker in the lab, with one desperate but skillful slash of the bread knife almost cutting the assailant in half!

Note on the appearance of the autopsy suite: Toward the end of the autopsy procedure, the room is not a pretty sight. Prosectors vary markedly in how neat they keep the dissection area while doing the procedure. It is legendary that old-time pathologists were so neat that they'd perform the entire procedure in a tux (no apron) right before an evening at the opera (pathologists are noted for their love of classical music and fine art). Modern prosectors are not this neat. Usually, the autopsy table around the patient is covered with blood, and it is very difficult not to get some blood on the floor. We try to keep blood on the floor to a minimum, because this is a slippery substance that can lead to falls. The hanging meat scales used to weigh the organs are usually covered with or dripping with blood. The chalk that is used to write organ weights on the chalkboard is also smeared with blood, as may be the chalkboard itself. This is an especially unappetizing juxtaposition.

Another example using the Virchow method:

After the intestines are mobilized, they may be opened using special scissors.

Inspecting the brain often reveals surprises. A good pathologist takes some time to do this.

The pathologist examines the heart, and generally the first step following its removal is sectioning the coronary arteries that supply the heart with blood. There is often disease here, even in people who believed their hearts were normal.

After any organ is removed, the pathologist will save a section in preservative solution. Of course, if something looks abnormal, the pathologist will probably save more. The rest of the organ goes into a biohazard bag, which is supported by a large plastic container.

The pathologist weighs the major solid organs (heart, lungs, brain, kidneys, liver, spleen, sometimes others) on a grocer's scale.

The smaller organs (thyroid, adrenals) get weighed on a chemist's triple-beam balance.

The next step in the abdominal dissection will be exploring the bile ducts and then freeing up the liver. The pathologist uses a scalpel or other similar tool.

After weighing the heart, the pathologist completes the dissection. There are a variety of ways of doing this, and the choice will depend on the case. If the pathologist suspects a heart attack, a long knife may be the best choice.

In the example: The liver is removed. The pathologist finds something important. It appears that the man had a fatty liver. It is too light, too orange, and a bit too big. Perhaps this man had been drinking heavily for a while.

The pathologist decides to remove the neck organs, large airways, and lungs in one piece. This requires careful dissection. The pathologist always examines the neck very carefully.

The liver in this example weighs much more than the normal 1400 gm.

The lungs are almost never normal at autopsy. In the example, the lungs are pink, because the dead man was a non-smoker. The pathologist will inspect and feel them for areas of pneumonia and other abnormalities.

The liver is cut at intervals of about a centimeter, using a long knife. This enables the pathologist to examine its inner structure.

The pathologist weighs both lungs together, then each one separately. Afterwards, the lungs may get inflated with fixative.

The rest of the team continues with the removal of the other organs. They may decide to take the urinary system as one piece, and the digestive system down to the small intestine as another single piece. This will require careful dissection.

One pathologist holds the esophagus, stomach, pancreas, duodenum, and spleen. He opens these, and may save a portion of the gastric contents to check for poison.

Another pathologist holds the kidneys, ureters, and bladder. Sometimes these organs will be left attached to the abdominal aorta. The pathologist opens all these organs and examine them carefully.

Dissecting the lungs can be done in any of several ways. All methods reveal the surfaces of the large airways, and the great arteries of the lungs.

Most pathologists use the long knife again while studying the lungs. The air spaces of the lungs will be evaluated based on their texture and appearance.

Before the autopsy is over, the brain is usually suspended in fixative for a week so that the later dissection will be clean, neat, and accurate.

If no disease of the brain is suspected, the pathologist may cut the brain fresh.

The kidneys are weighed before they are dissected.

It is the pathologist's decision as to whether to open the small intestine and/or colon. If they appear normal on the outside, there is seldom significant pathology on the inside.

One pathologist prepares the big needle and thread used to sew up the body.

When the internal organs have been examined, the pathologist may return all but the tiny portions that have been saved to the body cavity. Or the organs may be cremated without being returned.

The appropriate laws, and the wishes of the family, are obeyed.

The breastbone and ribs are usually replaced in the body.

The skull and trunk incisions are sewed shut ("baseball stitch").

The body is washed and is then ready to go to the funeral director.

These notes do not show all the steps of an autopsy, but will give you the general idea.

During the autopsy, there may be photographers, evidence technicians, police, hospital personnel, and others.

In the example, the pathologists submit the tissue they saved to the histology lab, to be made into microscopic slides.

When these are ready, they will examine the sections, look at the results of any lab work, and draw their final conclusions.

The only finding in this sample autopsy was fatty liver. There are several ways in which heavy drinking, without any other disease, can kill a person. The pathologists will rule each of these in or out, and will probably be able to give a single answer to the police or family.

CLOSING UP AND RELEASING THE BODY

After all the above procedures are performed, the body is now an empty shell, with no larynx, chest organs, abdominal organs, pelvic organs, or brain. The front of the rib cage is also missing. The scalp is pulled down over the face, and the whole top of the head is gone. Obviously, this is not optimal for lying in state in public view. The diener remedies this problem. First, the calvarium is placed back on the skull (the brain is not replaced), the scalp pulled back over the calvarium, and the wound sewn up with thick twine using the type of stitch used to cover baseballs. The wound is now a line that goes from behind the ears over the back of the skull, so that when the head rests on a pillow in the casket, the wound is not visible.

The empty trunk looks like the hull of a ship under construction, the prominent ribs resembling the corresponding structural members of the ship. In many institutions, the sliced organs are just poured back into the open body cavity. In other places, the organs are not replaced but just incinerated at the facility. In either case, the chest plate is placed back in the chest, and the body wall is sewn back up with baseball stitches, so that the final wound again resembles a "Y."

The diener rinses the body off with a hose and sponge, covers it with a sheet, and calls the funeral home for pick- up. As one might imagine, if the organs had not been put back in the body, the whole trunk appears collapsed, especially the chest (since the chest plate was not firmly reattached to the ribs). The mortician must then remedy this by placing filler in the body cavity to re-expand the body to roughly normal contours.

Ultimately, what is buried/cremated is either 1) the body without a brain and without any chest, abdominal, or pelvic organs, or 2) the body without a brain but with a hodgepodge of other organ parts in the body cavity.

FINISHING UP

After the funeral home has been called, the diener cleans up the autopsy suite with a mop and bucket, and the prosector finishes up the notes and/or dictation concerning the findings of the "gross exam" (the part of the examination done with the naked eye and not the microscope; this use of the term "gross" is not a value judgement but a direct German translation of "big" as opposed to "microscopic").

For some odd reason, many prosectors report increased appetite after an autopsy, so the first thing they want to do afterwards is grab a bite to eat.

The whole procedure in experienced hands, assuming a fairly straightforward case and no interruptions, has taken about two hours.

Complicated cases requiring detailed explorations and special dissections (e.g., exploring the bile ducts, removing the eyes or spinal cord) may take up to four hours.

AFTER THE AUTOPSY

Days to weeks later, the processed microscopic slides are examined by the attending pathologist, who renders the final diagnoses and dictates the report.

A final report is ready in a month or so. The glass slides and a few bits of tissue are kept forever, so that other pathologists can review the work.

Only the pathologist can formally issue the report, even if he or she was not the prosector (i.e., the prosector was a resident, PA, or med student).

The report is of variable length but almost always runs at least three pages. It may be illustrated with diagrams that the prosector draws from scratch or fills in on standard forms with anatomical drawings.

The Joint Commission for the Accreditation of Healthcare Organizations (JCAHO), which certifies hospitals, requires the final report to be issued within sixty days of the actual autopsy.

The College of American Pathologists, which certifies medical laboratories, requires that this be done in thirty days.

Nevertheless, pathologists are notorious for tardiness in getting the final report out, sometimes resulting in delays of years.

Perhaps the non-compensated nature of autopsy practice has something to do with this. Pathologists are otherwise very sensitive to turnaround times.

THE BRAIN-CUTTING

The examiner returns to the brain left suspended in a big jar of formalin for a few weeks. After the brain is "fixed," it has the consistency and firmness of a ripe avocado.

Before fixation, the consistency is not unlike that of three-day- old refrigerated, uncovered Jello.

Infant brains can be much softer than that before fixation, even as soft as a flan dessert warmed to room temperature, or worse, custard pie filling. Such a brain may be difficult or impossible to hold together and can fall apart as one attempts to remove it from the cranium.

Assuming good fixation of an adult brain, it is removed from the formalin and rinsed in a running tap water bath for several hours to try to cut down on the discomforting, eye-irritating, possibly carcinogenic formalin vapors.

The cerebrum is severed from the rest of the brain (brainstem and cerebellum) by the prosector with a scalpel.

The cerebellum is severed from the brainstem, and each is sliced and laid out on a tray for examination.

The cerebrum is sliced perpendicularly to its long axis and laid out to be examined.

Sections for microscopic processing are taken, as from the other organs, and a few slices are held in "save jars."

The remainder of the brain slices is incinerated.

Sources: 1 2 3 4

If these notes help with your poem/story, do tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

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brunchable · 10 months ago

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LAZARUS SERUM || Steve Rogers x Enhanced!FReader

FINAL

Part One | Part Two | Part Three Words: 10.4K Themes: Drama, Lovers to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers. Warning: Nothing really? Sneak Peak: “I can’t believe they had this,” he says, his voice tinged with nostalgia as he carefully places the vinyl of ‘You Belong to Me’ by Jo Stafford on the turntable. The record crackles softly as the needle touches down, and soon, the sultry, smooth sound of a saxophone fills the room. A/N: This is probably the most romantic thing I've ever written, to me at least. Up to you if you want to hear the Song played in this story. Anyways Last Part, definitely enjoyed giving some life into this, I will miss this story now that it's over. Brb I'm going to cry.

Tags: @haruvalentine4321@strepsils123@realifelamb@needsleep3000@vicmc624@i-can-do-this-all-dayy@mrs-jjmaybank @nesnejwritings @feelinthefic@niffala@fantasyfootballchampion@thefandomplace @bellajean9-blog

Steve could hardly bring himself to watch as they treated your body with a clinical detachment that made his chest tighten. He knew this was protocol—you were government property now, subject to the rigorous examination and eventual autopsy that all enhanced individuals faced in death. Despite the protocol, the medical team was ordered to delay the autopsy until all Hydra officials are cleared out.

Steve sat by your side, holding your hand. It was cold now, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go. The room was filled with the faint beeping of machines monitoring nothing at all. They were just there, another part of the procedure, keeping track of a body that showed no signs of life.

He barely left the room, and when he did, it was only because someone—Natasha, Tony, or Sam—forced him to. He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, just sat there, his mind replaying the events that had led them to this point. The sound of Pierce pressing that button echoed in his head, a constant reminder of what had been lost.

Days passed, each one blurring into the next. The doctors kept their vigil, waiting for the required period to pass before they could begin the autopsy. For Steve, those days felt like an eternity. He refused to leave your side, clutching your cold hand as if it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. He whispered to you words that even he wasn’t sure he believed—words of love, of regret, of apologies for not being able to save you.

Natasha checked on Steve regularly, bringing him food that often went untouched. Tony lingered at the door more often than not, wanting to offer comfort but unsure of how to bridge the growing chasm of grief that separated Steve from the rest of the world. Sam tried to talk to him, tried to get him to rest, but Steve was a statue.

On the fourth day, the medical team began to prepare for the inevitable. The necessary observations had been made, and there was no sign of any changes. The protocol was clear—they would move forward with the autopsy.

Steve felt the weight of the world pressing down on him as he overheard the quiet conversation between two of the doctors at the door, discussing the next steps. It was like the final nail in a coffin that had been closing around him for days.

He had known this was coming, but knowing didn’t make it any easier. The thought of them cutting into you, of them treating your body like just another subject in their endless quest for knowledge, made something inside him twist painfully. But he didn’t stop them. He couldn’t. This was beyond him now, beyond anything he could control.

Finally, the lead doctor approached Steve, her expression one of professional sympathy. “Captain Rogers,” she began, her voice gentle, “we need to start the procedure. We’ll take care of her… with the utmost respect.”

Steve nodded numbly, his throat too tight to form words. He stood up slowly, his legs heavy as if they were made of lead, and leaned down to press a final kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against her cold skin for a moment longer than necessary.

“I love you,” he whispered.

No answer.

With a heavy heart, Steve turned and walked out of the isolation room, the door closing softly behind him. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Every step felt like an insurmountable task, his body weighed down by a grief so profound that it was all he could do to keep moving.

As the door sealed shut, the doctors began their work, the room’s sterile lights flickering as the gravity of the situation settled over them like a shroud.

Outside, Steve leaned against the wall, the sterile corridor around him a blur. He felt Natasha’s presence beside him, her hand gently resting on his arm, offering silent support. But there were no words that could heal this wound, no comfort that could ease the pain of losing you. . .for real.

Inside the room, the lead doctor took a deep breath and steadied her hand as she reached for the scalpel. The cold metal glinted under the sterile lights as she positioned it above your chest. The other doctors stood ready, watching closely, their expressions grim behind their surgical masks.

With a calm, steady motion, the doctor pressed the scalpel down, expecting the blade to cut through the skin with ease. But instead of the familiar sensation of metal slicing flesh, the blade stopped short, bending as if it had struck something impossibly hard.

“What the—?” the doctor gasped, her eyes widening in shock as she lifted the scalpel. She examined it closely, her heart pounding in her chest. The blade, which should have cut cleanly, was bent at an unnatural angle, as if it had been pressed against solid steel instead of skin.

The room went still, a heavy silence descending as the other doctors leaned in, trying to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

“What happened?” one of the nurses asked.

“I don’t know,” the lead doctor replied, her voice unsteady. She cautiously reached out, placing her hand on your chest, feeling for any sign of movement, of life. The skin beneath her fingers was cold and unmoving. Before she could pull her hand away, you grabbed her wrist, your eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, and you drew in a sharp, ragged breath.

“AHHHH!” The lead doctor jumped back with a scream, dropping the bent scalpel as she stumbled into a tray of instruments, sending them clattering to the floor.

The other doctors recoiled in shock, their faces pale with disbelief as they watched your chest rise and fall, your breaths shallow and erratic.

Your eyes were wild and unfocused, your mind struggling to make sense of what was happening. Your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alive with a burning sensation that tore through you. You tried to move, to sit up, but your limbs feel heavy, uncooperative.

Outside, Steve heard the commotion and felt his heart leap into his throat. He pushed the door open, his breath catching in his chest as he saw you—alive, gasping for air.

“Y/N!” Steve shouted, rushing to your side. He reached out, his hand trembling as he tried to steady you, to offer some comfort. But you flinched at his touch, recoiling as if his hand had burned you.

When you looked at him, there was no relief—only confusion and fear. You yanked your hand out of his grasp, your body tensing as you scrambled to push yourself up. Your movements were jerky, uncoordinated, survival instinct kicking in.

“Where… where am I?” you gasped, your voice a mixture of confusion and alarm. “What’s happening? Steve—what did you do?”

Steve’s heart sank. He knew the signs; the serum had done more than just bring you back to life—it had reset your mind, made you relive old traumas. To you, it was as if the breakup had just happened, and the trust you had rebuilt was shattered once again.

“Y/N, it’s okay,” Steve said gently, holding out his hands in a placating gesture. “You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you.”

But his words only seemed to fuel your confusion.

“Stay back, asshole!” you shouted, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, the machines, the sterile environment. You felt trapped, cornered.

Before Steve could react, you launched yourself at him, your movements quick but disoriented. You swung at him, your fists connecting with surprising force as you fought to defend yourself from what you perceived as a threat. Steve caught your wrists, trying to restrain you without hurting you, but your strength was fueled by the fear coursing through you.

“Y/N, stop!” Steve pleaded, his voice strained as he struggled to hold you back. “I’m not going to hurt you! Please, just listen to me!”

But you were beyond reason. The serum had done its work too well, resetting you to a time when trust had been shattered and your emotions were raw. To you, Steve was the enemy, the one who had broken your heart. You fought with everything you had, your punches wild but powerful, driven by your fresh emotions.

Steve didn’t fight back, only defended himself, his heart jumping with every strike you landed.

“Y/N, please,” he said, his voice cracking as he managed to pin your arms down, his face inches from yours. “I’m not your enemy. You’re confused… the serum… it did something to you. But I’m here to help. I’m here for you.”

You continued to struggle. Desperate to make you stop, to get through to you, Steve did the only thing he could think of. He leaned in and possessed your lips with his soft ones, pouring all of his emotions into the kiss—his love, his regret, his longing. Steve kissed you like he was drowning and needed the air.

Your eyes widened in shock, your naked body stiffening as Steve took you by surprise. For a moment, you fought against it, your mind screaming at you to pull away. But the intensity of the kiss, the raw emotion behind it, started to break through the fog of confusion. Your struggles began to weaken, your fists unclenching as you slowly stopped fighting.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to feel the kiss, the familiar warmth of his lips on yours, and the emotions it stirred within you. The walls you had built up began to crack, and you leaned into him, letting your guard down.

But just as quickly, the reality of the fractured relationship hit you like a freight train. The trust he had broken, the pain he had caused—it all came rushing back. Your eyes snapped open, and a surge of anger flared within you.

With a burst of strength, you shoved Steve back, your eyes blazing with fury.

“This is for breaking my heart!” you hissed, driving your knee into his crotch with brutal force.

Steve gasped, doubling over in pain, but before he could react, you struck again, your voice laced with venom.

“And this is for making promises you can't keep.” you delivered a second, equally vicious kick, sending him to the ground.

Steve collapsed, clutching his midsection, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to recover from the blows. He looked up at you, face red in terrible pain.

“Y/N… I’m sorry…”

You stood over him, your chest heaving with exertion and emotion, but your resolve wavered. You had wanted to hurt him, to make him feel the pain he had caused you, but seeing him like this, the man you still loved despite everything, made you falter.

You took a shaky step back, your anger beginning to ebb, replaced by confusion and exhaustion. Your head was spinning, the effects of the serum still clouding your mind, making it hard to think straight.

Steve slowly pushed himself up, wincing with every movement, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. He could see the conflict in your eyes, the struggle between your anger and the love you had once shared. He knew he deserved every bit of your wrath, but it didn’t change the fact that he needed to reach you, to help you through this.

“Y/N…” he started, his voice soft, filled with regret. “I know I hurt you. And I’m so sorry. But I’m not going to give up on you. I’m here now, and I’m not leaving.”

× × × ×

Tony Stark wasn’t exactly sure what to expect when he made his way to the medical wing of the Compound. Ever since your death, the atmosphere had been oppressively heavy, with Steve barely leaving your side. The team was on edge, everyone handling their grief in their own way. But Tony knew something had changed—he had caught wind of the commotion in the medical bay, and his curiosity, mixed with concern, got the better of him.

As he approached the door to the room where you were being kept, Tony could hear the faint sounds of a struggle—a thud, followed by muffled voices. His brows furrowed in concern. Steve had been in there for days, practically refusing to move, and now…what the hell was going on?

He quickened his pace, just in time to hear your voice, filled with unresolved anger, though it was shaky and weak. Tony couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable—this was bad.

Tony reached the doorway just as your knee drove into Steve’s crotch with brutal force. The sight made him stop in his tracks, eyes wide as Steve crumpled to the floor, clutching himself in obvious pain.

“HOLY SHIT,” Tony blurted out, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief. He had seen a lot in his time as Iron Man, but this…this was something else. He instinctively stepped back, half-expecting to need to intervene, but also too stunned to fully process what was happening.

Before Tony could react further, other medical staff rushed into the room, alerted by the commotion. They immediately moved toward you, trying to cover your naked body. You were visibly disoriented, your chest heaving with exertion. “Ma’am, please, you need to stay calm,” one of the nurses said gently, trying to approach you with caution. “We’re here to help you.”

But you, still caught in the confusion of your reset mind, saw the medics as another threat.

“Stay away from me!” you shouted. As one of the nurses reached out to check your vitals, you ripped off the telemetry wires attached to you, the monitors emitting frantic beeps before falling silent.

“Y/N, it’s okay,” another medic tried to soothe, but you were having none of it.

Your movements were erratic as you swatted their hands away, “I don’t need your help!”

Tony watched, half in awe, half in concern, as you continued to resist the medics’ attempts to care for you. He knew better than to get in the middle of it, but he couldn’t help but step in with a bit of his usual Stark charm.

“Whoa, whoa, guys,” Tony said, raising his hands in a calming gesture as he moved forward. “Let’s give her some space, alright? She just came back from the dead—probably needs a minute.”

The medics hesitated, looking between Tony and you, unsure whether to back off or insist on providing care.

Tony gave them a wink that said, ‘Trust me on this,’ and after a moment, they reluctantly stepped back, keeping a watchful eye on you from a safer distance.

Now free of the wires and the medics’ touch, you stood shakily, your eyes darting around the room as you tried to make sense of everything. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling exposed and vulnerable in the sterile environment.

Tony passed you a hospital gown, his eyes looking everywhere except your body.

Steve, still recovering from the brutal knee to his groin, slowly pushed himself up from the floor. He was in pain, both physical and emotional, but his concern for you overrode everything else.

“Y/N,” he said softly, trying to reach you without spooking you further. “Please, just listen to me.”

Tony, sensing the delicate balance of the situation, decided to break the tension with a bit of levity.

“Okay, let’s take a breath here,” he said, stepping between you slightly, though careful not to put himself in your direct line of fire.

“Steve, buddy, we really need to work on your situational awareness. You’ve got the super-soldier strength, the reflexes… but somehow, you’re still a magnet for knees to the jewels. Twice in one day? Seriously?”

Steve, still wincing in pain, shot Tony a pained look. “Not the time, Tony.”

Tony, completely undeterred, shrugged. “I’m just saying, next time maybe lead with the shield. Protecting America’s ass is important, but protecting America’s future generations… Now that’s crucial. I can even add some extra padding to your suit. Think about it—‘Ballistic Protection’ could be the next big thing.”

Steve gave Tony a look that was part exasperation, part grudging amusement. “Thanks, Tony. I’ll… consider it.”

Tony smirked, clearly pleased with himself, but his tone softened as he turned to Y/N. “And you, welcome back, Y/N. Hell of a return. But, uh, maybe take it easy on the guy, huh? He’s not as indestructible as he looks.”

You blinked, your anger dimming slightly as Tony’s words cut through the haze. You looked at him, then back at Steve, the fight slowly draining out of you.

“I… I don’t know what’s happening.”

Steve, still wincing in pain but determined to help, took a tentative step closer. “You’re safe now, Y/N.”

Your eyes filled with tears. You wanted to believe him, but the fear and confusion made it hard to know what was real.

Seeing you distress, one of the medics stepped forward again, this time more cautiously. “Ma’am, please, let us help you. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

You looked at the medic, then back at Steve. The fight had left you, replaced by a deep exhaustion. Slowly, you nodded, allowing the medics to approach you more carefully this time.

Tony watched as the medics gently guided you to a chair, their movements slow and deliberate, ensuring you felt safe. He caught Steve’s eye, giving him a small nod of encouragement. “She’s tough, Rogers. She’ll be fine.”

As the medics began to reattach the telemetry wires to you, Tony took a step back, giving them space to work. He turned to leave, but not before giving Steve a pat on the shoulder.

× × × ×

6 months later.

The late morning air is crisp and cool as you step out of your father’s old home—well now yours. The grand house sits tucked into a forested valley, surrounded by towering pine trees that stretch toward the sky, their branches swaying gently in the cool mountain breeze. It’s a place untouched by the outside world, a small haven carved out in nature’s embrace. The air is filled with the scent of earth and pine, a sharp contrast to the steel and smoke of the life you left behind.

This has become your sanctuary over the past six months—a place where you can try to make sense of the world. A place where the world slows down, where you can finally allow yourself to exhale. Here, in this secluded corner of the world, you’re not defined by the battles you’ve fought or the name you carry. You’re simply… you.

You’ve been brought up to speed on everything you need to know, who you've become, the details of modern life, but no amount of information can change the fact that you feel like a relic of the past. The government knew where you were though, Steve fought in preventing you from going into The Raft and the outcome was putting a tracker in your arm, indefinitely.

You know your name will always be painted red, no matter what you do, and you’ve accepted that. So, you’ve chosen to lay low, to live quietly, far from the chaos that once defined your life.

As you prepare to run your errands—simple tasks that help you maintain a sense of normalcy—you step out onto the porch, pausing as you catch sight of a familiar figure leaning casually against a motorcycle in your driveway.

Steve Rogers.

Steve stands there in his usual effortless style, somehow managing to make even the simplest outfit look undeniably charming. He’s wearing a navy blue Henley shirt that clings just enough to show off his broad shoulders and strong chest, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the toned muscles of his forearms. His worn, dark-wash jeans fit perfectly, comfortably broken in from years of wear, sitting low on his hips.

A brown leather jacket is slung over the seat of his motorcycle, its aged texture adding a rugged element to his otherwise clean look. His boots—scuffed, but sturdy—are planted firmly on the gravel of your driveway, completing the look of someone who is always ready to hit the road at a moment’s notice.

His hair, slightly tousled by the breeze, catches the light, and his blue eyes are the kind that seem to cut straight through any walls you’ve tried to build.

You feel a familiar tug in your chest, a mix of emotions you’ve tried to push aside for months. Despite everything, despite how often you’ve pushed him away, Steve never misses a chance to show up. He’s determined, and no amount of rejection seems to deter him. It’s something that both infuriates and touches you deeply.

Steve looks up as you approach, a warm smile spreading across his face. His blue eyes, as clear and sincere as ever, meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to fade into the background.

“Morning, just stopping by to check on you.” he greets, his voice soft, but with that unmistakable tone of affection that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“Stopping by?” you reply, raising an eyebrow with a touch of sarcasm. “You seem too far away from home.”

“Guess I couldn’t stay away,” he admits, his smile not fading.

“You’ve been stopping by a lot lately, Rogers.” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to maintain your guarded demeanor, though the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth betrays you.

“Yeah,” he says, his tone more serious as he takes a step closer. “I guess I have. I can’t help myself.”

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” You sigh, shaking your head.

Steve’s smile softens, his eyes filled with a sincerity that makes your chest tighten. “I just… wanted to see you. Make sure you’re doing okay.”

You look at him, really look at him, and see the sincerity in his eyes—the same sincerity that has always been there, even back in 1940. He’s changed, of course, as you all have, but in some ways, he’s still the same Steve you knew all those years ago. The one who would go to the ends of the earth for the people he loves.

You shake your head, more at yourself than at him, and let out a soft sigh. “Your persistence is maddening, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Steve’s smile widens, that boyish, heartwarming grin that always seems to disarm you.

You glance down at the checklist for your errands. “I was just about to head out. Got some things to take care of in town.”

Steve nods, not missing a beat. “Mind if I tag along? I promise not to be too much of a nuisance.”

You hesitate for a moment, weighing your options. You could send him away, as you’ve done so many times before, or you could let him in, even if just a little. The latter option is the more dangerous one—dangerous to the walls you’ve built around yourself—but it’s also the one that tugs at your heartstrings the most.

With a resigned sigh, you nod. “Alright, fine. But if you’re coming with me, you’re carrying the heavy stuff.”

Steve grins, that familiar spark in his eyes. “Deal.”

As you walk toward your car, Steve falls into step beside you, his presence a comforting, albeit persistent, reminder that you’re not as alone as you sometimes feel. You reach your car, and you hand him the keys without a word.

“You drive,” you say, giving him a sidelong glance. “I’ve been told I’m too reckless.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You both climb into the car, and as Steve starts the engine, you lean back in your seat, trying to suppress the fluttering in your chest. It’s just a drive into town, just a few errands, but with Steve, everything seems to carry a little more weight, a little more meaning.

× × × ×

The road winds through the mountains, the late morning sun casting a warm, golden light over and trees that line the way.

Steve drives one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. You steal a glance at him, taking in the way the sunlight filters through his golden hair, the way his brow furrows slightly in concentration, and how his lips curl up in a faint smile whenever he notices something beautiful in the scenery around you.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until Steve catches your eye, his smile widening just a bit as he notices the slight blush creeping up your cheeks. You quickly look away, pretending to focus on the road ahead, but your heart betrays you, picking up a beat or two.

“You like what you see?” Steve begins, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

“You mean the scenery? Of course I do.”

Steve’s smile widens, the corners of his lips tugging upward in that knowing, playful way that makes your stomach flutter. He doesn’t press the point, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he caught your deflection. At this point, he finds your avoidance adorable, the way you pretend to be unfazed by his presence even though the subtle pink in your cheeks betrays you. It’s a game you’ve both been playing for months now—his persistence, your careful distance—but he never seems to tire of it.

His amusement lingers, as if he’s letting you have this small victory, even though you both know he’s winning the larger war. You can feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before he turns back to the road ahead, content to let you believe you’ve dodged the question, at least for now. He smiles to himself. He’s enjoying this quiet dance, the slow pull that keeps bringing you back to him closer each time, even if you don’t quite realize it yet.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes your chest tighten—you know exactly what it is, but you’re not sure you’re ready to confront it yet. But before you can dwell on it too long, Steve reaches over and gently places his hand on yours, his fingers warm against your skin.

You freeze for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you feel the heat of his touch seep through you, spreading warmth through your entire body. You glance down at your hands, intertwined so easily, so naturally.

Steve’s thumb brushes over your knuckles in a slow, soothing motion, and you realize he’s not letting go. He doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t have to. His touch says everything. It’s a silent promise, a reassurance that he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the feeling overwhelming and yet somehow comforting. It’s a feeling you haven’t allowed yourself to experience in a long time—too afraid of the consequences, of the pain that might come with it.

× × × ×

The small grocery store in town is cozy, with wooden shelves lined with fresh produce, locally made jams, and all the essentials you’d expect in a quaint countryside market. The bell above the door jingles as you and Steve step inside, the familiar sound bringing a sense of warmth and nostalgia that makes you feel more at home than you’d care to admit.

You grab a basket and start weaving through the aisles, Steve trailing just a step behind you. The store is quiet, with only a few other customers browsing, giving the place an intimate, almost serene atmosphere.

“So, what’s on the list?” Steve asks, his voice light as he catches up to you.

You glance at him, pretending to mull it over. “Well, just the usual vegetables, dairy. Nothing too fancy.”

Clearly on board, he nods. “Anything in particular you want me to grab?”

“How about you handle the vegetables? Think you can manage that?” You give him a sidelong glance, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips.

“I think I can handle a few vegetables, yeah.”

Steve rolls his eyes playfully but nods, heading toward the produce section.

As he walks away, you can’t help but watch him for a moment, noting the way he moves with that effortless confidence that always manages to draw your attention. You shake your head, pushing the thought aside as you focus on gathering the other stuff on your list.

You pick out a loaf of fresh bread, some deli meats, and cheeses, carefully placing them in the basket. As you do, you can’t help but notice an older couple nearby, both of them smiling at you and Steve with a knowing look. You quickly avert your gaze, feeling your cheeks warm slightly. They probably think you’re a couple, and for a split second, the idea doesn’t seem so far-fetched.

You’re rummaging through a bin of ripe tomatoes when Steve returns, holding up a bunch of bright green spinach and some carrots with a triumphant grin.

“Got the veggies. Anything else?”

You raise an eyebrow, giving the produce in his hands a critical look. “Spinach and carrots, huh? What about some cucumbers? Maybe a bell pepper or two?”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll go get the cucumbers. Anything else while I’m at it, Your Majesty?”

You suppress a laugh, trying to maintain a straight face. “That should do… for now.”

Steve gives you a mock salute and heads off to fetch the cucumbers. You can’t help but smile as you watch him go, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. This is nice—this easy banter, the lightheartedness of it all. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this comfortable, this… happy.

You move on, grabbing a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice when Steve reappears beside you, holding the cucumbers and adding them to your basket.

“Anything else, boss?” he asks, his tone teasing.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the grin that tugs at your lips. “I think we’re good. Let's pay before you start shopping for the entire store.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help,” he says, following you to the register. “But if you want to take charge, I’ll gladly step back.”

You glance at him, playfully bumping your shoulder against his. “You’re just saying that because you know I’d out-shop you any day.”

Steve laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes you feel giddy. “I have no doubt.”

At the register, the cashier, a friendly older woman, gives you both a warm smile as she starts ringing up your items. “You two make a lovely couple,” she says, her tone sweet and sincere.

You open your mouth to correct her, but Steve beats you to it, flashing her a charming smile. “Thank you,” he says smoothly, casting a quick wink in your direction. “We’re working on it.”

The cashier chuckles, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, from where I’m standing, you’re doing a pretty good job.”

Steve laughs softly, his boyish charm on full display. “I’ll take that as a good sign, then. Can never have too many votes of confidence, right?”

The older woman laughs heartily, clearly enjoying Steve’s playful banter. “With a smile like that, young man, I think you’re well on your way.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. Steve’s ability to charm his way through just about anything never ceases to amaze you.

You shoot him a look after though, fighting the blush that threatens to creep up your cheeks. “We’re… just friends,” you clarify, though your voice doesn’t sound as convincing as you’d like.

The cashier’s smile widens, and she nods knowingly. “Well, take your time, dear. These things have a way of working themselves out.”

You hand over the money, trying to keep your composure as the cashier finishes bagging your groceries. Steve is still grinning as he picks up the bags, and you can’t help but playfully swat at his arm.

“Careful, Rogers,” you warn, though there’s no real heat in your words. “Don’t get too cocky.”

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Who, me? Never.”

After finishing up at the grocery store, Steve wanted to look around town since he's never gotten the chance before. The town is small and quaint, with narrow streets lined with charming shops and cafés. There’s a buzz of activity as locals go about their day, giving the place a lively, yet relaxed atmosphere.

You glance over at Steve, who’s holding the grocery bags with one hand, the other casually resting at his side.

“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “You want to be dragged out here, and now you’re not in a rush to leave. . . what’s the plan, Rogers?”

Steve grins,“I thought maybe we could explore a bit. It’s been a while since we’ve just… wandered.”

“Wandered? That doesn’t sound like you.” You raise an eyebrow, amused by the idea.

“Hey,” he says with mock offense, “I’m perfectly capable of wandering. Besides, it’s a nice day. Thought it might be good to stick around for a while. Unless you’ve got something better to do?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, fine. But you’re buying if we stop for coffee.”

Steve chuckles, nodding as he shifts the grocery bags to one hand. “Deal. Let’s drop these off in the car first.”

After placing the groceries in the trunk, you and Steve start down the street, falling into an easy rhythm as you stroll past the various shops and boutiques. The air is filled with the scent of fresh flowers from a nearby florist, mingling with the aroma of baked goods from a bakery a few doors down.

“This place reminds me of the old neighborhoods back in Brooklyn. Quiet, but with character.” Steve glances around, taking in the sights with a relaxed smile.

You nod, feeling a similar sense of nostalgia. “Yeah, it’s got that small-town charm. Easy to see why people like it here.”

As you walk, you come across a small bookshop with an inviting display in the window. Steve stops, his gaze lingering on the rows of books stacked inside.

“Mind if we take a look?”

You follow his gaze, surprised by the request. “Didn’t peg you for a bookworm, Rogers.”

“I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Besides, you never know what you might find.” Steve shrugs, a sheepish grin on his face.

Curiosity piqued, you agreed, and the two of you stepped inside. The shop is cozy, with shelves that reach the ceiling and the comforting scent of old paper and ink. It’s quiet, with just a few other patrons browsing the aisles.

You wander through the store together, occasionally pointing out titles that catch your eye or laughing at the odd, outdated book covers. Steve seems particularly drawn to the history section, naturally, and you can’t help but tease him a little.

“History books?” you ask, leaning against a nearby shelf as he flips through a volume on World War II. “Seems a bit redundant, don’t you think?”

Steve glances up, chuckling. “Maybe. But it’s interesting to see how things have been written down. What they got right, what they didn’t. Helps me understand where we’re at now.”

You nod, understanding the sentiment. “I guess that makes sense. I’ve always thought you were a bit of a history nerd.”

“Guilty as charged,” he admits, slipping the book back onto the shelf. “But I’ve got other interests, too, you know.”

“Oh, really?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He gives you a playful look, and wiggles his brows, “I’ll have to show you sometime.”

Before you can respond, the shopkeeper approaches, a friendly smile on her face. “Can I help you find anything?”

Steve shakes his head politely. “Just browsing, thank you.”

The shopkeeper nods and leaves you to continue your exploration. As you move further into the store, you come across a small section dedicated to old records and vinyls. Steve’s face lights up at the sight, and you watch with amusement as he starts flipping through the collection.

“You’re really into this whole retro thing, aren’t you?” you comment, crossing your arms as you lean against a nearby shelf.

Steve looks up, a grin on his face. “It’s not retro for me. This was the stuff we grew up with.” He pulls out a record and holds it up for you to see. “Ever heard this one?”

You glance at the album cover, recognizing the classic design. “Once or twice. My parents were into it.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve got to introduce you to some real music, then.”

You roll your eyes, though you’re secretly enjoying the easy banter. “Please. Like you’ve got anything on my playlist.”

“Careful,” Steve warns playfully, tucking the record under his arm. “I might just take that as a challenge.”

You spend the next couple of hours exploring the town, visiting a few more shops, including a small bakery where Steve insists on buying you a pastry to share.

At one point, you find yourselves at a small park on the edge of town, where children play on swings and an older couple feeds the ducks at a nearby pond. You sit on a bench, the comfortable silence between you filled with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant chatter.

Steve stares at you as you get lost deep in your thoughts. He takes note of the way your eyes seem to shimmer from the soft sunlight, the way you absently run your fingers through your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. The soft breeze ruffles your hair, and Steve watches as you close your eyes, breathing in the peaceful air of the park.

He can’t help but admire how much you’ve changed—stronger, quieter, more reflective—but still undeniably you. The way you sit there, unguarded, seems almost surreal to him, a glimpse into a version of you he hadn’t seen in so long.

You shift slightly, pulling your knees up onto the bench and resting your chin on them, your eyes still far away, watching the ducks but not really seeing them.

“You always think this hard?” Steve finally says, his voice low and playful, though there’s an undeniable softness to it.

You glance over at him, a small, almost shy smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “Sometimes. It’s hard not to when things actually slow down.”

He nods, understanding. “Yeah, I get that.”

There’s something unspoken between you, something that lingers in the air, but Steve doesn’t push it. Instead, he leans back on the bench, content to sit in the quiet with you, enjoying the simplicity of just being there.

× × × ×

The sun has dipped low in the sky by the time you and Steve return home, the bags of groceries now resting on the kitchen counter. The day’s warmth lingers in the air, a gentle reminder of the easy, carefree hours you spent together wandering through town.

You begin to unpack your ingredients for dinner, while Steve’s eyes catch your father’s old turntable.

“I can’t believe they had this,” he says, his voice tinged with nostalgia as he carefully places the vinyl of ‘You Belong to Me’ by Jo Stafford on the turntable. The record crackles softly as the needle touches down, and soon, the sultry, smooth sound of a saxophone fills the room. Its deep, rich notes float through the air, warm and lingering, wrapping themselves around you like a gentle embrace.

The saxophone’s melody is soft and slow, each note a whispered caress that draws you in closer. It feels like the sound itself is breathing, pulling you into its rhythm, evoking a feeling of quiet intimacy. The low, honeyed tones swell and dip, painting the room with a romantic warmth, setting the perfect mood for what’s to come. As the saxophone fades into the background, Jo Stafford’s voice soon follows, adding to the song’s haunting beauty.

See the pyramids along the Nile... Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle... �� Just remember, darling, all the while... You belong to me...

You freeze mid-motion, the knife hovering over a bell pepper as the first notes of the song play. The melody tugs at something deep inside you, pulling you back to another time, another place. A time when the world wasn’t as complicated, and when you and Steve were just two people who found solace in each other’s arms.

The music wraps around you like a warm blanket, and before you can fully process it, you feel Steve’s presence behind you. His hands gently slide around your waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt as if seeking permission before pulling you closer. You can feel the steady, comforting beat of his heart against your back, its rhythm syncing with the music.

He leans in, his breath warm against your neck, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “Do you remember?” he asks, the words soft, filled with memories of late nights and whispered promises.

You nod, your throat tightening with emotion. “How could I forget?” you whisper, setting the knife down on the cutting board, your hands trembling slightly as the music washes over you, bringing with it the bittersweet memories of the life you once had together.

See the marketplace in old Algiers... Send me photographs and souvenirs... Just remember when a dream appears... You belong to me...

Steve’s arms tighten around you, and slowly, gently, he begins to sway to the rhythm of the song, guiding you in a dance that’s as familiar as breathing. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his lips brushing against your ear as he hums along to the lyrics. The sound of his voice, so close and so familiar, sends a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself leaning into him, allowing yourself to be enveloped by his warmth, his presence.

“I’ve missed this,” Steve murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you surrender to the moment, the memories of your past flooding back with every note of the song. The nights you spent dancing in dimly lit rooms, the way he’d hold you close as if he was afraid to let you go, the way you’d fit so perfectly in his arms—it all comes rushing back, as vivid as if it were yesterday.

Without thinking, you turn in his arms, your hands coming up to rest against his chest. His blue eyes meet yours, filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best possible way. The song continues to play, the lyrics speaking of distant lands and the longing of two lovers separated by time and space, and it’s as if the song was written just for the two of you.

I’ll be so alone without you... Maybe you’ll be lonesome too... and blue...

Steve’s hands move to your waist, holding you gently but firmly, his hand holding yours firmly above his heart, and he begins to guide you in a slow dance, his movements fluid and unhurried. There’s something so achingly familiar about the way he holds you, the way he looks at you, and you realize that despite everything that’s changed, this—this—feels the same.

You let out a soft, shaky breath as you settle into the dance, your bodies moving together as if no time had passed at all. You’re no longer in the present, no longer in this kitchen, but back in those simpler times, when it was just you and him against the world.

“You’re still a terrible dancer,” you tease, though your voice is filled with affection rather than criticism, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Steve chuckles, the sound vibrating through your chest where it’s pressed against his. “At least I had a pretty good partner,” he counters, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mix of amusement and adoration.

You roll your eyes, though your smile widens as you lean into him, resting your head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear is a comforting lullaby, grounding you in the here and now, while the music transports you both back to the past.

Fly the ocean in a silver plane... See the jungle when it’s wet with rain... Just remember till you’re home again... You belong to me...

As the lyrics weave their way into your heart, you feel a lump form in your throat, emotions swirling within you that you’ve tried so hard to bury. But here, in Steve’s arms, it’s impossible to keep them at bay. The song’s gentle melody tugs at your heartstrings, each note a reminder of what you once had, what you lost, and what you might be able to find again.

Steve’s hand gently tilts your chin up, and you find yourself staring into those familiar blue eyes—eyes that have seen too much, but still hold a depth of love and understanding that makes your breath catch. He’s so close, his face inches from yours, and you can see the unspoken love in his gaze, the promises he’s made and the ones he’s ready to make again.

“My love for you has never wavered,” Steve whispers, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “Not for a single heartbeat, not even when I believed you were lost to me forever.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You’ve been so afraid of letting yourself feel again, of letting him back in, but here in this moment, it’s impossible to deny the truth.

“Steve, I…” you start but you’re afraid, terrified even, of opening up again, of risking the pain that comes with loving someone so deeply. But as his thumb gently brushes against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

Fly the ocean in a silver plane... See the jungle when it’s wet with rain... Just remember till you’re home again... You belong to me...

Steve leans in, his forehead resting against yours. It’s just you and him, swaying to the music, breathing in sync, hearts beating as one. The song fades into the background, but the melody lingers in your mind, echoing the sentiment that has always been there, even when you tried to ignore it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve says quietly, his voice a promise, a vow. “I lost you once, and I’m not going to let that happen again. We can take it slow, one day at a time. I’m here, and I’m not giving up.”

You search his eyes, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation, but all you find is love—the same love that’s always been there, even when you tried to push it away.

You nod slowly, allowing yourself to lean into his touch, to let him hold you a little closer. “One day at a time,” you repeat, your voice steadier now.

Steve smiles, a soft, relieved smile that makes your heart flutter. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Oh, you belong to me...

The final notes of the song fade into silence, but neither of you moves. You remain in each other’s arms, swaying to a rhythm only the two of you can hear. It’s a moment of pure, unadulterated connection—one that feels like it could last forever.

Steve presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if sealing the vow he’s just made. “I love you,” he whispers against your skin, the words soft but full of conviction.

Your breath hitches at the confession, and you feel the last of your defenses crumble. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, your heart pounding against his as you finally allow yourself to speak the words you’ve been holding back for so long.

“I love you too,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but full of truth.

Steve’s eyes light up at your words, the relief and happiness that wash over his face making your heart swell with emotion. He cups your face in his hands, his touch tender as if you’re something fragile and precious. He looks at you like you’re the only person in the world, his eyes tracing every feature of your face as if committing this moment to memory.

Steve’s smile is soft and full of love, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have gathered at the corners of your eyes.

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of your emotions start to lift. The years of distance, the pain of separation, it all seems to melt away in his arms. You don’t know what the future holds, but at this moment, you know that you’re ready to try.

When you open your eyes, Steve is still looking at you with that same unwavering love, and you can’t help but smile—a real, genuine smile that feels like the first in a long time.

He bows his head, giving you every chance to pull away, but you don’t . His fingers tightened on your waist. You rose onto your toes to kiss him. He met you halfway, unable to contain his groan as he hauled you against him, lips finding yours in a kiss that is soft and slow. It’s like coming home, a feeling of rightness that you didn’t know you were missing until this very moment.

The kiss deepens, his arms wrapping around you tighter, pulling you against him as if he’s afraid to let you go. You kiss him back with the same fervor, pouring all your emotions into the connection—your love, your longing, your hope for what’s to come.

When you finally pull back, breathless and slightly dizzy, Steve rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a look of pure contentment on his face.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, his voice a mix of awe and gratitude.

“I know,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as if grounding yourself in the reality of this moment.

Steve opens his eyes, his gaze locking onto yours, and you can see the promise of a future there—a future that’s bright and filled with the kind of love that can withstand anything.

He doesn’t say anything more, just holds you close, swaying gently to the memory of the music that played. The world outside could be crumbling, but in his arms, you feel safe, cherished, and loved.

As you continue to sway together, you let yourself sink into the feeling, knowing that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

Because for the first time in a long time, you’re not just Y/N, and he’s not just Steve. You’re you and him, together, just as it was always meant to be. And this time, you’re determined to hold on tight and never let go.

The day fades into night, the record continues to spin on the turntable, the needle caught in the loop of silence, but it doesn’t matter. The only sound you need is the steady beat of his heart against yours, and the whispered words that pass between you, promises of a love that’s been rekindled and is ready to burn brighter than ever.

× × × ×

2 years later

The sky above is a pale blue, streaked with soft wisps of clouds, as the rhythmic sound of waves gently crashing on the shore fills the air. The late afternoon sun hangs low, casting a golden hue over the entire beach, warming the sand beneath your feet and making the water sparkle like diamonds. The beach is quiet, save for the occasional call of seagulls and the laughter that bubbles up between the three of you.

Steve stands a little distance away, his feet sinking into the soft sand, his arms stretched out with an encouraging smile on his face. The wind tousled his hair, and there’s a light in his eyes that speaks of pure joy—something you’ve both learned to treasure over the past few years.

You’re on the other side of the beach, standing behind your 12-month-old son, who wobbles slightly on his unsteady legs, holding onto your fingers for balance. His tiny toes curl in the warm sand, and you can feel the soft tremble of excitement coursing through him. He’s learning, taking his first independent steps, and the world ahead seems so vast and new.

Steve crouches down, his voice warm and filled with love as he gently calls out, “Come on, Zac. You can do it. Walk to Daddy.”

The baby giggles, his joyful laughter filling the air like music. His wide eyes are bright with curiosity and delight as he looks from you to Steve. With your gentle guidance, he lets go of your fingers, standing shakily on his own for a moment before his legs take their first wobbly steps forward. The tiny footprints he leaves behind in the sand are scattered, small, and sweet—each one next to the larger, steady prints that mark your path.

Steve’s encouraging words fill the space between you, his hands outstretched, waiting with uncontainable pride as your son inches closer, his baby steps unsteady but determined. “That’s it, buddy. You’ve got this!”

Another burst of laughter escapes the little one as he toddles forward, his arms swinging with each step, and the beach feels alive with the shared joy. The warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze, and the soft sand beneath your feet make this moment feel endless, a perfect snapshot of happiness.

When your son stumbles, landing softly on his bottom, he lets out a surprised squeal before bursting into laughter, as if falling is the funniest thing in the world. You can’t help but smile, your heart swelling at the sight of his unbridled happiness.

Steve chuckles, walking over to scoop him up into his arms, his own footprints mingling with yours and the tiny ones left behind by your son.

“You did great, buddy,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Look at how far you went!”

The baby babbles happily, reaching up to tug at Steve’s hair with a bright, toothy grin, his cheeks flushed pink from the excitement and the warm breeze. You step closer, watching the two of them with a fond smile, your heart overflowing with love.

Steve’s gaze shifts from the tiny, joyful bundle in his arms to you as you walk toward him, the soft sand shifting beneath your feet. His smile grows, gentle and full of love, as he watches you approach, the golden light of the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow around you. There’s a quiet admiration in his eyes, a look that speaks of everything he feels but doesn’t need to say.

As you reach them, Steve cradles your son in one arm, his other hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch is soft, tender, and his eyes linger on yours for a moment before they drop back to the baby, who is still babbling in Steve’s arms.

“You two are my whole world,” Steve says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He pulls you both closer, and for a moment, everything feels perfectly aligned—the sound of the waves, the warmth of the sun, and the three of you standing together in the sand, surrounded by nothing but love.

× × × ×

BUCKY'S THEREABOUTS : UNTITLED SEQUEL TO LAZARUS SERUM

(3 months after disappearing)

As he neared the farm, he heard raised voices cutting through the calm. Bucky slowed his steps, his instincts kicking in. Y/N was standing near the barn, facing off with a man—a tall, well-dressed figure, clearly angry. Bucky hung back, observing the heated exchange.

The man’s voice was loud, sharp with frustration. “I’m done with this place, Y/N. I’m not sticking around for another second.”

Y/N’s posture was stiff, her arms crossed defensively, but Bucky could see the hurt behind her steady gaze. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”

The man threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t owe you anything. I’ve wasted enough time here, pretending this farm and you meant something to me.”

The words hit hard, Bucky could tell, but Y/N didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, even as the man turned and stormed toward the road, where Bucky stood in silence.

“Move,” the man barked, shoving Bucky’s shoulder in a fit of anger as he passed.

Bucky didn’t move an inch.

The man paused, his face twisting with irritation as he sized Bucky up. He shoved again, this time harder, as if expecting a reaction—something he could work with. Still, Bucky didn’t flinch, his body rigid, his eyes locked onto the man with a cold, steely glare.

Don’t, Bucky told himself, his fists tightening at his sides. The Winter Soldier instincts flared instantly, sharp and reflexive, urging him to retaliate. To end this man’s feeble attempt at intimidation with one swift move. He could do it. He could make him crumble, and the urge to let that side of himself out—to let the man feel just how much danger he was in—was strong.

But something stopped him.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Y/N, standing a few feet away, watching. Her expression was unreadable, but she was watching him. Waiting to see what he would do. He could feel her presence like a weight on his chest, grounding him. Reminding him that this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t a fight he needed to win.

Slowly, Bucky released the tension in his fists, his knuckles relaxing as he forced the cold, calculating side of himself to retreat. He blinked, his eyes softening just enough to pull back from that edge. This wasn’t worth it. The man wasn’t worth it.

“What the hell is your problem?” the man spat, taking a step back. His face reddened as he realized Bucky wasn’t intimidated—wasn’t even acknowledging his threats.

Bucky said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Embarrassed, the man shot a glance back at Y/N. “So that’s it, huh? You already found yourself a new man? Was this the plan all along? You throw me away, and you’ve got this—this guy waiting in the wings?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No, it’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he shouted, his voice cracking under the strain of his embarrassment. “I should’ve known! You were just waiting for me to leave so you could run to someone else.”

Y/N stepped forward, anger now coloring her words. “You’re the one walking away. Don’t blame me for your insecurities.”

The man sneered, glancing back at Bucky with a bitter laugh. “Good luck with him. Hope he’s everything you wanted.”

Without waiting for a response, the man sped down the road in his car, disappearing around the bend. Bucky watched him go, his expression unreadable, before finally turning his attention to Y/N.

She stood frozen for a moment, her arms still crossed, her face flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation. When she met Bucky’s eyes, she sighed, her tough exterior softening just a little.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly, though there was no real anger in her voice.

Bucky shrugged, keeping his gaze steady. “Didn’t do anything.”

Y/N gave a small, tired laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, well… thanks for not doing anything, I guess.”

There was a beat of silence between them before Bucky spoke again, his voice low but certain. “You alright?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “I will be.”

Bucky didn’t push her for more, but something in her eyes told him this wasn’t the first time she’d been left to deal with someone else’s mess. He glanced down the road where her ex had disappeared, then back at her.

× × × ×

Later that evening, the farmhouse was warm with the smell of roasted chicken and vegetables. Bucky sat at the kitchen table, his eyes observing the space while Y/N finished setting out plates. It was a simple, cozy setup, but it had been a long time since Bucky had felt comfortable enough to sit down and share a meal with someone.

Y/N placed the last dish on the table and took her seat across from him. She glanced at him for a moment, studying his calm demeanor before digging into her food.

“Figured you earned this after all your help today,” she said with a small smile. “Didn’t think you’d stick around.”

Bucky shrugged slightly, his voice low as he spoke. “Didn’t see a reason to leave.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes, the clatter of forks on plates the only sound between them. Y/N glanced up at him again, noticing how quiet he was, his face always unreadable, as though there was a world behind his eyes that he kept hidden.

She took a sip of her drink and finally broke the silence. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Bucky paused, meeting her eyes for a moment before looking back down at his plate. “Not much to say.”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’re an odd one, James. Most people who come through here have plenty to say, but not you.”

Bucky looked at her, his expression neutral but with a hint of curiosity. “That a bad thing?”

She shrugged, smiling as she stabbed at a piece of chicken. “Nah. I don’t mind. Just not used to the silence, I guess. But… it’s kind of nice.”

He gave her a small nod, appreciating the fact that she didn’t push for more. The conversation lulled again, comfortable and easy. It was rare for Bucky to find himself in a situation like this—quiet, but not tense. Peaceful, almost.

“So, how’s Seamus treating you?” Y/N asked, breaking the silence once again.

Bucky’s lips tugged into a faint smile. “Seamus is fine. Grumpy, but fine.”

Y/N laughed lightly, the sound filling the kitchen. “That’s his charm. He’s stubborn, but once he likes you, you’re stuck with him.”

Bucky nodded, the ghost of a smile lingering on his face. “Sounds familiar.” referring to himself.

They continued eating, talking about the day’s work and the rhythm of life on the farm. As the last bit of food disappeared from their plates, Bucky stood up and gathered the dishes without saying a word, walking over to the sink.

Y/N watched him for a moment, her eyebrow raised. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Bucky just shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Y/N stood up, grabbing a towel as she moved to his side. “Alright, but if you’re washing, I’m drying.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes, Bucky washing the dishes with a quiet efficiency while Y/N wiped them dry and placed them back in the cabinets. Every so often, she glanced at him, still curious about the quiet man who seemed to carry so much on his shoulders.

“You know,” she said, breaking the silence, “there’s something calming about all this quiet. Feels... different.”

Bucky didn’t look up, but there was a softness in his voice when he finally responded. “Different’s not always bad.”

Y/N smiled at that, feeling a strange sense of connection in the simplicity of their shared silence. As they finished the last dish, Y/N leaned against the counter, towel slung over her shoulder. “You’re a good guy, James. I don’t care what anyone else says.”

Bucky looked at her then, his eyes shadowed with something deeper, something unspoken. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I’m. . . trying.”

She nodded, not pushing for more, and turned to head back to the table. “Same time tomorrow?”

Bucky gave her a small nod. “Yeah. Same time.”

As he made his way toward the door, Y/N called after him, her voice softer. “Goodnight, James.”

Bucky paused, turning back to meet her eyes one last time. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

With that, he slipped outside into the cool evening air, the door closing softly behind him.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #steve roger angst #captain america x reader #captain america imagines #captain america fanfiction #captain america #captain america x you #captain america x y/n #captain america x female reader #chris evans fanfiction

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adannamdi · 2 months ago

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Why Character Occupations Matter in Mystery Writing

In some genres, a character's occupation might seem like a minor detail, something that simply adds depth to their personality or daily life. However, in mystery writing, a character's profession is crucial because it directly impacts their investigative approach, access to information, and level of influence.

Occupation as a Tool for Investigation

Take, for example, Adebayo Owolabi from The Hidden Diary. Adebayo is a retired lawyer. While I haven't specified what kind of law he practiced, his strong sense of justice suggests he was deeply involved in legal matters. This background gives him a mindset suited for investigation, but also comes with limitations. He knows how to analyze cases, but he no longer has the authority or active resources of a practicing lawyer.

His legal connections become crucial. One of his key allies is Chimoabi Duru, a high-ranking police officer who shares Adebayo's commitment to justice. Chimoabi provides inside access to case files, forensic details, and even helps Adebayo see his daughter's body, which would otherwise be impossible for a civilian. Another ally is his brother, Tunde, a politician with access to influential networks. These connections give Adebayo leverage in different spheres of power, but also introduce complications, as politics and law enforcement each have their own red tape and hidden agendas.

On the ground level, Adebayo relies on Blessing, an informant with deep roots in the streets, to uncover local gossip and underground activities. Each of these characters' professions defines how they contribute to the investigation, highlighting how different jobs shape the flow of a mystery.

What If Adebayo Had a Different Job?

Now, imagine Adebayo was a professor instead of a lawyer. His approach to solving the mystery would be entirely different.

If he taught criminology or law, he might use academic theories and research to piece together clues, relying on past students or university connections in law enforcement. If he were a business professor, his investigative route might involve tracking financial records or understanding the economic ties behind the crime. His access to police files or forensic details would be limited, requiring more external help.

If his wife, a nurse, were still alive, she might have medical connections that could offer insight into forensics or autopsy reports. Each change in occupation shifts the narrative, creating new strengths and weaknesses in the character's ability to navigate the mystery.

Occupation as an Obstacle

A character's job doesn't just aid investigation—it can also create roadblocks. Adebayo's status as a retired lawyer means that while he understands legal procedures, he has no active authority. Some people might dismiss him as just a grieving father with no official standing. If he were a professor, police might see him as an outsider meddling in an investigation.

In mystery writing, a well-chosen occupation not only enriches a character but also determines how they interact with the case. It sets the boundaries of what they can realistically do and what challenges they'll face. Whether they're a journalist, detective, scientist, or artist, their profession shapes the mystery at every turn.

Next week, I'll dive into How to Write an Engaging Investigator. Stay tuned!

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planetofsnarfs · 3 months ago

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A 24-year-old Georgia woman was arrested by local police last week after having a miscarriage. The woman was found unconscious and bleeding near her apartment building in Tifton, Georgia, only to be charged with “concealing the death of another person” and “abandonment of a dead body.” Police recovered fetal remains in a nearby dumpster after receiving a tip from a witness who claimed to have seen the woman disposing of the remains. Officers then collected the fetal remains to conduct an autopsy.

On Tuesday, authorities released the findings of the autopsy: According to local news station WALB, the county coroner uncovered “no signs of injury or trauma, and the baby never took a breath,” confirming that a natural miscarriage had occurred at about 19 weeks. Yet the criminal charges against the 24-year-old remain. The “concealing the death of another person” charge comes with up to 10 years in prison in Georgia, while the “abandonment of a dead body” charges comes with up to three.

About one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage, and there are no legal standards or universal guidelines on how people should dispose of fetal remains.

The Tifton County Sheriff’s Office did not immediately respond to a request from Jezebel on why the young woman continues to face criminal charges for what the county coroner deemed a natural miscarriage. Nor has the sheriff’s office commented on whether it is standard procedure for individuals in the county to be arrested and jailed after miscarrying, or whether there are steps that people who miscarry must follow to dispose of remains from their pregnancy in order to avoid criminal charges. (This is your regular reminder to never, not ever, talk to the police about the outcomes of other people’s or your own pregnancies, and to take all precautions to protect your medical privacy.)

#pregnancy #miscarriage #tifton #georgia #jezebel

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cannabiscomrade · 10 days ago

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Hey, so words matter. I know Adriana’s surgical procedure and final rest is a very emotionally charged topic, but the baby was not removed via autopsy.

A perimortem c-section is a surgery that still requires a c-section technique to keep the neonate safe, which means that life saving measures were still in place.

While she was dead, profusion was still happening.

An autopsy is a series of procedures performed following loss of profusion AND brain death to determine cause to death, which may not be necessary in this case because we know cause of death since she was dead prior to the surgery.

Shock and awe language is very…white. This is a real family in pain and the dehumanizing language we’re using is not only incorrect, but removing the last of the humanity from this situation.

Chance was removed from Adriana’s body via c-section.

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aplaceinthedark · 8 months ago

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ANYTHING > HUMAN

Summary: A friend calls on Noah to say goodbye

Word Count: 15.8k

CW: Main content warnings: Supernatural themes, Loss of parental figure/guardian, gun/weapon violence, mild mind-control, brainwashing, kidnapping, racism, Enemies to lovers to Enemies, Mind Fuckery (unreliable Narrator), attempted drowning, Bad People getting Thanos- Snapped, body disfiguration (third-degree? burns) House Fire, Character Death, Graphic Depiction of an Autopsy. Sexual content Warnings: Oral (Fem receiving), teasing, fingering, implied squirting, implied overstimulation, intentional marking (Noah likes to leave mementos), size kink if you squint, Protected PnV, Unprotected PnV, a position might be anatomically incorrect.

A/N: This is RPF, and thus contains real people, but events have been changed. Other than the Bad Omens crew, names and looks have been charged, and any likeness to actual real people is coincidental. I do not write real people's trauma in my fanfiction. If this does not sit well with you, then please press the back button and leave in peace.

Dividers by @astrumaur and @saradika-graphics

THREAT ENTITY DATABASE ENTRY

THREAT ID: P K LTE-2995-CHESHIREMORPH-PURPLE “ANYTHING > HUMAN”

AUTHORIZED RESPONSE LEVEL: 1 (Minimal Threat) 5 (Immediate Threat) N/A (Liquidated, File Archived)

DESCRIPTION: Subject was a Caucasian female approximately twenty-six (26) years of age and a Type Purple (Subtype Phase IV) Threat Entity. Subject once worked for the Universal Paranatural Alliance as a Security Level 4 PSYCHE Researcher for the Department of Ontokinetics.

LIQUIDATION PROCEDURES: Due to Concealment concerns, liquidation authorization at Response Level 5 was given on 8/14/24. Subject evaded all strike task forces for three months.

On 10/31/24, subject broke into ATT-5292-Templum-Alexandria. Director of Site Security and Strike Task Forces, Colonel Sumerian, signed off on a one man mission to eliminate the target, sending in STF Theta-777 Team Commander Agent SAMHAIN.

Subject successfully liquidated on 10/31/24 by Agent SAMHAIN.

>CONTINUE?

I dream in Hell and wake up screaming, wishing that I was someone else…

He twists and bucks against the hand that holds him under the water that devours him. He knows it isn’t really water, that it’s something much worse, but right now, that’s all it feels like. It’s something worse than the hoarfrost that coats his being. He normally enjoys the cold when he can wrap up in hoodies and blankets, but when he’s as naked as the day he was born, the cold isn’t very enjoyable. And this cold…

There’s no warmth that could banish this cold away.

The Empty, he had heard them call it. It didn’t feel empty. The… Not-Water pressed against his skin. There was no beginning, no end. Just… Not-Water. Normally he would have a better idea as to what he could describe what he was drowning in, but the cold and lack of oxygen was depriving his brain of any function other than live.

His lungs finally give up the fight and he gasps for air, but instead gets a mouthful of the Not-Water. Now he can finally think of a better descriptor for it: the Burning. Because the Burning spreads through his body like lava, slow and painful and unbearably hot, and it’s so heavy that it weighs him down, so he sinks into forever.

The Burning spreads through his veins, boiling the blood in them until it evaporates. He opens his mouth to scream in agony, but the vacuum of the realm steals the sound from his lungs. Any air he had left escapes in the bubbles that leave his mouth, and more Burning enters his lungs this time, collapsing them with a familiarity that he knows all too well.

He thrashes in the darkness, not content to die like this. He seeks out the entity that had pushed and held him under the surface so he can seek retribution; so he can grab a hold of them and either pull himself out or pull them in to suffer with him. Except there’s no hand to bite. It’s just nothingness above him; nothingness below him, nothingness around him. He’s all alone.

Only a single thought crosses his mind; Was this how she felt?

And that crystallizing clear thought finally makes him panic.

Noah opens his mouth to scream again, his body wrenching upwards hard enough that he feels like he might’ve pulled a muscle in his stomach. This time the sound travels. He opens his eyes and frantically casts his gaze around.

He’s no longer in the Empty. He’s in his home in Cooper’s Rock. And like the past several months, he’s alone.

He takes in a long, shaky breath that is thankfully free of liquid, but the air still burns as it goes down his raw throat. He collapses back onto his bed, cursing and rubbing his face. He must’ve been screaming or something like that in his sleep again.

Again. He’s had this nightmare for several months now. And it’s starting to drive him insane.

He’s startled when his phone rings, splitting the silence with its shrill tone. He kicks at the sweat-soaked sheets that are tangled and twisted around his naked legs, gives up when he only manages to get them down to his ankles. He grabs his phone and presses it to his ear.

Though he knows what the phone call has to be about when he sees the caller ID, he still snaps. “What?!” Like the caller had woken him up from a deep sleep. As if that were possible for him these days.

“There’s been a breach at the Site.”

Noah sighs at the tone of the Director Site Security’s voice. His nightmare is still haunting him when he asks, “It’s her, isn’t it?” with no preamble.

“I don’t know what manner of—”

His grip on the phone tightens as well as his free hand in the sheets. “You wouldn’t be calling me at three in the morning if it wasn’t her,” Noah snaps. He then lets out the tension that has formed in the past minute. It comes out as a huff. “Me and the team will be there in fifteen.”

“Make it ten.” The line goes dead.

Time to go to work.

Noah Sebastian does not take threats quietly. The last time he did, the man he called father was killed in the explosion that took his house. Since then, Noah jumped feet first into every Threat Engagement he was assigned to. He would not – could not – lose another loved one.

But he had never prepared to face the fact that a loved one might become one of those Threat Engagements.

The night shift had her confined to one wing of the library on Level 3 of the Site. The only reason they hadn’t completely rounded her up was due to the shield of ultraviolet light that encompassed her and a small section of the shelves. Any who attempted to breach the light was met with a harsh heat that melted through their Titan-Kevlar gloves. She wouldn’t take the shield down until they met her one demand.

And of course, her one demand was Noah.

What felt like the entire Site’s crew of Task Forces was on that level, and they all part like the sea when he passes through. He can feel their eyes on him as he’s briefed. He rolls his eyes before lighting his hand and letting it hover close to the blue-violet light. “It’s me,” he calls out. “I’m here, like you asked.”

The light flickers in acknowledgement, and he presses his hand to the shield. It goes right through. He peers behind him one last time at his partner. Nicholas nods. Noah then turns back around, putting his helmet on, and walks through the shield.

Noah unholsters his service pistol and loads it with FUSCHIA-grade bullets. Normally, he liked to have his long-range rifle, but it would be useless coming face to face with her. Just in case, he had strapped his katana to his back.

This place had always been peaceful for him, despite being in the middle of Site-6. He tries to think of a plan on how to take this Threat Entity out, but all he could think about was the irony of ending it where it all began.

Noah finally finds her pacing back and forth in front of a shelf. He holds up his pistol and flicks the safety off. The sound causes her to halt, her back facing him.

“Turn around. Slowly,” he says. The figure holds up her hands, almost as in a surrender gesture, as she slowly turns around.

“Hello, Noah.”

“Hey, Mab,” he says, exhaling her name.

He catches a flash of light in her eyes, but before she could open her mouth, he fires a warning shot. It doesn’t even graze her shoulder, but she doesn’t react. She didn’t even attempt to stop it, either by catching it mid-air or stopping it dead in its tracks. She probably doesn’t even think he has it in him to kill her.

She was wrong.

“It’s been a while,” Mab says softly.

Noah gives her a quick glance over. She’s wearing the black tactical dress uniform he last saw her in; a uniform similar to what he was currently wearing. The knee-high boots, fitted pants, and tac vest over a long-sleeve turtleneck doesn’t hide that she seems to be thinner than last time. Her bright red hair pulled into a bun does nothing but accent the shadows under her eyes. She doesn’t look nearly as bad as how she looked back when they first met, but it was close.

If he could take a gamble on what she was going through, it was that she was as tired as he was. Not physically tired; Type Purples never got tired like that. She had to be mentally exhausted; tired of playing the game.

Maybe Noah could be the one to end it for her.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his pistol never lowering.

“I wanted to see you,” she says.

Internally, he rolls his eyes. “You could’ve just come over to the house if that’s all you wanted. You know, say hello to your old teammates? I’m pretty sure the cats miss you, too.”

He’s certain that the reason she hasn’t tried to show her face near their place, or Cooper’s Rock for that matter, was because of the uncertainty whether they might turn her in or not. And she has to know that he would do it in a heartbeat for what she did.

She makes a sound that confirms his theory. “Fine. Since you have me so well figured out, I came here to steal—”

“So what? You just decided to rejoin your old friends after what they did to you? Or are you starting a new cult since you killed the old one?” he asks bitterly.

Mab looks at him with outrage clearly written across her face. “I’m not stealing a book on behalf of that horrendous Serpent,” she hisses.

“Yeah, right. You really think the UPA would keep the Book of the Black in here? In an unrestricted section?’ Noah asks. Mab looks at him, shocked. “Oh, I know that’s what you would be looking for. It probably has Admin-level clearance after everything that went down.”

“Samhain, what’s your status?”

Matt’s voice in his commset was a welcome relief. He was probably worried about the sound of the gunshot.

Noah subvocalized back, “Crystal clear. Code Wraith.”

Matt’s answer was two small light-blips in the corner of Noah’s visor, and the small camera symbol designating that his helmet camera was broadcasting video feed to the higher-ups vanished. They’d be scrambling to turn it back on, which means he had ten minutes alone with Mab with no UPA hovering over the two of them.

He lowers his gun fully. Mab’s facial expression doesn't change, even as he lifts an empty, gloved hand out to her. “Come on, Firefly. It’s time to come home.”

The nickname only temporarily takes her off guard. Her eyes flick down to his outstretched hand and then back up to his visor. “It stopped being my home a while ago. We both know that.”

“Just… please, Mab. We can work something out if you would just turn yourself—”

“Turn myself into the people who want me dead?” she asks incredulously. “You and I both know that if I walk out of here with you, I’ll end up dead. Or worse, in a containment cell at the bottom of Site-1 with that thing for the rest of my life.”

I’m just trying to make this easier on you, Noah thinks as she takes in a deep breath to calm herself. He can hear the shake of it as she exhales, which makes him realize how close they are. A small part of him wishes he could comfort her like he used to, but he squashes the feeling immediately.

“Besides, I’m here to do the opposite.”

Noah lowers his hand. “What do you mean?”

“Noah, I can’t hide in Cooper’s Rock anymore. There’s only so much of the bubble left for the Spooks to comb over. I… I can’t stay,” she says, choking on the last word. Unlike him, she could never hide her emotions. Especially with him around.

“You were hiding in Cooper’s Rock this whole time? Where?” he asks. Her lips thin, but he continues. “They’re not watching. It’s just us, okay?’ Matt will delete the local storage before anyone can see this.”

“I don’t buy that for a second. And there’s others I need to protect,” she says.

His composure finally snaps at that. “Oh, you’ll protect your new buddies, but you won’t stay and protect us? Your family?” he shouts. He should keep his voice low, but his anger gets the best of him.

“What did the UPA tell you? That I killed all those people? That I went back to the Cult of Orobos after everything they did to me?” she asks. “The UPA went after me, Noah. They saw me as too much of a threat after I got shoved into the Empty. They were the ones who killed all those people in an attempt to kill me!”

Noah steels himself in case she goes Phase IV. “The UPA didn’t do that. Don’t try to manipulate me.”

Her face falls. “Really? You’ll believe them, but not me?’

“What does the UPA need to put the blame on you? Why would they lie?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The organization that has a history of lying to cover-up anomalies might be lying to cover up this anomaly?” she points at herself.

“Seriously, Mab? What are you trying to accomplish here? You wanted to see me; here I am.” He spreads his arms wide.

Hurt flashes across her face as her eyes flick between him and the area. “I’m not really seeing you,” she states. “Can’t you just take off your helmet?”

He knows he shouldn’t give in to her demands. The helmet was the only thing standing between her and him, the only thing stopping her from killing him instantly. He’s seen her do it, go into peoples’ minds and flick their light switch off. She might still love him, but what was stopping her from saving her own skin?

But he lets her get close to him. From this short distance, he can really see how hard the past several months have treated her. Her lilac-colored eyes don’t seem as bright as they used to be. Her skin seems pallid and sunken in. She really seems to be a shadow of her former self.

Her hands reach up and unbuckle the chin strap, and she lifts up the helmet. When it’s finally off his head, she lets it drop to the ground. He hears it hit with a dull thud as well as a crack as the visor breaks. Her fingers are soft against his skin as she pulls the cloth mask down to expose his face fully.

Steady…

Mab’s eyes scan Noah’s face, as if she was slowly memorizing his features one last time. He doesn’t miss the way her eyes shine with unshed tears, and he hates how he can’t say that his aren’t the same. Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, and he can’t help the flutter of his eyelids before they close. He admits to himself that he missed her touch.

Steady…

“I’m so sorry.”

At those words, his eyes snap open. He sees her eyes flash. He can barely get out a shout before he’s blinded by a sharp stab of pain to the front of his brain, and his vision goes dark as his head fills with static.

The static leaves me in a catatonic peace. I want to finally sleep now.

She’s so thin.

That was the first thing Noah thought of when he could see all of her, which of course wasn’t a whole lot. And she’s tiny as well, probably a foot shorter than him. He couldn’t really tell all of this when she was up so high on the bookshelf.

He and Nicholas had heard a noise several minutes ago, and after losing a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors, Noah had to go check. He had almost missed her at first, until he had the sense to look up. And there she was.

“Having fun up there?” he asked.

He knew he startled her. What he didn’t expect was that he did it so well that she would slip. He rushed to catch her. He was right; she did weigh nothing in his arms.

Then she opened her eyes.

Noah had been trained to not show emotions on the field, and he was glad of that. Because she had purple eyes. He was currently holding a Type Purple Threat Entity in his arms and for some reason, he wasn’t dead.

Yet.

“Hi, princess,” he said.

His words seemed to snap her out of her stupor, and she started trying to escape. He tried to maintain a tight grip on her, but it was like trying to grab water; she seemed to be able to slip out of his grasp every time he thought he had a sound hold on her.

It wasn’t until he had wrestled her to the ground, pinning her down with his full body weight, did he get his first real look at her. Besides her frail stature, she looked like she hadn’t slept in days, nor cleaned herself in as long. Her violet eyes seemed to swim with tears.

“Lemme go!” she hissed with a hint of fear lacing her words.

“Yeah, like I’m gonna let someone who’s broken into a secure facility g—”

That’s when the strangeness happened. The room seemed to darken around them, like the edges of his vision were going black. He thought he was about to pass out until the darkness almost… consumed her. Then it just… slipped out of his hands. She materialized a few feet away from him, the light coming back to him.

Luckily, he was still wearing his helmet, otherwise the girl would’ve seen his jaw drop. They both stared at each other in shock for a few seconds; he could’ve sworn that she was just as shocked as he was. But she recovered faster than he did, and she darted off with a swish of her long, red hair.

“Hey!” Noah yelped, getting to his feet and running after her. He wasn’t fast enough though, and as quickly as she appeared in his life, she disappeared.

But it certainly wasn’t the last time he saw her.

The next time was six months later, and it pretty much started and ended the same. He was just getting off duty and was handing security over to the next shift. Clocking in these long hours was rough, but if he wanted to be a part of his own task force, he had to do them.

Just as he was ready to go to the Site barracks and take a nap, he turned the corner around a bookshelf and saw her.

He learned his lesson from last time, though. He was unaware that he was behind her, so he snuck up on her. He threw one hand over her mouth, stifling her scream in his glove, and wrapped his other arm around her waist. He hauled her up, kicking and flailing, until he stumbled to an unoccupied room.

In the dim lighting, her eyes almost seemed to glow. He panicked for a second, because he had forgotten that she was a reality-bender and that she could probably warp him out of existence. But when that same light in her eyes died out, he realized something else.

She’s wasting away.

He felt something close to remorse for her, which is a really bad thing. There’s a reason why Type Purple Threat Anomalies are nicknamed Type Violent by Special GRAVE Agents.

Never talk to the target. Never look them in the eye. Never do anything that will allow yourself to humanize them. When the time comes to make the kill, you must be direct, forceful, and without mercy. Don’t do anything that will make that harder.

Except this anomaly seems like the polar opposite. She barely looks like she could hold herself up without collapsing.

He offered her an olive branch; a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, courtesy of his roommate. And despite the fact that she’s trapped in a room with someone who could most likely kill her or hand her over to authorities that could, she takes it.

“So, do you have a name?” Noah asked.

“Mab,” she answered, mouth still full.

Just Mab. It wasn’t even her real name. She couldn’t remember her life before five years ago; only flashes of a fire. She was brought to the Grey Library to recuperate, and in exchange for saving her life, she became an indentured servant to the Cult of Orobos. Their leader’s orders were the reason she was stealing from the Site-6 library.

Noah had had his own run-ins with the Cult, none of them pleasant. He knows they’re responsible for the death of his guardian when he was only fifteen. The UPA had standing orders to shoot them on sight. So that meant he’d violated two shoot-on-sight orders.

After the small interrogation, he offered to keep her in Cooper’s Rock, to save her from essentially killing herself to keep her “masters” happy. But the Cult has their claws too deep in her. Neither of them leaves that storage closet satisfied.

“Guess no more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for you,” Noah said, turning away from Mab.

He hadn’t even taken two steps when he was hit in the back of the head with something so hard, it knocked his helmet off. He whipped around, fury spitting from between his teeth. Her eyes met his, wide from shock and fear, and she turned and darted off. He looked down at the projectile.

A fucking book.

“So that went well,” his partner, Nicholas, joked from behind him.

Not too long after that meeting, she came to him this time. Mab’s just as hungry, but this time she was covered in bruises. She collapsed in his arms, and he had no choice but to bring her back to his dorm. Luckily the only one there was Nicholas, who just rolled with the fact that Noah was hiding a member of a terrorist organization in their cramped quarters.

“It’s only for tonight,” he told Nicholas. “I’ll figure out something in the morning.”

He had no idea how he was going to figure something out by tomorrow morning.

After she woke up and took a shower, he handed her a pair of Nicholas’ shorts and a shirt Noah hardly wore anymore: a simple white tee with a picture of Jesus Christ and Satan playing basketball. It swallowed her thin frame, and if it were anyone else, he would laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. But she looked so small and fragile he let it slide.

He learned that she’s a dreamer; she loves fantasy and fairy tales. She got her name from her favorite book. When he told her that he’s half-Sidhe Tumuli, an elven offshoot of the faeries, her whole face lit up. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the only things he inherited from his long-dead mother was his tall figure, thick hair, and dark eyes.

As far as Noah was concerned, he might as well be nothing more than human.

He didn’t have to wait until morning to figure out what to do with her, because the Cult raided the Site in the middle of the night to bring her back.

He followed her screams as they dragged her back to the Grey. It’s the only thing that gave him direction, because the Grey is a maze; a seemingly infinite space filled with every book ever written, to be written, and not thought to be written. If Mab wasn’t screaming her head off, he would have gotten lost instantly.

When he found her again, she was strapped to a table, cocooned in a blanket of her shadows while everyone around her was dead. He picked her up and cradled her close, despite the darkness around her chilling him to the bone.

Noah took her back to baseline reality, back to absolute hell. He was forced to hand her over to Site authorities, and she was taken to Level 2 to Research and Containment. And he’s sad because he knows he’ll never see her again.

Except he does.

After almost five years, he’s finally the commander of his own Strike Task Force. Theta-777, otherwise known as “Bad Omens.” He still served Site-6, but the team traveled around the world so much he’s hardly ever there. But no matter how many of the other Sites he saw, he found no trace of Mab.

It’s after the team loses another PSYCHE consultant to a Threat Anomaly in China that he saw her. Just her file, but it's enough. It’s after he stalled long enough that a PSYCHE consultant was assigned to the team without his approval, and he went through their file.

There, on his computer, is her picture, along with her title: RESEARCHER MAB GREY, PSYCHE CONSULTANT OF THE DEPARTMENT OF ONTOKINETICS. They’d hidden her in Site-2B for the past two years, working as a glorified secretary in the NExUS Records. But under him, she’ll be a reality-bender working for the Department of Tactical Theology.

If he was a believer, he’d say that it was fate that brought her back to him.

Later that month, he was on his way back to the United States from the temporary Area set up in the Prefecture, wrapping up the Research and Engagement of the anomaly that got her predecessor to retire early. He headed to the team’s office, where the AMITY Ambassador of the team, Joakim, is debriefing her. He’s nearly knocked over by the sight of her.

Mab no longer looked like she was on Death’s door. She filled out the PSYCHE uniform of a black coat that’s a mix between a lab coat and trench coat, but she’s foregone the pencil skirt in favor of black slacks. She cut her thick red hair to shoulder length, but right now she had it in a high bun.

Noah went over to envelope her in a hug, but stopped when he saw her facial expression. He was reminded of the adage “if looks could kill” because he’s certain that she could make it a reality.

He grew more and more confused as she treated the others formally, but she barely gave him the time of day. He even looked into having her reassigned at one point. A team can’t function properly if team members can’t work together. But the others insist that he let her warm up to him.

And the High Command denied his request, anyway.

Noah just needed to know why she hated him, then he could work with her. It was only after their first time alone together that he made any sort of headway.

Noah never understood why everyone in the UPA hated Type Purples. How they were portrayed in seminars seemed too… unreal. That they could rewrite reality, become gods if they wanted to, seemed too drastic. And after spending the past three months with Mab, who was afraid of the dark, he knew that people around here had nothing to be afraid of.

But when Mab had to take a trip out to Site-1 in London, and he had to accompany her – standard protocol – he learned that everyone’s hatred for Type Purples ran deeper than he thought possible.

Mab hadn’t been thrilled when she found out that he was her security detail. At Site-1, she could barely shake him off. “I don’t need a babysitter, Noah,” she said.

She actually did.

At the meeting she was summoned to London for, she was practically attacked on all sides. Noah was shocked at how Mab was treated, but she just waved off the insults and continued on. He could barely concentrate on anything that wasn’t her.

And then the universe threw another loop at him.

At the same meeting, before it had even started, several members of STF Alpha-1, the “FANTOM” Force, had filed in. They were the most prestigious task force in the UPA, meant to be bodyguards and enactors of the Administrator Council. If they were there, then an Admin was nearby.

But what threw Noah for a loop was when their team leader threw his arms around Mab. And she responded in kind. She practically lit up when she saw him. The two practically made Noah feel like a third wheel.

“Oh, Oli, this is Noah,” Mab finally introduced him.

Oliver was shocked to see him, like he had thought that Mab had made Noah up. “Look at that, you do exist.”

Noah tried pressing Mab about it after the meeting, but she had basically shut down. She only said that they met at Site-2, and nothing else. He was going to prod her more about it, but they were interrupted.

It wasn’t until they were back in the sleeping quarters they had been given for the weekend did he finally get to talk again. “You wanna talk about what happened out there?” Noah asked, closing the door behind him. He started unbuttoning his BLACK jacket; hers was already tossed over the back of a chair.

Mab opened her mouth, but then hesitated. For several moments, she seemed to contemplate what she was going to say next, until she closed her mouth and only said one word: “No.”

The simplicity of the denial nearly caused him to see red. Instead, he snorted in a way that he knew would annoy the ice queen. “Whatever you say, Princess.” The only inclination that he got under her skin was the way her jaw clenched.

Fine. Let her be that way. It irked him something fierce, even if he wouldn’t admit it – to her or to himself.

Except now he couldn’t sit still to save his life, and the room is way too small to contain the tension between them. So instead of trying to talk it out like how normal adults would, he escaped into the bathroom to take a shower.

He shed the rest of his BLACK uniform. The ink etched down the front of his upper half is stark against the backdrop of the white tile behind him when he looked in the mirror. He stared at his reflection as the water heated up, until the steam fogged up the mirror.

Once in the shower, he let the hot water hit his back to try to ease the tension that plagued him since that morning. He should be worried about Administrators being in the same Site; should be worried that he’ll make a fool out of himself in front of the wrong people. But all he was worried about was how Oliver could Make Mab smile, when he couldn’t even get her to look at him.

His mind continued to race, which didn’t help the knot in between his shoulder blades. He shut off the water before he passed out from heat stroke or whatever it was called. He toweled off and pulled on a clean pair of joggers before heading back out into the room.

Mab also must’ve changed while he was in the bathroom, but that wasn’t what made his feet come to a screeching halt. She was now wearing her hair down, while a large shirt swallowed her frame. He knew that shirt. He thought he lost it between Engagements – it wasn’t unlike him to forget something in New Mexico or Japan – but looking at it now he remembered the last time he saw it.

“Nice shirt,” Noah said before he could catch it.

Mab looked up from her book like she was surprised he was still in the room. He caught her look catch on his naked chest before she looked down at her shirt. “Uh… okay? It’s from my time at the Center, I think.”

Her response made his blood heat up. “’You think’?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah, I don’t remember exactly where I got it.”

Noah didn’t believe her. There was no way Mab “Remembers Every Line From ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’” Grey forgot where she got a shirt.

His feet moved him faster than his brain could stop him, and the next thing he knew was his fingers had plucked the book from hers.

“Hey! What’re you—”

“What are you reading?” he asked, thumbing through the pages.

“None of your business! You’ll make me lose my—” she seethed, reaching out for it.

“Oooh, is it a spicy book?” he asked as he stepped backwards out of her reach. He started to take a closer look at the words on the pages. “’Even in the grey moonlight, her eyes were the deep blue of a September sky. He’d known them to be blue before, but now they were like two brilliantly lit univer—’ OW!”

He had been so caught up in humiliating her, he hadn’t noticed she had jumped off her bed and was not practically climbing him.

He held the book high above his head. “Give. It. Back!” she growled, reaching for it.

“No. Not until you tell me how you and Agent Sykes know each other,” he blurted out.

His words made her halt. She slowly slid down until her feet hit the floor. “Why? Why are you so pressed about him?” she asked. “We hung out for like a week at Site-2. That’s it.”

That is NOT it, he thought. Her eyes narrowed, and he thought he actually said it out loud. She then rolled her eyes. “Fine. We had sex one time, for the love of—”

“I knew it.” He grinned widely. Her eyes widened at the ferality of his tone. An acidic feeling churned in his gut at her confession.

Of course she hooked up with the commander of the most prestigious strike task force in all of the UPA.

Mab shoved away from him finally, her book long forgotten. “So what? It was one time,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.

“Only one time?” Noah asked, his voice coming out low. He dropped the book onto her bed, and the soft thump it made startled her, like it was a gunshot.

He watched her throat bob nervously. “Yes… one time,” she said. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“If it didn’t mean anything, why’d you do it?” he asked. He didn’t know why he was having this conversation, let alone having it this close to her. She must’ve thought so as well, because she tried to take a step back. She glanced behind her before nervously turning back to face him.

He was vaguely aware that the back of her knees were pressed against her bed. One push and she could’ve been spread out for him. His hand twitched up, almost betraying his intrusive thoughts, but he reeled himself back in.

“Noah—”

“No, we’re going to settle this now,” he said, gripping her arm. Something in his brain yelled at him that this wasn’t the way to do this, but he chose to ignore it. “Why do you hate me, after everything that happened?”

She blinked twice. “I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “Ever since you saw that I was your Commander, you’ve been anything but respectful to me. You can barely stand to be in the same room as me. After everything we’ve been through?”

Her head suddenly tilted. “What we’ve been through? We haven’t gone through anything. You might think you saved me by pulling me out of the Grey, but ever since then I’ve had to fend for myself in an organization that hates what I am,” she snapped. “You saw how they treated me at that meeting. Imagine that, but for the last five years.”

“Mab—”

“Some days I wondered if I really had escaped that Cult, because the UPA really likes to keep me on a leash as well. And at least in the Grey, the hand holding it didn’t want me dead!”

He watched a range of emotions cross her face. And then she delivered the stab to the gut. “Sometimes I wish you never rescued me! I wish you and I never met in the first place!”

Noah took a step back, whether it was from the hurt in her confession or to give her room to breathe, he couldn’t say. She swayed a little, like a reed in a sudden gust of wind, and he thought she was about to have a mental breakdown. But she straightened suddenly, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She straightened the hem of her – his – shirt. She then spun on her heel, brushing past him to grab her shoes.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I need some air,” she snapped, her voice cracking on the last word.

“Mab, it’s not safe—” he managed to say, but he was cut off by the door slamming closed.

He stood there for a moment, her words pulsing through him. He stewed in the regret and anger at himself for cornering her until she snapped. But he didn’t go after her. He stayed in the dorm, letting the guilt trickle in.

He was worried, still. He called her cell every five minutes. It wasn’t until after midnight that his phone rings, and it's her calling him. It was practically pressed to his ear before the first note ended. “Hello?”

“Noah—”

“Mab, where the fuck are you?” he asked in a rush. “I called you seven fucking times.”

He heard her sigh, and there was a few moments pause. He hated that she wasn’t in front of him, because he couldn’t hear her over the phone. Did he scare her with his questions? Is she thinking about what to say? Is she going to leave?

Is she going to leave him?

“Mab, where are you?” Noah asked again, softer this time.

There was more silence, and he had to check his phone to make sure the line was still connected. He almost missed her answer, it was so quiet. “I don’t know—”

“What do you mean—” His voice rose without him meaning to, but he reigned himself back in. “Describe your surroundings, Mab. Details.”

“Noah, it’s dark, it’s raining, and I’m sure I’ve never been in this part of the Site before,” she said.

“Come on, Mab. Use that beautiful brain of yours,” he said, pulling on a hoodie. He booted up the tracking program on his phone and inputed Mab’s code while she went into minute detail.

“Alright, I’m coming. Just for the love of fuck, don’t move.”

“Noah—”

Three quick beeps interrupted her, and her location suddenly disappeared from his screen. He swore. She probably didn’t have time to charge her phone after they got back from being in meetings all day long. She could use his EVE tracker mode, but there was no way Site-1 didn’t have a few Reality Anchors floating around somewhere. Without her phone online, she was basically invisible.

He pulled on his shoes and strapped on some easily concealable weapons, even though they’re on Site grounds. He knew there was at least one person that would love to see Mab dead, and he wouldn’t risk the chance of that guy finding her.

He grabbed another hoodie and an umbrella, and made his way outside.

He shouldn’t be surprised that London was cold at this time of the year. He definitely wasn’t surprised that it was raining. He was more surprised that the logical and overthinking Mab Grey would storm off in the middle of a rainstorm.

How bad did she want to be away from him that she was willing to walk into this deluge rather than be in the same room as him?

Noah had the entire walk to think about what he could say. But the whole time, he told himself that he was only out here looking for her because he’s supposed to be protecting her. Not because he was scared he could lose her.

Thirty minutes later, he finally spied the reality bender. Curled up on a bench, absolutely soaking wet, and looking miserable.

“Well, look at that. You can actually listen to instructions.”

Goddammit Noah, you fucking idiot.

She peered up at him with the ghost of annoyance, but he could tell she’d been crying. He started to feel bad until she opened her mouth. “Don’t get used to it,” she mumbled, barely audible over the sound of the storm.

“You gonna sit there all night or are you gonna come with me?” he asked.

She thankfully stood up, though not before letting him wait a few more moments. When she stepped into the dry space underneath the umbrella, he handed her the extra hoodie. She pulled it on, and it enveloped her. It fell below mid-thigh on her, leaving her legs bare.

As they walked back to their dorm, he noticed how she was trying hard to avoid touching him. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and he could almost feel the vibrations of her shivering form. He shook his head, wrapping an arm around her. He expected some resistance, but she melted into his side.

For a few moments, he let himself wonder what they might look like if someone were to pass them. Two lovers taking a leisurely stroll through the paths of Site-1? Or something else?

Back in their room, he expected her to say something. Instead, she quietly sat down in the chair where her BLACK coat had been thrown onto. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting ready for bed. What’s it look like, Noah?” Mab snapped. Her fingers fumbled over her shoelaces, either from being cold and stiff, or from pure frustration. It might be a combination of the two, as it looked like she just made it worse when he saw the knots that she formed.

He looked up at her face. It had scrunched up, and he could see how her eyes shone. “Mab.” His voice cut through to her.

“What?” she snapped. She didn’t look up at him.

“Would you just calm down for a second?” Noah asked.

“I’m fine, okay?” she said.

“That was a rhetorical question, Firefly,” he said, crossing the room towards her in two strides. He kneeled down in front of her and gently brushed her fingers out of the way. She tried to pull her foot out of his grasp, but he gripped her ankle firmly, keeping it in place.

“Noah, I can take care of myself,” she protested.

“I know you can, but I didn’t ask you to, did I?” He slid that shoe off and started working on untying the other.

When he was done, he looked up at her to see that her gaze was rooted firmly to the ground. “Hey. Mab, look at me.” He reached up to put a finger under her chin, and tilted her face up. Her violet eyes casted downward, still avoiding him.

“Look at me, Firefly,” he said again. He brushed her cheekbone with his thumb, which passed through a wet patch. “Firefly…”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, wiping the tears away with the sleeve of the hoodie.

Noah gently tugged her forward out of the chair and cradled her. The sound she let out as she clutched a fist in his hoodie felt like an arrow had pierced him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her wet hair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. If I had known where they casted you off to, I would’ve been there to guide you. And I can do that now, Mab, but you gotta let me in.” He kissed the crown of her head. “You don’t have to do everything alone.”

She didn’t say anything. He let her shower and change into dry clothes, but she continued to wear his hoodie. He thought that it was a great start, that she’d warm up to him eventually, but when he settled down to finally sleep, she wordlessly crawled under the covers of his bed.

“Night, Mab,” he said, lips curling into a small smile.

“Good night, Noah,” she replied softly, barely audible, from her side of the bed.

Normally, Mab Grey was all sharp angles: sharp mind, sharp tongue; a habit learned when you’re an anomaly that worked for an organization that liquidates anomalies like you. But behind the curtain, she was all soft. Soft skin under Noah’s hands, soft breath against his feverish skin. He was the only one who got to see this side of her, and he reveled in it.

“Noah—” She breathed into the space between their mouths, before Noah encased her lips with his own and swallowed down the rest of her words.

They were always like this. A professional relationship at the Site, their feelings towards each other only known to those of Bad Omens they could trust. When it was just the two of them, they frantically tore at each other’s clothes. There hadn’t been a visit to her place that didn’t end up with the two having sex on some surface.

Mab straddled Noah’s hips as he leaned back on his hands. He wanted to touch her; let his fingers roam over every inch of her until she was like melted wax in his grasp. It took every ounce of his meager self-control to keep his hands to himself, but it was worth it to watch Mab lose it. And it doesn’t take long. Her fingers dug into the meat above his hips, and she rocked down against his hardening cock.

His hands moved to glide up the sides of her waist. When his fingers traced the skin they left behind, he could feel the goosebumps that had formed in their wake. She was tense above him, shuddering in anticipation. He trailed his hands back down, down until he could grab two handfuls of her ass over her shorts. He then forced her core to drag down over the front of his sweatpants, and the movement sent him over the moon, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his skull.

She gasped his name at the same time, and he mentally stowed the sound for another time. He moved only one hand up to curl around her cheek and the back of her head, and he licked into her mouth in a dominant kiss that he knew she would reciprocate.

A while ago, he had read about Type Purples in order to learn more about Mab. In that information, he read about Purple’s tendencies to use their powers to manipulate others for sex and love. He had brought it up to Mab once, back when they first started working together, but after the visceral reaction he had gotten from her, he never brought it up again.

A lot of other people brought it up instead. “You’ll wake up one day and realize she’s using you, son.” Noah never got over that; how it was said to him while Mab was standing right next to him. It had taken every ounce of training to not beat their faces into a bloody pulp.

Noah’s will was his own. He protected Mab because he wanted to.

Noah and Mab continued to kiss, heavily and messily, and he felt her fingers tugging at the band of his sweatpants. He pulled her hands away and searched blindly for the hem of her shirt. He pulled it up over her head, sending her hair in every direction. He took a moment to admire the beauty of her tits in his face, before ducking his head and encasing one nipple between his lips. He swirled his tongue around it, and then sucked hard enough that her back arched. After having a little nibble, he hurriedly released it with a wet pop to do the same process to the other.

He didn’t stop until both of her tits had been worshiped enough; red from his lips and teeth, and she was a mess on his lap. She’d tugged at the short hairs at the back of his neck for some time now, and he was sure it stuck up all over the place.

Her skin tasted unholy, but all he could think of was how he had to have his mouth on her pussy in the next few seconds or he’d combust. He grabbed her hips and lifted her up off his lap. The loss of friction made her whine softly. “I know sweetheart I know,” he mumbled into her clavicle, pulling his legs out from under her. “Lie back, lemme taste you. Please.”

He let her go and she fell backwards. He couldn’t help but admire how her hair fanned out like flames licking the sheets below her. Her hands joined his as he pulled down her shorts. Even before he glanced back down, he could tell that she was wet and ready for him. He tore at her underwear with more urgency than he had with her shorts. Maybe he was under a spell, but he was sure it wasn’t her reality shaping powers.

Purple-Type Reality Bender or not, she was his goddess, and he would kneel at her altar for as long as he lived.

Noah threw her thighs over his shoulders, hooking his arms around them as he dug his fingers into her skin. He dove straight in, not even bothering to tease her with soft kisses to her inner thighs and outer lips. He barely even took a second to admire how pretty and perfect her pussy was. He wrapped his lips around the bud of her clit and sucked it in between his teeth, causing her to loudly whine above his head. He felt her fingers wind into his hair, and he moaned against her folds when she tugged at his roots.

He pulled away slightly to run the flat of his tongue up her slit, and she wore as she shuddered and grinded her pussy against his face. When he moved back up to her flit, he slowly rubbed at her entrance with a single finger, prodding it in up to the knuckle. When he crooked it up, her body bent like a bow, tensed to snap at any moment.

She swore as he circled her clit with his tongue, flicking it up and down. The hand not in his hair found its way to his bicep, and he felt a sharp pain that traveled down his body and caused his dick to twitch. His hips involuntarily sought friction by rutting against her bed.

Mab wasn’t very vocal when it came to dirty talking during sex, or talking at all. Noah had to learn her tells, but luckily they fucked so often that it didn’t take long. She wasn’t a swearer, nor a babbler. Her tells were all physical. So when he felt her thighs tense beneath his hand, and when her breathing picked up, he doubled down until her thighs caged his head and she came. Hard.

He drank it up like a man dying in Death Valley. He was a feral with his tongue, not stopping until he was sure she was about to come again. He groaned at the thought that he could suffocate between her legs, and as cliché as it sounded, he knew he’d die happy.

The vibration from his moan sent her into another climax, but he still didn’t stop until he consumed everything she gave him. Pretty soon, she was squirming from the stimulation and pulling him up by his hair. He reluctantly parted from her and rose to greet her with a grin that she would normally wipe off his face if she wasn’t so drunk off her orgasms.

“Speechless?” he asked, and she finally glared at him. “It’s a cute look for you.”

“Shut up,” she muttered. Her bare tits rose as she tried to draw in air.

While she was distracted, Noah quickly shed his sweats and boxers. He searched for a condom, fumbling with tearing the foil packaging until he gave up and tore it open with his teeth. After the rubber was rolled on, he crawled on top of Mab. Her breathing had nearly returned to normal.

He held himself up with one hand and then leaned down to kiss her. She hummed a sound as he slipped his tongue past her lips. He thought to himself that every part of her tastes amazing.

His hips rocked against hers, his cock running through the slickness between her thighs. Her breath hitches. “Not gonna last too much longer, sweetheart,” he said with a breathy groan. When he rutted against her again, she met him at the same pace. He wasn't even inside her yet and he could nearly cum right there and then.

He pulled back a bit and wrapped his fingers around her jaw as he said, “Lemme see those pretty eyes.”

They popped open as he dragged his thumb over her bottom lip. He could never get enough of her eyes. Despite the color almost being obliterated by her dilated pupils, he could still see the flecks of sky blue interspersed amongst the lavender irises, like a violet starscape. My shooting star, he had once called her on the top of the townhouse as they watched a meteor shower. She didn’t hear him at the time, but he was okay with that. It could be just his little secret.

He had no idea how accurate that name was.

Noah held her jaw in an iron grip as he slowly entered her. He reveled in the feeling of her chest rising as she gasped; the way her eyes widened more. He had to fight the urge to close his eyes as she fluttered around him, and instead his breath came out as a deep rumble from somewhere in his chest.

He didn't break eye contact until he was flush with her, their hips pressed together snugly. He rested his forehead against hers, peering down at their bodies. He nearly blocked hers out with how big he was compared to her, and the feeling of being so much larger than her ignited another fire in his belly. Instead of giving into that fire, he kissed her again, slowly this time, giving her time to adjust.

Her patience though doesn’t let him stay still for long. “Noah,” she whimpered, her fingers flexing into his ribs as if to urge him to move.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he said. “Let me stay like this in you for a little bit.”

After taking a deep breath, he withdrew until he was almost out. He then hitched her legs up to where her thighs rested over his hips. He rocked back in with a sharp thrust and hit a spot in her that had her gasp aloud. The sound made him lose his composure.

“You’re all mine,” he blurted out. “Say it.”

There was a pause after his words, and the silence nearly deafened him. He knew he hadn't even said the L-Word yet, and here he is, claiming her as if she belonged to him. He just wanted to hear her say it, just so he knew that she was real.

“I’m yours.” Mab whispered. “I’ve always been yours.”

Noah thrusted again, and her hands sought out for something. They pulled at the sheets, the pillows under her head, finally curling under his arms and gripping his shoulders. With every one of his thrusts, her nails sunk deeper and deeper into his back, until she tore at his skin and practically drew blood.

“You’re Mine.” He enunciated every word with a thrust that had her tits bouncing. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“I'm… yours,” She gasped. “Oh, god - N-Noah-!”

“You’re so good for me,” he growled into her ear. “So fucking good around me. Fucking made for this cock, fucking made for me.” He rambled on.

He looked down at where they connected again. The sight of her smooth, blank skin against his heavily decorated torso nearly doing him in. He grinded his teeth together so hard he could feel a muscle spasm in his cheek. He focused on that so he wouldn’t blow his load before he cums. Except when he looked back up at her, he saw that she was looking as well, her lips forming a perfect “o”.

This had to end now or he’d end up embarrassing himself. He quickly pressed his thumb down on her clit, and luckily, with little encouragement, she came. She came with a cry that caused her to nearly lift off the bed.

The noise, the feeling of her wrapping around himself, it was all too much for him. With a shudder and a groan, he emptied into the condom. His arms nearly gave out, but he caught himself before he fell on top of her. Catching his breath, he slipped out of her despite her protest. Fighting his body's natural habit to stay, he turned over to dispose of the condom and to grab something to clean themselves with. He wanted to do more, but the hand clinging onto his arm made collapse back onto the bed.

She almost materialized on top of him. This kiss is nothing but soft; something to reassure him that she was thankful for him. It almost felt like a reminder that he's only human… well, half-human.

When they parted again, she laid her head on his chest, her body tucking into his side as he held her tightly to his warm, wide torso. She whispered something into his skin, slick with sweat still cooling off, but when he made an inquiring noise that asked what it was she said, she pretended that she hadn’t said anything. He didn’t let on that he had heard her clearly.

“You're mine, too,” she had whispered.

Noah watched as Mab fought against the cultist; she clawed against the hand around her throat, kicking her legs wildly. The cultist held her out as far as his arm would let him, but her feet still made contact with his legs. Still, he stood unphased.

“Put her in,” the Serpent said, his black eyes cold and unyielding.

Noah tried to scream, tried to crawl his way to her to save her from whatever watery grave they were going to send her to. But his body, as torn up as it was, refused to move. The most he could do was moan and reach his hand out for her. Despite the short distance between them, he couldn't do anything.

He was going to watch Mab die, just like he watched Kennedy die.

“Dad! DAD!”

Noah’s eyes met Mab’s, and the fear in them almost made him throw up.

The cultist tried to let her go, tried to drop her into the pool, but her grip on him was too great. He then tried to shove her in. The minute her skin made contact with the water, she let out a shriek that sounded more like it belonged to a mortally wounded animal. She certainly fought like one; the water of the pool flew everywhere as she thrashed.

Some of that black water hit Noah’s ravaged skin. He hissed at the icy burn, certain that frost formed where it made contact.

The cultist then held Mab’s head down under the water with his free hand. After a while, the ripples she formed lessened until they stopped completely. Noah watched, horrified, as the cultist pulled his hands out of the water. They looked like they were completely frostbitten.

The serpent turned towards the Bad Omens. “Now, we can—”

There was a flash of violet in the corner of Noah’s eyes. Before the Serpent could finish whatever he was going to say, the pool erupted like a geyser, shooting up its contents as a figure flew out of it.

Noah could barely describe what he was seeing. It was like looking through a two-dimensional hole in three-dimensional space, but the hole was in the shape of a humanoid woman. Where eyes would be, there instead were two galaxies, swirling clouds of blue and purple, combining in a cosmic force. When he looked through her, he could see stars dotting the expanse, some spinning around each other or tumbling to some far corner of space he couldn’t see.

The being then moved her hands, and suddenly the room exploded.

Jolly threw himself over Noah at the same time Folio ducked and rolled against an overturned table. Noah felt a great weight settle over him, but it had nothing to do with Jolly. It was like gravity was pulling and pushing him at the same time, with equal amounts of force, cementing him to his spot.

Fighting this gravity, Noah managed to turn his head towards the center of the chaos. He was just in time to see the guards and cultists get vaporized by the Entity’s power. The Serpent screamed as he was sucked into a black hole; an actual hole, held by the starry figure. The hole then imploded, sending another explosion through the room.

And as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Silence fell over the hall, leaving just his fire team and whatever just decimated the cult of Orobos.

That’s when those violet galaxies turned onto him.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Folio lift his gun. He watched the figure glance over, and he knew he had to get in the middle. He somehow found the strength to move out from under Jolly, onto his feet, and in front of Folio before he was blinded in his right eye. He felt that raw power brush past his face, or maybe he was just feeling the skin boil and fuse with the neoprene mask.

“NOAH! NOAH! NOAH!”

Everything around him slowly dissolved, floating upward until it was only him and the god-shaped hole in front of him. Fog permeated the outside of his vision, like it was creating a barrier between them and the rest of the world. Or maybe it was the figure who created it.

Noah…

He heard his name being spoken into his mind rather than out loud. “I know you’re in there,” he said, turning to face it. “You wouldn’t hurt us willingly.”

Noah.

“Come on, Mab,” he said, holding his arms out. He slowly approached her. “Come back to us.”

The edges of the figure rippled at his words, like it was trying to reassemble itself into a form it might recognize. Noah didn’t stop until he was practically pressed against it, feeling the cold nothing radiating out of it. He tentatively placed his hands on its waist, and almost immediately his fingers turned purple.

“Please, Mab,” he pleaded. “Come back to me.”

Noah?

Noah blinked at the sound of his name. He looked up and behind him towards the doorway, where Nicholas stood.

“Anything?” Noah asked. Nicholas only shook his head.

Noah looked down at his phone in his hand. The text screen was still pulled up.

Picking up some Thai and we can watch whatever you want to tonight. That OK?

Ok.

You OK Firefly?

I'm fine.

I know it's been a rough couple of days recently.

I'm OK.

Ok then… Be there in 15.

He had sent that message five minutes before he led the strike team to raid Mab’s place.

It had been a rough few days ever since they got back from the Grey. Noah had to undergo several surgeries to get himself back to normal, including surgery to repair the half of his face that had been burnt. Jolly had called him “Two Face” at one point.

After the surgery and the anesthesia wore off, he woke up to what he thought was Hell. Jolly, Oliver, and another person had come into his recovery room to tell him what had happened. “She killed an entire strike team trying to bring her in for questioning,” Jolly had said. They weren’t there for questioning; they were there for an extermination. “She’s too dangerous to be out in the open anymore.” That doesn’t justify sending a drone to kill someone and any witnesses.

Whatever Administrator he was (why else would someone from Alpha-1 be in the room?) debriefed Noah on what Mab had essentially become: a Phase V Reality-Bender, a myth come true. And she killed fifteen people to save her skin. The UPA Killed them!

As he had walked through Mab’s place, he couldn’t help but notice how it had been scrubbed clean. Nothing of her had been left behind, not even a fingerprint. It was like she never lived here in the first place. When he went into her room, he knew it would be just like the rest of the place, but he still had to check. He scoured every inch to try and find something of her of them.

Nothing.

He had collapsed onto the mattress, the sheets gone. He pulled his helmet off and pulled the mask down before hanging his head in defeat. Half of his hair hung in front of his face; the other half would take months to grow back. And that’s where Nicholas had found him.

Noah’s thumbs shook as he typed out the message: Mab, we need to talk. But his blood boiled at the return message:

THE NUMBER YOU ARE TRYING TO REACH HAS BEEN DISCONNECTED.

He threw his phone against the wall. It fell to the ground in several pieces, broken beyond repair. Next was his helmet; it put a large dent in the wall’s plaster. When he was about to put his fist through the wall, Nicholas’ hand materialized out of nowhere and grabbed his wrist mid-swing. “You just got that hand fixed,” Nicholas said.

The anger in Noah's veins evaporated, and he collapsed to the floor. He let out an animalistic scream to vent whatever steam he had left. Mab was gone.

He loved her, but she was gone. He was too late.

Noah…

He looked up at the mess he had made. A single photo had fluttered out of the inside of his helmet, out of the tiny nook he had tucked it into. “That way you’re always on my mind,” he had told her.

“Wow. Cheesy,” she had replied. What was in that photo, Noah?

Noah turned his head towards the voice that spoke from next to him. Mab sat on the edge of the roof, kicking her legs back and forth. It almost reminded him of times from long ago when they first met.

“I still can’t believe that Cooper’s Rock has the exact same stars as the rest of the world,” Mab said, dreamily looking up at the night sky.

“What, you expected something else?” Noah asked.

“It’s a Nexus field! They shouldn’t be able to replicate every single star as exact as the outside world! Yet everything…”

As Mab went on, Noah could only focus on how her face reacted to the words coming out of her mouth. How her nose would scrunch up occasionally. How her lips would pout when she frowned.

He could absolutely kiss those lips right now.

“… at least, that’s what Dustin told me.” She sighed. She looked down at him. “Uh, Noah? You alright?”

“Er, yeah,” Noah coughed, catching himself. “Do you make it a habit to remember everything a guy tells you?” Mab elbowed him in the arm. “When he's talking about my field, yes.”

“I thought he was the religion guy.”

“No! That's T.J.! Honestly, do you ever pay attention to a word I say?”

He does, actually. He knows Tobias is the Religion Guy, because he’s worked with him numerous times over the past two years. But he liked to tease her if it meant she was talking to him. Better than how they were several months ago.

He changed the subject. “Our next engagement will take us to the other hemisphere,” he said. “I could show you a whole other sky of stars.”

The promise took her by surprise. Her eyes widened, and thanks to the soft glow of the streetlamps below, he caught the tinge of pink spreading across her cheeks.

And that’s when he got the thing he wanted the most from her: a smile, pure and dazzling. “I’d like that,” she said.

no no no it’s too much no no

He tore his gaze away from her smile to look up at the sky, and at the same time a meteorite streaked across the night. It left behind a glittering trail of purple.

He felt warm all over, like he was blushing or something. But the heat rose, and rose, until it was unbearable. A sound from behind him made him turn his gaze away from the sky.

Everything was on fire.

No, no no no no no… Not this.

“Dad! DAD!”

Noah heard a scream as some of the roof caved in, and he sobbed. His singed hands burned as he tried to wipe away his tears. He couldn’t do anything to save the man who raised him since—

Wait. Why were his hands burned?

He heard another scream, much like the first but it was different than he remembered. He looked away from the fire and saw the flash of red as the figure from his nightmares fled the scene.

It was like a dream where he was in his body, but not controlling it. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go! He wants to scream.

He rushed towards the figure, his mind racing at the thought of seeing its face for the first time. Even though he knew who it was, thanks to the UPA declassifying the files—

Except a different scene unfolded before him.

The Administrator in the hospital had told him that it was Mab that had caused the fire, killing his guardian and almost taking Noah with him. It was so easy for Noah to throw that love for her away, almost like he had been brainwashed.

As he chased the figure, he saw that she wasn’t running away, she was being carried; she was unconscious.

“Hold on! I’ll get you out!” He shouted as the girl screamed. His hands grabbed the flaming post, the adrenaline numbing the pain and giving him the strength to lift it. He then reached her, picked her up and helped her out.

This person carrying them, he’d seen them before. He was there when Mab was tossed into the Empty. A cultist of Orobos? What were they doing here?

His hands grabbed the redhead and pulled. “Let her go!” he screamed. Despite his lack of strength, he managed to pull her free. He clutched onto her until the cultist tore her away from him.

Mab hadn’t set the fire.

The cultist had.

Mab didn’t kill his guardian.

Noah’s head exploded in pain. He screamed as it felt like his brain was short-circuiting and melting from the confusion. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that didn’t stop him from seeing the jumble of images melding together:

Mab wrapped in shadow.

Mab drenched in rain.

Mad covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

Mab made of nothing but night and stars.

Mab emerged from a forest, young and naked, wide-eyed and confused as to who or what she was.

“Who are you?” his 15-year-old self asked.

“Ah… s-star…” She muttered, pointing behind her. Where Noah had been handing to check out the meteor. Her violet eyes glowed as she looked back at him.

“NOW DO YOU REMEMBER?” she asked, but her voice sounded so much older.

Suddenly, he was back in the Grey, standing before the starry Entity. He was frozen to the spot as its galaxy eyes stared him down.

Noah felt tears falling down his face, suddenly unmarred. “I remember…”

The figure – Mab – cupped his face. It’s touch was bitingly cold, like the water from the pool; like the Burning Not-Water from his nightmare. The figure’s form flickered again, changing shape and form for a brief moment, like a slideshow:

A figure wrapped in shadows.

A figure drenched in rain.

A figure wrapped in stars.

A figure with pale skin, black hair, and brown eyes—

Wait.

The image of the mystery woman gave him enough clarity to wrench free from the Entity’s grasp. And with a sorrowful scream, Noah raised his service weapon and pulled the trigger.

Within the silence of this illusion, is there anything more than human?

Suddenly, everything rushes back to Noah with startling, painful clarity. The shock causes him to double over as Mab stumbles away from him. He dry heaves for a few seconds before hurriedly recuperating.

He looks up to see her shocked face. She’s holding her side where the bullet hit her. It hadn’t penetrated the uniform, he has the UPA to thank for that. But it did manage to tear her concentration away from him.

“You fucking shot me,” she says incredulously.

“Yeah, well, don’t try your mind shit on me,” he groans, standing up. “Or at least pay attention to the finger that’s on the trigger, just in case something like this happens again.”

She’s still incredulous and he would find the look comical if the situation were different. “After all that I just showed you, you still think I would hurt you.”

He shrugs, pulling his mask back over his nose. He can’t tell how long time has passed since she initiated that walk down memory lane. For all he knows, the UPA is back to watching his every move.

He reaches down for his helmet, but it vanishes under his fingertips. He sighs and turns back to Mab. “Really? You do that now?”

“Noah, listen to me,” she pleads. “I don't have much more time. I was serious when I said that I didn't kill all those operatives. I didn't kill anyone.”

"Who's to say that you fabricated all those memories?” he says, drawing his katana. Her eyes widen as he leaps at her, but she's still able to throw up a shield so the blade bounces off harmlessly. He attacks again, and once more she blocks with the violet light at the last second.

“Noah, please!" she pleads as he swings again and again. Her blocks are sloppy compared to her previous combat. It's almost like she's distracted, or her body can't keep up with what her mind wants.

Eventually she comes around and blasts Noah backwards. He hits a shelf hard enough to lose grip on his katana, and he and the sword both hit the floor hard.

As he pushes himself up, she walks up to him. He half expects a boot to connect with his face, but instead she stops a foot away from him. She crouches down into a squat, and she’s now level with him as he pushes himself up onto his elbows. Her eyes are level with his, the black piercing his—

Wait. No, her eyes are all wrong. It’s like they’re bleeding purple down her face, draining the irises of their color.

Maybe unknowing of her condition, Mab brushes the strands of his dark brown locks away that have fallen into his face off his sweaty brow. “This can only end one way, Noah; only one way to free us from this nightmare.”

“Then do it already,” he says, lifting up his chin in stubborn defiance.

She sighs. “I told you, I’m not a murderer, Noah.”

“Then who are you?”

His question catches her off-guard. “What?” she asks.

“You can't fool me anymore,” he says.

With a force that makes him dizzy with pain afterwards, he headbutts the Type Purple humanoid. With a curse, she falls backwards, giving him enough time to roll over and grab his gun. The two stand up quickly at the same time, but he aims the gun at her, much like how this all started.

“Noah…”

“Do you trust me?” Noah asks.

She pauses, then smiles as she catches up to what he knows. “I always do.”

“Goodbye, Mab.”

And the gunshot echoes through Level 3.

Noah drops the smoking gun, and it hits the floor at the same time the body does. He follows quickly after.

It doesn't take long for the other task forces to flood the space now that Mab’s shield wasn’t preventing them from doing so. Noah watches them numbly as they do their job: Scan the area, test for EVE radiation, check for abnormal Hume readings. They only scan him long enough to make sure he’s physically alright, and he’s not under a cognition hazard, and they move on to the dead body. This process is familiar to him, as he’s done it himself. It’s just part of what a GRAVE operative does.

It's not until Matt and Nick hook their arms under his and help him onto his feet does he move. He turns away from the scene, not even looking back once.

“Noah—"

“It’s not Mab; not anymore,” Noah says curtly, and keeps walking.

There’s still more to do, but for him?

It’s all over.

I never needed you to be anything more than human.

“And you're sure you killed her?"

Noah swallows thickly, resting his head in the palm of his hand. He was dead tired. “Yes,” he replied.

“You're sure of—"

"I don't miss my shots. Check on service record,” Noah snaps, catching himself at the last second. "Sir."

Noah hates debriefing interviews. It's a bunch of repetitive bullshit, just the interviewers asking the same five questions over and over again in hopes that he'll spill something he wasn't meant to. He can guess why they're coming down especially hard on him. Besides the relationship he had with Mab, there was the broadcasting hiccup along with no recoverable footage, they only had his word to go on.

And of all people they could've pulled to interview him, they pulled the doctor that hated him the most. Dr. Altef hated Type Purples with an almost racist passion. He hated Mab so much; he was the reason why Mab was transferred to Site-6. Noah was sure he would be here for hours still.

“I’m not doubting your aim, Agent Sebastian,” Dr. Altef says, thumbing through a folder thick with paper. Noah bristles at the title, the lack of one obviously a slant against him. “I'm doubting your… motives.”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Noah asks, not caring that the man in front of him has more authority and more clearance than him and the rest of Bad Omens put together.

“It’s no secret that you and LTE-2995-Cheshiremorph-Violet were… involved with each other,” the director says, distaste dripping from his words, “despite the UPA rulings against team relationships.”

Noah feels a mix of anger and sorrows in his gut. Anger at the use of Mab’s entry name instead of her actual human name, and sorrow for the change of the first letter. L meant Liquidated, Liquidated meant exterminated.

It meant she was dead.

Noah had hoped that the person he killed would’ve turned back to its original form. But even hours later, it remained the same. He had shot Man. He had killed Mab.

Talk about some kind of Greek tragedy…

He reigns in his emotions before they could get the best of him. “So what, that bullet hole in the middle of her forehead just materialized out of nowhere?” he sneers. A second later, the thought of how Mab probably could materialize a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead, but he keeps that thought to himself.

“We’re trying to get all the facts here, Agent Sebastian,” Dr. Altef sighs in annoyance.

“We haven’t been seeing each other since the L’Engle event,” Noah finally admits. “Last night was the first time I saw her since.”

“So you say,” Dr. Altef says. He tries to say more, and honestly risks getting his face bashed in, but a knock at the door of the interrogation room tears both of their attentions away. The director goes over to the door and talks briefly with whoever was on the other side. Meanwhile, Noah finishes his coffee, which has gone cold since the start of the interrogation.

Altef returns, looking slightly more smug. Noah doesn’t like where this might be going. “What?” he asks.

“You’re coming with me,” Altef says. “Why? Where are we going?” Noah asks.

“To the medical ward on Level 2,” Altef says. Noah feels his body go cold as ice. "We're going to watch the autopsy.”

Unfortunately for Noah, the UPA works fast.

Not even twelve hours after a bullet was put in it, the corpse was ready for dissection. Noah wasn’t sure why he was being dragged to see this, nor why they were doing an autopsy in the first place. It was clear to see how she obviously died.

Died.

Before the interrogation, when he had been cleared to go home and sleep, he immediately had fallen face-first into his pillows, probably asleep before his face had even hit them. Not once was he interrupted by dreams. When he woke up later that morning, the realization of having a nightmare-free night hit him like a truck, and he broke down at the implication.

She was really gone.

This had to be some kind of punishment. Making him watch as they open and disassemble the body? That alone had to be its own kind of special hell.

Noah looks down from the raised platform he stands on, behind bulletproof glass. Two medical examiners had wheeled the covered body in and moved it to an examination table. They withdrew the white sheet, finally uncovering her.

Despite saying that they hadn’t done anything to her yet, they had already shaved her head of the copper hair that had made her so distinct from everyone else. Noah clenches his fists so hard that he could feel his nails in his palms, despite wearing gloves.

“Type Purple procedure,” Altef says from beside him. “Can’t be too careful.” Like the explanation was supposed to calm the anger slowly boiling inside of Noah.

“Let's get this over with,” the director says. Noah shoots him a glare from the corner of his eyes quickly, then schools his face back into one of indifference.

Noah’s fists clench even more as the examiners direct machinery into position, and the laser makes the first incision. They cut a precise line straight down the body, from the suprasternal notch down to her navel. The laser then split, going opposite ways and then back together to form flaps. The other arms of the machine pull back the skin and muscle. The whole process takes less than ten seconds.

Noah can tell something was wrong just by the examiner's stances. They had paused after looking inside, and they seemed confused as they poke around in the chest cavity for some time, talking to each other.

Dr. Altef gets impatient. “What’s the hold up?” he snaps.

The examiners ignore him, and take out some of the organs. Noah might’ve been an average student growing up, but even he knew that the organs looked… off. Discolored.

Finally, the examiners turn up to the two men peering down at them from the observation room. “We have a problem,” one says, their voice being piped through an intercom.

“What? What is it?” the director snaps. Noah fails to suppress his eye roll.

“This body has… clear signs of atrophy and necrosis. Severely. This body has been dead for a while.”

“I’d put it as being dead for at least a week,” the other examiner says.

Noah can’t help the hoot of laughter he lets out at the director’s incredulous face. “Are you saying that—” Dr. Altef sputters.

“We can run DNA tests, but I’m positive that this isn’t the body of our LTE-2995.”

As the director swears up a storm, Noah allows the smallest smirk he could make without getting noticed.

It wasn’t Mab’s body.

The changes had been superficial. Deep down, the body’s DNA betrayed the fact that it was the body of some random woman that just so happened to match the description of a corpse that had gone missing recently. Mab’s reality-bending powers never ceased to amaze Noah.

And so did her stealth abilities. The second he stepped back into his room after that disaster of a day, he could sense something was off. Usually he kept his room tidy, therefore his eyes immediately zoned in on what was off. A drawer, slightly opened, when he knew it had been shut before he left. An old shirt was missing, and in its place was a single violet tucked into a note.

The next three months were almost unbearable, as it took that long for the UPA to stop scrutinizing Noah’s every movement. After the investigation and he was cleared of any “helping KTE-2995-Cheshiremorph-Purple in her break-in”, he took some long overdue time off. Thanks to some help from Matt, he basically disappeared from sight.

Now, under the disguise of visiting his home country, he thanks the truck driver for bringing him out to this small coastal village in western Ireland. He shells out twice the amount he had promised in thanks. He shoulders his duffel bag and turns the collar of his black trench coat up against the January wind, and walks through the town.

The locals tell him of a small cottage that had mysteriously appeared overnight, and the nice “witch” that soon occupied it. They point him in the direction, and indeed he eventually finds himself trekking down the path towards it. It has a clear line of vision all around it, so there was no way someone could sneak up on her.

The cottage also has a clear view of the ocean, but right now the weather has turned everything gray. Noah squints his eyes, as if he could see through the mists to his birthplace of Hy-Brasil, despite there still being a couple of years before the mists would part for that one day.

The cottage itself looks like something out of a fairy tale. Cobbled stone walls, but with a shingle roof. The windows are lined with intricate stained glass, and violets are blooming in the garden despite the weather. It looks exactly like something she would like.

Noah knocks on the door three times. The inside must be as small as it looks, because he can hear her scrambling towards the front. “Hold on! I’m coming, I’m com—” Several locks turn and the door opens, and the sole occupant stops mid-sentence when she sees him standing there.

“Hi Mab,” Noah says.

Mab Grey remains silent, almost like she’s having a hard time believing he was standing in front of her. She looks exactly like the last time he saw her; the real her. She’s wearing dark leggings and a thick gray sweater, letting her hair and eyes account for the lack of color.

“You’re here,” she whispers as she exhales.

Noah steps inside, ducking through the doorway. “Well, you extended the invitation,” he says, dropping his bag near the door.

Her lips curl into a coy smile. “Well, I didn’t think it would take you this long to figure it out,” she teases.

“Oh please, I knew exactly what you meant,” he shoots back, slowly crowding her backwards until her back hits the wall.

“Damn, I was hoping I was being clever,” she airily laughs, tilting her head back to stare directly into his eyes. Hers sparkle with happiness and anticipation.

“Really?’ he asks, leaning down. “I can wait for you at the bottom.” He kisses the space between her brows. “I can stay away if you want me to.” He kisses the tip of her nose. “I can wait for years if I have to.” He lightly pecks her lips. “Heaven knows I will never get over you,” he finishes quietly, lips hovering over hers.

“Noah…” she sighs.

“So no hard feelings?” he asks.

She rolls her eyes. “You shot me.”

“Mmmmm… If I’m thinking correctly, that wasn’t you, just a puppet,” he says. “But let me make it up to you?”

“I like the sound of that.” She smiles as he cups her face and finally kisses her.

After almost a year of being apart, they meet in a kiss that consumes the both of them. Mab surges up to meet him, standing on her tiptoes to try and make the distance less. Noah ducks down, his hands blindly seeking her thighs, long fingers wrapping around the back of them. He picks her up, wrapping her legs around his hips, and she wraps her arms around his neck to get closer to him, as if they weren’t already fused together into one being.

He pulls her away from the wall, and blindly carries her to the tiny bedroom. He tries to ease her down onto the bed, but she grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him down. It doesn’t take long for them to shed their shirts, and when her offending piece of clothing is discarded, he wraps his lips around the peak of one breast, sucking until her nipple hardens and she squirms against him, letting out sweet whimpers. His fingers tease the other one, matching the motion of his tongue.

Her fingers thread through the hair on the back of his head and she gives a small tug; not enough to make his body react, but just enough to get his attention. He pulls away from her skin, looking up at her through his lashes. “I missed you,” he says. “I missed this.”

“Then show me how much you’ve missed me,” she says.

He grins devilishly at the challenge.

Noah moves away from Mab, kneeling at her feet. He takes one in his hand and kisses her ankle, trailing his lips along the skin of her leg until he gets close to her center. He bypasses it, kissing her hipbone instead. She lets out a huff, and he chuckles darkly.

“Someone’s needy,” he says. He kisses the soft swell of her tummy.

“Well, someone is being a tease,” she shoots back.

“Well, fine. I just wanted to play with my food for a bit,” he says with a mocking huff to match hers. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her leggings, running the backs of them along the sensitive skin. “But if you insist…” He yanks her leggings down, tugging her panties along with them.

Fuck. He really had missed her.

He slowly leans down, letting his tongue hang out as he watches her watch him. He licks the bundle of nerves until he sucks her clit between his lips. She lets out a sharp, loud noise, encouraging Noah to speed up his movements while keeping up his rhythm.

Her laboring breath picks up the pace, and he moves one of his hands to replace his tongue with his fingers, rubbing tiny circles around the bundle of nerves as he explores her entrance with his tongue. Her hips jerk at the new contact, and not before long she tenses and cums with a shudder and his name on her tongue.

He nips at the soft sensitive skin of her inner thighs, willing red marks to appear so she can have bruises to remember him by. He only has a week until he has to go back to “hunting” her, and he plans on making the most of it.

“Noah…”

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks before licking her wet slit once to gather her release on his tongue.

She squeaks in surprise, hips jerking at the overstimulation. “Oh my god, get up here already.” She pulls on his hair, but he’s already crawling up to cover her with his body.

This kiss is practically bruising. Mab holds him down as their tongues fight for dominance. He tries to wrestle his pants down, but both of their patience is thin so he only manages to get them and his underwear down past the crease of his ass before he gives up.

“Mab, hold on, let me—”

“I wanna feel you. Now.” Her hand dips between them to take his length in hand, and he sighs against her lips. His breath rate increases as her strokes increase.

“Damn, you really did miss me,” she says, grinning.

“Play later,” he growls, taking her wrist in his hand. She doesn’t let go, so they both guide his cock to her entrance. They moan simultaneously as he slowly slides in.

After a few thrusts, he feels the problem. His zipper is rubbing against him uncomfortably, making him wince. Mab must feel it too, because after a bit she pulls away and asks to stop. She laughs as he frustratingly kicks his remaining clothes down his legs and throws them as if they personally offended him.

“God, I love you,” she says.

Noah pauses, and smiles. “I love you, too.”

Noah crashes his lips back onto Mab’s, putting their mishap behind them. It takes a few moments to get back into the mood, a few gropes and a few moans, but soon he’s sliding back in, causing her body to bend. And he has every intention to make her break.

He braces his knees between her legs and pulls her up along with him. “Noah, what—” she manages to get out before he quickly thrusts up, causing her words to choke off into a moan. One of her legs wraps around him while her other keeps her up for support, but she has to wrap her arms around his neck as he pounds her into oblivion.

“I love you,” he whispers lowly into the space of her neck below her ear.

He feels her pussy tighten at the words and it sends them both toppling over the edge. Mab clutches onto him as she buries her face into the crook of his neck. Her shoulders shake as he sinks down onto the bed.

They hold each other as if the other would dissipate it they let go.

“Please… stay…” Mab sobs.

“As always,” Noah replies.

Featured Creatures:

@shilohrosechicken, @comforting-madness, @ladyveronikawrites, @roley-poley-foley, @sitkowski

@deathblacksmoke, @darksigns-exe, @dominuslunae, @into-the-grey, @nojoyontheburn

@baddestomens, @lilhobgobbler, @hedonists

“Global Occult Coalition Casefiles” by DrClef, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/goc-hub-page. Licensed under CC-BY-SA

“GOC Codewords” by unknown author, from the SCP Sandbox Wiki. Source: https://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/collab:goc-codewords#. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.

Content relating to the SCP Foundation is licensed under creative commons sharealike 3.0 and all concepts originated from https://scpwiki.com/ and its authors. “ANYTHING > HUMAN”, being derived from this content, is hereby also released under Creative commons Sharealike 3.0

An excerpt from “The Prox Transmissions” is included in this article. “The Prox Transmissions” (2016) was written and is owned by Dustin Bates and The Starset Society.

#bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian smut #bad omens rpf #bad omens au #paranormal au

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